The Roman Lady's Illicit Affair

by Greta Gilbert

  His words lay heavy around them and, as Vita drained her cup, she searched her mind for another subject. ‘We have so much to catch up with. Tell me, how did you escape Londinium? And how did you manage to find me at the hill fort?’

  Ven grinned. Saying nothing, he reached down and untied the knot of his loincloth. It slid to the ground without a sound.

  And in that moment there was no question in the world that could have seized her curiosity with greater urgency than that of how. Just—how?

  She fixed her gaze on the fire just beyond him. ‘The fire is really going now,’ she remarked. ‘Just look at the size of those flames!’

  An unfortunate choice of words. She glanced at the table, then at the bench, then at the ceiling, as if to study the thatch. When she finally gathered the courage to look into his eyes again, she found them full of mischief.

  ‘Your eyes are green tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Impossible.’

  He stepped towards her. ‘Why impossible?’

  ‘When my eyes are green does it not mean that I am unhappy?’

  ‘Not unhappy, just neglected.’

  ‘Neglected?’

  ‘I believe I can remedy the situation.’ He glanced down at himself, inviting her to do the same.

  By all the gods in all the heavens. Here he was in his entirety—and more gifted than any fantasy she could possibly conjure. She resolved to count her blessings, or, rather, to count his. He was real and he was all hers. She pulled off her tunic, then slipped beneath the furs.

  Ven slipped into bed beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  ‘We have so much to talk about,’ she said. ‘Tell me, how did you lose the Scythian? Did you travel on foot here? What about your tattoo? How did you find food?’

  ‘Ah, Vita,’ he whispered. ‘Just kiss me.’

  Kiss him? Well, she supposed she could do that. She pressed her lips against his and was instantly surprised. All of the stoic calm he had displayed at their reunion, all of the quiet tenderness of their ride home, all of the gentle playfulness with which he had unclothed himself had disappeared. In its place was a man whose lips were trembling.

  They continued to kiss jealously, hungrily, for what must have been a thousand years and, when they finished, Vita realised that her lips were trembling, too.

  She had finally accepted that she would never see him again. Months ago, she had tucked his memory away in the deepest corner of her mind and resolved never to retrieve it. She had been certain that the gods were punishing her then and convinced herself it was deserved.

  Now, it seemed, the gods had changed their minds, for now she had everything.

  ‘I no longer trust the gods,’ she said. He was tracing her lips with his fingers. ‘The moment I accepted my fate, they changed it.’

  ‘In that case, perhaps this your reward. You satisfied them.’

  ‘I yearned for you, Ven.’

  ‘You yearned for this,’ he said. He enveloped her in his arms and seemed to breathe her it. ‘You yearned for life.’

  ‘If I yearned for life, then life is you,’ she replied. ‘It is when I am with you that I truly live.’

  She could feel his emotion welling up, threatening to overwhelm them both. ‘I did not know how long it would take to find you,’ he whispered. ‘It was as if the best part of me had disappeared. And then today when I saw you...’

  His words were clearly failing him and unfortunately so were hers. On their ride from the hill fort, she had squeezed him from behind as if to reassure herself of the truth of him. As the miles passed, shock had been slowly replaced by emotion, until she could not squeeze him tightly enough. Memories flooded back and tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Still, it had been so many months since she had seen him and she had long ago learned her lesson about false hope. He had ridden hard, trying to get home before dark. They had not stopped once, not exchanged a single word. There had been no way for her to know if his feelings had changed.

  Clearly they had not and a dam seemed to break within her. She had been strong for so long, not letting herself feel anything. Now, as he kissed hungrily down her neck, she realised that she could become human again. She could bury herself in his furs and let her heart melt.

  ‘I will keep you safe,’ he cooed. ‘From now on.’ He caressed her arms. ‘Never again will I let you get away.’ He closed his eyes and bowed his head as if making a solemn vow, then proceeded to move his hands down her waist. His concentration seemed to deepen as he traced the shape of her hips, then reached around her to grip her bottom.

  He pressed his forehead against her stomach. ‘It seems that I have dreamed of touching you for so long that I must convince myself you are real,’ he said.

  ‘I am real,’ she said in Celtic. She ran her fingers through his hair and gently massaged his head.

  ‘Ah, that feels good,’ he said. ‘But tonight is not about making me feel good.’ He moved his head slowly downwards until she could feel his warm breath tickling the soft hairs between her thighs. What was he doing down there?

  ‘Do you remember the massage I gave you at the baths?’ he asked.

  ‘I think about it every day.’

  ‘I am going to give you another massage now—one that is going to make you feel even better than the first, but the rules are the same.’

  ‘What rules?’

  ‘You must trust me and you must try to relax. Do you think you can do that?’

  Vita laughed nervously. ‘I can certainly try.’ She did not wish to leave the silence unfilled. ‘I remember how relieved the muscles of my back felt after that day. The way you were able to press in beneath my shoulders. Was that a special technique you used? I remember the way you...’

  She could not finish her thought, for it seemed that while she was speaking he had slid his tongue between her legs. Had he really just done such a thing? Perhaps she had misapprehended his action. Perhaps that was not his tongue.

