The Centurion and the Queen

by Minnette Meador

“Is Aelius your son?”

  “He is my ward. His father was my best friend, and I adopted Aelius when he was a small child. He spent most of his childhood in Campania with my father and mother on the family vineyard. His father was killed when Caligula’s Germanic guard attacked the palace after the emperor was assassinated.” He lowered his chin and stared at his wine, uncertain why he was telling her this.

  “I heard Aelius talking.” For the first time, her expression softened sympathetically. “You were a Praetorian Guard for Caligula—when it happened? It must have been awful.”

  Marius covered his moment of lapse with a smile. “We were talking about you, remember? So, you’ve never been married.”

  “No.”

  “Ever been with a man?”

  Delia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

  “Again, a simple question,” he stated. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  “I am certain that is none of your business. Why would you ask me something like that?”

  “Because I am—Roman. We are very interested in physical intimacy. I am curious, you see. Have you ever been with a man?” He sipped his wine without taking his eyes off her.

  The tone of his voice seemed to be doing something to her back; she squirmed in her chair to get it under control and folded her arms. “I will answer you, if you do something for me.”

  There was a fine sparkle in her eyes, which instantly alerted Marius. She was up to something. “All right—within reason. What is it?”

  “If you want Glenys and I to stay in this camp full of men—Roman men who are interested in physical intimacy—then I will need reassurance that we will be safe.”

  “I can assure you my men will not come anywhere near…”

  “Not good enough. This is the bargain, Centurion.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap and stared demurely at the table, “…or I will not answer your question.”

  “Go on.”

  Delia lifted her chin. “You order your men to stay at least fifty paces away from our tent and post no sentries.”

  Marius raised his brows. “I would have to move half the tents outside the perimeter.”

  Delia shook her head and shrugged. “It is the only way we will stay here and you will get your answer. Otherwise, give us an escort and we will return to the village.”

  He speculated for several seconds, knowing something devious was going on in her lovely head, but he could not fathom what it could be. Marius assumed this was some ploy to get her what she wanted, although he was not certain how. He had seen to it the women were disarmed and he would post sentries whether she wanted them or not—in fact, he would now double them.

  “All right, fifty paces and no sentries. Do you want me to order it now?”

  “Yes,” she said, satisfaction settling into the creases around her eyes.

  Marius rose from the bed and gave orders to the sentries while Delia poured them more wine, her back to him. When he was done, the soldiers eyed him strangely, shooting confused glances at one another. One of them called to a nearby soldier and passed along instructions.

  When Marius came back to sit down at the table, he could hear the murmur of confused and disappointed voices as well as moving equipment and horses. Actually, it would do them good to run a drill of this sort. He did it periodically anyway, to keep them alert. Marius knew moving the perimeter would take most of the night.

  “Done,” he said, taking a long drink from his goblet. “Now, your turn.”

  Delia smiled over at him and sipped her own drink. “The answer is—yes.”

  “Hmm,” he replied. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “You are hopeless!”

  “Come on, Delia,” he said, pressing her to see how far he could take it. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I am not answering that,” she said.

  He would not relent, hiding his mouth under a hand; he leaned forward on the table and pressed her with his voice, trying to lure her with each slow, quiet syllable.

  “You have never had a man touch your skin so that it tingled and took your breath away?”

  “What?”

  “Never had his lips on your neck or your shoulders, touching you so softly that he made you—ache inside?”

  “How dare you ask…”

  “Never felt the need to completely surrender to his warmth?”

  “I…”

  “His fire.”

  “Please…”

  “His—command?”

  “Stop…”

  “Never felt that exquisite visceral freedom when your body finally succumbed to his control?”

  Delia’s breath came out in short blasts as she stared him. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Would it bother you if I were?”

  Her eyes flashed. “Yes, Centurion, it would,” she said coolly.

