The Roman's Revenge

by Caroline Storer

  “No.”

  Once she had uttered the questions she realised the stupidity of them and turned her head away. Of course she wouldn't know about her! What he had been plotting, and planning, wouldn’t have involved his mother, she was sure of it. A knot of tension pooled in her stomach at the thought of meeting his mother, and she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a reception she would have. Friendly? Hostile?

  “I'm sure my mother will love you,” Metellus said, his tone dry, as if he had read her mind, “I'm not sure what she will say to me though.”

  Livia’s head swivelled to look at him. Again, he seemed to be able to read her thoughts as there was a hint of wariness in his eyes. He broke eye contact with her, clicked his tongue, and the horses started pulling the wagon towards the villa.

  The ten minutes or so it took to get to the farm were the longest of Livia's life, as a thousand different scenarios flitted into her head. But all too soon they arrived, and as they pulled up into the courtyard, slaves appeared from everywhere to help unload the carriage and lead away the horses. The journey had been relatively easy; and as Metellus had predicted, no more than an hour’s ride south of Rome. But as she sat atop the wagon taking in the opulence of the villa, she somehow felt as if she were a million miles from Rome, and a world away from what she was used to.

  Realising she couldn't sit there all day, Livia stood up, and swung herself around, ready to climb down from the carriage. She was unprepared for the large hands that circled her waist, as they helped her down off the carriage. The heat of his hands seemed to burn through the silk of her gown, and she stiffened when Metellus pulled her closer into the hard strength of his body; a body she remembered all too well as it moulded against her.

  Swallowing, she bit back the thought of how well they seemed to fit each other, and she supressed the memories of what they had once shared on the island. There was no point in thinking anything could come of this union. Metellus had made his intentions more than clear. She knew exactly why she was here, and what was expected of her.

  And with that thought at the forefront of her mind, she pulled out of his grip, and walked to the back of the carriage to check on Elisha. Thankfully, the baby was asleep, and for a moment she envied her as she stared down at her lying in her basket. Oh, how she longed to be as content! It had been a long, tiring day. And it wasn't even over yet…

  “Your wife! You have a wife? Oh, Metellus, how could marry and not let me know?”

  Sending a scolding look towards her son, the older woman turned to where Livia stood next to Metellus. Livia’s stomach clenched with trepidation and nerves, wondering how she would be received by the older woman.

  But she needn't have worried, as Metellus's mother reached forward, and took Livia's hands in hers, pulling her forward and embracing her in a tight hug. There was warmth in her grey eyes when she stepped back, and Livia noticed her eyes were the same grey colour as her son's.

  But, in truth, that was the only similarity between mother and son Livia could see. Where Metellus was tall, his mother was a tiny, petite woman, a woman who still held onto her youthful figure. She had light coloured hair, streaked with a few strands of grey, in complete contrast to Metellus’s dark hair. Her face was delicate, and oval shaped, full of grace and beauty and again nothing in her face resembled the hard planes and angles of her son’s.

  “My dear. It is so good to meet you. Metellus has always been prone to impulsiveness; but on this occasion I can see why he married you so quickly, and without telling me. You are very beautiful.”

  Livia swallowed the lump of emotion which seemed to be lodged at the back of her throat as she relished the motherly contact, and her kind words. Thankfully, Metellus was right, his mother was kindness itself, and didn't seem too concerned about the hastiness of their marriage.

  “I…I am pleased to make you acquaintance, madam. And you, too, are beautiful.” Livia finally said.

  “Madam! Oh please do not call me that. My name is Antonia. I would be honoured if you would call me by my given name, and I will call you Livia. Such a pretty name.” Then she laughed, “And I am not beautiful. I am far too old to be beautiful. But never mind.” She looked at them both, and clapped her hands before shooing them both towards the open doorway of the villa. “Come. Come. You must both be tired and hungry. I will have the slaves prepare a bath for you, and once you have refreshed yourselves we can eat.”

