“It sounded last night as if you did not care for him much. You said his people liked it when he was gone. What kind of leader is he?”
Delia lifted her eyes slowly to him and then down at her lap. “Centurion, you really should talk to him.”
He saw a fear in her eyes that he had never seen before, not even when they had taken her to the post.
“I… I should not have spoken of him like that. He is my king,” Delia said. “My brother is not a bad man… he can be a little… careless at times.”
Marius knew he was where he needed to be, knew it so well, he allowed a small smirk to crease the sides of his mouth. “What does that mean, careless?”
Delia tilted her head and brought her fingers up to examine them. “He forgets, sometimes, what they need.” She said it seriously and a bit sadly. “Conall drinks… he does not always handle it well. He spends most of his time hunting with his friends. Therefore, he is away… for weeks at a time. It makes things easier… sometimes.”
“I see.” Marius did not need to watch her face anymore. He knew. He circled around to her back, which made her shift on the stool uncomfortably. “When was the last time you were at Hillfort, Delia?”
“What?”
“The last time—when were you home last?”
“I… a couple of months ago, I guess.” Her voice was shaking, and her eyes darted around the floor. She was not a very good liar.
Marius suddenly reached to the neck of her tunic and pulled it down, dislodging the pins and exposing her back. Delia tried to stand up, but he placed two large hands on her bare shoulders, pushed her back down, and then leaned her forward.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Shh.” He examined her back closely. “I am not going to hurt you, Delia. I need to see.”
She struggled, which seemed to send a shiver of pain through her, and tears ran down her cheeks.
“Did you and your men not get enough of a look outside?” Delia hissed indignantly, holding the material in front of her breasts. “Shall I take all my clothes off? Is that what you want?”
Marius smiled, gazing at the back of her head, and continued his examination. “Not at the moment.”
“Animal!”
Marius ignored her outburst, nodded, and stood. He replaced the material and released her.
“You said a month.”
“What?”
“You said you had not been back to Hillfort in a month. Are you certain?” He walked around her chair and crossed again to the table so he could take full measure of her. “Are you certain it was not a week?”
“No. It has been at least a month.” The statement was final, firm—evasive.
Marius gave her a knowing smile. “You are at terrible liar, you know. The strap marks were made less than a week ago. So you had to have been at Hillfort then or at least near your brother.”
Delia’s face became stony. “No.”
Marius knew the next exchange was going to do one of two things; either shut her down where she would not talk at all or open her up, which could be very dangerous. He had no compunctions about subduing her. He simply did not want to hurt her. Taking a deep breath, he started in with an expertise that was as natural to him as breathing.
“Did he catch you again?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“Did Conall catch you?”
“I do not know what you are…”
“What did you do this time, Delia? Did you run away from him?”
“No… I mean I do not know what…”
“Did he catch you again?”
“No!”
“Did he beat you again?”
“No.” Tears filled her eyes. Her voice became softer as Marius’ became louder.
“What did he do to you, Delia?” It was hard for Marius to keep the anger out of his voice.
“He… did not do… anything.” Great sobs shook her body.
“No?” He pressed harder.
“No.”
“Maybe he had help. How many of his friends were with him?”
Delia looked up at him in terror, shaking her head. She had no more voice, her eyes vacant. Marius moved to stand in front of her and lifted her chin. “Answer me! What did he do? Tell me now!”
“Bastard!” she screamed.
“Tell me!”
“No!”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me!”
She grabbed his upper arms in her hands, sank her fingers into the woolen material surrounding them, and then bared her teeth at him.
“Why are you doing this? Have I not had enough torture in my life?” she shrieked.
“I am trying to help you,” he growled, emphasizing his words by shaking her. “Now tell me what he did, damn you!”
“He… he beat me… he whipped me! Is that what you want to hear, you bastard? You are just like him… all of you! Yes, Conall did this to me…” Her eyes brimmed with tears and her bottom lip shook furiously. “He is insane… my brother. The leader of my tribe… my king. Do you think that will unite my people? Save them from the abomination that is the Roman Empire ? You stupid bastard! You think you can ransom me to this same man.” Her laugh was frighteningly harsh in the air. “The reason he has not paid his debt is because I took the money, Centurion,” she said through her teeth. “To pay crooked Roman administrators for food and supplies, I stole it from the treasury—from my brother’s pocket. Do you honestly think Conall is coming here to pay my ransom? This is your doing… you and your kind. You come in and destroy our way of life, take the courage out of our men, and treat our women like whores. You abuse our children, burn our homes, and annihilate our way of life.”
She was all at once a furious ball of flailing fists and Marius had to hold her shoulders tightly to keep her on the stool.
“This is your fault!” She went into a screaming fit of Gaelic and he did not understand much more of it.
“You killed my father!” she finally shrieked in Latin, her fists landing on his shoulders, barely missing his face.
All at once, an uncontrollable desire came over Marius and he could not stop himself.
In one fluid motion, he lifted her from her seat, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her mouth with his.