  Marius had seen the flush in her face, could smell the responsiveness stir inside her body when he talked of passion, and could feel the spark of desire between the two of them. It was everything he could muster to keep from taking her. He knew she did not trust him—or herself—how closely she had come to capitulating, but the moment was gone.

  “Forgive me,” she said, “but I am extremely tired and wish to go to the tent. If you would be so kind…” This time, she rose slowly and stared down at him. “I will talk to you, at sunrise, about my men. If you will please have someone escort me, I would appreciate it.”

  Marius knew he had pushed too far. She was hiding something and he would not get it this way. “Forgive me, Delia,” he said, apologies not coming easily to him. “I did not mean to overstep…”

  “It is all right,” Delia replied, obviously fighting down the urge to stay. “I am simply tired. Sleep well, Centurion.”

  “Marius,” he replied softly.

  A sad smile covered Delia’s face, but she only nodded. She marched out of the tent into the night, and at a signal from Marius, one of the guards called a soldier to escort her to the other side of the camp.

  Marius stared after her a long time, finishing his wine and trying to comprehend this complicated woman, knowing his feelings for her were deepening. With a stark realization, he knew he might be falling in love and the thought was disturbing. It was not the first time he had been in love, but the overpowering intensity of this emotion was something he had never experienced before. Marius was ill equipped to deal with it and well aware of the fact.

  He suddenly felt very tired and yawned, turning to enter his tent. He would deal with it in the morning, hoping the light of day would bring his mind into better focus and take away this increasingly impossible situation.

  He became lightheaded and had to touch the table to steady his legs. He glared at the wine suspiciously, wondering if it were tainted. A warm rush of nausea flooded his insides. Awkwardly sitting on his bed, he ran his hands through his hair and stared at the lamp next to him. He fell on his side, rolled on top of the covers and groaned.

  Fully clothed, he passed out.

  C hapter Five

  Marius woke to a vicious, pounding headache, someone shaking him hard, and pandemonium breaking out in his camp. The blaring shouts crushed his eardrums as the room spun violently, and he became overwhelmingly nauseous. He could barely make out Aelius standing over him with an empty goblet in his hand and finishing a sentence he could not entirely grasp.

  “What the hell?” he roared, sat up quickly, and then fell back when his head exploded. He could barely see.

  “Glad to see you’re alive, sir.” Aelius put the goblet down and reached to pull Marius slowly to a sitting position.

  “What did you say?”

  “I was saying, sir, that you’ve been drugged.” Aelius reached for a compress and attempted to apply it to Marius’ forehead. He snarled and knocked it away, burying his face in his hands.

  “The medico thinks it was in your wine, sir,” Aelius continued. “The sentries too, however, they say someone came up behind them and stuck
a needle or pin in them. Whatever was used must have been treated with the same poison. The Bretons are gone, sir, all of them. There were two sentries stationed by the women and four around the men. She got them all, sir. Inexplicably, the rest of the camp had orders to reorganize the tents so they were at the other side of the encampment at the time. I am uncertain as to where that order came from, but I have a theory.”

  Marius peeked above his fingers and squinted in the harsh light.

  “Would you like to hear it, sir? You see,” Aelius continued, not waiting for him to answer, “I can only assume the Breton queen did something to you. Perhaps enticed you with her voice or seduced you with those beautiful eyes, I am not certain which, and then poisoned you so she could free her men.” Aelius grinned at him, and Marius groaned. “Is that about how it went, sir?”

  “Bastard,” he growled through his teeth, rubbing his throbbing, dry eyes with the heels of his hands. “Get my armor!” he shouted and immediately wished he had not. His head spun out of control.

  “Yes, sir!” Aelius grabbed the silver armor.

  Marius stood slowly, and his stomach took a turn for the worse. Without warning, he doubled over and vomited on his Persian rug.

  He was going to kill her when he got his hands on her.

  Aelius dropped the armor and grabbed the basin off a table, pushing it under Marius’ face when he heaved again.

