The Centurion and the Queen

by Minnette Meador

  “If you scream, I will slit your throat.” Deep repetitive sobs came from the back of Glenys’s throat. He removed his hand from her mouth and turned her to look up at him.

  It was obvious the girl was terrified. Leonius knew he was squeezing her arms so tightly they would bruise under his massive hands, but he did not care. Her supple, dark skin, the glint of those tilted brown eyes, and the feel of her ample breasts touching the sides of his hands were making him mad with lust. He towered well above her petite frame. He felt powerful and in control, something he needed these days. When Leonius pulled her tightly against his body, his erection swelled painfully, pushing it against her belly. Her sobs turned to whimpers, and she struggled to get away from him.

  Leonius grabbed the front of her tunic, slapped her hard across the face, and then shook her violently to subdue her.

  “Quiet!”

  Glenys took in a shaky breath and glared angrily up at him, baring her teeth.

  “Anger.” He gave her half a smile. “Better. At least you are not crying.”

  Leonius stared down at her beautiful face and took a breath through his teeth. With one quick pull, the fabric of her tunic parted in his hands and she was bare to the waist. Her breasts exposed to the chilled air and drenched from the pouring rain. Leonius stared at her erect nipples as Glenys tried to reach for her torn tunic, but he growled and tapped her face again. Before she could respond, he grabbed her wrists, forced them behind her back, and then crushed her breasts into the hard, shinning metal surrounding his chest.

  Holding her wrists in one hand, he reached down and grabbed her face, making her cry out. “Do that again and I promise you will not see the morning.”

  Leonius threw her onto the soft, damp ground where she landed awkwardly. Wasting no time, he grabbed the tartan cloak and ripped it from her shoulders, throwing it casually into the woods.

  Glenys screamed and tried to crawl backwards… away from him. He gathered what was left of the tunic in both hands and pulled her between his spread legs. Placing his knees on either side of her waist and securing her thrashing legs with his weight, he grabbed her hands and managed, with an expert quickness, to pin them under his knees. He wanted to take his time.

  “If you fight me, I will hurt you,” he said as he admired her shaking breasts and loosened the straps on his armor.

  “I am not a homely man, am I? If you relax, this could be pleasant for you. If you struggle, I might have to kill you. It is up to you.” He leaned down to look into her eyes. “Do not make me hurt you.” Leonius half wished she would.

  Glenys closed her eyes and tears ran into her ears, but she held very still.

  “Excellent,” he said, lifting his tunic to stroke his erection.

  In the same moment, a hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, an arm quickly wrapped around his throat, and a knife was buried, nearly an inch, into the side of his neck, just before the jugular. It stopped short of killing him.

  The pain was excruciating; he could not move. A turn of his head to one side or the other and the dagger would cut his vein. An expert had trained this hand, and he found himself admiring his opponent. Even when he swallowed, the blade compensated for the movement. The execution was brilliant.

  Knowing his assailant had the advantage; he took a deep breath and lifted his arms slowly in surrender. He felt his blood oozing from the wound, staining the polished armor as it flowed hotly down his neck.

  “Obviously, you have never been taught how to treat a lady, Roman,” echoed a calm, feminine voice, with a slight Greek accent, in his ear. “I will be glad to teach you. Let her go, or I guarantee you will not leave these woods alive.”

  Shocked and angered at hearing a woman’s voice, Leonius scowled down at Glenys but did not move. The embarrassment of being overcome by a woman was too much for his pride. He growled under his breath, and the knife sunk in another quarter inch causing the sound to fade into an involuntary hiss.

  “Do not tempt me, you bastard,” she murmured. “Let her go.”

  Leonius quickly removed his knees from the beauty’s hands and slowly lifted his buttocks to release her legs. Glenys scuttled up from beneath him. She was pale with shock, clutching the torn gown to her chest and shaking.

  “Run, you fool!” the woman shouted, and Glenys stumbled into the woods.

