The Warrior's Bride Prize

She made a sceptical sound in the back of her throat. ‘I thought that Rome was always right.’

‘Rome isn’t perfect, but it’s civilisation and order.’

‘And conquest and slavery.’

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, inwardly berating herself for the words. She’d said too much again, just like yesterday, letting her mixed feelings about the Empire get the better of her. It was dangerous to voice such thoughts aloud, but something about this man made her reckless. For some reason, she felt as though she could talk openly to him. Despite his sternness, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would arrest her simply for expressing an opinion.

‘Conquest?’ His gaze dropped to her mouth as she bit into it, though his expression seemed to become even more serious. ‘In terms of conquest, Caledonia has already won. The tribes there are still independent from Rome. Hadrian might have called it a triumph, but the wall marks the limits of Rome’s power, not its strength.’

She felt a jolt of surprise. The limits of Rome’s power... There was something both liberating and dangerous about that idea, although if such cynicism wasn’t permitted for a woman, then it certainly wasn’t permitted for a centurion, a servant and defender of Rome. Yet he was speaking to her like an equal, like someone he trusted as well...

She looked into his eyes and then wished that she hadn’t as the air between them seemed to pulse and vibrate with tension suddenly, as if they were alone together in dangerous territory, in more ways than one. She felt the fluttering of tiny wings again, only lower down this time, in the very pit of her abdomen.

‘How long have you been here?’ She changed the subject, trying to break the moment, though her voice sounded oddly breathless.

‘Three years.’ His voice sounded different, too, rougher and deeper. ‘I was among the first of the legion to be sent back from Gaul when Severus became Emperor.’

‘Is that where you’re from, Gaul?’

‘No.’ He looked vaguely uncomfortable to be talking about himself. ‘I was born in the heart of the Empire, Rome itself. After I joined the army, I spent seven years in Germania before I was sent to Gaul. Then I spent another two years there.’

‘So you’re almost halfway through your military service already?’ The idea seemed incredible. ‘You must have enlisted when you were young.’

‘I was just past my fourteenth birthday.’

‘Fourteen?’

He lifted his shoulders as if the number were of no consequence. ‘It’s not supposed to happen, but it does.’

‘What about your family?’

‘I didn’t have any. My mother died when I was born and my father when I was thirteen. The family he’d paid to look after me had enough mouths of their own to feed, so I joined the army. There was no other choice.’

‘But so young?’

‘It’s worked in my favour. According to regulations, you can’t become a centurion until you’re thirty.’

‘But you’re...’ she did the sum quickly ‘...twenty-six?’

‘Not officially.’

He grinned suddenly, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth, and the flutter of wings became a violent flapping sensation. Coming out of the blue, his smile seemed to have a particularly potent effect, as if she’d just drunk a full amphora of wine. When he wasn’t frowning, his rugged features became quite devastatingly handsome.

‘You must have been promoted very young, too.’ She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to distract herself.

‘Not particularly. I’m only in the fourth cohort.’

‘Isn’t that good?’

‘It’s not good enough. I want to be Senior Centurion of the First Cohort some day. The Primus Pilus.’

‘The First?’ She was impressed. The Senior Centurion ranked only just below the Tribunes. It was the highest position a legionary could aim for, though something told her that if anyone could achieve such a thing, it was him. ‘You’re ambitious, then?’

The frown snapped back into place with a vengeance. ‘It was my father’s rank. He was Senior Centurion of the Eighth Legion.’

‘So you want to equal his accomplishment?’

A look of some indefinable emotion flitted across his face, a combination of pain, anger and determination all rolled into one, so intense that she regretted the question almost instantly.