  Taking Livia by the hand she started to lead her into the villa, but Livia stiffened, as panic assailed her when she realised Antonia didn't know about Elisha. She threw a pleading look over her shoulder to where Metellus stood impassively watching them both, his arms crossed over his impressive chest.

  “Mother!”

  Relief surged through her as Metellus's voice halted the older woman in her tracks.

  “Before you take Livia away, you had better come over and meet another new member of our family.”

  Frowning at her son, Antonia did as he asked, following Metellus as he walked to the back of the wagon. Livia trailed behind, her steps hesitant, but when she heard Antonia squeal in surprise she couldn’t stop her smile of delight.

  “A baby?” Turning she glanced back to Livia, and then to Metellus, “Yours?”

  “No!” Both of them spoke in unison, and Livia felt her face flame with colour.

  “No.” Livia said more calmly this time, when she realised Metellus wasn’t going to speak, “Elisha is an orphan…of sorts. I…I know Metellus hasn’t had time to tell you, but I was rescued by him when our ship was shipwrecked,” she hesitated for a moment, unsure how to explain Elisha’s presence, but she chose caution, “The…the babe was also on the island.”

  Livia glanced to Metellus for reassurance. His slight nod told her she had said the right thing. Seeing the concern on Antonia’s face, she could tell Metellus’s mother was a compassionate woman; but she didn't want to scare her - or the others who lived on the farm - by saying Elisha was the child of a leper.

  “What is her name?”

  “Elisha.”

  This time it was Metellus who spoke, as Livia watched Metellus's mother reach down and lift the baby from her basket. As she looked down at the baby, swaddled in a blanket, a soft tender look came over her face. “It is many a year since I held a young child in my arms. Not since you were a babe, Metellus,” she said, turning to look at her son, and Livia had to hide her smile when she saw colour stain his high cheekbones.

  “It will be a pleasure to help look after you, Elisha.” Antonia whispered to the sleeping baby, and Livia felt a ball of warmth curl in her stomach. There was no doubting Metellus's mother was a kind woman.

  The only thing that troubled her, as they walked into the villa, was whether Antonia would still be as kind to her when she found out who her father was, and the real reason why Metellus had married her. She prayed she would be, for she was in desperate need of an ally…

  “Where do you think you are going, Livia?”

  At the softly spoken words, Livia closed her eyes and bit back a groan of frustration. She halted in her tracks and turned to face Metellus. He was standing next to a marble column watching her, his face in shadow, the only light coming from a solitary wall sconce which cast its flickering light down the darkened corridor.

  She knew what he was referring to of course. A slave had told her earlier where Metellus’s cubica was, assuming that she would be sharing his sleeping quarters.

  But she had other plans. She had intended to sleep with Elisha, as her room was at the other end of the corridor from where Metellus slept. And she’d nearly succeeded too, for she hadn’t seen Metellus for hours, ever since he’d left the triclinium straight after the evening meal, announcing he had a lot of farming matters to catch up on.

  “Well?”

  This time his one word question was abrupt, and Livia had to quell the nerves pooling in the pit of her stomach. Squaring her chin she replied, “I think it would be best if I stay with Elisha toni
ght. She may be fretful. A…a new home…” Her words trailed off, and the excuse sounded hollow, even to her ears.

  “Indeed? A baby, no more than a few months old, who has travelled across an ocean to reach Rome, is unlikely to be fretful just because she has travelled no more than an hour in the back of a wagon.” Metellus’s voice was dry, and his mouth flattened before he continued, “And, I might add, a journey she slept the whole way through, if I’m not mistaken.” He tilted his head, as if listening for a noise, “I can hear no baby’s cry. No fretful moaning. No wet nurse wailing in despair. So..?”

  Livia bristled. He was right, she knew. But still… Lifting her head in defiance, she retaliated, “What kind of a guardian would I be if I didn't check on her?”