  Straightening his back, Marius glared at his aide as if it were his fault. Aelius twisted his face, obviously trying to suppress his natural inclination to make fun of his guardian. He quickly put the basin back and grabbed the armor off the floor. Marius stretched his arms out to receive it, ignoring the weakness that sent tremors through his body and staring at the entrance to his tent.

  “Were men sent?” he asked while Aelius tightened the straps.

  “Yes, sir, a full contingent. The second took them out as soon as we discovered the ill sentries, a little before dawn.”

  Marius glanced at his aide. “Leonius? He was up for that?”

  “Yes, sir. He left as soon as they figured out what happened. I made certain there were several of your regular troops with him, sir, enough to make certain she comes back.” Aelius finished cinching the straps. “I took the liberty of telling Leonius you had ordered her…I mean the Bretons, captured without harm, knowing you would want to interrogate them.”

  Marius watched the confusion outside his tent, trying not to let the concern show on his face. He did not want her hurt; he merely wanted to kill her with his own two hands.

  “Very good,” he said.

  Aelius finished with the armor and stepped back, handing his helmet to him.

  “Not to worry, sir. We will find them.”

  “Yes, we will,” Marius rumbled and hurried out of the tent with Aelius running after him.

  Delia stared, darkly, down at the injured girl. The morning began with a thick mist floating above the forest floor. They had been making good time when Glenys caught her foot and fell. Delia was certain she heard something snap when her ward screamed.

  “I am sorry, Delia.” Glenys grimaced from where she sat on a stump, valiantly trying to get her tears under control.

  Delia fleetingly scanned the woods around them and stooped next to her. “It is not your fault.” She wrapped her hands lightly around the ankle, and Glenys wince. Delia shook her head and glanced up at the men surrounding them. “She will not be able to walk. I think it may be broken.”

  The man standing behind her cleared his throat. “We can carry her, Your Majesty. The village is not far away, or we can come back with horses.”

  Delia took the sack of water from her back, and then ripped a piece of material from her tunic. Soaking the cloth, she carefully applied it to the girl’s ankle, making Glenys hold it in place, and then got up brushing her hands.

  “No, Evyn, running with her will only make it worse. We cannot wait for horses. The Romans will be here long before you could get back.”

  “Then one of us will stay with her. We will gather our forces and…”

  Delia stopped him with a hard stare. “And die? I do not think so.” She quickly came to a decision. “This is as far as it goes, Evyn. Get to the village, gather everyone, and leave at once. Take the horses and wagons and go to Hillfort. I will delay them as long as I can.”

  “Are you insane? They will crucify you. I am not going to let that happen.”

  Evyn was her third cousin, and she knew he had loved her deeply for as long as she could remember. Delia stood toe to toe with him, glaring angrily, and she did not hesitate with her demands. She ceased to be his cousin years ago and was now simply his queen, something she knew he had come to terms with.

  “As you loved my father, Evyn, you will obey me,” she hissed at him, not having time to argue. “I have worked too long and too hard to watch all of you die at the hands of the Romans. I have always been there for you, protecting and caring for your wives and children, to make sure our tribe survives. I will not watch as the Romans destroy it because of my…stupidity. I will work this out—you know that. If you love me, you will do as I ask.”

  Evyn’s face faltered and Delia touched his arm. “I do not think the centurion will harm me or Glenys. His interest is with my brother, not with you. Take your families and leave the village. Go to Hillfort. Stay there until I can get this straightened out.” She smiled at him sadly. “Please, there is no time to argue. You need to go, now.”

  Evyn laughed. “That was very impassioned, cousin. Really, quite brilliant.”

  “Evyn, you have to get to the village…”

  He took her shoulders in his hands. “Do you honestly think that any of us would leave you to face the Romans alone? You risked your life to save us. Allow us the same honor.”

  Delia closed her eyes and took in a frustrated breath. “They will kill you.”

