by Sofia Grey
We sat around a huge wooden table eating honey cakes and drinking a light mead, as though we did this every day. I stayed quiet while Marc set out his trinkets and tokens, and I used the opportunity to assess our Saxon hosts: the warlord’s very young wife, Rowena, and her two ladies in waiting; her sister-in-law, and several female cousins and companions. The warlord himself, Widreth, was in Londinium taking part in a series of diplomatic talks with the southern tribes and would be back in a few days, in time for the midsummer festival. It all sounded very civilized. I glanced up to see an older woman joining us at the table, and Rowena was quick to introduce her mother-in-law, Hilde. She took a place at my side, staring at me intently. I felt my cheeks heating under her gaze.
“Forgive me. Your hair is an unusual shade.” The words for a Briton were left unsaid, but I guessed that’s what she meant.
I managed a respectful smile in return. “Thank you, my lady. My husband and I appreciate your hospitality. Tell me, have you been in this area a long time?”
“My son settled here three years ago, and we joined him on the following spring tide.” A flicker of sorrow darkened her eyes but the shadow quickly cleared. “My husband died in battle for this very homestead. We honor his memory with every day that passes.”
What she meant was, her husband’s raiding party had most likely slaughtered the previous occupants of this fine farm and taken possession of ripe, fertile land for themselves. They were brutal times. As a fellow historian of mine loved to say, they weren’t called the Dark Ages because of bad lighting.
Her smile looked friendly. “Do you know the area?”
“Yes.” I gestured at my husband. “We were last here two years ago, doing business with the village.” I took a sip of the mead and sought for an offhand tone to my voice. “There was a young man working in the smithy who had a fine hand for delicate work and jewelry. He sold us some pieces. I think his name was Flavius. Would you know of him?”
Her mocking laugh sent a chill through me. “The village is no more. Those who refused to accept my son’s rule were either executed or taken as slaves.”
Chapter Five
Jared
Released from his mistress’ quarters, Jared made his way through the corridors to the kitchen, to fetch her a snack. The cook made him wait long minutes, and he stood in the open doorway, gazing out at the fields beyond. More strangers arriving. A flash of corn-colored hair caught his eye, and he squinted to try and see them better. A young woman with a man’s arm around her, and with that bright hair she was most probably a visiting Saxon cousin. Not Lila. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
One day, it would be the ghardians. They wouldn’t abandon him. No matter how bad it was, he hung onto that thought, the single belief that sustained him through every day,
The tray was loaded with mead, rough bread, and stewed plums, and his stomach grumbled at the enticing smells. If Hilde had been pleased, she might share, otherwise he’d have to wait for supper with the other slaves. He repeated his mantra inside his head: My name is Jared, and I will be free again.
•●•
Hours later, Jared sat cross-legged on the floor of the stables, a filthy harness across his lap. He’d been restricted to indoor work since his last abortive attempt at escape, and reduced to wearing nothing but a loincloth. If he were still here come winter, he’d freeze to death.
The familiar smells of hay and horses, and the rhythmic pattern of wiping the harness all soothed him. He let his mind drift as he watched the clouds scudding across the sky. There weren’t enough of these short periods of solitude, when he could think freely and his hand stilled. He’d dreamed of Lila again.
The shadow across the floor made him start. He’d missed the quiet footsteps of the slave that stood in front of him. Damn. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down like that.
Connad, one of the kitchen slaves, smirked down at him. “You’re wanted in the hall. Better wash your hands first; the mistress wants to see you.”
He rose to his feet, being careful to place the harness on a bale of straw with the cleaned section on top. “Mistress Hilde?”
“Mistress Rowena.”
A shiver flitted down his spine. “Do you know why?”
“Maybe she thinks you’re eating too much.”
Jared scowled to cover his anxiety. He didn’t know why he bothered trying to make conversation. He’d learned the hard way about making friends with other slaves. Instead, he wiped the sweat and dust from his hands then straightened his back and headed for the door, just in time to see Connad throwing the harness to the floor and kicking it through the dust. Bastard.
