The Warrior's Bride Prize

by Jenni Fletcher

  Was that what was bothering her? Was that why she was acting so strangely—because she was nervous about going to bed with him? Or, worse still, didn’t she want to? They hadn’t kissed, had barely even touched since the wedding and they’d never discussed the subject, although he’d thought they’d been getting closer again. Now, as much as he wanted to carry her off to bed, quite desperately in fact, he wasn’t going to force his attentions on her just because they were married. He couldn’t presume to know anything about her feelings and apparently she wasn’t going to tell him anything about them either, not when she was making small talk about Ario.

  The thought was enough to put him off his dinner, but she seemed to be watching expectantly, waiting for him to start eating.

  Reluctantly, he took a mouthful of stew and then groaned. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so mouth-wateringly succulent in his whole life. It was all he could do not to lift the bowl to his lips and guzzle the rest.

  ‘It tastes even better than it smells.’ He scooped up a few more mouthfuls eagerly.

  Her smile held a hint of pride. ‘Try dipping the bread.’

  Obediently, he tore off a piece and dunked. It tasted even better. ‘This is delicious. If we weren’t already married, I’d ask you again just for your cooking. Your husband was a fool.’

  Her smile faded instantly and he put the bread down again, afraid that he’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that. I know that you’re still grieving...’

  ‘I’m not.’ She jerked her chin up abruptly. ‘That is, I did grieve for him, but a long time ago. Not any more.’

  He frowned slightly. ‘I thought you said he only died two months ago?’

  ‘He did, but our marriage was over years before that.’ She swallowed, as if the words were hard for her to say. ‘You should know that he thought I was unfaithful. He thought that Julia wasn’t his daughter. That’s why he disinherited us both.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask if it was true?’ Dark eyelashes quivered though she kept her chin firmly in the air.

  ‘No.’ He held on to her gaze intently. ‘I think that would be an insult to both of us.’

  The eyelashes fluttered more rapidly, as if she were taken aback by his answer. ‘But don’t you want to know why he thought so?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to tell me.’ He paused. ‘Did you love him?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice sounded strained. ‘I tried to, but...no. In the end I disliked him intensely, though I know that’s a terrible thing to say about my own husband.’

  ‘That depends on the husband.’ He felt an inappropriate sense of elation at the words and then frowned again. ‘You told me once that he was a good man.’

  ‘He was, or at least he was kind to me at first. We lived as brother and sister for the first few years, but then I got older and we had Julia and things changed. He let other people change his mind about me. He became angry and cruel.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ He tried to control his own anger.

  ‘Not physically, but he made my life miserable. That’s why I was so scared of marrying Scaevola, of living with a man like that again.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to be scared any more. And you don’t need to worry about being disinherited again either. I have a good amount saved in the legion stronghold at Coria. It’s not a fortune, but it’s enough for you and Julia to be independent. I’ve left instructions in case anything happens to me.’

  She shook her head slightly. ‘You shouldn’t say that.’

  ‘It’s just a precaution. Speaking of which, I’ll make sure there’s a guard stationed in the atrium at night from tomorrow, just for while I’m away.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of your being alone here without even a maid.’

  ‘Not that. You mean you’re leaving so soon?’

  ‘At first light. Under the circumstances, it’s better to go sooner than later.’

  ‘With how many men?’

  ‘Four turmae. That’s more than a hundred riders, Ario included, and we’re only going to take a look around. There won’t be any fighting if we can help it.’

  ‘Just don’t take any unnecessary risks.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of doing so, especially now.’ He reached a hand out, rubbing his knuckles gently across her cheek as she drew in a ragged-sounding breath.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  ‘What about you?’ He skimmed his thumb lightly across the bridge of her nose. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Yes. There’s lots to be done here. Don’t think about me.’

  He turned his hand over and drew a red tendril away from her face. How could he say that he couldn’t help but think about her, that ever since they’d met he’d done little else? Her round face looked even more beautiful in the moonlight, her earlier nervousness replaced with concern. She looked as if she truly cared about whether or not he came back. How ironic that now, for the first time in all the weeks he’d been asking Nerva to let him lead a patrol, he didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with her. His groin stirred again at the thought. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t have either the time or leisure to become nervous about sleeping with him. In fact, if it was speed he wanted, then that shouldn’t be a problem. He already felt close to bursting.

  Not that he wanted their first encounter to be in a courtyard, he admonished himself. He’d rather carry her to bed first and start their marriage properly. There would be time for more imaginative ideas later. They’d have to find more furniture from somewhere...

  He slid his hand down and around the back of her neck and then stopped, struck by the distinct feeling that something wasn’t right. She already seemed nervous again—tense, even—the muscles in her neck palpitating beneath his fingertips. Was it the marriage bed itself she felt tense about? Or the idea of him in it? From what she’d just told him, her married life had been a long way from happy. He’d stopped her from explaining the reasons why her husband had accused her of infidelity, but perhaps he shouldn’t have. Now, too late, he had the distinct suspicion that she’d wanted to tell him, as if she’d needed to almost, as if, even though she wasn’t grieving, she was still recovering from the after-effects of her marriage. Perhaps she needed time to recover from those. Which meant that he couldn’t rush her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  He wondered if it were too late to visit the frigidarium...

