He removed his cloak and loosened his armor.
“Welcome to my home,” he said and unlaced the heavy metal surrounding his chest.
“It is—beautiful,” she said.
“You sound surprised.” He shrugged out of the armor and set it in a shadowed corner. Adjusting the blood red tunic, he took an intricate sash from a black statue of Horus and tied it around his waist.
“Oh, no. It is just—well, I have never seen a more elegant tent.”
“Tent?” Marius let a smile find its way to his lips. He relaxed, comfortable in his own territory and purposefully allowing the distant centurion to melt away into something of warmth and humanity. “Highness, this is my home and has been for roughly eighteen years. The ground we live on is always temporary; our quarters are not, and we do the best we can to make them livable.” He pulled a chair away from the table and motioned for her to sit. “Please.”
As Delia settled into the chair, he stepped outside to give orders for food to one of the guards. The man nodded and called to another soldier.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Marius said, opening a trunk and taking out a jug of wine and two ornate Roman goblets. He set them on the table and took a seat across from her.
As he poured, Delia was still examining the room and he found himself staring at her glowing loveliness. There was something about this woman—something beyond her beauty. She was intelligent, well educated, and her Latin flawless despite the slight Greek accent. She was brave, straightforward, and, obviously, skillfully trained. Marius was still uncertain how she could have possibly stopped Leonius with nothing more than a knife. The second had nine hard years of conditioning and was twice her size. He almost overfilled one of the goblets and quickly lifted the bottle.
“Here,” Marius said, handing her the goblet and then filling his own. “This is from my family’s stock. The last of it, unfortunately.”
Delia took a tentative sip. “This is quite good,” she said.
“Again, you sound surprised.”
“No,” she said and shifted on her seat, obviously uncomfortable with him staring at her.
Marius smiled, not caring that it made her uncomfortable; he was ill at ease himself. Her innate sensuality made it difficult to focus at times, and he found it hard to control his natural instincts when confronted by her obvious assets. His impulse was to take her into his arms and then his bed. Marius had to struggle to keep his lust under control; something he usually did not have problems with, and it bothered him.
He must get information from this woman, information that was vital to his mission and feeling this way about her was not helping. Had it been anyone else, Marius was certain he would have already extracted what he needed, one way or the other. That disturbed him as well. He was considered one of the best interrogators in the Legion, and he would be damned if this woman was going to intimidate him. He would show her how good he was.
“So,” he began, sitting back in his chair and sipping his wine. “You wanted to speak to me about your men.”
“Yes. You need to let them go,” Delia blurted out harshly.
Marius raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “I actually do not need to do anything, Your Majesty. Those men are under arrest for illegally cultivating Roman land.”
“They were trying to feed their starving families,” she said. “In case you are unaware of it, the winter was very bad this season. This land used to be theirs. They have a right to feed themselves even if Romans decide to take their land and do nothing with it.”
“They have no such rights!” He pounded the table unexpectedly, letting his control slip for a moment. “Without order, there would be chaos in this country and you should know that! If we allow them to break the law, others will follow in their footsteps and anarchy will follow.”
“They do not care about your law.” Her face flushed with anger. “All they care about is feeding their families. Your laws make that almost impossible! You must realize how many people are dying, every day, because of them.”
“Then perhaps you should discuss this with your brother, Your Majesty, since the lands were only taken when he stopped repaying his loans!”
Delia clamped her lips tight and stared at the table. Marius caught a flash of guilt wash over her face. Mingled with it, was a moment of pain that she was unable to cover. He became alert, knowing the woman was hiding something profound. Marius would push her until he found it.
Delia lifted her chin. “Obviously, we are at an impasse.” She rose stiffly from her chair. “I will gather Glenys and we will return to our village. Thank you for your time.”
With great dignity, she turned to the tent entrance.
“There are two fairly well armed guards standing at the front of this tent.” He set down his goblet. “I doubt very much you will get far.”
She stopped abruptly and with her back to him, squared her shoulders. “Am I your prisoner?” Delia sounded very calm, but he could hear the underlying fear in her voice.
“My guest,” he said. “At least for dinner, you did say you would join me for dinner. Please, take a seat and we will discuss this rationally. I am not unreasonable and I have no wish to arrest men who are only trying to—feed their families. That is not my mission here. It was their bad luck that we were in the vicinity this afternoon. I honestly do not think they are hardened criminals.”
Delia turned, confusion crossing her brow. “You will let them go?”
He smiled up at her and motioned to the chair across from him. “I will think about it over night and let you know at sunrise. Fair enough?”
She stared down at her hands. “They are good men, Centurion.”
“I am sure they are,” he said, pouring her more wine, “especially, if you vouch for them. But, again, I will give you my answer tomorrow.”
Marius saw something in the jade green eyes staring at him but could not read it; a secret—something. A subtle expression suffused her face for an instant, but she covered it up with a hint of a smile.