Jared entered Mistress Rowena’s anteroom and paused before rapidly dropping his gaze to the floor. She stood alone, clad in a fine, gauzy shift. He focused on his feet and tried to breathe evenly, to keep his face blank of emotion. What the fuck was she doing? Anxiety cramped in his gut. He mustn’t show any fear.
“Wolf.” Her voice silky, she circled him with slow, measured footsteps, her crimson slippers shining like jewels against the dusty floorboards.
It was easy to stay silent. His mouth was dry to the point he couldn’t speak anyway.
“Look at me, Wolf.”
He raised his gaze to meet hers and saw a flush of color across her cheekbones, accentuating the freckles on her milky complexion. “Mistress.” He spoke as clearly as he could manage. “How may I serve you?”
She pressed one finger to her chin in a childlike gesture and smirked at him. This was going to be bad. It was hard to believe this girl was mistress of the hall and all the land beyond. Her husband, Hilde’s warlord son, had to be twenty years older at least, but he’d picked a beauty for a wife. Petite and slender, her flame red hair fell in thick waves to a tiny waist, and she flicked at it now, tossing it over her shoulder.
Jared swallowed. Only one reason leaped to mind to explain why she’d be semi-undressed with her hair down, and he prayed he was wrong.
“I’m hoping you will serve me.” Her green eyes sparked. “You serve my mother-in-law very well. I want the same.”
Keep your face blank. Time hung between them for a long moment. When he was sure of being able to speak, Jared tried a polite smile to soften his words. “You flatter me, mistress. But I’m sure I could not please you in the same way as my lord, your husband, does.”
She huffed and stepped closer, trailing one hand across his bare shoulder before inching down his chest. He stood rigid. “Wolf.” She eased nearer still, her mouth close to his ear. “My husband has little time for me.” She moved to the side, and then behind him again and brushed a lazy fingertip across his back. It was impossible not to flinch at her touch. She reminded him of a spider, a particularly poisonous one, weaving a web of silken lies and deception around him.
“Why does Hilde call you Wolf?” Her lips danced across his earlobe, hot breath on his neck.
“My eyes, mistress. One blue and one green. They remind her of a tame wolf her father kept.” God help him, he couldn’t show her how apprehensive he was.
“So it’s nothing to do with your stamina?” The web wrapped tighter, and he blinked, maintaining the empty stare at the floor. Every atom of him tried to figure out where she stood, what she planned.
The rustle of silk and a whispering sound as delicate fabric trickled over his bare foot made him want to throw up. Rowena’s shift lay puddled on the floor, just on the edge of his peripheral vision.
“You know, Wolf, I don’t like to force slaves to do things.” She dug a fingernail into the tender flesh beneath his armpit. Released. “I much prefer them to work willingly.” Another nail carved a fresh line over a recent weal on his back. “It’s all a matter of finding…” A scratch across the underside of his thrall ring, and he tensed, waiting. “The right incentive.”
He wasn’t sure if he expected another shard of pain. He would have preferred that to her draping herself over his back, teasing at him. She pushed a
t him to turn around. One hand snaked under his chin and lifted his face. He couldn’t avoid seeing her naked body.
Beautiful, yes, but her blazing eyes were cold and utterly soulless. Small pink nipples rose from generous breasts with more freckles scattered in wild abandon. A flat stomach. White thighs.
Look up, look up. With an effort he lifted his gaze.
“So you can either serve me,” she giggled at her own joke, “or I can scream for help.” She bent, scooped up the abandoned shift and lifted it to show him. “If I rip this, I can tell everyone how you turned on me, in my own room. You will be castrated and then strung up to die a slow death.”
His heart pounded so hard, she had to be able to hear it. Jesus Christ, she was insane. How did she think this could possibly work? He ran a thick tongue over dry lips. Did he have a choice?
“And, I think you should know something.” He stood mute. “My husband is an obscenely jealous man. If he thought for a second that you’d even seen me unclothed, let alone touched me, he would tear you apart with his bare hands.”