  No, it was certainly his tongue. But a man’s tongue did not belong between a woman’s legs. Did it?

  In truth, it felt unspeakably good—so good that she could barely sit up on her elbows to voice her concerns. What did he think he was doing? Was he sure about this? And why was it suddenly impossible for her to actually say her questions aloud?

  He squeezed her thighs reassuringly and she read his mind. You must try to relax.

  Right. Yes. Relax. She sucked in a breath, exhaled.

  But really, how could she not respond to a thick hot tongue sliding in and out of her? And if she could not speak her words aloud, then why did it seem so easy to moan? It was hard to determine where his tongue ended and her pleasure began. He was caressing her from within, but was evoking something beyond relaxation. It was as if he were undoing something inside of her. She feared she might simply melt into the sheets.

  ‘Oh...’ At least she could say that much.

  She lay back and concentrated on the thatch, trying not to think. The smoke from the fire wove through the layers of thin branches and it was as if she were one of them. She was utterly helpless as his tongue wove its way languidly around the most intimate parts of her. How did he know how to make her feel this way? What treatise had he read? What scrolls had he studied? Or did it just come naturally, like so many of Ven’s gifts? Massage, hunting, fighting and...this.

  Though surely what he was doing was forbidden, for nothing legal could possibly feel this good. If only the Roman Governor knew about this, surely he would find a way to tax it. At the very least he would demand tribute from practitioners such as Ven, for what was tribute if not a means to balance the power?

  And the power was clearly in Ven’s hands, or, more specifically, his tongue. Now its movements were growing faster, more purposeful. They seemed to be stirring something inside her—coaxing her lust. Whatever he had unravelled i
nside her was being suddenly respooled. It coiled up from her depths like a snake from a basket. It seemed ready to strike.

  And then he did something unexpected. He ceased.

  He braced himself over her and gazed into her eyes. She had been robbed! She was still throbbing for him. Her lust had become a dull ache. In only a few more moments, he would have pushed her over the edge.

  ‘You wicked man,’ she said.

  He grinned down at her shamelessly, as if his handsome face and sparkling charisma could somehow make up for his tease. Well, perhaps it could, but she would not make it easy for him.

  ‘You wicked, wicked ma—’

  All at once, he thrust his hips forward, continuing to hold her gaze as he pushed himself inside her and... Oh, sweet Minerva.

  * * *

  All the gods in all the heavens. What more was there than this? Bliss catapulted through him and his moan was echoed by her own. Could it be that she was already there? He certainly was. He had made love to her many times in his dreams, yet nothing could have prepared him for how he felt just then, as he slid inside her and felt her tight wet heat.

  He had lost control of the situation. He had meant to surprise her, to watch her eyes grow wide with sensation. But now a million spears had been hurled into the air and he was trying to outrun them.

  He did not have a chance.

  He pushed into her again, his control disappearing. He wanted her primally, like the first man who had ever made love to the first woman at the beginning of time. There was only this desire and its resolution—this need that was more powerful than a hundred legions and the mighty queen who could fulfil it.

  He held himself outside of her for as long as he could, feeling nothing but want, knowing nothing but the vague regret that he had not brought her to her pleasure. He braved a glance at her. Her back was arched off the mattress.

  ‘Please, Ven, I beg you.’

  He had somehow brought her to the precipice. He looked into her eyes. They were flooded with light. She was not just waiting for him, but begging him to go on. He thrust himself into her, not holding back. She cried out, trembled, gripped his shoulders. He thrust into her again and again.

  This woman—she was everywhere. Her flesh, her breath, her sweat. He continued to thrust as her howl became a cry that merged with his own and then all at once they were one.

  Bliss exploded between them. Primal, divine, eternal. They were ranging through the heavens laughing at the gods, travelling on swift legs that morphed into soft, downy wings.

  He collapsed on top of her and buried his head in her hair. There was nothing but this moment. There were no other people in the world but them.

  He kissed her again—a long, slow, wondrous kiss for which Ven quietly thanked the gods. He had expected to live out his days in a frozen forest, had never even dreamed that he might wander on to such a warm, windy beach.

  ‘Vita,’ he uttered. He switched to the tongue of his truth. ‘I love you.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, before Vita had opened her eyes, before she even knew her own name, she knew happiness. She could feel it settled over her like a soft fur. She cuddled against it, wondering how long it might stay. She silently invited it to stay for ever.

  She felt his tender lips on her forehead. ‘Vita, I must go. Our herd of cattle have broken into one of the Roman hay corrals outside the fort at Condercum. I have been asked to translate and help to resolve the matter.’

  Vita’s heart sank. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘Certainly before dark. I have told many of the residents about you. I am certain they will welcome you as one of their own.’

  ‘Is there anything you would like me to do while you are gone? For your home, I mean. I would like to make myself useful.’

  Ven tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes. ‘Please do exactly what you like. This is no longer just my home, it is your home also, and I wish for you to be comfortable in it.’ Then he was gone.

