Alyssa Morgan - Gladiator Heart

Tristan breathed in the crisp night air as he moved through the darkened camp to find Angus. He was too wound up to sleep. Valeria’s stubborn resistance incited his temper to the point of rage, while at the same time her softness and beauty stirred a tremendous lust in him, and between the two warring emotions he was afraid of losing control.

She was a Roman!

He shouldn’t give a damn about losing control around her or not. She could live or die and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. Instead of keeping her warm and secure in his tent, he should chain her out in the snow and let her freeze. He’d bet she’d be willing to do anything he asked after one night.

But he knew he wouldn’t do that to her. If he was smart, he’d keep her chained with the rest of the prisoners. She’d be out of his tent and among her countrymen, where she had a fierce protector willing to kill anyone who would do her harm.

No, he didn’t like that idea either.

What he really wanted to do was drown his thoughts in a barrel of ale, and then go back to his tent and lose himself in the warm comforts of Valeria’s body. The only thing stopping him was knowing she wouldn’t accept him, and he wanted her to accept him with open arms. A Roman .

What was wrong with him?

Rome, and everything in it, was the enemy.

Tristan came upon the tent Angus, Talorc and Conall shared. They always made camp at the back, near the horses. The three men were seated around a blazing fire, chugging on ale and laughing and jesting with each other.

“Every time you tell that story, the woman’s tits get bigger,” Talorc grunted, running a hand through his dark hair.

“They were huge!” Angus held his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate his point. “I almost died from suffocation.”

Conall, a younger lad who had joined the army last summer, listened to Angus in rapt fascination. He spent most of his time trailing after the two warriors, but had yet to learn that Angus had a propensity for embellishing his tales of war and women.

“Knowing Angus,” Talorc said, “he wouldn’t have stopped until he blew his wad, or he really did suffocate.”

“Take this bit of wisdom, lad.” Angus swayed drunkenly and pointed a beefy finger at Conall. “Tupping a woman can be very dangerous.”

Their hearty laughter soared, then drifted away when Tristan strode up to the fire and took a seat on one of the empty logs.

“Commander.” Angus jumped to his feet, coming to attention by crossing his right arm over his chest in a salute.

Talorc and Conall dropped their mugs of ale on the ground and assumed the same stance.

“Be at ease.” Tristan waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I come to share your company.”

The three men resumed their perches around the fire and regarded him with baffled stares.

“We thought you already had company.” Angus grinned widely and waggled his yellow brows.

“You should be buried balls deep in that wench we found,” Talorc continued. “Not sitting out here with us.”

“Unless you’ve ridden her so hard she can’t take anymore,” Angus added, giving an artful grin as he sipped from his mug.

“Enough!” Tristan roared, tension grinding in his jaw. “Get me some ale. The damn woman drank every last drop in my tent.”

What else did she do in there when he was gone? At least she couldn’t get into any trouble shackled to his bed. He hoped.

Talorc shoved at Conall and the young lad went over to one of the barrels to fill a mug for Tristan.

“Does she not please you?” Angus wondered.

Tristan liked his women fair-haired and gentle. Coming across the woman in the forest this morning had been like receiving a sign directly from the Gods and Angus had been excited to give such a prize to Tristan. His friend and commander needed to relieve some pressure, or he was going to crumble under the strain of his position. He led the strongest army in the north, and a strong army needed a strong leader. He’d been without a woman for a long time. Maybe too long.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Tristan sighed.

Conall handed him a mug of ale, which he gladly accepted, nodding his head in thanks. He took a deep swallow of the honeyed brew and stared into the leaping flames of the fire.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do with her?” Talorc snorted. “A piece as fine as that should keep you going all night.”

“I’ll be happy to take her off your hands,” Angus offered.

“You won’t touch her,” Tristan warned, keeping his tone relatively civil in spite of his anger. The only thing he knew when it came to Valeria was that he didn’t want her with another man. Not until he’d slaked his desires with her body first.

“Have you lost your vigor?” Conall asked suddenly.

“Gods, lad!” Angus burst out. “Are you mad?”

Talorc smacked Conall on the back of the head.

“Oww.” Conall rubbed a hand over his wild, red hair. “I was only trying to help.”

Tristan clenched his jaw tighter, staring at him in annoyance. “No, I have not lost my vigor .”

If anything, his vigor had mounted to an untenable level.

Angus choked out an amused laugh.” Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s like no other woman I’ve met.” Tristan scrubbed a hand over his beard.

A part of him believed it was also possible that because she was unmarried, she was still a virgin. But she also had a softness and an innocence about her, and he wouldn’t feel right forcing himself upon her. She’d called him a barbarian and a savage, and raping the woman would only prove her right. Besides, Tristan didn’t need to take a woman by force. Most times they opened to him willingly.

“Of course she’s not what you’re used to,” Angus pointed out. “She’s Roman.”

“I’m very aware of that fact,” he snapped. “But it’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Talorc eyed him with suspicion.

Tristan lifted the mug to his lips. “I don’t know.” He threw back a long swallow, finishing his drink.

“Maybe you have lost your vigor, my friend,” Angus teased. “You’d best put the Roman in her place before she makes a mess of your head.”

“Yes,” Tristan agreed, his mind falling into a daze as he stared into the flames of the flickering fire. “Yes, I should.”

Valeria would not get the best of him. She was one woman, helpless, alone, and far from home. He would figure out how to break her determined will, how to seduce her passion and coax it forth, and then he would show her some Pict hospitality of his own.

Tristan came to his bed late into the night. Valeria burrowed under her fur blanket, pretending to be asleep. She heard him banging around and the sound of his sword clanging against the table. She cracked her eyes open and peeked at him through her lashes.

He worked at stripping out of his clothes and carelessly dropped each item on the ground. He stumbled, unsteady on his feet, and she guessed he was drunk on ale because Tristan was not a clumsy oaf. She now had an answer to what he’d been doing all night. When he unfastened his breeches and dropped them around his ankles, her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t make herself look away.

She fully opened her eyes, staring brazenly at his naked body, and the sight of pale skin stretched over his hard muscles, the light dusting of hair that covered him, and the evidence of his manhood hanging between his legs brought on a strange, inexplicable yearning she wasn’t prepared to feel. He turned from her, fumbling around to extinguish the oil lamp before she could look her fill.