Valeria made a promise in that moment. To Tristan, to the Gods, and to herself. She would free him. No matter what. She would find a way to return to Tristan all he had lost to Rome.
The group that set off for Rome that morning was merely a fraction of the army that stayed behind in the north to continue waging war on the Picts and the other tribes. All the officers in their party were given a horse for the journey, as was Rufus. The everyday soldiers would make the journey on foot—they were used to long marches—and the prisoners were shackled together in a long line, naked to the waist and barefoot.
There were three wagons led by horses to carry the supplies, one of which Valeria was being forced to ride in because of her delicate nature as a lady. She didn’t feel delicate. Far from it. The need for violence burned so brightly inside her it was a wonder she could remain seated and keep her thoughts to herself.
She’d gotten a glimpse of Tristan when the wagon passed the line of slaves at the rear of their party. His back was a bloodied mess, the flesh stripped from his body by the cruel lashing he’d received. He should be the one riding in the wagon. His body needed rest to heal, not to be marched over rough terrain in heavy chains.
If Valeria had her way, she’d be tending him and treating his wounds. She recognized many of the plants and herbs in the forest and could easily make a healing salve for his skin. The first time she’d suggested it to the Legatus, he’d laughed, amused by her request. The second time she’d been less polite in making her request and he’d ordered her to stay in the wagon until they stopped to make camp for the night.
Valeria wasn’t much for being ordered around. Something had changed in her and she was no longer content to let others dictate her life. Brutus Dias might be the Legatus, and he might be in command of their party, but she was the Emperor’s niece and would use her position to push the man to his limits if she had to. Were Lucia here, the clever woman would already have the Legatus under her thumb and she’d be seeing to the wounded freely, both soldier and slave, making fast friends with everyone.
Valeria admired the woman who had raised her. Lucia was the greatest healer in Rome, and she’d started teaching Valeria the arts of healing and medicine from the time she was old enough to walk. She thought back to the sunny afternoons she’d spend trailing after Lucia through the forest to gather herbs, learning their names and uses, and later, as she got older, how to make the medicines and remedies. The happy memories of the woman who had essentially become her mother made her smile. They also gave her an idea.
Lucia was an emancipated woman, earning her freedom after her husband was killed in the war. She’d left the Emperor’s service, and she was partly responsible for instilling a sense of daring and independence in Valeria. She thought,what would Lucia do at a time like this? It wouldn’t be much longer until Tristan’s wounds became infected and he fell ill. They needed to be treated.
Valeria jumped down from the seat of the wagon, ignoring the look of surprise from the young soldier driving it along, and left the road to head into the forest.
“Where are you going, lady?” Gaius Cato rode up beside her on his strong, black horse.
The soldier was quite handsome, and Valeria was sure he caught the attention of many women wherever he went with his curly blond hair and his intelligent green eyes, but his hand had been the one to wield the whip so brutally on Tristan, and she didn’t like him at all.
“I require a moment of privacy,” she answered, hoping to get rid of him.
“Then I shall have the detail stop to wait for you.” He turned his horse to leave.
“That won’t be necessary.” She kept her tone imperious and resumed walking into the forest. “I’ll have no trouble catching up.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go off alone.”
The condescension in his voice proved his show of courtesy was not meant to be polite, but to exercise the power he had over her as a man and a soldier.
Valeria wheeled around to face him. “While I appreciate your gallantry, I do not need an entire detail of men to stop their travels while I attend to my needs. I am a grown woman and perfectly able to take care of myself.”
“You are a difficult woman, Valeria,” Gaius pointed out.
After years of fighting, Gaius would return to Rome, and on his way home he’d found the perfect woman travelling with an army of men. Valeria was not only beautiful, but spirited, and she aroused his interest, among other things.
He walked his horse back over to her and rested his arm on the pommel of his saddle as he leaned down. “I imagine you’ll have to be broken like a wild horse, but once brought to heel, what a perfect wife you would make.”
One of her perfectly arched brows rose in amused contempt and her mouth fell open in shock. Gaius chuckled, pleased with himself. What a conquest this lovely creature would make.
“Don’t look so offended, my dear.” He gave her one of his easy, charming smiles that the ladies usually responded to. “A man should be lucky to claim you as his wife.”
“No man will be doing so on this journey.” Rufus came riding up beside him wearing a harsh expression, frowning, his brows drawn in a sharp line. “Shouldn’t you be with your men?”
Gaius knew when he was being dismissed and, knowing he had plenty of time to court her, he flashed Valeria another one of his proud smiles before riding off. She was going to make the perfect wife.
Valeria let out the breath she’d been holding once Gaius was gone. It was good for her Rufus had gotten rid of him so easily or she might have slapped his arrogant face. Gaius might look the perfect gentleman on the outside, but she sensed he had a dark, cruel heart.
“Where are you wandering off to?” Rufus gave her a small, knowing smile.