  Vita looked around the empty roundhouse. Her home? A feeling she did not recognise bubbled inside her, a kind of festival inside her heart. It seemed impossible that just a day before she had been labouring in misery in someone else’s home. And now she was living in her home?

  She glanced about the circular space and found everything necessary to make a life: a table and bench for eating, shelves containing cooking supplies, a collection of tools in a small wooden bucket. A hearth, a pot, an axe, a basket. A feathery, warm, impossibly comfortable bed.

  Her home.

  She dressed herself and put another log on the fire, then arranged the bed furs in a way that pleased her eye. She plucked several items of clothing from various surfaces, folding the clean items and placing the rest in a laundry basket.

  She put the pot of goat’s milk on the fire to cook and then spied a bag of grain on one of the shelves. She was shaking the grain into the milk when an idea struck. Biscuits! Ven had said that he did not know how to bake. As a slave, she had managed to learn a few recipes, including biscuits. She decided she would surprise Ven with a batch of them.

  She ate her breakfast standing up, so enthusiastic she was to begin her day. She decided to do the laundry first and get it hanging, then enquire after the communal oven for her biscuits. Making the dough would be easy, as she had spied a tub of animal fat on Ven’s shelves—their shelves—as well as a bag of finely ground grain. Perhaps she could even find some early mushrooms to accompany the pastries.

  She set off down to the river with her laundry, bouncing as she walked. To do laundry in Rome she would have had to fetch several buckets water from the fountain, then hang it on the roof, a laborious process involving much lifting.

  Here in Britannia there was water wherever she turned. Britannia’s rivers and streams were like Rome’s fountains and aqueducts—only much more beautiful and requiring no maintenance at all. More beautiful still were Britannia’s grand, glorious trees—elders, sycamores, yews and gracious old oaks, one of which shaded the sandy beach beside the river where she began her laundry.

  As she scrubbed, she turned to admire its ancient, gnarled roots and wise grey bark. It did not surprise her that the Britons held such trees sacred. Crouching now beneath its mighty limbs, she felt as if she were standing beneath the arches of the holiest of temples.

  * * *

  She was halfway through her task when she sensed someone step behind her on the small sand bank.

  ‘You are Ven’s woman,’ a woman said, startling Vita. ‘The slave from the hill fort.’

  Vita jumped to her feet. ‘I am Vita, yes.’ She bowed her greeting. ‘Apologies, I did not hear you.’

  Vita stood upright, taking in the blonde woman’s formidable height. She was wearing a warrior’s arm band and several arm tattoos in strange geometrical designs. ‘What are you looking at?’ barked the woman.

  ‘Apologies,’ said Vita. ‘I admire your tattoos.’

  ‘They are not for you to admire,’ she said. ‘And you are not allowed to do laundry in this part of the river.’

  Vita gazed down at the small sand bank. A collection of footprints suggested it was often used for such things.

  ‘Apologies,’ said Vita. She gathered up her things.

  ‘You speak with an accent,’ said the woman. ‘A Roman one.’ The woman spat on the ground beside Vita’s sandal.

  Vita stared at the disgusting expulsion for several moments, unsure of what to do. ‘I have kin in the north,’ Vita said at last.

  ‘Which tribe?’

  ‘The Caledonii.’

  The woman spat again—this time beside Vita’s other sandal. Vita’s heart was beating. She felt as if she had just come upon a bear in the forest. She kept her eyes averted to the ground, waiting for the creature to pass.

  Eventually the woman left her alone,
thank the gods, and Vita gathered her clothes and returned to the house.

  * * *

  The encounter had disturbed her enough to make her fear going into the settlement, so she busied herself cleaning and organising the small space until Ven returned that evening.

  ‘I have missed you,’ she said, embracing him.

  ‘Not half as much as I have missed you,’ he said. He searched her eyes. ‘There is something wrong. Are you all right?’

  ‘A woman found me beside the river today. She told me I could not do my laundry there. I think she wished to fight.’

  ‘A tall blonde woman?’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘The wife of the former leader of this settlement. She lost her husband very recently in a skirmish with the Romans. I am sorry, I should have warned you. There are some members of this settlement who may be hostile to you at first. They know you are under my protection, however, and they will not harm you. They will come to care for you in time. Once earned, a Brigante’s affection is for ever.’

  He pulled her to him and lifted her skirt. ‘Ven!’ she gasped.

  ‘I have been thinking about you all day.’

  ‘And I you,’ she said. She felt his hands beneath her loincloth, then the gentle heat of his fingers caressing her softly and all her worries seemed to melt away.

  ‘You have been thinking about me,’ he remarked. A deep, growling sound hummed inside his throat and he pressed her against the wall.

  She offered no resistance as he kissed down the front of her neck, then lifted her tunic above her breasts. ‘There are so many parts of you I have not yet kissed.’

  ‘You must get to work in that case,’ she said. Her laugh became a moan as his mouth moved on to her breast.

  She had nothing to which to compare the sensation. Pleasure radiated throughout her body as he softly kissed her flesh.

  ‘This is divine,’ she said.

  ‘This is just the beginning.’

  He began to caress her nipple with his tongue—slowly, at first, so she could become accustomed to the sensation, then with increasing speed.