  ‘Marius?’ She looked strangely resolute all of a sudden. ‘There’s something I need to tell you...’

  * * *

  ‘There’s only one bed.’

  They weren’t the words she’d intended to say. They weren’t even the words she was thinking of, though she supposed some part of her brain must have been thinking about bed—how could it not when he’d been looking at her so intently?—but they definitely weren’t part of the speech she’d been planning.

  She’d spent the afternoon preparing both the house and herself, reciting the words over and over in her mind until she knew them by heart. She’d made a promising start, she’d thought, telling him the truth about her marriage to Julius, but it was still only a small part of the whole story. Ironically, he’d stopped her from telling the rest, saying he only wanted to know if she wanted to tell him. Now she almost felt angry. Why did he have to be so honourable all of the time? Why couldn’t he just demand to know the truth?

  ‘Ah.’ He looked faintly surprised by her statement, too. ‘Ario did say there wasn’t much furniture.’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed, wondering what on earth had possessed her to start a conversation about their sleeping arrangements now. With one bed, it wasn’t as if they had many options, but if they were going to share it then she definitely had to s
peak up first!

  ‘It’s not very big.’ Her nerve failed her again. ‘But I’ve made it up ready...for you.’

  ‘Just for me?’ His eyes seemed even darker than the dusk around them. ‘No, you take it. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head adamantly. Coward as she was, she wasn’t going to make him suffer for it. ‘I can’t let you do that, especially if you’re riding north in the morning.’

  ‘I insist.’

  She chewed her lip. Clearly he wasn’t going to back down. In which case, she’d have to try something else. Another lie to make matters worse... She stood up and stretched her arms out to the sides, feigning a yawn. ‘In that case, we ought to share it. It’s big enough and we’re both tired. I know I am.’ Another yawn for good measure. ‘I’m sure I could sleep for a week.’

  ‘Is that so?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice suddenly.

  ‘Yes. I’ll just clean up first.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No.’ She picked up a jug of water and doused the fire, avoiding his gaze as studiously as she had when he’d first arrived and she’d been building herself up to her speech. ‘It won’t take me long. You go ahead.’

  ‘Very well.’ He picked up a lantern in one hand and his wine in the other. ‘Which room?’

  ‘That one.’ She pointed quickly over her shoulder, waiting for him to close the door before smacking a hand to her forehead and rebuking herself for cowardice. Why hadn’t she told him? It had been the perfect opportunity. They’d been alone with no danger of interruptions, for once, and he’d been in a relaxed mood, one she’d done her best to bolster with food and wine. There had even been a feeling of intimacy sitting on the wall beside him, close enough that all her nerve endings had seemed to positively throb with awareness. There had been a strange look on his face, too, when she’d admitted that she hadn’t loved Julius, one almost like relief, as if he’d been pleased by the fact. She should have told him everything right then, but she’d shied away at the last moment, telling herself the timing still wasn’t right. After all, he was leaving at first light, so he’d said, heading into enemy territory for who knew how long, and she hadn’t wanted him to leave on an argument.

  She washed the bowls out, gratified to find his was empty, and then made her way through to the cubicula. It wasn’t the biggest, but it was the most habitable of all the bedrooms, with a tattered-looking chair, a scratched chest and a medium-sized bed pushed up against the wall. With any luck, Marius would be in there already. If he was already asleep, then she’d only have to crawl in beside him...

  She stopped in the doorway. Not only was he not in bed asleep, but he was sitting wide awake and half-naked on the edge, the muscles of his torso rippling as he bent over to pull off his boots, the light from her wobbling lantern making his skin seem to gleam in the shadows. Somehow, incredibly, his chest looked even broader without armour, almost alarmingly well defined, as if it were made of pure sculpted muscle. Slowly, she curled her fingers into her palms, resisting the impulse to reach over and find out.

  She cleared her throat instead, gesturing at the bed matter-of-factly. ‘I got some clean blankets from the quartermaster.’

  ‘So I see.’ He glanced upwards, his eyes hooded, before turning his attention back to his boots.

  ‘I couldn’t find a brazier.’ She felt the need to keep talking. ‘But there’s a wolfskin in case it gets too cold.’

  ‘We won’t freeze.’ He picked up his cup and drained the remainder of his wine in one swallow.

  ‘No... I suppose not.’

  She put her head down and made her way quickly across to the chest, extinguishing her lantern and removing her cloak as she went. In all honesty, cold was the last thing she was worried about. She had no idea what the real temperature was. The thought of sharing a bed with him made her feel as though she were standing next to a bonfire.