  The Roman soldier stirred beneath Delia’s blade and sank very slowly to sit back on his haunches. There were several heartbeats exchanged, but neither of them said anything for a long time.

  “I am Leonius,” he hissed, forcing a painful smirk to his lips, “second in command of the Roman century stationed nearby. What do you intend to do?”

  “Quiet, you!” she said and then sighed. “I am thinking.”

  Actually, Delia was not certain what she would do next. She knew better than to kill a Roman officer; regardless of her station, the Romans would hunt her down and have her crucified. She also knew as soon as she let him go, he would probably kill her. Delia was tall for a woman and extremely well trained in several of the Breton fighting forms—her father had seen to that—but she was no fool. Roman soldiers, these legionaries especially, learned to fight from the time they were children and continued to train year round. Delia had often watched them from the woods when they briskly hiked, ran through the sloppy mud in full field packs, or fought each other in exercise. Their skills were impressive. She and Glenys had even seen them naked while they bathed in a nearby lake. Delia had not seen an overweight Roman soldier.

  Leonius was a very large man who obviously did not neglect his training. She could feel the well-muscled physique under her arm and knew she was no match for him. There were really only two options; kill him or knock him unconscious, which was going to prove—difficult.

  Despite the circumstances, Delia learned long ago to plan for contingencies. Making certain the knife was well seated; she slowly unwrapped her arm from around his throat and reached to the ground next to her. She came up with the Roman’s gladius she had taken from the woods. With one swift motion, Delia pulled the knife from his neck. When he spun around to grab her, she brought the hilt of the sword hard across his forehead. The large man went down without a fight and sprawled unconscious on the wet ground.

  Delia kicked him hard and spat on him, swearing profusely in Gaelic until it echoed against the trees. Taking several moments to control her anger, she slowly crossed the clearing, cautiously inspecting the surrounding forest for any sign of Glenys or other Romans. When a voice called out, she froze. The Gaelic was perfect but the accent strange.

  “I do not want to hurt her, lady.” His voice drifted through the clearing and bounced off the trees, making the direction difficult to find at first. “But my commander wishes to speak with you, and I have promised to bring you to him.”

  Delia searched the trees and finally saw him sitting just inside the forest on one of the soldiers’ tall horses, with Glenys straddled in front of him grasping the torn tunic. He wrapped his cloak around her shaking shoulders with one hand and held his sword in the other. The little man had his gladius resting in front of Glenys, in a position where she could die very easily.

  Delia returned the look with a shrewd stare. “What do you want?” she asked in Latin. She did not like the Roman speaking her language. It was disturbing somehow.

  He replied in Latin, “Put the weapons down, lady.” His voice was gentle, but he tilted the sword to emphasize his position.

  Glaring up at him, she finally tossed the sword and dagger, searching for an advantage. She was exposed on all sides, and Glenys was skillfully held.

  With a groan and a loud cry, Leonius woke up and struggled to his knees.

  “Ah, you are awake,” the mounted man called over to him. “Did you have a nice nap?”

  Leonius swore, rubbed his head, and straightened out his tunic. When he stood, he threw his hand over his forehead and hissed in pain. There was a large knot on his brow that would blacken soon.

&nbs
p; Once he had his balance, Leonius glared at Delia. She backed away from him, but he was on her quickly and grabbed her wrists, forcing her to her knees. Even though he was exceptionally strong, she fought like a mad woman and managed to bite him many times. He finally struck her hard on the side of the head and sent her sprawling to the forest floor, the cool rain soaking into her tunic front. As Delia struggled to get to her feet, Leonius wasted no time in jumping on her back, sitting on her legs, and lifting her head by the hair until her back arched.

  “I will show you how to treat a woman, whore,” he whispered in her ear. He let her head go, caught her flailing arms, and then held her wrists together behind her back with one large hand until she cried out in pain. Smiling sadistically, Leonius began pulling up her tunic as she continued to struggle. “You are going to feel me up to your throat.”

