Alyssa Morgan - Gladiator Heart

Being with Tristan had changed her. She’d gone from girl to woman in only a few short days. There was a possibility she would never see Tristan again, so she was not going to sit here and feel sorry for herself. As a woman, she had to take her destiny into her own hands. No matter what her feelings for Tristan, she didn’t need a man to make her whole.

The battle raged outside, intensifying. Valeria recognized the same sounds from that terrifying night at the fort. Death . It all sounded the same. She hurried up from the bed and searched through the trunk in the corner. She found another pair of shackles and some rope. Nothing she could use. She needed shoes and a weapon. Some warm clothes.

There were plenty of furs in the tent and she pulled one over her shoulders. Did she sit here and wait? She had no idea who Tristan fought. They might not be Roman but some other enemy. If she left and Tristan did happen to return for her, well—what then? Would he find her? Would he want to find her? If she waited and he didn’t return, could she live with the idea that he might not want her? Did it matter to her either way?

It shouldn’t. But it did.

An older man with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face came crashing into the tent. He was dressed in a red legionary cloak and golden armor.

A Roman.

She should be relieved to see him, she was saved, but she couldn’t deny the spark of disappointment that it wasn’t Tristan coming for her.

The soldier curled his lip with an ugly sneer as he assessed her from head to toe. “I didn’t know the Picts liked to travel with their whores.” He took a menacing step towards her.

Valeria was outraged that he’d speak to her with such contempt, but it was impossible for him to know who she was. Wearing the fur made her look just like the other northerners in this camp.

“I’m no Pict whore,” she lashed at him in perfect Latin, lifting her chin. “I am Valeria Augusta Marianus, niece to the Emperor Constantine and cousin to the Caesar of Rome.”

The soldier halted and stared at her, a look of complete surprise on his face. “Forgive me, lady.” He gave a reverent bow of his head. “We heard of your disappearance but assumed you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not,” she said in a curt voice. How lucky she was to be able to say it.

“Wait here.” The soldier bolted out of the tent.

Gods!

Wait here. Was that all she could do? Wait for Tristan or the Romans? Who would come first? What if they came at the same time? What side would she choose?

Valeria paced the tent, her impatience growing with every agonizing second that passed. Finally, she heard harsh voices arguing outside, and then Rufus burst through the door and came charging into the tent.

“Thank the Gods you’re all right!” His gaze roamed over her with scrutiny, inspecting her bedraggled appearance, stopping on her bruised cheek.

The sight of his shaved head and his giant body had Valeria close to tears, she was so grateful to see him. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“I’m hard to kill.” He wore armor with the Roman standard imprinted on it and carried a heavy sword.

Rufus felt whole with a weapon in his hand and wielded the sword as if it were an extension of his arm. He’d been in the army for so long that fighting came naturally to him, like breathing.

Valeria, on the other hand, was a gentle girl and had no place in the middle of a battle. Though stubborn and strong-willed, she’d been sheltered from the real horrors of the world. Rufus took great pride in being responsible for keeping her from harm. He feared he’d failed her this time. He never should have let her come here. What had that dirty Pict general done to her?

“Has my uncle come with more troops?” she wondered with hope shining in her pretty eyes.

Poor Valeria. She was constantly trying to win the Emperor’s affections, but the man spent all his time and energy on his son. He wanted his niece to marry so he no longer had to be responsible for her, and Rufus didn’t have it in him to tell her the truth.

“He is not here, but he sent three legions in his stead,” Rufus informed her. “We’ve taken the camp and all survivors will be brought to Rome as slaves.”

Valeria’s throat seemed to close up and she felt a nauseating pit of despair in her stomach. Tristan would either be killed, or he’d become a slave. It didn’t feel right. She might not know him very well outside of their lovemaking, but he deserved a better fate than that.

“And we are to return to Rome as well?” she asked, already knowing, and simultaneously dreading, the answer.

Where else would they go?

“Yes, Domina.” Rufus gave her appearance another disapproving glance. “I’ll get you some proper clothes. I have men outside so it’s safe for you to stay in here.”

Valeria was alone again, waiting. In a way she was glad to be returning home where it was warm and dry. She’d see her friends again, and Lucia, the woman who was like her mother. Had she remained with Tristan he would have traded her as a slave. Instead, he was to be the slave. She should feel a great sense of triumph. He’d kept her prisoner and seduced her into his bed, and she had a feeling if she’d refused his advances he would have forced his affections on her. He was nothing but a brute and a bully.

And that was a lie to make her feel better, because she’d rather be with him right now more than any other person in the world. Despite his sometimes horrible treatment of her, she had feelings for him. Real, true feelings, that in this moment were tearing her in two.

The sound of a fight erupted outside the tent. Valeria’s mind was a crazy mixture of hope and fear as swords clashed and rioted. Someone dared to challenge the men Rufus had posted at the door. She knew it was Tristan even before he came crashing into the tent. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded when she saw him standing there, his auburn hair long and wild, a heavy sword in each hand, covered with blood.

Tristan wasn’t sure what possessed him to return to his tent for Valeria. He was in the midst of a war and a woman would only slow him down. What was he doing? Only a complete idiot would risk his life for a woman he barely knew. He hadn’t even expected to find her, but here she stood, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She looked as baffled and astonished as he felt.

“We’ve fallen to the Romans.” The words tasted foul on his tongue. Rome’s tactics of war were no longer superior for he and his men had learned their enemy’s ways quickly. In this battle they’d simply been outnumbered.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “You have to hurry. You have to go.”

“I said I’d come back.” Of all the things he’d be leaving behind, Valeria was something that couldn’t be replaced. Gods help him, he wanted more time with her.

“It’s too late—”

“It’s not too late.” He sheathed one of his swords and held his hand out to her. “We can get out, but we must do it now.”

She hesitated and glanced at his offered hand. Why wouldn’t she take it?

“I can’t go with you, Tristan.”

“Why not?” A tic worked along his jaw and he glowered at her. “You begged me not to leave earlier.”

Had he been wrong to come back for her? Had she only pretended to have feelings for him, lying to him as she’d lied about her reason for coming to the north, or the fact that she spoke his language?

Tristan should have known better. He should have left her and never looked back. There was good reason why he guarded his heart, but he’d felt something different with Valeria, something special, so he’d let her in, and she proved to be just as cold and uncaring as a woman could be. And a Roman on top of it. He’d never make the mistake again.