  He nodded in acknowledgement at her words, “By all means check on her. But remember the bedroom – our bedroom - is down there,” his words were clipped, precise, followed by a jerk of his head as he indicated the closed door of his bedchamber down the other end of the corridor. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Livia felt the colour drain from her face. Saying nothing, she headed for Elisha’s room, noticing that her hands shook as she pushed open the door. Once she was inside she sat in a chair next to a wooden crib, her mind working furiously as she watched the sleeping child.

  Metellus was adamant she was to share his bed. But why? On the island he’d said their lovemaking had been a mistake, never to be repeated. Hadn’t he only taken her body in his twisted desire for revenge? She had meant nothing to him. And up until a few days ago, she had firmly believed she would never see him again.

  Yes, he had married her, but only to get access to her family’s name and the status it brought in Roman society. And also, she was convinced, to extract the revenge he had planned for years now. To crush her family once and for all.

  And what of her feelings for him? He had thrown her declaration of love firmly back in her face and it had hurt - hurt so much. She had tried to forget him, but the moment she had seen him standing in the doorway of Flavius’s office she realised she had been only fooling herself. She still wanted him, she still desired him, and if she were to acknowledge her true feelings, she still loved him. She was in love with him, and she wanted him to love her back. But it was impossible. She knew that.

  And now she was to share his bed again. Livia shook her head as mixed emotions assailed her. The truth was plain enough - she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She craved his touch, but at the same time apprehension about the future played heavy on her mind.

  Deliberately blocking him from her thoughts for a moment she went over to the basket and saw Elisha was awake. She picked the baby up and carried her over to a large table and changed the swaddling before putting a clean gown on her. Then she fed her, using the same leather goat pouch Elisha’s mother had given her, before she placed the baby back into the basket, waiting for her to fall back to sleep. She was such a contented child. She rarely cried, only when she was hungry, and even then it wasn’t a shrill piercing cry, more a small cry of disapproval.

  As she watched the sleeping baby, Livia realised she couldn’t postpone the inevitable. Bending over she tucked the light blanket around the child before she closed the door behind her and walked down the long corridor towards Metellus’s – no their – bedroom.

  For a long moment she stood outside the door, undecided. But mindful of his earlier words, she eventually pushed open the door and stepped inside the darkened bedchamber. But once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she couldn’t contain her gasp of anger.

  Metellus wasn't there! The room was empty. He had played her false, the lying toad! Demanding she return to his bedchamber had just been a ploy to see if she would obey his command. “I’ll be waiting for you,” she growled, mimicking his earlier order. “We’ll I’ll not be waiting for you!”

  And with that, she stomped over to her wooden chest which had been placed at the foot of the bed, and flung open the lid taking out a thin cotton gown. With jerky movements she stripped off her stola, uncaring if she ripped the delicate silk or not, before donning the night gown. Once she had finished, she walked over to the door. Her hand was even on the handle but then the futility of what she was doing hit her.

  Where would she go? Where would she sleep? She didn’t even know what other rooms had been given over to sleeping. Hades, she didn’t even know where Antonia slept! The only realistic option was to sleep with Elisha, but Metellus had already warned her of doing that hadn’t he?

  A feeling of helplessness hit her, and she lifted her hands and placed them flat against the wooden door. Even though the door wasn’t locked she was still in effect a prisoner here in this room. There was no hiding from him. She was his. He was the one in total control of this situation. His to take. Anytime. Anywhere.

  The thought of him stripping off her shift, his hands skimming over her naked flesh made her blood heat. She was catapulted back to the island, to the night he’d made love to her, his mouth and body seeking, and taking everything from her.

  “Stop!” She shook her head, dispelling the erotic memories of all they had shared. “Stop now.” She had to suppress these feelings, because if she didn’t, there was no accounting what he would do to the tattered remnants of her mind, and her heart.

  She had to be strong. She would refuse to be a willing bed mate. Whatever his reason for marrying her, it wasn't out of love or respect for her was it?

  Tiredness stole over her in a tidal wave of exhaustion, and she leaned her forehead against the rough planks of wood. Suddenly she went beyond caring what Metellus would do when he came into the bedchamber. It had been such a long day, and she was in desperate need of sleep. With reluctance she moved away from the door and climbed into the bed and within minutes she was asleep.