“To gather a few herbs, that’s all. I won’t be long.”
“Are you ill?” His expression pinched with worry. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I need to make a salve for Tristan’s back. His wounds are going to start festering.”
Rufus jumped down from his horse. “Have you lost your mind?” He grabbed her by the arm. “You’d do well to steer clear of that man. The Legatus already suspects you lied to him. Why do you care for this northerner?”
Valeria could never tell Rufus the truth. She couldn’t tell anyone. “I am a healer, and it goes against everything I’ve been taught to let a person suffer when I have the power to ease their pain.”
“Lucia has made quite a lady out of you.” Rufus snorted a sarcastic laugh. “How do you expect to please a husband when you’re constantly finding ways to do as you will?”
“I don’t expect to please a husband.” Valeria shrugged off his hold on her arm and ventured into the forest to collect the herbs she needed.
She was through trying to please others. She’d spent her whole life trying to be the kind of person they expected her to be, and it hadn’t made any difference. This life was hers. It might be the only one she was given, and it was time to start living it on her terms.
Tristan knew he wasn’t asleep because he could feel the miserable, burning pain in his body. It could be he was dead, or that he’d simply imagined he heard the voice of an angel.
“Tristan,” she whispered again, this time resting a soft hand on his forehead.
He shivered. Her skin was so cool against his.
“Tristan,” she called to him. Her voice grew louder, like it was getting closer, bringing him back from the brink of death.
It even hurt to open his eyes, but he had to look at this angel who had come to save him. Valeria was the last person he wanted to see, and hardly an angel.
“You’ve started a fever,” she said, pressing her hands to his face.
Tristan somehow found the strength to push her away. He didn’t need kindness from a Roman. “Leave me.”
“I’m here to help you.” She punched him in the arm, none too gently. “Roll onto your side so I can clean your wounds.”
“Gods.” She breathed out a curse. “You’re a mess.”
“I don’t want your help,” he growled. “Get away from me.”
He’d be a fool to think she actually cared.
“You may not want my help, Tristan Caileanach, but you need it. Would you rather I let you die?”
“Why don’t you?”
“You know why,” she replied softly.
He so wanted to believe it was true.
Cool water splashed over his back and he jerked in pain, though it also soothed his wounds. When she poured more water over his skin, the dryness in his mouth sought to be quenched and he turned over to wrestle the skin of water out of her hand. He tipped it to his mouth and fed his thirst with greedy swallows.
“That water is for cleansing your wounds.” She tried to take the skin from him, but he pushed her hand away.
He’d been half-dragged across his lands for hours with no rest and nothing to quench his thirst. His back could wait until he drank his fill.
“Do they not give you any water to drink?” she wondered.
“What do you expect?” He handed the skin back to her. “Only the strongest will survive to see Rome, and then we’ll be thrown into the arena to die for your amusement.” It was a dreadful fate the soldiers had taunted them with all day.
“Not for my amusement,” she argued, that familiar defiant tone in her voice. “None of this amuses me, Tristan. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
Her words sounded honest, and he decided to stop fighting. She’d come here to help him, and some small voice in his head told him to let her.
“Do what you came for.” He angled his back so she could reach his wounds.
She gently washed him with the rest of the water and dabbed at his wounds with a dry cloth. Then she began to lather some sticky substance on him that stung like mad before it began to cool and soothe his burning wounds. Any fight left in him was drained and he felt a peace only Valeria’s touch could bring.
She was an angel.
She was the damn devil.
He fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, knowing he could worry about it all tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
It was on the afternoon of the second day into their journey to Rome that Valeria learned exactly what it meant to be a slave.
The weather was starting to improve as they continued south, the sun was warmer and the winds less cold. Valeria could no longer ride in the supply wagon. The wooden seat was hard and uncomfortable and she was jostled around so much she felt her teeth were coming loose. Remembering the night before, knowing Tristan and the others were getting no water, she pulled a skin of water from her pile of things in the back of the wagon and jumped down to the ground. The young soldier driving seemed used to her wandering off by now because he didn’t even give her a second glance.
She walked slowly, letting the back of the detail catch up to her. What she saw made her furious with rage. A soldier rode alongside the line of prisoners, prancing around on his horse, hurling insults at them.
“Walk faster! Can’t you keep up with soldiers of Rome?”
None of the prisoners gave him a response. They all kept their eyes forward as they were led along behind the last wagon, their shackles jangling. Valeria’s eyes landed first on Tristan. Her handsome captor was now the slave. It was hard to see him reduced to such a lowly position, when only a couple of days ago he’d been a free man and commander of a great army. Her beautiful lover. He walked in the middle of the line, and towards the end she recognized Angus. It was hard not to feel pity for these men, but they had chosen a life of war, and this is what it looked like.
“Do you think we’d give you water when you haven’t earned it?” The soldier continued to ridicule them. “A bunch of lazy curs, the whole lot of you.”