“Thank you, Centurion,” she said, taking her seat.
“Marius,” he said quietly. A soldier came in with steaming plates of food and set them on the table. He quickly bowed and left the tent without a word.
“Pardon?”
“Marius. My name is Marius.”
“Oh.”
Marius was not certain why, but he knew she did not want to call him by his name… maybe it would be a kind of surrender. She covered up her discomfort by staring at the plate in front of her and remaining silent. The food smelled good, and the aroma of the spices drifted through the tent.
“Well, go ahead and eat. You must be hungry,” he said, taking a piece of meat from his plate and biting into it. He watched as Delia followed his lead and dove into her food. Her eyes widened at the first bite and she smiled around her chewing. When she tried to speak, he raised his hand.
“Traditionally, a Roman meal is taken in silence.”
Delia’s lovely face smoothed when she smiled at him and swallowed. “Surely not. I have heard the Roman evening meal can be the most boisterous of the day. Is that not true?”
Marius lifted his goblet and tilted it toward her. “In the City of Rome , it is true enough, yes. Where I come from, we remain quiet as a tribute to those soldiers who died to make the night safe so we can eat.”
Delia tipped her head to the side and granted him a shadow of a smirk. “All right.”
“Ha! We finally have an accord,” he said lightly, toasting her again with the goblet. Delia softly laughed but remained silent through the rest of the meal, staring at her plate while Marius stared at her.
“Would you mind if I call you Delia?” Marius asked after he had eaten and pushed his plate away. “I mean, ‘Your Majesty’ is so formal.”
“You are teasing me,” she replied coolly, sipping her wine.
“Not at all.” Marius called for one of the soldiers who came in to take away the dishes. “I am fascinated
by the concept of a king—or a queen,” he said. “Where I come from, we have only the emperor. Is it true Britannia has hundreds of kings?”
“Well, not hundreds,” Delia replied. “Actually, there are very few kings. Many consider themselves chieftains instead. It is different than in Rome or Egypt .”
“So… may I call you Delia?”
She paused before answering, obviously reluctant to get familiar with him and had to force herself to say, “Of course.”
Marius smiled and sat back in his chair. “That did not hurt, now did it? Pretty name.”
“Th—thank you,” she stammered.
“So, Delia, you are very articulate for a…” He stopped himself and Delia shot him a smoldering frown.
“For a barbarian?” she stated pointedly. “Does it surprise you that a native can be eloquent, well educated, and cultured?” She looked around the room and then glared back at him. “I am afraid I was a little surprised myself when a Roman soldier displayed the same characteristics. I assumed they were all uncultured brutes and killers.”
Marius smiled. “Actually, I was going to say you are very articulate—for a woman.”
Her eyes flashed beautifully in the soft lights. She stood again. “Are you trying to provoke me?”
For the first time since meeting her, Marius gave her a full laugh, and she blinked at him in bewilderment.
“Is it working?”
After several beats, her face brightened and she took her seat. “Actually,” she picked up the goblet and sipped her wine, “I am fairly certain you’ve never met an intelligent woman. It must be difficult for you to have only soft, insipid Roman females or whores as a basis for comparison.”
He pursed his lips and let the insult sink in for a moment. She was clever, this one; he would have to be careful. “I imagine, since the whores are also Breton, there is not much difference. After all, a woman is a woman—soft, warm, sometimes inviting, and often open to new experiences.”
Delia glared at him and folded her arms. “And a man is a pig.”
Marius acknowledged defeat by chuckling. “You are absolutely right. A man is a pig and cannot help it—his own frustrated malaise often rules him. I am as guilty as the next fellow.” He lifted his eyes to her. “Sometimes, it is difficult.” The sincerity in his words surprised him.
“What do you mean?”
Marius cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “The life of a soldier is steeped in male companionship, as you can imagine. I do not get many opportunities to talk to women. When I do, they are, as you say, whores from the taverns or an occasional farm wife when we need supplies. The wives are usually closed mouthed and scowl at us, and the whores…well, they are not paid to talk, are they?” The soft smile shining back at him stirred something inside him. “So, you are right. I do not often have a chance to talk to an intelligent woman.”
Rain beat a tranquil rhythm on the leather roof and he let it fill in a still moment. “Would it be so terrible to talk to me? I promise it will be entertaining, if nothing else.”
Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her shoulders and sat back in her chair. “For a while.”
“Good enough. More wine?”
“Maybe later.”
He set the jug down and stared at the swirling liquid in his goblet. “Have you studied in Greece ?”
“ Greece ?”
“Your accent—obviously Greek.”
“Oh.” She wet her lips, yet another sign of hiding something. “No, um…my brother and I had a Greek tutor, Sofronio. My father hired him when I was a child. He taught us Greek, Latin, some Egyptian; as well as our numbers, and how to read and write. He was the one who made arrangements for my cousin, Rheydyn, and me to see Egypt and Syria .”
