Barbarian's Soul: A Historical Romance

by Joan Kayse

  And the kiss.

  Adria frowned. That was a different sort of feeling, one that even now stirred the ache into a ball of heat low in her belly. Gods, his lips were commanding, firm, unyielding, much as the man himself, yet he had not been harsh. She’d wanted more, had wanted to fall into the searing kiss, explore the heat of his mouth, find an outlet for the desire it ignited.

  The fact that he could stir her in such a manner was a mystery Adria’s muddled mind fought to understand. She had no great experience with men, not of the physical sort past the inept efforts of the fuller’s son and the occasional appreciation of a well-formed male. Bran’s hands had held purpose, been sure as if he knew where she needed to be touched and when. She closed her eyes at the memory of his palm cradling her head, of the warmth of his hands on her arms.

  Oh, she was not ignorant. Almost every man she’d ever encountered was driven by their base needs, supported by other attributes—greed, ego, power—she manipulated to her purpose. She matched wits with them every day in the Forum. But Bran? Bran had stirred a desire deep in her core for more knowledge. For her own type of lessons.

  From the kitchen, Adria heard Menw sending the children off for naps. Again, part of the routine she very much appreciated. Most days she spent planning how to evade Tiege and Bran. She glanced again at his workshop, took an unsteady breath. Perhaps today she would confront one of them.

  Adria pushed up from the grass and walked toward the building. A movement in the doorway caught her eye. She bit back a smile. Had her fierce captor been spying on her?

  She approached with caution, eased along the wall until she stood just outside the opening. She could hear Bran muttering in his native tongue only to curse in Latin when a loud crash sounded.

  Cyclops gave an irritated bleat.

  “Silence, you mangy beast!” Bran snarled, “Like the thief, you’re fortunate to have a place to sleep!”

  ***

  “A goat? You would compare me to a goat?”

  Bran braced his hands on the table. Adria chewed on her lip as the muscles glided beneath the skin of his shoulders. She saw the sideways glare he gave her, intimidating despite its lack of directness.

  “Woman, do not mock me.”

  “Mock you?” Adria tsked. “I am the one you called a goat.”

  “I did not...” he bit his tongue and inhaled and blew the breath out. “Be done with your censure so that I may get to my work.”

  Adria took a tentative step through the door. The air smelled of smoke but the brazier on the table had gone cold. She scanned the interior of the building. It was larger than the exterior implied. There were two good sized stalls that once might have held horses or cattle. A trio of ropes made a barrier to one of them where a brown-and-white goat chewed her cud, regarding her with bored indifference.

  The remainder of the stable had been transformed into a work area. Baskets of raw ore lined the walls along with a small pile of coal for three different-sized braziers. Tools of various types were scattered over a stone-topped table. A golden necklace studded with amber was draped over a small, marble block set on the table.

  She stared at Bran’s back . Why was she here? What in Zeus’ name had possessed her to seek him out?

  Reason certainly had played no role in her impulsive decision. Uncertainty, tension and scheming to escape had kept her on edge before, but last eve? Last eve he had been dangerous, setting her body afire, awakening a curious hunger that would not be diminished.

  It had been so much easier viewing Bran as a ruthless, overbearing cretin. She knew how to handle those. The streets of Rome were filled to overflowing with self-serving, manipulative, and rotten people. Those people cared only for themselves and their interests and used others in any way they needed to achieve their goals.

  Bran had been just like them. Or so she’d thought. But then she’d taken a step into his life with her questions and found a different man. The anger buried in his words as he talked about his training. The thread of anguish in his voice when he’d spoken of the gladiatrix. The want, the need, the passion beneath his kiss.

  She closed her eyes against a wave of pure need. “Censure? I don’t understand.”

  Bran turned and glowered. Adria swallowed. He was still an imposing figure, a barbarian, a gladiator, an ex-slave. He was also a man caring for three orphaned children, who had built a home for them, worked to provide them with food. A man whose kiss had kindled within her a need so strong she thought she might die if she did not taste him again.

  How that was possible in a matter of only a few days?

