by Aidan, Nadia
Centurion’s Honor
Nadia Aidan
Book one in the Imperial Desires series.
Daughter of the conquered ruler of Siga, forced to submit to Roman rule over her homeland, Anan Septinius has nothing but contempt for the Romans who now occupy her land and her home. Until she comes face-to-face with two centurions who stir her like no other.
After surviving a nearly career-ending scandal, centurions Cassius and Titus are relegated to a remote post in the barbaric land of Siga to serve as personal guard to Anan Septinius. Dreading the menial task of guarding some foreign queen, they arrive anticipating a bitter, old widow but Anan is not at all what they’d expected. They’re greeted by a woman who is as beautiful as she is intelligent, whose loathing for them is only rivaled by the long-denied desires burning in her gaze whenever she looks their way.
They are bitter enemies, but in a harsh land a forbidden passion flares between the trio, one that has the power to heal their ravaged souls if it doesn’t destroy them first.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Centurion’s Honor
ISBN 9781419933448
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Centurion’s Honor Copyright © 2011 Nadia Aidan
Edited by Jillian Bell
Cover art by Dar Albert
Electronic book publication March 2011
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Centurion’s Honor
Nadia Aidan
Chapter One
Cassius entered the expansive villa, his face twisted into an indomitable frown.
One mistake.
He’d made one mistake and it had almost cost him dearly. It had certainly jeopardized his position and his prestige in the eyes of his commander.
That thought alone coiled his belly into knots of frustration even as he followed behind the slave girl who quietly led him, along with his second-in-command, Titus, to her mistress.
One mistake he’d made, no matter that it had been a foolish one, but were there not menial labors in Rome he could do? Did General Sextus have to send him to the bowels of the Roman Empire?
The province of Siga was a part of the Dahomey region, just southwesterly of Egypt. And it was overrun with—he glowered darkly—barbarians.
Those were the people who dwelled in the far reaches of the Empire.
The whole lot of them were wild, uncivilized heathens—brutes who resented the power of Rome and the emperor, its vast wealth and military dominance.
For his err, it had seen him dispatched from his legion with a small unit and sent to Siga, where for all purposes he was there to serve as a veritable caretaker.
If it could, his glower grew ever darker with thoughts of the woman who was now his duty.
Matron Anan Septinius—a Dahomey princess until Rome had conquered her land. With the death of her father, she’d been allowed to take on the title of queen as long as she agreed to take a Roman husband. By all accounts, she’d done as asked, until her husband’s death, until her stepson, the illegitimate progeny of her husband and one of their slaves, had seized power.
Since then, Siga had been beset with one barbarian raid after another—though none of the rebellious uprisings could be linked to Anan.
With a sigh, Cassius resigned himself to his fate. He’d been exiled to the dregs of the Empire to serve as caretaker to an apparently bitter queen. It was a humbling fate, the lowest he’d seen in his decorated military career that had spanned a decade.
“Domina Anan will see you now, Decurio.” The young girl bowed at the entrance to the dining room before scurrying off to another part of the villa.
Cassius stepped inside the shadowed room, acknowledging his current lot, even if he did not fully accept it—this ensuing year would be spent in this barbarian land, overseeing an impossible woman who undoubtedly wanted Roman soldiers in her home even less than they wanted to be there.
One mistake had cost him dearly.
One mistake had brought him to this—to this place, to this shame.
It was one mistake he’d remember forever, one he’d always regret.
Anan looked up at the sound of sandaled feet striking hard earth. She smelled them before they stepped from the shadows into the light of the room.
Sweat and masculine dominance clung to them, dripping from their pores.
They introduced themselves and she nodded in response, but she did not rise to greet them. That would have been beneath her. A queen of her station. A Roman matron—domina of her lands. While they were nothing but common soldiers, albeit handsome ones, she thought begrudgingly.
The centurion with raven black hair was speaking directly to her now, and his sapphire gaze snared Anan, spinning its web around her until she was nearly breathless. That was unexpected, the curious heat raking inside her belly even more so.
She tore her gaze from the man who’d introduced himself as Cassius Tibernus, Decurio of the unit assigned to her villa. Anan’s attention desperately searched out his comrade instead. His surname was Titus, his paterfamilias name had escaped her. Yet once again she found herself drowning, this time in a pool of emerald green as she stared at him. His gaze wasn’t as intense, nor as spiteful, but it heated her from the inside out, it mesmerized her just as surely as the other’s.