  She removed her hairpins and dragged a comb through her curls, trying to make them look neater, though long experience told her that was impossible. The copper ringlets simply refused to lie flat, tumbling about her shoulders in rampant disarray. If anything, her attempts at control only made them look wilder. Defeated, she put the comb down again and darted across to the bed, taking advantage of Marius’s distraction while he unfastened the string of his braccae to remove her stola and wriggle quickly under the blankets, sliding to the furthest side as close to the wall as possible.

  ‘Is that enough room for you?’ She rolled on to her shoulder, her back towards him, acutely aware that she was wearing only a thin linen tunica.

  ‘Too much.’ The bed dipped as he climbed in beside her. ‘You need some space, too.’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘No.’ His voice sounded as stern as it had the first time they’d met. ‘You’re not.’

  She gasped as a hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her back towards him.

  ‘I don’t want you to be crushed against the wall.’

  She swallowed, trying to ignore the ripple of desire that coursed through her body even after he pulled his hand away again, glad that she was facing in the opposite direction so that he couldn’t see her face. The bed was barely big enough for two people, but if she were going to be crushed by anything then she’d prefer it to be his chest. Its hard contours had pressed briefly against her back before he shifted away and she felt somewhat deprived without it.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded like somebody else’s. ‘How early did you say you were leaving again?’

  ‘Early. I’ll try not to wake you.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  She closed her eyes as he extinguished his own lantern, willing herself to sleep, though it was hard to concentrate on anything, even sleep, knowing he was so close beside her. She stretched her legs after a few minutes, trying to get more comfortable. If she could just relax, then maybe she could sleep, unlikely as the possibility seemed. Was he asleep? She held her breath, listening to the sound of his breathing, though it was impossible to tell. She hadn’t shared a bed with a man for five years, not since before Julia was born, and Julius had never slept in her room in any case. What did a sleeping man sound like? She felt as jittery and apprehensive as a virgin bride in bed for the first time with her new husband, although apparently hers had absolutely no intention of touching her.

  Why didn’t he touch her? The irrational thought entered her head and refused to go away. She didn’t want him to touch her, not tonight anyway, but why didn’t he? They were lying in bed together as man and wife, almost completely naked in her case, and in his...well, she wasn’t sure about his, but she’d heard the rustle of some kind of fabric before he’d climbed in. She wanted to touch him, but she had her own private reasons for not doing so. What were his? Had he felt so rebuffed simply because she’d said she was tired?

  She felt a shudder of ignominy. What if he simply wasn’t that attracted to her? What if she’d been imagining things all along? After all, he’d been the one who’d pulled away that first morning on the ramparts and she’d been the one who’d asked him to kiss her after she’d poured wine over Scaevola’s head. That was still their one and only kiss after more than a day of marriage! Shaming as the realisation was, it was yet another area in which their relationship was alarmingly one-sided. What if he didn’t really want her at all? What if...?

  The pressure of his hand on her hip stopped the thought in its tracks.

  ‘Livia?’ His lips were close to her ear, warming it with his breath. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was inhaling the scent of her hair. She’d washed it in rose-petal water for their wedding—would the scent still cling to it? She hoped so...

  ‘Yes?’ she answered before she could think better of it, holding her breath while his fingers slid gently along the curve of her thigh and then around, coming to rest between her legs.

  ‘When I
get back...’

  He didn’t finish the sentence, his lips drifting along the side of her throat as his hand continued its slow progress between her legs, upwards this time.

  When I get back... She arched herself backwards, moulding herself into the curve of his arms as the words sent a frisson of anticipation rippling along every nerve ending. They sounded like a promise, a vow, filling her mind with ideas...

  His hand and his lips stopped and she waited, every part of her straining towards him, though he didn’t move. He seemed to be waiting, too, though for what she had no idea. For her to touch him? But a wife couldn’t simply touch her husband, could she? She’d never even considered the idea with Julius and yet somehow her situation with Marius seemed completely different. Why couldn’t she touch him? Even if she shouldn’t...

  She ignored the last thought, unable to resist any longer, twisting around and coiling an arm around his neck as he lifted himself on to one arm and leaned over her, covering her body with his. She pushed upwards to meet it, pressing her breasts into his chest as he lowered his head towards hers, making a guttural sound that might have been her name or a groan, she didn’t care which, but which she answered with her mouth, finding his instinctively in the darkness.

  Their second kiss was just as all-consuming as the first, everything she remembered and more. She opened her lips eagerly and his tongue plundered inside, exploring every last part of her mouth as if he were still hungry after their meal, filling her body with an aching fervour that seemed to build in her abdomen and radiate outwards. He wanted her. The thought brought with it a heady combination of triumph and vindication. Their bodies were pressed so closely together that his ardour was more than abundantly obvious. Quite powerfully so, she realised, somewhat alarmed by the pressure of his manhood between her legs. He definitely wasn’t wearing any undergarments.