He was so screwed.
Chapter Six
Lila
I sat on a small three-legged stool and gazed up at Marc, who leaned against the wall of the room we’d been assigned. This villa would be an excellent starting point for our hunt as, in the absence of the village, it now served as the hub of the community. We had a little time before dinner, so we’d retired for a rest, and to compare notes.
“Tell me again, Lila.” Marc sank onto the stool beside me, his dark grey eyes intent on my face. “I know we’ve done this a dozen times, but talk me through it once more.”
“We’d been traveling west, heading back to Verulamium for our pickup, when my pony threw me and I sprained my ankle. We were close to the village, so Jared found us lodgings at the inn, and we stayed there for three days until I could ride again.” Three stolen days. “He made friends with the boy in the smithy, Flavius, and we took the opportunity to observe the villagers in the peace before the Saxon invasion. They had no idea how close the raiders were.” I swallowed as another memory sideswiped me. The innkeeper’s wife, Ness, was heavily pregnant and wouldn’t have been able to leave the village without putting her life at risk. What had happened to Ness?
“Flavius.” Marc’s gentle reminder focused me back on the story.
“Flavius had plans to join Ambrosius, the rebel leader holed up in the mountains. He spent hours talking to Jared about how Ambrosius would one day be King of Britain.”
I smiled at another memory. Jared scooping me in his arms and carrying me outside to a flower filled meadow, to enjoy the sunshine and the wildlife. We’d thrown crumbs of stale bread to the birds, and he’d tried to entice one to land on his fist. “Flavius wanted Jared to go with him.” Jared wanted me to go, too. “He said Ambrosius wanted men who were passionate about a united Britain. And Jared was tempted.”
“How do you know? What indications did he give you that he was interested?”
“He told me. He said it was an opportunity to do something worthwhile.” For both of us. “We knew from the archives that, ultimately, Ambrosius would fail, and Jared felt that nothing we could do would change that end result. We wouldn’t be tampering with the timeline.”
“How did he react when you refused to join him?”
“He was annoyed. Frustrated.” Hurt. “He accused me of not being brave enough to take the risk.” He was right. “And then, when he calmed down, he said he understood my reasoning and accepted my decision.” I swallowed and looked away, my fingers reaching for the end of my plait and teasing the loose strands. “He asked me to forget the conversation had ever happened. I thought it was just a temporary aberration and he’d jump back with me.” I trusted him.
“So you left the village and headed west again?”
I nodded, bracing myself for the next part. My fingers tightened on my hair and I sucked in a rapid breath, battling the nausea that rose in my throat. “Can you give me a minute? I just need a drink first.” My lungs constricted at the prospect of reliving that night. I worked hard to draw in enough air. A wheeze rattled in my chest. Marc placed a hand on my back, his touch warm and strong, and I stiffened at the touch.
“It’s okay.” His voice was gentle. “Take your time. Just breathe.” He rubbed a slow circle around my spine. “Take a breath.” The circle changed direction. “And another. That’s it.” As if obeying his command, my lungs inflated and the imminent dizziness retreated.
He’d been trained to operate in difficult circumstances. He’d probably done this a hundred times before, calmed a fellow operator to avoid jeopardizing a mission. His touch didn’t mean a thing.
“He was wrong.” Marc’s words didn’t make sense.
I tilted my head to look at him. Serious, intent, and focused on me.
“You’re the bravest person I know.” He had to have seen the surprise on my face, for his lips curved in response. “You had a horrific experience. Not only let down by your team member and fighting to survive, but having the determination to go back and face it again.” He hesitated, and his hand stilled on my back. “Having the courage to trust someone else—that takes guts.”
My cheeks burned. I ducked my head to avoid his eyes. Please don’t feel sorry for me. I can’t stand pity.
“I asked to go on this mission with you, Lila. I’ve admired you for a long time, since before your last jump, and I want to help you make things right again.”