Her heart hammered a pulsing staccato as steady and hard as the drummers beat at the festival of Akhnat, and a combination of unwelcome feminine awareness and disdain pounded through her.
Romans.
She cursed their names, their presence. She needed no personal guard, and that they insulted her intelligence by making themselves out to be her protectors caused her entire body to vibrate with anger. That they were handsome, that they were young, seemingly the very age of her spoiled and aggravating stepson, did not assuage her anger in the least.
These Romans, with their haughty gazes and arrogant faces, served only to remind her of their presence in her home, her land, the subjugation they’d inflicted upon her and her people. Their virile physiques and golden beauty served only to remind her of another fact she tried not to dwell upon, but could not ignore with their domineering visages assaulting her.
How much time had passed since she’d lain with a man, since she’d felt the hair-roughened skin of a male against hers, since she’d taken a living, breathing man inside her body? She could not recall. Just as she could not blame the Romans for her celibacy, but how she longed to. Yet it was not their fault her husband was no longer alive, although he had touched her pro
bably less when he’d been alive than he did now in death.
She took a sip of wine, her hand steady, even as her insides shook. Cassius, Titus, their gazes followed her every movement, enraptured by her delicate grasp of the chalice in her hand, captivated by her lips as they moved along the golden rim. It was amusing. They watched her out of wariness, as if she would somehow wage another rebellion from her position on her couch, because she knew it was certainly not her youthful beauty or delicate physique that had them so enamored, because she was in possession of neither.
“Matron Anan Septin—”
“Anan. I do not go by my Roman title.” She had not used it since before her husband’s death. “And since you are not a slave, domina is not appropriate.” Her smile was slight. “For you and your centurions, it is simply Anan.” That earned her a frown from Cassius, who undoubtedly was uncomfortable with such familiarity. A small grin tugged at her lips, silently mocking the Roman and his apparent rigid sense of formality. The offer to use her given name was not done for their benefit, she simply despised her Roman title more than anything else. She was not Roman and would not be called in the manner of such.
“Anan.” Cassius cleared his throat. “I thank you for hospitality in sheltering my unit.”
“You are most welcome in my home.” Anan imagined that came out as strained to their ears as it was to her own. She would welcome a horde of cobras before she’d ever be happy to see another Roman in her home. But what choice did she have?
“Again, I thank you,” Cassius said. “And while my unit is here, I assure you we will see to your protection and personal safety…”
As she listened to him drone on, she understood then why they’d sought council with her upon their arrival. Custom suggested a more formal introduction to her household on the morning after their arrival. She’d been surprised when they’d wished to speak with her so soon, but she’d entertained their request because it was simply wiser.
Her father had always dealt with the Romans harshly, and where had that gotten him? Slaughtered by the hands of the foreigners—his kingdom overrun with them, to be parceled off by the arrogant brutes. She’d learned such beasts were best placated with civility and courtesy—so Anan had received them graciously into her home as guests, and then allowed them to interrupt her morning meal.
She’d allow him to interrupt her morning meal, but insult her intelligence, she would not. Anan held up her hand to halt his next words. He’d wanted to speak with her immediately so he could assert his authority and make it clear as to what was expected of her while his unit was there. She’d heard enough. In Rome, women did not command much respect, but this was not Rome, not entirely. Romans occupied Dahomey, but this was still her homeland.
She would be gracious to the Romans, she would suffer the humiliation of having them in her home, but she refused to pretend. It would be better to dispatch all pretense now so there would be no doubt of their feelings and where they all stood.
“Let us not pretend, Decurio. You have been sent to tame these wild lands and spy upon me in the event that I am behind these raids on my stepson’s land.”
Cassius’ glare was dark, his blue eyes swirling with gray. She would not be deterred. She’d stared into eyes far more sinister and menacing than that of this young centurion’s.
“I am no fool. You have not been sent to protect me from some Roman-contrived enemy. Truly, I would not be surprised if under this guise of protecting me you were actually here to bring a treacherous end to my very existence.”
That earned her a glare of outrage. “Do you question my honor, the honor of my men?”
Anan did not mistake the step he took toward her. She rose from the couch, her stance wide.
“You are a Roman. You have no honor.”
“And you are a barbarian queen, bitter because she has no land, no husband and no children.”
Anan gasped, the sting of his words had her reeling as if he’d slapped her face.
“Get out,” she commanded through clenched teeth.
Her anger ratcheted higher when he did not move a muscle. “I have been commanded to guard your person and your home until further notice, and this is where I shall stay.”