  Metellus gazed down at Livia’s sleeping form. She was curled on her side, her knees almost reaching her chin, in what was almost a childlike pose.

  He’d watched, and waited for her earlier, hiding himself in the shadows behind one of the marble columns which lined the long corridor. Watched as she’d exited Elisha’s bedroom and walked with slow steps towards his bedchamber. She’d hesitated for so long outside his door before going in, that Metellus had been tempted to make his presence known.

  But he hadn’t. And then, when she had finally opened the door and stepped into his bedchamber, he’d let out a rush of air he hadn’t even known he’d been holding in.

  A slight noise interrupted his thoughts, as Livia moaned something in her sleep before she straightened her legs and turned over onto her back.

  Lust slammed into him like a vicious blow to the stomach when he saw that the thin material of her gown did nothing to hide the lushness of her body. He could see the hardness of her nipples pushing impudently at the material, the thin cotton clinging to her long slim legs making him hard with longing. More than anything he wanted to go over to her, wrap his arms around her, press his body – his fully aroused body – against hers and make love to her all night long until both his mind and body were sated once and for all.

  He inhaled, taking in the subtle aroma of her body, fighting the temptation to crawl into his bed and make love to her. He lifted one hand and raked it through his hair, rubbing the tension which pooled at the back of his neck. He realised with a start, that he’d never watched a woman sleep before. He had always left after having sex. It was his way of ensuring no woman ever got under his skin.

  He grimaced. Hah! Who was he trying to fool? One night wouldn’t be enough. He knew with a certainty he would want her again. And again. There was no denying Livia – his wife – had definitely burrowed deep under his skin.

  Sighing, he turned and left the bedroom, making his way to the tablinum. Once inside the room he walked over to a sideboard and poured himself a goblet of wine, frowning in annoyance at the way his hands shook. He swallowed the wine in one go, before he poured himself another. This time he sipped it, savoured it, hoping the alcohol would ease the tension i
nside him.

  But it didn’t, and his mouth twisted in derision. Never in all of his adult life had one woman affected him as much as Livia did.

  He’d had other women, of course he had. The men who worked for him, constantly teased him about his good looks which brought women flocking to the docks just to get a glimpse of him. Women of all ages watched him, smiled at him, encouraged him, offered themselves to him. And sometimes, when the need for sex had eaten away at him, he’d taken what they offered, satisfying them both.

  But he was also blunt, to the point of rudeness, with the women who came into his life. He offered only his body, nothing else. And as long as they knew where they stood with him, then, and only then, did he take them to his bed.

  He had been without a woman for nearly a year until he’d made love to Livia on the island. His work commitments had driven him hard this past year, to the exclusion of everything. Ever since he’d heard rumours of the Drusii fortune being whittled away, he’d been more determined than ever to make as much money as possible in order to buy what he needed, and implement his plans for revenge.

  A noise behind him distracted him, and he turned round, thinking for a moment it might be Livia. But when he saw his mother standing there his shoulders slumped, and he called himself all kinds of a fool for even contemplating that Livia would come to him. She had no reason to seek him out, no reason whatsoever.

  “What ails you mother?” he finally asked, seeing the frown of concern on her face.

  “Nothing. Well-” She stopped, lifting her hands up in a gesture of frustration.

  “Mother,” Metellus said calmly, seeing the concern darken the grey of her eyes. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  His mother wrung her hands, indecision flashing across her expressive face, before she blurted out. “I…I want to know why you married Livia?”

  His jaw tightened, and he turned away to pour himself another goblet of wine, but not before he saw sadness, and disappointment cross her face.

  Inwardly he fumed with anger. Not with his mother, but with himself. He realised he shouldn’t have brought Livia here. He should have taken her to his apartments in Rome instead, and just sent his mother a message informing her he had married. Yes, it was the coward’s way, but maybe it would have been for the best. Sighing, he turned to face her. “My marriage has nothing to do with you-”