The touch of fire from lip meeting lip sent a wave of passion, a scintillation of lightning from Marius’ toes to the top of his head in an instant. He felt Delia stiffen and then, without volition, collapsed into his arms when they wrapped around her. She rose to her toes and lifted her hands to touch his back. Marius squeezed her tightly and Delia’s body responded to his touch, conforming to the curve of his chest, the hollows of his arms, the tilt of his face. Ardor coursed through his veins, his heart, clouding his mind.
Marius devoured her mouth, searching and seeking. His experience dominating her lips, and conquering them without effort, making them his. She responded to him wantonly, unabashed, and with a lusty surrender that took him by surprise. Neither of them breathed. The heat spread into his consciousness, subduing it. Marius’ loins responded and his erection hammered into her belly. He could feel Delia shiver in response. The desire was overwhelming and he came so close to surrendering to it; he almost took her on the spot.
Breaking the kiss, he stepped away from her, his eyes wide in surprise, his ears ringing with the guilty act. His mouth, still moist from the kiss, opened slightly and his tongue tentatively touched the inside of the betraying lips.
Delia’s face mirrored his emotions. She seemed to be having trouble breathing as she gazed in wonder and little noises escaped her open mouth. Her eyes were dark green, almost black, and her lips crimson from the stolen kiss.
“Aelius!” Marius roared.
A moment of stillness followed.
Marius and Delia gaped at one another, and the spark that had been ignited slowly faded from their eyes, fighting to stay. The only movements were the rising of their chests—the only sound was the unison of their breathing.
When Aelius entered the tent, the moment went up like shattered glass. Marius tore his eyes away and scowled at him.
“Sir?”
“Take her back to her tent,” he whispered, barely able to find his voice. Without saying anything else, Marius turned and walked out.
Delia had not moved a fraction and still stared at the empty space in front of her. Everything around her faded into quiet oblivion, and the ardor that still pulsed through her body fought the shock that subdued it.
Delia heard a disjointed voice that seemed far away.
“If you will come with me, Highness.”
In a daze, Delia allowed Aelius to take her arm, walk her out of the tent, and then escort her to the other side of the grounds where she was confined earlier. The rest was vague, far away, and somewhat dreamy. Her mind had become incapable of thought, spinning with every emotion she possessed. Hate, anger, love, fear, joy—all of them fighting within her, leaving her dizzy, confused, and sick to her stomach. When Delia was left to herself in the dark tent, tears spilled down her hot cheeks, and she fell into a heap on the floor.
The Centurion and the Queen
Chapter Nine
Aelius examined the two jugs of wine resting guiltily in his hands and made his way across the camp. He was not moving very quickly; a little afraid to confront the maelstrom that was his commander, his guardian, and his friend. He had never seen Marius like this—ever—and it scared him. Across the camp, he spotted Glenys arriving at her tent, leaning on the makeshift crutch, and seeming lost when she stared around at the tents. That charming dark beauty touched Aelius’ heart as it had the first night he laid eyes on her, and he decided to make the detour. She was definitely worth it.
“You should be off that foot,” he called to Glenys as he approached. “Medico said not to walk on it too much.”
“I know,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. “But I wanted to check on Delia.”
“How is she?”
Glenys shook her head and managed to sit on the stool. “Not very well, I’m afraid. She is crying and will not talk to me.”
Aelius set the two jugs of wine on the ground and took a seat next to her. “It has been hard for her, I imagine,” he said, taking her hand, “for both of you.”
Glenys did not pull away, apparently liking the warmth. Her blush spoke volumes to his questing eyes.
“I have known for a long time,” she said. “I mean, about the beatings and…” Her voice trailed off, and she sent a guilty frown to the ground. “She made me swear not to tell anyone.” She lifted her eyes to stare into his. “What will he do to her?”
Aelius tucked a finger under her chin and, without meaning to, kissed her on the lips. “He will not hurt her. I think he means to help her, if he can.”
“I do not think he can, Aelius,” she said. “I cannot tell you why, but what she is doing is important. It means everything to her. The queen is very brave and very sad. I love her so much. Sometimes, I wish I was strong enough to stop…”
Glenys bowed her head.
Aelius lifted her face and kissed her again, pressing harder this time. She responded easily to his touch, and he moved his mouth to her ear.
“Do not worry, little one,” he said. “We will take care of both of you.” He bit her earlobe gently, and she let out a satisfying gasp.
“I have to go.” He sat back and examined her face carefully. “Meet me here later?”
Glenys breathed deeply, the spark of excitement shining in her eyes. “All right,” she said softly.
“After midnight ,” he said. “Wait for me.”
She simply nodded. Aelius lifted his eyes to the sky while a sprinkle of rain fell. He lifted the hood over her head, pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and then grabbed the wine from the muddy ground. With one quick smile, he sprinted away from her.
“About time.” Marius glared at his ward when he entered his quarters. Without preamble, Marius grabbed one of the jugs out of Aelius’ hands.
“Sorry, sir, but you asked for Roman wine and the supply ships do not come in for another two weeks. I actually had to borrow this from Leonius. As far as I know, they are the last in the camp.”
