“You may eat if you’re hungry.” He indicated an empty seat at the table with a wave of his hand and took a long swallow from his flagon of ale.
He could have some of the spiced wine they’d taken from the fort brought for her if she preferred it, then he immediately banished the thought. He would do nothing to make the woman comfortable. Her days of lounging around, eating olives and drinking wine, were over. Life in the north could be cold and harsh, and she’d learn to find pleasure in much simpler things. Like vegetables and fresh water.
She was unsteady on her feet at first, but she made it to the table and seated herself on one of the stools. Tristan pushed the silver platter of food towards her, then tossed some ale out of a flagon and filled it with fresh water from the pitcher. He set it in front of her and continued to sip from his own cup as he watched her with curiosity.
Vulnerable as she was, there was also a strength to her. A depth of courage not many possessed. She held herself with confidence and ease, and her eyes, ever watchful, glistened with the knowledge of some secret known only to her. She ate with practiced manners, taking small, unhurried bites, though she must be half-starved. It only served to remind him of how different her world was from his and how he shouldn’t be entertaining tender thoughts about her. She was a Roman. Her people had killed his parents, his three brothers, his wife and their unborn child. They had destroyed his homeland and enslaved those who survived. He could show a Roman no mercy. Not this one, not at any time, not for any reason. Ever.
Valeria didn’t notice Tristan watching her, his malevolent stare darkening as she devoured the meat and vegetables as fast as her graceful manners would allow. She had a voracious appetite and feared she might finish off the entire platter of food. Every few bites she forced herself to drink some of the water and take a deep breath before tearing into the food again. Soon, the hollow pit in her stomach was satisfied and she was able to wish for other things, like a comb for her hair, or a hot bath. Perhaps some warm, clean clothes and some leather boots or sandals. Anything to cover her feet.
“What were you doing at the fort?” Tristan’s deep voice sliced through the silence in the tent.
Valeria raised a worried gaze to meet his grey eyes, which were stony with anger. She had better answer his questions, considering he was giving her shelter, and now food and water. If he asked anything that might compromise Rome, she’d lie to him. “I was there to see my uncle.”
“Who is your uncle?”
What would he do to her if he knew she was the Emperor’s niece? She might be illegitimate, conceived from an illicit affair, but he still claimed her as family.
“His name is Rufus Paulinas.” She gave the name of her dear protector, sworn to watch over her since the day she was born. He was probably dead so he wouldn’t begrudge her the use of his name to keep up her ruse.
“This uncle approved of you travelling to enemy territory?” Tristan appeared outraged by the idea.
“The wall is not enemy territory,” she argued. “It’s well-guarded and perfectly safe.”
Tristan placed his hand on the table and leaned towards her. “Your current predicament would prove otherwise.”
Valeria was caught in his penetrating gaze, unable to look away from him. He was right. Had the wall been safe, she’d still be there, clean and warm and…safe. It appeared Rome didn’t have as strong a hold on the wall as her people were led to believe.
“I wonder why you would travel so far to see your uncle.” Tristan leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face.
“I missed him.” Her voice was barely a whisper and she stirred uneasily.
His eyes searched hers. Did he have some way of knowing she was lying? The smile he gave her was wide and friendly, flashing his even, white teeth, and she relaxed under his scrutinizing stare, believing he bought the lie.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you expect to fool me.” He thrust his flagon of ale down on the table and went over to the fire, where he added more kindling to the small orange blaze.
Valeria swallowed hard, trying not to let her fear show. Tristan wasn’t going to let her go without giving him the truth, and that was something she could never give him.
Chapter Three
The water was cold and clear and it enlivened her senses. Valeria submerged the cloth in the basin of fresh water Tristan had brought for her, rinsed it, and then wrung it out before swiping it over her neck and chest. Bumps of gooseflesh rose on her skin and she shivered from the cold. It was a small price to pay in order to be clean. Never again would she take a lazy, warm bath for granted.
Tristan had instructed her to wash and then he’d left her alone in the tent. She immediately took the opportunity to get a look at what was on the other side of the door, and retreated back inside when she was met with a look of disgust from Angus. She didn’t know if he stood guard to keep her in, or to keep others out. Valeria may not like him, but she felt safer with him there.
She kept her tunic on while she washed, focusing on her face and neck, her hands and arms, and lastly her feet. The water was brown and murky when she finished and her skin raw from being scrubbed and polished. After raking her fingers through some of the tangles in her hair, she was slowly returning to herself.
The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours, and still Tristan didn’t return. She poked around in his tent searching for personal items or anything that might hint atthe kind of man he was. She found nothing, only a few changes of clothes and his warm furs. The maps spread open on the table gave no hints as to strategy or where his other armies might be camped. Not that she’d be getting out of here alive to tell anyone, and if she did, who would she tell? Her uncle was most likely dead, and any new leader wouldn’t listen to her. The only value she had as a woman was to make a strong alliance through marriage and give her husband strong, healthy children who would carry on his lineage.
Valeria plopped down on one of the stools at the table. The idea of such a boring, tedious existence did not sit well with her. She was a patrician with noble blood in her veins and had been bred and pampered as such, but she’d also been allowed a great measure of freedom in her life. Her mother died giving birth to her, and knowing nothing of her father, she’d been taken in by her uncle and raised mostly by the household servants. Her family was more concerned with their political aspirations and accumulating wealth than her comings and goings. Half the time they forgot she even existed.
More depressed than she was before, she checked the three flagons on the table for something to drink. Not water. She wanted something stronger. Tristan’s cup held some ale and she took a long, gulping swallow.
Valeria didn’t mind being alone. She’d gotten so used to being ignored that she found the recent interest in obtaining a husband for her rather insulting. Who were these people to dictate her life? They didn’t know anything about her. Begging for her uncle’s compassion and understanding would be the only way to save herself from a life of misery and servitude.
She took another heavy swallow of ale, finishing the drink this time. Her belch was hardly ladylike and she laughed as she imagined what a husband would think of such crude behavior. Would she be beaten? Publicly flogged and thrown into the arena with the Gladiators? She burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, while at the same time troubled tears burned her eyes. Maybe she was losing her mind. And maybe the Gods had answered her prayers after all by sending Tristan. He was one way to escape her awful fate.
Hearing Valeria’s laughter, Tristan barged into his tent, ready to kill Angus for leaving his post and seeking out her company. He was surprised to find her seated alone at the table, laughing, with tears running down her clean face. Her wild