Chapter Seven
Jared
Rowena stood before him, her eyes bright and a cruel smile hovering over her lips. “Tell me, Wolf. This is a great honor for you.”
If he fucked her and the warlord found out, he was dead. If he refused to touch her, he was dead. One possibility shimmered before him: a last ditch, all-or-nothing attempt at escape. If that failed, he was dead. From God knows where, he dredged up a smile. “Mistress, it would be a great honor for me.”
“Remove your loincloth. I want to see the goods Hilde has spoken so eloquently of.”
He dropped his left hand to the knot at his hip, loosened it and slid the cloth away to crumple in his fist. Standing before her, aware that he was being examined like a bull at market, he lifted his chin in a proud gesture. Maybe if she didn’t like what she saw, there’d be no need to go through with this? It was a faint hope and one that faded rapidly when he saw her eyes widen. She reached out to cup his balls and weighed them in her hand, all the while staring greedily at his shrunken cock. He’d trained himself to maintain an erection for hours on end; anything less would earn a whipping from Hilde. Rowena’s calculating stare made it more difficult, but he’d do it. Amazing how the prospect of pain and blood could make you capable of almost anything.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you ready for me.”
And so it begins. He dipped his head in a polite acknowledgement, and then grasped himself with his right hand. Squeeze-release. Again and again. Easier with his eyes closed. He pictured Lila again, her hair gleaming in the sunlight, her eyes dancing as she smiled at him. Squeeze and slide. He was thickening, blood coursing down to his rising erection. Lila wearing a flower garland. Better. Almost there now. Lila, her tunic rising up her legs as she lay in the grass, luxuriating in the meadow. Yes. Hard. For the moment at least.
“Much better.” Rowena trailed a sharp fingernail over his balls, but he’d half expected that. He didn’t flinch, even when she closed her hand tight around them.
“Kneel.” The command took him by surprise. He hastened to obey, wary as she moved behind him. What now? “Hands behind your back.” He suddenly realized how much he hated her high and breathy voice, and how she simpered over her husband and his mother, before turning her venom on the slaves. Moments later, his hands were bound using a strip of soft leather, and he groaned inwardly. He could free himself in a heartbeat, but it would be pointless. He was stuck there until she tired of him.
“Now, my lovely, tame Wolf.”
His stomach churned at the triumph in her voice. She stood before him, legs slightly apart, pussy close to his nose. The endless churning in his guts ramped up a notch. She was turned on by this, her musky arousal strong in the room. And she wasn’t prepared to wait. He yelped when she yanked at his hair, wrenching out a handful, dragging his face between her thighs. Her fingernails scraped at his scalp in pinpricks of pain.
“Now, Wolf.”
Chapter Eight
Lila
“My ankle was still swollen, and we’d decided to spend another day in the village, but then Flavius came looking for Jared, wanting to speak to him urgently. There was a rumour of Saxons raiding on the east coast, and Flavius wanted to head west, taking as many with him as he could. I knew from the Archives that there were no significant raids for weeks, not until after the Romans had left Britain, but Jared didn’t believe me. We argued.”
I’d never seen him so harsh before. The dear friend who showered me with affection vanished with the morning mist. This new Jared looked tough and uncompromising. For the first time, I could imagine him settling in this time period, living alongside Flavius and his friends, fighting for a worthy cause. It worried me
“The Archives aren’t infallible, Lila. What if they’re constructed on flawed data? Flavius saw the messenger riding through town—‘as though the devil were on his heels,’ was how he described the man. He’s taking the warning seriously and we should too.”
“The Archives are constructed on data that historians like us provide.” I was stung by his suggestion. “We’re not the first historians to be here, so how come we’re the first to hear about this supposed raid? And even if there is one, it’s minor. Not. Significant. We wouldn’t even notice it.”
He closed his hands around my arms, making sure he had my full attention. His voice was low and serious. “I’m not going to argue semantics with you. We are leaving today, Lila. Pack your things. We ride out in an hour.”