Marius ignored him and pulled the cork off with his teeth. Not even waiting for the wine to inhale, he turned the bottle up to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the opening. He took several long, hard pulls on the undiluted liquid. The dark red wine, mixed with olive oil and herbs, escaped in tiny streams from the sides of his mouth and stained the worn tunic he had carelessly thrown on without a belt. He knew his chin was shadowed with growth and his hair uncombed—black and white tendrils hung in front of his eyes unchecked. His quarters disheveled, but Marius did not care about any of that.
Aelius bent down to pick up clothes and other items strewn on the floor.
Marius popped the vessel out of his mouth and took in a deep breath. “Leave it and get out.”
Aelius glanced up at him from the ground, and a half-crooked smile set his eyes sparkling. “Not this time, sir. You are off duty now that you are drinking.”
“Aelius…”
“You know what, Marius…” Aelius rose from the floor brushing his hands. He untied the straps on his armor. “I could use a bit of that wine myself. I will join you.”
“Get out of my tent, Aelius.” Marius lifted the jug to his lips again and took a deep drink.
“Sorry,” he said, taking off his armor and tucking it next to the entrance. “I am not letting you drink alone.”
Marius pulled the vessel from his lips and glared back at his aide, but he cut off an angry reply and grunted at him instead. Taking a seat, he slammed the jug down and frowned at the table. “Fine. But I am not going to be good company tonight.”
“You never are,” Aelius replied.
Marius lifted a stern gaze, watched Aelius remove two goblets from the large trunk, and grab the sack of water hanging from a chair.
“I will pour,” the aide said.
Grudgingly releasing the jug, Marius eased back in his chair, folded his arms, and gave the tent a cursory glare. Aelius joined him at the table and filled the goblets, then sat back and sipped the wine.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Marius leaned into his goblet, put his elbows on the table purposefully, and wrapped his hand around the base, staring at the contents. “No.”
“All right,” Aelius lifted his goblet and gave a quick tip of the rim, “we drink, then.”
Marius lifted his, giving Aelius a rueful curl of his lips. “We drink.”
Black thunderclouds hurried across the sky above the camp, making the night descend in a rush and giving the tents outside a strange, otherworldly appearance. Distant thunder rolled against the outlining trees, and the two men continued their silent vigil.
Three hours later, Marius stared down at his snoring aide with an unfocused gaze. He awkwardly grabbed for his cloak. Aelius thought he could drink more than he could, and often tried, but Marius put him under every time. After all, he had been raised on heavy wine since he could walk. Aelius never had a chance.
The wine coursed through Marius’ veins, sending his head spinning. He controlled it with a shake and threw the heavy cloak around his back. Squaring his shoulders deliberately against what he intended to do; he stared at the entrance to the tent and squinted.
Reason had left his regimented mind hours before, and all he could see in his muddled consciousness was the image of Delia sneering at him. The thought was infuriating and rational behavior failed. Overshadowing the drunken rage was the image of her stunning eyes, her bravery, her fragility, and the taste of that stolen kiss. She stirred things inside Marius that he could not control, stop, or command. The thought was making him mad with desire. In his wine saturated view, there was only one way to deal with it… her.
He clenched his teeth, wrapped the cloak around his shoulders against the pouring rain, and left the tent. He would show her what it meant to be a Roman�
� and a man.
C hapter Ten
Delia had been staring at a dwindling lamp flame for what seemed like an eternity, unable to bring up anything from the numbness that wrapped itself around her nerves like a cocoon. It was dark outside. She had no idea what time it was; nor did she care. The only conscious feeling she was aware of was the memory of a kiss, still burning her lips. Delia brushed them softly with her fingers. Why had they responded to his touch so easily? Why had they surrendered so willingly? Why were they even now craving more? The hunger for it was so intense it sparked the only other sensation in her body; a deep, longing ache to be touched. With another growl of frustration, Delia realized again that she wanted… no, she needed him. The desire was overwhelming.
Outside the tent, she could hear a sudden exchange and sat up from her bedroll, blinking at the entrance. The voices muttered and she could not hear what was being said, except for a quick, firm Yes, sir, followed by the jingling of Roman accoutrements. She grabbed for her cloak, but before she could reach it, the tent flap pulled back, and Marius stood at the entrance.
Delia gasped.
In his left hand, he held a stone wine jug with his fingers wrapped around the neck. Dangling from his right was a rolled length of rope and the unmistakable braiding of a long, leather whip.
Without taking her out of his sight, he tilted the jug to his lips and poured the contents down his throat, then threw it to the right where it thudded against the wall of the tent, making it ripple with the impact. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glared down at her, his face stony, tight, but his eyes blazing.
Delia frowned and pushed to her knees, terrified, knowing there was no way out of the tent except through the entrance where he stood. She had tried earlier to find a break in the four tent walls, but were secured so tightly from the outside, she could not get them to budge. Delia had even tried to dislodge the pole that held the back of the tent up, but it, too, was as solid as if it secured in iron. The centurion would not allow any more mistakes made.
The Centurion and the Queen Page 9