  What in the name of the gods was she doing? A mistake. It surely was a mistake to risk the fates. What would he think of her timid advance, when he’d been with so many more experienced women?

  “Did you not come here to gloat and point out that I broke my vow?”

  “Vow?” Gods, she sounded like a simpleton.

  Bran’s eyes glittered like green fire. “What game do you play, Adria?”

  Her temper sparked, displacing her trepidation. “You accuse me again? What manner of crime this time?” Adria blew out a breath, the pressure in her chest lessening a degree. This was good. She understood confrontation. She could take the crazed impulses that had led her here and put them to more useful purpose.

  Bran rolled his eyes. “You know well of what I speak. I laid hands on you when I told you I would not.”

  Adria crossed her arms against the jittering in her stomach. “Your words, as I recall—and my memory is quite clear—were that you bestow your virile charms only to those who are willing.” Adria grit her teeth against the urge to call him an imbecile. She forced herself instead to hold his gaze and took another step into the room. How arrogant of him to think she was so weak minded as to be lured by some charm he thought he possessed. “Did it appear I was unwilling?”

  Instead of quenching the simmering heat in her blood, the verbal sparring only heightened it.

  A stunned look crossed his face before a smirk replaced it.

  “Ah, I understand now.”

  Adria frowned. “What do you understand?”

  Bran walked to the largest brazier and piled coal on it. “You think to use my baser needs to soften my resolve.” He struck a flint to some kindling, made a tsking sound. “I’ve already told you, thief, that a woman who comes to my bed, comes by her own choice. Offering me your body now, after all your misplaced protestations of your virtue, will not change your situation. You will remain as nursemaid until I say otherwise.”

  It was Adria’s turn to be stunned. It did not take her long to find her tongue. “You arrogant ass!” Adria circled the table so that she could face him, no thought given that her only escape route was now blocked. “How dare you! I did not ask to be kissed!”

  “Nor did you refuse,” he answered, just as hotly.

  No, she had not. Her response to his kiss had shaken her. She’d felt a connection so deep, so filled with rightness at his touch that she could have done nothing else. It made no sense and it both scared and intrigued her enough to seek him out. Now he would make her feel like a wanton? She was such a fool.

  “Do you think you are the only man I’ve ever kissed?” Adria reached down into a basket and picked up a lump of coal and threw it at him. Her temper soared as he dipped his shoulder, the coal sailing past him.

  She grabbed two more pieces. “I’ve kissed dozens of men,” she said, lobbing the coal at his head where it glanced off his forehead. “Because I wished to. And all of them did the deed better than your pitiful effort.” She continued her advance as Bran took a step backwards.

  Bran twisted his body away to evade the last projectile. Pleased when he took another step backward, Adria paused and watched as his heel rolled on a length of iron protruding from beneath the work table. With a loud thud, the barbarian sprawled onto his back.

  ***

  The hard-packed earth of the stable barely registered in Bran’s mind. His entire focus lay
on the black-haired beauty advancing on him like a wild beast. His words, meant to distance her and ease his own stab of guilt, instead had brought temper into her eyes and that enticing flush to her cheeks. The desire he’d managed to tamp down roared to life.

  He raised a hand, batting away another chunk of precious coal. She seemed not to notice, stalking forward like a warrior goddess. His eyes narrowed. He’d never been defeated by a foe before and he would not now. When she got within a foot’s width of where he lay, Bran lifted his legs, caught one of hers between his ankles and twisted.

  Bran took the brunt of her tumble, caught her against his chest, wrapped his arms around her to save her head from hitting the ground. For a moment, shock left her motionless, allowed him to enjoy the feel of her lithe body stretched along his, every soft curve matching hard muscle. Her breasts, plump and firm, pressed against him, nipples pebbled tight through the thin cloth of her tunica, pressed like twin tips of a blade into his chest.

  She gasped and brought her hands up to his shoulders to push away but Bran tightened his hold. A slight increase in pressure kept her legs trapped between his. Both of his hands, splayed against her squirming rump kept her woman’s cleft positioned snugly against his groin. His cock approved.