  “Sir?” the other man called with rigid formality.

  “Go away, Aelius!”

  “Sir!” Aelius repeated more forcefully. “You have your orders. I do not wish to report this, sir, but I will have no choice if you do not stop what you are doing and let her go.”

  Leonius took a deep livid breath. Rather than releasing his grip, he squeezed tightly, making Delia cry out. Aelius moved nervously on the horse.

  “You know what the centurion will do, sir,” Aelius added softly, with an exactness in his voice.

  Leonius freed her hands and stood up fuming. As Delia got to her feet, he caught her by the front of the tunic with one hand and wrapped his other around her throat, pulling her up to his face. She could barely breathe.

  “If you ever attack me or any of my men again, I will personally see to it you are crucified. I will use that pretty friend of yours until I tire of her and then sell her to a leper colony. If she survives, I will make certain she is sent to Rome to fight in the arena. This I swear to you. Tonight,” he added viciously, whispering so only her ears could hear him, “if you do not open yourself to me, I will kill her. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

  Delia broke away from him and stumbled back several steps toward Aelius and Glenys, furiously straightening her tunic. Leonius walked away from her with his fists clenched.

  “Swine!” she shouted back at him. “How dare you? I would never soil myself with the likes of you, even if you were to force me. I would kill myself first.”

  Leonius stopped and whirled around. The Roman’s eyes blazed with unreasoning anger. He pulled his dagger and hefted it. The knife left his hand so quickly the weapon seemed to fade into a blur as it flew toward her. All Delia could do was step back and gasp. Before it could hit her, a bright red Roman shield burst through the clearing, absorbed the blade, and then landed on the other side with the dagger protruding, unnaturally, from the wooden frame.

  Marius led several soldiers on horseback into the clearing, the sound of their horses’ hooves muted by the soaked ground. The rain had stopped and a setting sun left black clouds roiling above his head. With one swift inspection, he assessed the situation and stared down at Leonius rising to his feet.

  “Report, second,” he said.

  “Sir,” Leonius began, trying to adjust his tunic, his eyes flashing around the clearing, uncertain, despite his obvious efforts to control it. “We were interrogating this girl when this woman attacked us,” He pointed to each woman.

  Marius moved his gaze from the half-naked girl with Aelius, to the beautiful woman standing across from him shaking with rage. Leonius stood with his armor askew, his helmet and sword gone, his arms and face covered with scratches, and his hand bleeding from multiple bites.

  He studied every nuance as he always did and calculated the probabilities of what actually occurred. Finding that his initial judgments were usually correct, he was not pleased with what those signs were telling him now.

  “She does not seem dangerous, soldier.” Marius cocked his head to the right, an indication he was furious, and the other Romans looked away. “Where are your sword and helmet, legionnaire?” He controlled his fury with practiced ease, knowing the affect it was having on his second. “Do I need to remind you what the penalty is for being out of uniform during a mission?”

  Leonius’ mouth opened, but nothing came out of it, and Aelius kicked his horse forward.

  “The second was knocked unconscious when he ran into a…a tree branch, sir,” he stammered quickly, a half smile gleaming wildly in his eyes. “He is hysterical, sir. We took off his helmet and sword to administer aid.”

  Marius glared at his ward and took in a slow deep breath.

  “Hmm.” He stared at the girl who swallowed hard. “And I suppose, you were using strips from this girl’s tunic as wrappings?”

  Aelius sputtered for a moment but could not come up with anything else under Marius’ hard scrutiny. Leonius simply plucked his uniform bits off the forest floor without saying a word.

  The woman shifted her eyes from one to the other of the men and shook her head. Crossing to Aelius, she reached up to gather the girl into her arms, seeming reluctant to get too near the animal, but the Roman guided the horse away from her.

  “Let her go,” she demanded firmly.

  Aelius simply stared at Marius, waiting for orders.

  “Madame…” Marius said.

  “Delia,” she huffed without taking her eyes off the horse.

