Jenni Fletcher - The Warrior's Bride Prize

‘Are we here, Mama?’

Julia lifted her head from the bench, yawning, as they turned away from the headquarters and rolled to a halt in front of a large villa.

‘Yes, love.’ She wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, pulling her close. ‘We’re here.’

‘Is this our house?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘This is the Legionary Legate’s house,’ Marius interjected, already opening the carriage door. ‘My orders were to escort you here.’

‘Then I thank you for your escort, Centurion.’

She spoke formally as she took his proffered hand and stepped down, trying to ignore the way her breath caught and then quickened as their fingers touched. Standing so close, her nostrils filled with his scent of leather and sandalwood, she felt as though all her insides were performing a series of unwonted contortions. She could sense his body heat, too, radiating through his mail shirt, though perhaps that was just her own blood heating in response to his proximity. Every part of her skin seemed to be tingling, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, as if his hands were moving all over her body and not merely grasping her fingers.

She swallowed as her heart seemed to sink and do somersaults at the same time. She’d spent her time in the carriage trying to convince herself that her earlier reaction to him had all been a mistake, a reaction to the tension of the past few days, and yet holding his hand now, the feeling seemed ten times as strong, as if denial had only magnified her body’s response. If it were nerves, then it didn’t feel like any nerves she recognised. It felt strangely, shockingly, inappropriately pleasurable. How could it still when she knew that he wasn’t the man she’d come to marry?

She peeked up at him, but he was staring straight ahead at the villa, as if he felt no reaction to her at all. Perhaps he didn’t. It was hard to imagine such a powerful emotion being entirely one-sided, but judging by the severity of his expression, it clearly was. Which was a good thing, she told herself. If he felt the same then it would only make things more awkward and her earlier mistake had been bad enough.

She drew her fingers away, pulling her palla over her head as he turned to lift Julia down from the carriage, making a small bow as he did so, as if she truly were an empress. She smiled at her daughter’s delighted reaction. Even if she never saw him again, which she supposed was quite likely given the size of the fort, she’d remember him for that kindness. The rest of it she would try to forget, not just for her sake, but for that of her new husband. No good could come of dwelling on what-might-have-beens, on what her future might have been if Marius Varro had been the man she’d come to marry.

They started up the steps of the villa together, Julia in the middle like a shield keeping them apart. It made Livia no less physically aware of him, but at least it made the cause of her flushed cheeks less obvious. Now if she could just keep her daughter between them while she bade him farewell...

No sooner had the thought entered her head than the little girl tripped, sprawling forward on to the hard granite steps. Instinctively, she sprang forward to catch her, only to find Marius there at the same time, so that they both caught an elbow and lifted her up before she could hurt herself. Livia threw him a grateful look, but he only nodded sternly, waiting for her to move ahead before dropping unobtrusively to one side, though staying close enough to reach them, she noticed, in case Julia stumbled again. For some reason, his presence there made her feel better, as if he were protecting them both.

‘Ah, Livia Valeria.’ An aristocratic-looking man dressed in a pristine white toga decorated with a purple band appeared in the villa doorway, bowing his head in greeting. ‘I’m Fabius Augustus Nerva, Legate Legionary of the Sixth Victorious Legion. Welcome to Coria.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad to be here.’ She bent her own head in response. As intimidating as the man looked, she was relieved to find that his expression was welcoming. ‘This is my daughter, Julia.’

She gestured behind her, better prepared this time for the look of surprise that immediately crossed his features. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting a child either.

‘I see.’ Whatever his private thoughts, he recovered himself quickly. ‘Well, we’re always looking for new recruits. Have you come to join the legion, young lady?’

‘Marius says I’m an empress,’ Julia answered seriously.

‘ Marius said that?’ The Legate’s eyebrows shot upwards as he threw a swift, questioning look at his Centurion. ‘Well, in that case I await your commands, but first you’d better come inside. My wife has arranged some refreshments after your long journey. You, too, Marius .’

He stepped aside, letting her precede him through the vestibulum and into the atrium beyond. It was a large, airy room with a painting of a garden on one wall and an intricate mosaic of two tigers wrestling on the floor, their claws and teeth bared in ferocious combat. Livia bent her head to study it, so impressed by the intricacy of the design that it took her a few moments to notice the pair of sandalled feet standing at the opposite edge.

‘Oh!’

She exclaimed in alarm, pressing one hand to her chest as she met the critical stare of another, younger man watching her with arms clasped behind his back. Tall and coldly handsome, he looked to be around twenty years of age with short blond hair, piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogant hauteur that seemed to ooze out of every pore. She didn’t need an introduction to know who he was.

‘Ah, Lucius.’ Nerva gave a strained-looking smile. ‘May I present Livia Valeria, your new bride.’

‘I’m honoured to meet you, Lucius Scaevola.’ She felt vividly aware of the contrast with the first time she’d said those words. They were expected of her, but this time she didn’t feel even the tiniest flicker of attraction. Neither, apparently, did he as his gaze flitted over and then past her.

‘She’s older than I expected.’

He spoke in a tone of contempt to Nerva, as if speaking to her directly was beneath his dignity, and she felt the last of her hopes flitter away, replaced by dismay and indignation. Even if she was a few years past the expected age for a bride, he ought not to mention it aloud as if she had neither ears nor feelings.

‘Who is that ?’ His gaze homed in on Julia suddenly, his voice turning high-pitched and horrified.

‘ That is my daughter.’ She took a step to one side, blocking his view. ‘Julia.’

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Scaevola drew in a hiss of breath, seeming to rear backwards and upwards at the same time, like a cornered snake rising up on its coils. ‘A daughter? I wasn’t told anything about a child!’

He whirled away from her towards Nerva. ‘Surely I can’t be expected to take on another man’s whelp? It’s preposterous. Just look at her hair! She looks like a Caledonian! A filthy barbarian!’

Livia felt the blood drain from her face, the ball of tension in her chest tightening so fiercely she actually felt winded. She couldn’t speak, only stare, stunned into silence by the insult. Red hair had been fashionable in Rome for a time, years before when the sight of tribespeople from the north had been a novelty, but now it was hardly unique. There were plenty of red-headed citizens scattered throughout the Empire, though she’d heard that some Romans still regarded it as a sign of barbarism. Not that she’d ever heard such prejudices expressed quite so blatantly nor so vehemently before. Even Julius had only looked his disapproval, but then he’d liked her hair at first. He’d called it her crowning glory before he’d turned it into yet another reason to hate her.