“Impressive. Not many Bretons travel to the east, I would imagine. Your father must have been very wealthy.”
“Yes, well…”
“Is this tutor still alive?” he asked, knowing he was pushing.
“What? Oh, no, he died sometime back.” It was obviously painful for her. A long silence hung in the air and Marius let it linger.
“I noticed you have many Egyptian artifacts,” Delia finally said. “Were you stationed there?”
This time it was Marius’ turn to feel hesitant, and he took a deep breath to cover it up.
“Yes, for a while.” He did not like talking about why he was stationed in Egypt . He leaned across the table and toyed with his goblet. “Tell me about your family.”
Delia shrugged. “There is really not much to tell. My mother died when I was born, so I did not know her. My father never remarried. Concentrating instead, on preparing his warriors for…” She stopped, and a subtle smirk pursed her lips. “Well, to repel the invading Romans seventeen years ago. I think it was futile, but my father still taught me to fight when I was old enough.”
“He did an excellent job,” Marius said, the admiration genuine. “Leonius is very good at what he does. I am still not certain how you could have taken him so easily.”
“Well, his mind was on something else, yes? It was surprise, if you want to know the truth. My people are very good at exploiting their advantages. Sneaking up on the enemy unexpectedly is highly regarded in my culture. Something I do not think you Romans really know much about.”
Marius laughed aloud. “Well said. What we lack in stealth, we make up for in pure determination.” He offered to fill her goblet again and this time she accepted. “I am assuming since your brother is king, your father is dead.”
“Yes. He died many years ago in a clan dispute, after the Romans invaded.”
“So, now your brother is king,” he said carefully, watching her.
“Yes. Now my brother is king.”
“Tell me about him—about Conall, I mean.”
Delia’s expression shifted slowly into indignation and the mood shattered.
“Centurion, if you want to know about Conall, I suggest you go to his fortress and ask him. To be honest with you, the last time I saw the man was months ago. Since it is nearing spring, you had better hurry; he normally leaves for the hunt with his friends and stays away for several weeks—much to everyone’s relief. If you honestly want to find out about me, then ask me. Now,” she said and rose, “if you will have someone escort me to where you have taken Glenys, I will say good night.”
Marius stared up at her, allowing a bemused sneer to curl his lips, which seemed to anger her more.
“Are you married?” he asked simply.
“What… no,” she blurted out.
“Have you ever been?”
“What?”
“It was a simple question. Have you ever been married?”
“That… that is none of your business.”
“You told me to ask about you.”
“I did not mean…”
“So I am asking. Have you ever been married?”
The question obviously stunned her. “No,” she growled at him with uncertainty.
Marius took a sip of his wine. “Amazing. How old are you? Twenty-five? Thirty? Yet, you are unmarried. I find that fascinating.”
Delia tightened her jaw, and her eyes flashed brightly.
Marius stood, sprawled languidly on top of his bed while propping his head against one hand, and continued to sip his wine. “The king has not found a right brother-in-law for himself? Maybe you are too headstrong to keep a suitor, or too awkward in a man’s arms. Perhaps you prefer the company of other women instead.” He tilted his goblet and stared at the dregs. “We have woman, on an island, where I come from that prefer…”
“I do not conjugate with women!”
Marius studied her. “Ah, but you have never been married.”
“No.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Have you?”
“Actually, Roman soldiers are not allowed to marry.”
“What?” That seemed to stun her almost as much as his last question. “You are not serious.”
“No, I am quite serious.” He ga
ve her an easy smile. “Not until we serve our time in the military. Then we can legally marry and our sons will be granted citizenship.”
Delia sank into her chair. “So, you cannot marry nor have children?”
“Well, not legally, anyway. Emperor Claudius thought it would distract soldiers from their duty. I can marry when my tour is over, in about a month.”
“How long is your tour?”
“Twenty-five years.”
Her mouth fell open, and Marius stared at her lips.
“Twenty-five years? You could not be that old. When did you enlist?”
“I was sixteen. Most men enlist at seventeen or eighteen, but I got lucky.”
“You think that was lucky?”
He eyed her flatly from under his brow. “Yes, I consider it very lucky.”
“No insult intended. I am merely curious. So,” she continued playfully, “no women for twenty-five years? My, my…”
“I did not say that.” He laughed again, the sound mingling with the falling rain.
“And, no children… now, that is sad.”
“Actually, many men take common law wives and have children. Kuna has a common law wife in Londinium. Of course, the marriage is not recognized in Rome until after discharge.”
“Still, it must be hard—to be without a family, I mean. We have many relatives in the villages and in the farmlands. In fact, my clan is full of mostly relations. Family is at the core of everything we are. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be without my kin.”
“Sometimes it is difficult,” Marius replied, absently watching the rain between the shoulders of his sentries and remaining quiet for a moment. “But I have Aelius,” he said at length, “and my men. They are family, of sorts.”
The Centurion and the Queen Page 5