She narrowed her gaze. Anan knew she could not force him from her home, any more than she could force him from her land. She could force him from her dining room, but she decided she was no longer hungry.
She gathered herself to her full height and stormed out, but not before she cursed him in her native tongue.
As she stomped through the hallway of her villa, she cursed the centurion many more times in her head.
She did not require a personal guard, let alone one that invaded her home under the guise of protecting her, whose primary intent was to spy upon her every move, whose hidden motive may be to ultimately kill her.
Romans.
She hated them, loathed them.
Yet she knew from many years of dealing with them, she would not have them out of her villa and out of her country until they were ready to leave.
It was best to be gracious, which was why she’d not protested when they sought residence inside her home. She saw it as a measure in her favor. At the least, she could observe them just as efficiently as they now “observed” her.
But with the Decurio’s stinging words she regretted allowing such a thing, and resentment welled up inside her once again. They would be in her quarters, partaking of her hospitality. They would be within her home, close to her own private chambers.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the image of golden flesh tanned from the blaze of the sun and eyes as clear as the sea joined by those as dazzling as emeralds. Her breasts were suddenly heavier, her nipples dragging across the fine wool of her stola. The gods cursed her. Surely they did.
To send Roman soldiers to her home, to have her womanhood grow moist with passion for them, even the one who’d insulted her? They were beneath her in every way and they were Romans. Yet, her body did not seem to care, nor did the slick juices filling up inside her seem to either.
Romans.
She cursed them all over again.
She hated them.
She loathed them.
But she could not do away with them, just as she could not seem to bring an end to her apparent physical desire for them, so she would simply be forced to deal with the cursed centurions—for now.
Roman dog.
The slur she’d issued echoed in his head. The tongue was not entirely familiar to him, but he knew the curses of her language.
Cassius glared at the woman who swept out of the dining room, effectively dismissing him and his second-in-command.
Matron Anan Septinius. He spat her name in his head, with disdain, with anger, thinking of some choice slurs for her as well.
The Dahomey princess would have been lucky to call herself a Roman, but she was not Roman, though her husband had been, and thus she was afforded the same courtesies as any Roman matron, even if she eschewed them, even if she’d secretly waged a rebellion to remove the Roman presence from her province. Although no one could prove her involvement.
Hence the main reason why he was there with a small unit of men—to watch her closely and dispatch her if she was a traitor, to protect her from whoever did raid these lands, if it wasn’t her.
“That went well,” Titus muttered.
Cassius remained silent. Anan did not want the Romans there. Cassius did not want to be there. That was probably the only point of agreement they shared.
She hated them.
He hated her—her and her backward land.
They would get along just fine, he thought snidely.
“Well at least the rumors did not prove false—she is quite lovely,” Titus tried again, attempting to revive the spirits of a room that had grown deadly silent.
That statement earned Titus a sharp glare and in Cassius’ mind did not help his spirits in the least.
Lovely? He bit back a snort until Anan’s
copper-hued skin and golden eyes shimmered before him, forcing Cassius to also bite back a groan. Lovely somehow did not pay homage to the exotic beauty of the matriarch. That Anan was comely, he could not deny, nor could his body seem to. That she was a barbarian bitch he could not deny either. His body had no reaction to that either way.
Cassius shrugged. “She is passable.” He ignored Titus’ chuckle.
“You may not like her, but you cannot deny such things.”
Cassius could not, but neither would he nurture Titus’ longings for the woman. He could hear the appreciation in his voice, and he frowned at that. A woman such as Anan was forbidden to them for so many reasons—the most important being that if they were to do their duty, they could not be distracted.
The other reason was far more obvious—that Anan would simply not want them. If the rumors were true she’d barely suffered the touch of her Roman husband.
“You’re a fool if you think she will have you,” Cassius said to Titus as he made his way out of the dining room toward the quarters Anan had furnished for him and his second-in-command. She had actually provided quarters to house his entire unit in a separate wing of her villa. It was a gracious gesture. He did not get the impression Anan was a gracious woman.
“Then I am a fool, because she is the most pleasing thing I’ve seen since leaving the countryside.”
Cassius speared him with his gaze.
“Besides you, of course,” added Titus with a wickedly handsome smirk. “And if rumor holds, she hasn’t had anyone in quite some time.” Titus wriggled his brows.
“I assure you she is not so desperate to lie with a Roman, and a common soldier at that,” Cassius said with a snort before flashing Titus a crooked grin.
The moment alone afforded them a measure of privacy they’d not had in a while and he touched Titus gently along his forearm, a fleeting gesture of intimacy.