Jenni Fletcher - The Warrior's Bride Prize

A faint sobbing sound emanating from behind her skirts forced self-pity aside and she curled her hands into fists as a rush of maternal fury overcame shock. Insulting her was one thing. Insulting her daughter was a different matter entirely!

‘We’re Roman.’ She pulled her palla back from her head, unveiling her own copper-red curls. If Julia was going to be condemned for her hair colour, then they’d be condemned together. ‘Just like you.’

‘How dare you!’ His expression managed to convey both outrage and horror. ‘You’re nothing like me!’

‘And we deserve your respect!’ She tossed her head deliberately so that the long tresses spilled over her shoulders, speaking with a disdain equal to his own. No matter what else, she wasn’t going to let Julia see her behave with anything other than dignity.

Scaevola’s eyes narrowed to venomous slits before he turned back towards Nerva. ‘How could I ever take a pair like that back to Rome? It’s unthinkable! I’d be the laughing stock of the Senate.’

‘Lucius.’ Nerva’s voice held a warning note, though the younger man seemed not to notice.

‘I won’t do it. I’d rather marry a—’

‘Sir!’

Livia spun around, as startled as everyone else by Marius’s interruption. Despite Nerva’s invitation to join them, he’d kept to one side of the atrium, half-hidden in the shadows, though she’d remained acutely aware of his presence. Even without looking she could somehow sense his proximity. If he’d left, she had a feeling she would have known it.

She hadn’t counted on his coming to her aid, however, and yet that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. He actually looked angry, she noticed with surprise, his jaw a rigidly set line as he eyeballed the other man, though as a centurion he surely had no right to interrupt a tribune. She didn’t know much about the Roman army, but she knew that hierarchy was everything. Judging by the way that Scaevola’s mouth was hanging open, gaping like a landed fish, he could hardly believe it either.

She held her breath, not knowing whether to feel grateful or concerned. As much as she appreciated Marius’s defending her, she didn’t want him to be punished for it. She had enough to worry about already.

‘Centurion?’ Nerva was the first to recover from his surprise.

‘Forgive my interruption, sir.’ Marius sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. ‘But I believe our guests are tired after their journey.’

‘Of course.’ To her amazement, instead of issuing a reprimand, Nerva agreed with him. ‘We can discuss this another time. Don’t you agree, Lucius?’

The Tribune didn’t get a chance to answer as a kindly-looking matron emerged through one of the archways at that moment, her genial smile instantly defusing the tension.

‘Ah, you must be Livia.’ The woman came forward at once, hands outstretched. ‘I wondered what was keeping you all out here. I’m so delighted to meet you.’

‘This is my wife, Hermenia.’ Nerva looked visibly relieved by her arrival. ‘She’ll show you to your room. Under the circumstances, we thought it might be best if you stayed here as our guest for a few days. Until matters are settled.’

‘If they’re settled...’ Lucius sounded faintly rebellious.

‘Thank you.’ Livia clasped the woman’s hands gratefully, feeling as if she’d just been offered a raft in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. At that moment anything was better than spending any more time with her intended. Not that running away and hiding was going to solve anything, but it would be a welcome respite.

Then she reached an arm behind her, drawing her daughter out from her hiding place. ‘We’d be happy to, wouldn’t we, Julia?’

The older woman’s eyes fell on the girl and a look of understanding swept across her features, followed by a genuine-looking smile.

‘Then come with me.’ She held a hand out to Julia at the same time as she cast a vaguely threatening look towards Scaevola. ‘You can have something to eat and then we’ll find you a nice cosy bed.’

‘Thank you.’ Livia glanced towards Nerva. ‘I appreciate your hospitality.’

‘Think nothing of it. We’ll speak properly tomorrow.’ He sounded sombre. ‘When you’re feeling refreshed.’

‘Yes.’

She didn’t know how else to answer, her gaze darting past him towards Lucius and then Marius. Standing on different sides of the room, the two men looked like complete opposites. She knew what one of them thought of her—he’d made his opinion abundantly obvious—but as for the other...

Marius’s expression was stern again, even sterner than it had been on their journey. His anger seemed to have faded and yet there was an air of danger about him, as if he’d only restrained, not overcome, his temper. Even so, she couldn’t help but wish that she’d guessed the identity of her new husband correctly the first time. Instead he’d been the one to come to her rescue against her real intended, a man who appeared to be even more loathsome than Julius. She hadn’t thought it possible that her second husband could be any worse than her first, but apparently it was.

She dropped her gaze at the thought and fled.

‘I won’t do it!’ Scaevola’s eyes glittered with anger as he stormed up and down the atrium.

‘You made an agreement with her brother.’ Nerva’s usual unruffled demeanour was severely ruffled. ‘If you refuse to go through with the marriage then he’ll have grounds against you.’

‘Better that than dishonour my family.’

‘You’re the one who’s brought dishonour on your family!’ Nerva’s tone was distinctly unsympathetic. ‘Drinking and gambling and who knows what else. Your father would be appalled.’

‘He still wouldn’t want me to marry a barbarian!’

Marius gritted his teeth at the insult. The combined effort of biting his tongue and restraining his temper was becoming more and more difficult, but unless he wanted to end up demoted, or worse, it was also necessary. His earlier interruption had been bad enough. Arguing with a superior officer was strictly forbidden, even when the officer in question had nothing superior about him. He wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him, except that the callous way Scaevola had insulted Livia and her daughter had enraged him to the point that he would gladly have given a year’s pay for the chance to beat the living daylights out of him.

In all honesty, he still would. It was bad enough that Livia was going to marry such a man—the very thought of which made him inordinately, inappropriately furious—but from what she’d told him earlier, she was still in mourning for her first husband. What kind of brother would force his sister to marry again while she was grieving? What kind of man would even concoct such a scheme, debt or no debt? Everything about it felt wrong.

‘If you’re so worried about your family honour, why don’t you ask your father to pay the debt?’ Nerva fixed Scaevola with a hard stare.

‘Because he would refuse.’ The Tribune’s eyes dropped to his sandals. ‘He already told me there’d be no more money before I left Rome.’

‘Then as I see it, you’ve no choice. I suggest that you either apologise to your new bride and hope that she forgives you or prepare to stand trial.’

‘Her brother wouldn’t dare to accuse me of anything!’ Scaevola blustered. ‘He knows who I am.’

‘I’m sure he does, but do you know who he is?’ Nerva held up a hand before the youth could answer. ‘He’s a powerful man in Lindum and you’re a long way from Rome. Your family name won’t protect you this far away. Now I suggest that you take the night to consider your choices. Try staying sober for once.’