  “Perhaps.” Evyn shook his head. “But we are still not leaving you alone.”

  “All right.” She pulled her shoulders out of his grasp and glared at all four men. “But listen to me, carefully. Do not provoke them. Do not fight them or give them any cause to harm you. Answer their questions and do exactly as they order. Can you do that?”

  The men exchanged glances but said nothing. “Well, can you?” she repeated.

  Evyn spoke when the others remained silent. “Yes, my queen, we can do that. I think they are here.”

  They heard the thundering of hooves and the jingling of Roman uniforms and tackle echoing through the thick trees, eerily bouncing through the fog. Out of the gloom, the horses appeared like ghosts, seeming to float toward them, their breaths steaming in the morning chill, surrounding her people. A wave of panic coursed through Delia when she saw the sneering face of Leonius looming suddenly above her. She wrapped her arms protectively around Glenys and stared at him.

  “Bind them!” he snarled at his men, and the soldiers jumped from their mounts to do their commander’s bidding.

  Where they were quite gentle with Glenys, making sure to wrap her foot tightly and secure her well in front of one of the soldiers so as not to jostle her, Delia and her men were another matter. The four Breton males remained obedient as the soldiers quickly bound them and threw them onto the backs of the horses, but one had his nose bloodied when he stumbled and another received an undeserved clot across the head for no apparent reason.

  Delia could see the Romans were furious. Two soldiers shot amused glances at Leonius and swung down from their saddles to approach her, one on either side. Even though she put up no resistance, they caught her between them and pulled her arms behind her back until she cried out. One laced his fingers in her long hair and tugged until her eyes watered, forcing her to her knees. The other bound her hands so tightly her fingers tingled and the ropes cut into her wrists. Leaving her kneeing in the duff, they got back on their horses.

  “Take them all back to the camp,” Leonius shouted to his men.

  One of the other soldiers moved to Le
onius and cast friendly eyes at Delia. “Sir, we were ordered to bring them back unharmed.”

  Leonius shot him an unpleasant scowl. “Do as you are ordered, soldier. Now!”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied reluctantly and whistled for the rest of the men to rally. They went off in a spray of mud.

  Leonius cautiously dismounted, being careful of the fresh stitches in his back, and glared down at Delia.

  “I believe you and I have unfinished business, if I am not mistaken.” He reached down, grabbed a handful of her hair, and tilted her head back until her neck ached. He ran his other hand over her face until he reached her lips and forced his finger into her mouth.

  “Such a pretty mouth. We will fill it soon.”

  Knowing it would make little difference Delia bit him hard. With a yelp, Leonius pulled his fingers out and she bared her teeth at him. The menacing sneer faded from his lips as he slapped her with the back of his hand. Recovering her balance with difficulty, Delia jerked her head back and glared at him.

  “Bastard!” she hissed, lisping against her bruised lip. Blood flowed from her nose and down her chin. Her jaw and face burned with the imprint of his hand, but she swallowed hard against the pain, licked the blood from her lip, and then spat at his feet.

  “You will have to kill me.”

  He raised his hand again, but a flash of a shadow appearing out of the woods behind him, stopped his arm in mid-air. Grateful tears misted Delia’s eyes when she recognized Kuna’s wonderful, twisted face shining down at her.

  Leonius turned to him violently but relented as soon as he saw the easterner. Kuna bowed his head, his eyes shining.

  “Centurion want women, sir,” he said, somehow managing to appear defiant and deferential at the same time. “We bring her not hurt. Understand?”

  Leonius turned away irritably and mounted his horse, grimacing in pain when he threw his leg over the beast.

  “It does not matter! She will hang anyway,” he spat. “Bring her!”

  Kuna helped Delia to her feet and turned her toward his gray horse. The animal bent its front knees to her. The little man squeezed her arm, warning her to be quick, and with his help, mounted the horse easily. He jumped up behind her and signaled to two soldiers who appeared just inside the trees.