Gladiator Heart

by Alyssa Morgan

  “I wish to go with you.”

  “Ah.” Lucia poured two cups of wine and handed one off to Valeria. “Who are we so anxious to see?”

  Valeria bit out a curse. The woman could look right into her heart. She chugged down the entire cup of wine and swiped at the drops running down her face with the back of her hand in a very un-ladylike gesture.

  “There was a prisoner on our journey,” she hesitated, considering what exactly to tell Lucia. “The soldiers were awful to him and I only wish to see if he is well and tend to his wounds. They wouldn’t let me care for him on the road.”

  “Why would you want to?” Lucia challenged her. “A prisoner of Rome should mean nothing to you.”

  Valeria thought Lucia, of all people, would understand. “I am a healer, like you taught me. It’s my duty to care for others no matter what their station. Besides, you treat the slaves at the ludus.”

  “Only because it pays well.”

  Valeria found herself with nothing to say. Had Lucia always been so cold-hearted and she was just now realizing it?

  “I guess I misunderstood.”

  “Listen to me, Valeria, because I’m only going to tell you this once.” Lucia caught her in a stern stare. “Do not try to go against Rome. It will only bring you suffering. The prisoners who go to the arena are not worth your misery. I treat those men because it is the only way I can settle my conscience about what is done to them, it’s the only power I have, but you are in a position with too much to lose.”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Valeria grumbled. “I wish I was just a common citizen like you. At least I’d be free.”

  “None of us are free,” Lucia stated bluntly. “We are all bound by our stations.”

  Valeria had never heard a greater truth spoken. She was no better than a slave herself. Her uncle owned her, and soon Gaius would own her. Why couldn’t she just accept her fate as it was?

  “Gods, it’s all so unfair.” She slumped down in a chair at the table and slammed down her empty cup in a childish huff.

  “No one said life would be fair.” Lucia swept into a seat beside her like a whisper. “You have to make the most of what you’re given, and you’ve been blessed.”

  “Blessed?” Valeria let out a sob of laughter. “If being forced to marry someone I hate is blessed, then I don’t want it.”

  “Forced to marry?” Lucia wrinkled her brow. “Of what do you speak?”

  “One of the officers who brought me home seeks to make me his wife.” Valeria had to tell the woman sooner or later. Besides, she might come up with a plan to help her get out of it.

  “Who is he?”

  “Gaius Cato. Do you know him?”

  “I know of him. He lives in the country. Trains horses I believe.” Lucia’s mouth curved in a clever smile. “From what I’ve seen, he’s very handsome.”

  Valeria snorted with disgust. “He’s positively vile.”

  “Oh, he cannot be that bad.” Lucia gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Men have different ways of doing things, that’s all.”

  “You would not defend him if you knew of his character. He intends to force himself on me.” Valeria trembled with dread at the thought. “I believe it will give him great pleasure to train me like one of his horses.”

  Lucia stared back at her in thoughtful silence. “You’ll have to marry sometime, it’s your duty. Are you sure it will be so bad with Gaius? In time you might come to love him.”

  “No, Lucia,” she declared. “Never.”

  “How can you be so sure when you don’t yet know what it’s like to love a man?” Lucia chuckled quietly to herself and sipped from her cup of wine, a faraway look coming to her eyes. “The physical aspect of love, while very enjoyable, can be confusing at the same time. It can change how we see things.”

  “Oh, Lucia, I can’t stand it,” Valeria cried.

  She folded her arms on the table in front of her and dropped her head down. It was no use. She couldn’t deny the evidence any longer. Tristan had found his way into her heart. The only man she wanted was the one she absolutely could not have.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Lucia said, patting her on the head. “Marriage isn’t that awful, and I can teach you about what a man expects from a wife.”

  “I’m very familiar with what a man expects from his wife.” Her voice was muffled in her arms.

  Lucia chuckled heartily. “I guess your shameful friends have finally given you an education.”

  “No, not them.” Valeria shook her head in dismay, still hiding her face in her arms. “Tristan did.”

  “What are you saying?” Lucia’s voice had a hard edge to it. “What do you mean?”

  “The prisoner I told you about. I shared relations with him.” The confession made her feel like a great weight had been lifted and her whole body relaxed with blessed relief.

  “Curse the Gods!” Lucia slammed her hand down on the table. “I knew you were raped. It was my greatest fear.”

  “I wasn’t raped,” she mumbled, keeping her head down. She couldn’t bear to look at Lucia when she revealed her secret. “He made love to me.”

  At Lucia’s astounded gasp, Valeria lifted her head. The woman had gone pale, all color drained from her face, and her mouth still hung open as she stared at Valeria like she’d never seen her before. This was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. She didn’t want Lucia to think less of her for what she’d done. What happened between her and Tristan was supposed to remain a secret, but how had she thought to keep such a secret from Lucia? Valeria had no one else to talk to about something like this.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Valeria, how could you?”

  “How could I what?”

  “Give yourself so easily, like a common woman,” Lucia accused.

  “I did not give myself easily,” Valeria said, growing defensive. “I was kidnapped and held prisoner. I was alone and frightened, and when Tristan held me in his arms, I felt safe.”