  “Pardon?”

  “My name is Delia.”

  Marius cleared his throat to keep the irritation down. “Very well…Delia. I am afraid you will need to accompany us to the camp,” he said, moving his horse to stand behind her.

  When she turned, the horse shook his head and tried to bite her. Marius growled at the animal and pulled hard on the reins to hold the beast back.

  “I have never seen him do that.”

  Delia curled her lips and glared back at him, fidgeting uncomfortably between the two horses.

  “It happens all the time, General.”

  For the first time, he allowed a full smile to settle over his lips. “It is centurion, Madame, Centurion Marius Markus Lardanium. I am no general.”

  “Well, whoever you are,” she said. “Are you in charge of these men?”

  Marius glanced at Aelius and back at Leonius who was leading his horse to the group. “Yes. These men serve under me.”

  “Then this is your fault,” she said, angrily pushing back a wayward strand of hair.

  The lovely face glaring at him suddenly struck Marius, and a hot flash of lust and ire began a subtle storm in his gut. An unfamiliar rush of warmth surged through him while he stared into those intelligent green eyes, the color of the waxy leaves. Her hair was a golden sunset in the dark forest, and her face more striking than any he had seen before—even livid.

  He lifted his brows and unconsciously tightened his grip on the reins. “What did you say to me?”

  She lifted an accusatory finger against Leonius. “This man tried to rape my ward. I barely stopped him, and then he attacked me—and all of this without provocation.”

  “Without provocation?” Leonius shouted.

  Marius shot him a spine-chilling glimpse and the second instantly lowered his head.

  “You see? Is this what you teach your soldiers? To take what they want without asking, without even considering the consequence? Need I remind you that we are free women, sir, not slaves, and we will not tolerate this intrusion? Are there not enough whores in this country to quench your soldiers’ thirst that they need to attack innocent women in the woods? I thought we were allies, Centurion? I know my brother, the king, thought so as well. Is this the greeting you afford royalty in their own lands? If so, your training of these men leaves much to be desired. You should be ashamed of yourself. I have seen dogs with better discipline.”

  The soldiers surrounding Marius shifted on their horses. He coldly regarded this fiery woman. Delia stood with her hands on her hips, obviously nervous when enclosed by the giant animals.

  “Your Highness…” Marius kept his voice rigidly controlle
d, fighting the impulses sparked by conflicting emotions. “For the officer’s conduct, I offer my apologies.” He sent another withering glance at Leonius. “He is impetuous and the girl is beautiful, but it does not excuse what he has done. Believe me when I tell you this; he will be severely punished for his actions, as the law requires. This, I guarantee you.”

  Leonius shot her an angry frown, and then took his place among the soldiers.

  “However,” Marius let the anger leak into his voice, a tactic he had used on soldiers for decades, “you will watch your tongue when speaking about my command or my men, do you understand me? I will not abide insult from anyone—even a queen, Majesty.”

  Delia stood her ground, but said nothing, and he found himself admiring her courage. That tone had brought full-grown men to tears, in his experience.

  “Now,” Marius said, making a show of calming his anger as he adjusted his reins, “you will come with us to the camp where we can see to your wounds and to your lady’s comfort.” He reached down to help her up, but she did not move, looking small and frail among the tall horses.

  Delia was suddenly terrified.

  It had snuck up her back unexpectedly as he was speaking; watching his stormy dark eyes, his lined rugged face, and the way he held himself on the back of the horse. The fear did not come from his words, his manner, or his stance. It came from a deep, overwhelming desire stirring within those smoky eyes. She never felt anything with such intensity before, and despite her valiant effort to control it, she trembled. Delia found herself infatuated with this Roman, and the thought sent a shiver of disgust through her.

  “No,” she said aloud.

  The centurion blinked at her and the faintest trace of a smile appeared. The only other movement on his face was the nostrils that flared.

  “No?” he whispered. The soldiers edged their mounts away from him.