  “Let. Me. Up. You bastard!” she said through clenched teeth, struggling futilely against his hold.

  Bran bit back a groan of pleasure as her futile movements rubbed against his erection. Adria ceased her struggles when he shifted against her. Through half-closed lids he watched the play of emotions cross her face: anger, surprise, curiosity, and when her eyes darkened to the color of royal purple, desire.

  That mouth that he loved so well, was only a breath away. His voice was rough when he whispered, “Adria.”

  Adria raised her head, startled as much as he that he’d used her proper name. She stared at him, her breath quickening when he shifted his hips. That flush of heat spread along her neck. Bran could feel her heart beating erratically.

  “Adria,” he repeated. “Are you unwilling?”

  For a long moment she said nothing, just looked at him. He would not force her. For all the things he was, he would not force a woman. Bran found himself holding his breath, waiting for her reply. Wondered how he would survive if she said no. His own pulse leapt as her expression settled into one of decision. His breath caught in his throat when she signaled her consent.

  Bran guided her mouth to his for a quick, searing kiss. His pleasure grew as she met him with equal fervor. He rolled them onto their sides, bringing her with him as he stood.

  “Not here,” he said between kisses. Gods, all that soft, warm skin. He wanted to nibble his way down her neck. Instead, with one smooth motion, he lifted her into his arms and strode into the unused stall. The sweet aroma of fresh hay mixed with Adria’s own sweet, musk scent, was a heady perfume that fueled Bran’s blood.

  He fumbled for a worn blanket kept draped on a peg. He pulled away from Adria’s embrace long enough to kneel and spread it over a mound of the grass. It should be silk or finely woven linen, he thought through lust-induced haze.

  “Bran?”

  Bran glanced over his shoulder. The sunlight from the stable door silhouetted Adria’s figure like a celestial apparition. She stood with her small hands clenching and unclenching before her, and for a moment the terrible thought that she might have changed her mind sliced through him.

  “Bran,” she repeated in a strained voice, “take off your tunic.”

  Relief flowed into a fiery ball at her words. “So eager?” He reached up and took her hands, guided her to her knees before him. He brushed an errant curl behind her ear, pleased when her eyes closed and she leaned her cheek against his palm. When she reached for the hem of his garment, he shackled both wrists with one of his hands. “No, Adria. I want to see you.”

  Adria met his gaze, her boldness firing his desire. She sat back on her heels and with tentative hands began to untie the corded belt around her waist. Bran brushed her fingers aside and when the knot proved difficult, broke it with his bare hands.

  Bran skimmed his hands along the sweet curve of her neck. Dagda, her skin was so soft, so warm. Did she tremble from the cold or from his touch? He followed along her shoulders and slipped beneath the sleeves, taking the material with him, baring her to the waist.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, devoured the sight of those full, heavy globes thrust high by shoulders drawn back in that proud way so natural to her. They were a sight to behold, dusky-rose tips taut with arousal. Ripe for the taking.

  He laced his fingers through hers, held Adria’s hands down to her side as he leaned in and placed a fevered kiss along the sweeping column of her throat. She shivered and arched, giving him easier access. He trailed his lips downward until he latched onto one succulent tip, laving and scrapping the bud with his teeth. She squirmed but Bran held her still until he’d given the same attention to the other breast. The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile of satisfaction when she writhed and moaned low in her throat.

  “What are you doing?” Adria asked on a shaky breath.

  “Do you not like it?” he asked.

  Adria’s answer was a sharp intake of breath as he pushed her dress past her waist. Bran trailed more kisses down the flat plane of her stomach. He allowed her, hands still held by him, to lift up and shimmy out of the tunica.

  If her exposed breasts had been beautiful, then her naked torso was magnificent. Her slim waist flared out to rounded hips, down to firm, sleek thighs, a perfect frame for the nest of soft, black curls that covered her woman’s mound. With a firm tug, he urged her back to her knees.

  “Woman,” he growled. “Show me all of you.”