Valeria now recognized the young soldier. His mother was a frequent customer of Lucia’s and bought many medicines from her, and young Titus was a spineless, sniveling wimp. He’d picked on Valeria once as a child and she’d fought back and pushed him to the ground, just like Rufus had taught her to do. Titus flew home in tears, crying because a girl had beaten him down.
From the safety of his horse, with these men in chains, Titus could act brave, but she’d like to see him on even ground with any of Tristan’s men. They’d tear him to shreds with their bare hands.
Titus tilted his head back and squeezed a rush of water from a leather skin so it flooded his mouth and spilled down the sides of his face. He swirled the water around in his mouth, then leaned forward and spit it out on the ground.
“It’s not that we don’t have enough water for a bunch of dirty slaves,” he kept on taunting the prisoners, “it’s that we don’t think you’re worth enough to spare even a drop.”
“You’d rather spit it on the ground, is that it?” Valeria could watch no more of this horrible treatment. “Perhaps our abundance of water is wasted on you, Centurion.”
Titus sat up in his saddle, straightening his spine. “You have no business back here.”
“I have business when and where I choose to have business, Centurion, or have you forgotten your place?” Sometimes it was good to be related to the Emperor.
“You’re not to interfere with the p-p-prisoners,” Titus stammered.
Valeria couldn’t help but laugh at him. “All grown up, but you still whine like a little boy.”
“I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Valeria raised a curious brow. “Go running home to your mommy? I knocked you in the dirt once, Titus Drusus, and I’ll bet I can do it again.”
Some of the other soldiers walking on foot wore startled expressions, their eyes wide as they exchanged interested glances amongst each other. These men were not used to being insulted by a woman.
“I am in charge of these slaves, lady!” Titus yelled, apparently able to find his voice when he was flaunting his importance. “You have no understanding of my position, nor how they need to be trained.”
“These men are dying of thirst and you would taunt them? Is this the training you speak of?” Valeria was losing control of her temper. She’d been holding in her anger for days and Titus had provoked her to the point of no return.
“I suggest you go back to your wagon and let me perform my duties.”
“Your duties?” She huffed. “You seem to take great pleasure in these duties. Does your mother know how you behave outside of Rome?”
“Lady, you try my patience!” Titus bellowed, his face red and enraged. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have you flogged!”
“Go ahead and try it.” Rufus wandered up on his horse, his arms draped casually across the pommel of his saddle. He stared a dark warning at Titus across the line of prisoners. “You’ll have to go through me first.”
“You of all men should understand I have a duty to fulfill,” Titus said.
“I do.” Rufus nodded thoughtfully, then looked down at Valeria. “Get back in the wagon.”
The young soldier sat taller in his saddle, relishing his victory over her. Valeria was determined not to back down.
“No.”
Rufus frowned at her, giving her that look—the one that meant don’t argue with me. He was just as bad as the rest of them. But she needed his protection.
“Is there a problem here?” The Legatus now rode up on his magnificent white stallion. The etched leather saddle showed he was a man of great importance. It had to be worth more than all the horses in their detail.
“Yes, Legatus,” Titus jumped at the opportunity to speak first. “The young lady is interfering with the prisoners.”
The Legatus stiffened in his saddle, his face twisting with an ugly frown. He turned a look that was pure hostility on Valeria. “You
are a lady of Rome,” he accentuated each word with loathing. “Get back in the wagon and try to maintain your decorum.”
“No,” she refused. “The wagon is uncomfortable and I no longer wish to ride in it. I demand a horse.” She kicked up her chin, knowing the Legatus would not give her one, but she liked irritating him.
“You’ll get no horse.”
“Then I’ll walk.” She moved along beside the prisoners.
“That you shall.” The Legatus tugged at his horse’s reins, making the great steed prance sideways in an arrogant display. “Walk with your beloved slaves. We’ll see how long you last.” He trotted off back to the front of the detail.
“What has gotten into you?” Rufus brought his horse alongside Valeria as she stubbornly began to walk. “What will people say if they hear of your behavior? What will the Emperor say?”
Everything inside of her snapped in that moment. She was sick and tired of being bossed around and ordered about and worrying what people would say.
When did she get to have her say?
“Leave me be, Rufus.” She kept facing forward and paid him no further attention.
His silence, though welcome, made her feel guilty for berating him. He didn’t deserve such poor treatment. She dared a glance at him. He looked frustrated, as he rubbed his hand over his shaved head a few times, then dragged it over the back of his neck.
“What am I to do with you?”
“There’s nothing to do with me,” she said. “I don’t need you to hold my hand.”
“Very well.” He tapped his horse and galloped away.
Walking along with Tristan and his men was not as easy as she assumed it would be. The soldiers kept them moving at a steady pace, once in a while bringing the whip down on their backs and barking at them to move faster. She tried to catch Tristan’s eye, but for some reason he was ignoring her, and his men only sent her hateful stares.
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