  At Lucia’s look of complete and utter surprise, Valeria continued to reveal her secret. Talking about all that happened was easier than she’d thought it would be.

  “I liked it,” she finally admitted. “For two nights I shared his bed, willingly, and I’d be with him again in place of every other man in Rome.”

  “This can’t be,” Lucia muttered. She sat back in her chair and stared off into space with a blank look. “It just can’t be.”

  “I made a promise to the Gods that I’d free him,” Valeria went on with determined purpose. “And you have to help me do it.”

  Lucia’s serious stare evaporated when she erupted into a sudden bout of laughter. Tears streamed down her face and she chuckled wildly. “My clever girl, I should have known you’d be destined to get yourself mixed up in something like this.”

  Valeria dropped her head back down on her arms.” I’m glad you can find amusement in my misery.”

  She’d come here for help, not to be laughed at.

  “Does Rufus know?”

  “No one else knows.”

  “We need to keep it that way.”

  Lifting her head, she fought the urge to cry. “I can’t marry Gaius Cato.”

  “There are ways to fool men when it comes to letting them think they’ve taken your virtue.” A conspiratorial glint sparkled in Lucia’s warm, brown eyes. “There’s no need for this unfortunate incident to ruin your future.”

  “Gaius will know,” Valeria insisted. “He’s not so easily fooled.”

  “Then you must tell him and he’ll let you out of the marriage.”

  “No, he won’t.” Of that Valeria was certain. “He knows something happened between me and Tristan. He’ll marry me anyway, and then punish me for it.”

  “You make this Gaius sound like a degenerate lout,” Lucia spat in a nasty tone.

  “I’m terrified of what he’ll do to me.” Valeria knew he would find ways to hurt
her and take pleasure from it.

  Lucia sat up straight in her chair and collected herself. “We’ll just have to find a way to get rid of him.” She smoothed her hands over the lap of her red stola, then picked up her cup of wine and took a long swallow.

  “Crispus is holding him off for now, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

  “Enough with all this.” Lucia flourished her hand in the air. “There’s no sense in worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. We have a job to do.”

  She signaled to one of her servants and the girl came over directly. She ordered her to bring Rufus. He always accompanied Lucia and Valeria when they went out on jobs. His strength and protection had been needed on more than one occasion, too.

  “We must prepare to leave at once.” Lucia stood and drank down the rest of her wine. “I’m anxious to meet this prisoner of Rome, this man who has won my daughter’s heart.”

  Heat flushed Valeria’s cheeks. “I’m not in love with Tristan.”

  But the words felt wrong as soon as she’d spoken them.

  “Then go back to the palace and let me see to the prisoners.” Lucia turned and started walking away.

  “I can’t. Not without seeing him first.” Valeria needed to get into the ludus, and Lucia was her best chance. She had to find some way to save Tristan.

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.” Lucia cast a sly glance over her shoulder and smiled at her, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Come to the kitchen and help me prepare.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was hot, and the air so heavy he couldn’t breathe. The pungent smell of sweat and urine clung to the damp stone walls. Flickering torches lit their way as Tristan was led past rows of cells with heavy iron doors.

  Only barely alive, he didn’t know how his feet carried him on, but he’d made it to Rome and it seemed like a waste for him to die now.

  Groans of misery echoed up ahead and he didn’t think he wanted to find out what lay in store for him. There wasn’t much else they could do except kill him. He was brought into a great, open room full of rows of long wooden tables. Men lay on some of the tables being treated or massaged. Tristan was left in his shackles and forced to his knees by the soldier who had led him here.

  An old man with white, wispy hair and a white beard shuffled up to him. “Quite a batch of northerners the Legatus brought home. Not sure we’ll have room for them all.”

  The soldier grunted an incoherent response and left.

  Tristan didn’t fight when the old man produced a pair of shears and began to cut his long hair. He cropped it short, then cut and shaved his beard. Next he was taken into a smaller room with a bath and washed and scrubbed from head to toe, breaking the lash wounds on his back open and bringing up the biting sting all over again. The old man rubbed oil into his skin and paused at his back.

  “Heard about the lashings you got,” he said. “Some of the older wounds look like they were treated. They’ve healed better than the others. Why would they bother, only to bring the whip down on you again?”

  “They didn’t,” Tristan growled.

  Why did the old man have to stir up memories of Valeria? He finally thought he was going numb to feeling anything. The pain, the anger, the torment. It all came slamming back into him at once.

  “Must be the lady Valeria’s handiwork.” The old man clucked his tongue. “Great healer that one. I heard she made the journey with you. Lucky for you she was there watching over you.”

  Luck had nothing to do with it. Valeria had been trouble since the day he’d first set eyes on her. A Roman he loathed, and a woman he couldn’t resist.

  The old man helped him tie on a loincloth and led him back to the larger room. He had him sit up on a table, and shortly after Angus and some of the other men were brought in, clean and shaven, just as Tristan was.

  “They shaved off my beard.” Angus grunted. He rubbed his hand over his bare chin. “I’ve been growing it forever and—whack—it’s gone.”