  Confusion creased her brow until he guided her to lie back on the blanket. Bran kneed her limbs apart, exposed her sweet folds for his hungry perusal. Adria tried to close them but he would not allow it. He ran his hands along the velvet flesh of her inner thighs, wanting to touch all of her at once.

  But he knew where he would begin.

  Using his right hand he palmed her, seeking and finding the sensitive nub buried in the nest of curls. He circled and stroked, reveling in her mewling protest.

  “Barbarian, no one has touched me in such a manner,” she said on an inhaled breath.

  He looked at her. “Does it displease you?”

  Adria licked her lips, searched his face.

  What did she see? Did she see a barbarian? A slave? A gladiator bearing the weight of souls? Or did she see a man?

  “No...no, it does not displease me...Bran.”

  Gods, how he loved hearing his name on her lips, each time it sent a shaft of possessiveness arrowing through him. Mine, his fevered mind shouted.

  It was taking every ounce of restraint he had not to bury his shaft between her folds. But he wanted her ready for his cock, hot and sweet. Continuing his torment with his thumb, Bran inserted one finger into her hot sheath. Gods, she was tight and so wet—for him. In and out he stroked, Adria’s hips arched upward, seeking release which he denied her, withdrawing before she attained her pleasure. Twisting, Adria moved to sit up, clawed for his arms. Bran shifted and once again caught both her wrists in one hand, pinning her arms over her head.

  He paused and studied her flushed cheeks, her panting breaths and the wild glaze of her eyes blending with a measure of the spirit that never retreated. Another moment more and he would be beyond the point of stopping. But he had to know.

  “Adria.” He shook her wrists to focus her attention on him. “Adria, are you willing?”

  Her mouth fell open, incredulous. “For the love of Hera, I am past willing! Are you unable to complete the task?”

  Bran narrowed his eyes at the barb but held her gaze as he swept his tunic free. He took craven delight when her eyes widened at the sight of his erect member jutting and straining. He covered her with his body, positioned the tip of his cock at the opening of her sheath. She was wet and hot and he could hold back no longer.
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  He pressed against her opening and her comment of never having been touched before sprang to his mind. Was she a virgin? The thought that he might be the first filled him with possessive pleasure. With depth of will, Bran held himself back, proceeded with caution despite the feeling he’d go mad if he wasn’t buried in her now.

  Adria thrust her hips upward and moaned low in her throat. “Barbarian, you are so slow.”

  Bran gave her a tight smile. With one powerful thrust he buried himself deep, arching his back as her inner walls stretched against the invasion. He closed his eyes, paused to allow her time to adjust to his length. Adria had gone still but when she began to move beneath him, he cut all restraint. Bran shifted, began to move, slow strokes at first, his cock scraping against her sensitive mound with each thrust. A generous lover, he’d always made sure his partner found pleasure in their coupling but her soft panting cries began to hold a desperate plea and spurred him to a faster pace.

  In moments, Adria began to match his rhythm. She clamped her legs round his waist, so much sweeter than he’d imagined, and urged him deeper. Gods, she felt so good.

  So right.

  Mine.

  A fine sheen of perspiration covered them both and the sight of it glistening on Adria’s smooth skin nearly drove him mad. Bran held back against the urge to find his release. Not yet.

  “Now!” she said nearly cutting him in two when she bucked against him.

  Bran stopped in mid-thrust, his braced arms trembled. Adria’s dazed eyes, filled with fire and fury and heat, locked onto his and he held her gaze as he purposefully slowed the motion. The flush on Adria’s neck and face deepened and she dug her fingers into his arms, scoring his skin with her nails, the sweet pain stoking his passion.

  “Bran!” she moaned, threw her head back as her sheath caressed his shaft. Tremors shuddered through her and he felt the reverberation to his soul as he began to move again. They rode together, each thrust met by Adria with equal fervor. His focus narrowed to this one and only moment, this one woman. They rode together to a precipice, reached the edge of climax and tumbled over together. Adria sucked in a great breath, released it on a wordless moan, arched her back and clung to him as she cried out her release. Bran roared his own, his hot seed exploding deep within her womb.