Valeria turned away from him again to stare at the side of the tent. She was amazed by how well he was able to read her. What could this barbarian possibly know of Rome or people of her class?
Giving a heavy sigh, he rose and walked back to the table. He picked at some of the meat on the platter and took a long swallow from his flagon of ale, staring at her over the rim. She guessed he was the leader of this army, for he held himself with the same arrogant airs he accused her of having.
Angus came back into the tent, letting in a rush of cold air. Valeria shivered, but the bone-deep chill in her body had succumbed to the warmth the tent provided.
“There’s a prisoner giving us some trouble,” Angus said.
The man set down his flagon of ale, never taking his eyes from Valeria. “Wait for me outside.”
He stared harshly at her, and this time she didn’t turn away from him. She’d assumed he’d killed every last person at the fort. The idea that he’d taken prisoners never occurred to her. Picts weren’t known to leave their enemies alive, they had no dignity, but she sensed this man did.
“You Romans are nothing but trouble,” he griped.
“And you’re nothing but a killer!” she shot back at him with a bravery she didn’t quite feel.
His expression hardened with fury. He charged over to her and once again came down in front of her. “What is your name?”
Valeria pulled her knees to her chest to put some semblance of a barrier between them. She knew little of this great warrior and feared what the man might do when angered, so she decided it wise to answer him. “Valeria.”
“Are you afraid, Valeria?”
She held his gaze for a moment, studying him. “Should I be?”
“I’ve witnessed many men in your situation who were willing to trade anything for their lives.”
“What do you want?” She braced herself for his answer. The anticipation was grinding away at her nerves.
“I want what all men want,” he replied. “To live as I choose.”
She was left with nothing else to say. His answer was honest and straightforward, and not at all what she expected to hear from a barbarian savage.
“Give me no trouble and you’ll have no reason to fear me.” His dark gaze swept over her once more, gentling a degree. “You’re the only Roman I’ve been so generous with.”
He stood, towering above her on the ground, then picked up one of his furs before sweeping out of the tent and leaving her alone, tied to the wooden post. She knew it was only a matter of time before he killed her.
Chapter Two
Tristan followed Angus through the camp to the tent where the prisoners were being held. A clamor of loud voices and commotion came from inside. He entered the tent, and three of his men were sent crashing into him, almost knocking him to the ground. He kept his feet and demanded, “What the devil is going on in here?”
Among the prisoners huddled together, a large man with a shaved head had broken his bonds and wasn’t letting anyone get near him. He’d been stripped of his armor and weapons and wore only a coarse, brown tunic, but he still looked like a mighty warrior. A mighty, angry warrior. He towered over most of the men and his arms and legs were thick and solid like tree trunks, bulging with muscles. His eyes blazed with hatred as he looked at Tristan.
“You are the leader?” he asked in Tristan’s language.
“Yes.” Tristan nodded. “What’s the trouble here?” His men were under strict orders not to harm or harass the prisoners.
“Let the girl go.” It was more like a warning than a demand.
Tristan hadn’t expected this. How did the man know of Valeria? Was this her brother? Her husband? It didn’t matter. She was his prisoner and he’d do as he pleased with her.
“What girl is that?” He met the man’s trenchant stare without flinching.
“You know damn well the girl I speak of!” the man bellowed in a rage, causing those close to him to step back in alarm. “Your men talk of her.” The muscles in his thick neck strained and his face reddened. “How many times have you violated her already?”
Tristan admired the spirit of this warrior. Strong, loyal, and courageous. If he wasn’t a Roman, Tristan might ask him to join his army. “Why do you concern yourself with the girl?”
“I’m sworn to protect her,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Be sure, any man here who touches her will know my wrath.” His expression was thunderous as he stood there, tall and seething with fury.
“What can you do about it?” Tristan laughed, and some of his men joined in with him. “You’re a prisoner, soon to be sold into slavery, if you can survive the cold. Save your vengeance for a more worthy battle.”
The man lowered his bald head and plowed through the barrier of soldiers, growling like a feral beast as he charged straight for Tristan. The tent erupted in chaos as the other prisoners cheered him on, while the soldiers tried to hold him back. Tristan drew the broadsword from the sheath at his waist, ready to meet the attack, but Angus and Talorc stepped in front of him, swords at the ready.
“Stand down!” Angus shouted, prepared to fell the great warrior if necessary.
The man didn’t stop his charge. “I’ll take all of you to hell with me!”
“You will stand down now!” Tristan raged in a deep voice that rang clear and full of authority. “Or I will see to it that the girl suffers. I’ll have my men show her a thing or two about Pict hospitality.”
The threat was good because the man halted his attack. His expression remained forbidding as he stared at Tristan. “Take pleasure from this moment, for the next time we meet, I will not hesitate to kill you.”
It was obvious the man cared for his charge, so how had she gotten separated from him? What had the woman been doing this far north in the first place? There was much Tristan wanted to know about his unwilling guest.
“Secure the prisoner.” He barked the order, then left and headed back to his tent.
He intended to get more from Valeria than her name this time.
The coarse rope of her bonds chafed painfully every time she moved, leaving her skin damaged and raw. Valeria was going to go crazy if she had to stay tied up for much longer. She was hungry and tired. Her muscles were cramped and sore. Trying to work her hands free had only caused the ropes to go tighter and had planted a splinter from the wooden post into her palm.
When would her captor return? His hard, handsome face still lingered in her mind. He’d told her she had no reason to fear him, but he was a Pict general and she was a patricianlady of Rome. They were sworn enemies. She would be a fool to expect any kindness from him.
The only solace she took was from the warmth of his tent. If she wasn’t tied up she’d be quite comfortable. The warming fire in the far corner was vented by an open flap in the ceiling. A chair and three stools circled the wooden table that was laden with a platter of food, flagons of ale, a burning oil lamp and maps spread open with stones anchoring their corners. On a smaller stand rested the washing basin and a towel. Across the tent was a large sleeping platform piled high with warm furs.
A strange, suffocating feeling washed over her as she wondered if she would watch the general sleep beneath those furs from where she was tied up, or if she would be forced to sleep in the bed with him. She feared she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer until he made his intentions known where she was concerned. It wasn’t really all