  “It was getting too long anyway,” Tristan teased him, trying to keep the mood light in spite of everything they’d been through. “If they hadn’t cut it, eventually I would have.”

  “Bloody devil.” Angus bowed his head and murmured a string of curses. “I hate these Romans. Why clean us up, only to kill us?”

  “It makes for a better show,” Tristan said. “Where’s the fun in watching a man on the brink of death get killed? It’s too easy.”

  “Welcome to Rome,” the old man addressed their group. “You’re in the Emperor’s ludus to be trained as gladiators for the arena. The healers have arrived to see to you, and I suggest you accept their help. You’ll need your strength for the days ahead.”

  With that, the old man left, and a familiar face walked into the room. It was Rufus, followed by two women. The first was matronly, along in her years, but still very beautiful with her brown hair piled on top of her head. The second woman lowered the hood of her dark blue cape, and Tristan froze when he saw Valeria.

  What was she doing here, of all the places in Rome?

  She somehow managed to get more beautiful with each passing day. To know he’d kissed those pink lips, that he’d once possessed every inch of her naked body, made it hard to look at her without a deep longing. But it was harder not to look at her, and when their gazes met, he saw the same longing reflected in her eyes.

  Rufus planted himself in the doorway with his legs wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He had a sword at his waist and wore a breastplate of armor, and when his scrutinizing glare landed on Tristan, he kept it there.

  The first woman started moving among the men and talking to them in a low, soothing voice as she inspected their wounds. Valeria hurried right over to him and took a moment to absorb his new appearance with his short hair and no beard. He felt so bare, so different.

  “Tristan.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. “I’m so sorry.” Her blue eyes filled with tears.

  “Sorry for what?” he asked mildly. “I made it here alive. Now I go to the arena. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Valeria shook her head. “I only want you to be free.”

  Tristan believed her words. Why else would she tell him he could win his freedom in the arena?

  They gazed at each other for a long moment, as if they were both sharing the same memory of being wrapped up in each other’s arms. Tristan was the first to look away across the room. Just looking at her made him go all hot and hard, and he had to beat back his desire. He might never see her again.

  “I see old Quintus has given you a thorough cleansing,” she said, circling around the table where he was perched to inspect his back. “I have salve for your wounds.”

  “I don’t need it,” he barked over his shoulder.

  He couldn’t bear to feel her hands on him, knowing it might be the last time.

  She touched him with gentle fingers, tickling over his skin, and it sent shivers through his body. He tensed, tightening his jaw. He couldn’t stand her light touch. It felt too good. It made him want more.

  He took her wrist in a firm grip and shoved her away from him. “I don’t want your help.”

  Valeria stared at him with a hurt expression, and it almost killed him to know he was responsible, but she had to let him go. The woman who’d accompanied Valeria came over and stood between them. She gave Tristan a bold looking over, her lips pressed together with displeasure, her eyes sharp and assessing.

  “You’ll not handle my girl in such a fashion again,” she said in a calm voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Her imperious tone reminded him of Valeria. Was this her mother? They didn’t look anything alike. In the event that she was, he considered it wise to mind his manners so she wouldn’t be tempted to do some form of permanent damage to his male anatomy. Women were vindictive creatures.

  “I’m sorry.” Tristan gave a curt nod in response.

  “You’ve made it clear you do not want her help, will you a
ccept mine?”

  Tristan glanced at Valeria, then back to the woman. “Yes,” he relented to be agreeable.

  “Valeria,” the woman said. “See to the other men. You know what to do.”

  “Yes, Lucia.” Valeria lowered her head as she walked away and started moving among the other men to inspect their various injuries.

  Tristan studied the woman before him, and she studied him back, narrowing her eyes. “What a fine specimen of a man you are. What is your age? I’d guess you to be around six and twenty.”

  “What does my age matter?” he wondered, confused, though she’d been right on.

  “I’m just curious.” She walked around behind him and began dressing his wounds with a cool, sticky salve. “As a mother might be.”

  So, the woman was Valeria’s mother, and she knew about them. He’d like to know exactly what and how much Valeria had told her about their time together.

  Lucia went to her knees in front of Tristan and lathered more salve on his bleeding, blistered feet while his legs dangled off the table. “I can’t imagine how much you suffered on your journey, but Valeria was not responsible for any of it.”

  She rose to look him in the eye. He didn’t avoid her gaze, and she respected him all the more for his gallantry. Lucia could appreciate the man who’d introduced Valeria to the ways of love. He was young and handsome and strong, and had pleasured the girl rather than raping her like a savage. Valeria was half in love with the northerner.

  And Lucia didn’t see how they could have a future.

  “You Romans are all the same,” he bit out harshly. “You take what does not belong to you as if you have some God-given right.”

  “What has Valeria taken from you?” Lucia questioned. “Tell me what it is I have taken from you.”

  His detached silence was the only answer she needed. This man understood what was at stake. His life, Valeria’s life, any hope for a future rested in the fickle hands of Rome. He doled out anger and spite to avoid feeling anything because the loss would be too great. Lucia understood him perfectly. He reminded her much of her beloved Rufus when he’d been in the same position.