The Warrior's Bride Prize

She stopped in the doorway. Not only was he not in bed asleep, but he was sitting wide awake and half-naked on the edge, the muscles of his torso rippling as he bent over to pull off his boots, the light from her wobbling lantern making his skin seem to gleam in the shadows. Somehow, incredibly, his chest looked even broader without armour, almost alarmingly well defined, as if it were made of pure sculpted muscle. Slowly, she curled her fingers into her palms, resisting the impulse to reach over and find out.

She cleared her throat instead, gesturing at the bed matter-of-factly. ‘I got some clean blankets from the quartermaster.’

‘So I see.’ He glanced upwards, his eyes hooded, before turning his attention back to his boots.

‘I couldn’t find a brazier.’ She felt the need to keep talking. ‘But there’s a wolfskin in case it gets too cold.’

‘We won’t freeze.’ He picked up his cup and drained the remainder of his wine in one swallow.

‘No... I suppose not.’

She put her head down and made her way quickly across to the chest, extinguishing her lantern and removing her cloak as she went. In all honesty, cold was the last thing she was worried about. She had no idea what the real temperature was. The thought of sharing a bed with him made her feel as though she were standing next to a bonfire.

She removed her hairpins and dragged a comb through her curls, trying to make them look neater, though long experience told her that was impossible. The copper ringlets simply refused to lie flat, tumbling about her shoulders in rampant disarray. If anything, her attempts at control only made them look wilder. Defeated, she put the comb down again and darted across to the bed, taking advantage of Marius’s distraction while he unfastened the string of his braccae to remove her stola and wriggle quickly under the blankets, sliding to the furthest side as close to the wall as possible.

‘Is that enough room for you?’ She rolled on to her shoulder, her back towards him, acutely aware that she was wearing only a thin linen tunica.

‘Too much.’ The bed dipped as he climbed in beside her. ‘You need some space, too.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘No.’ His voice sounded as stern as it had the first time they’d met. ‘You’re not.’

She gasped as a hand wrapped around her waist, tugging her back towards him.

‘I don’t want you to be crushed against the wall.’

She swallowed, trying to ignore the ripple of desire that coursed through her body even after he pulled his hand away again, glad that she was facing in the opposite direction so that he couldn’t see her face. The bed was barely big enough for two people, but if she were going to be crushed by anything then she’d prefer it to be his chest. Its hard contours had pressed briefly against her back before he shifted away and she felt somewhat deprived without it.

‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded like somebody else’s. ‘How early did you say you were leaving again?’

‘Early. I’ll try not to wake you.’

‘I don’t mind.’

She closed her eyes as he extinguished his own lantern, willing herself to sleep, though it was hard to concentrate on anything, even sleep, knowing he was so close beside her. She stretched her legs after a few minutes, trying to get more comfortable. If she could just relax, then maybe she could sleep, unlikely as the possibility seemed. Was he asleep? She held her breath, listening to the sound of his breathing, though it was impossible to tell. She hadn’t shared a bed with a man for five years, not since before Julia was born, and Julius had never slept in her room in any case. What did a sleeping man sound like? She felt as jittery and apprehensive as a virgin bride in bed for the first time with her new husband, although apparently hers had absolutely no intention of touching her.

Why didn’t he touch her? The irrational thought entered her head and refused to go away. She didn’t want him to touch her, not tonight anyway, but why didn’t he? They were lying in bed together as man and wife, almost completely naked in her case, and in his...well, she wasn’t sure about his, but she’d heard the rustle of some kind of fabric before he’d climbed in. She wanted to touch him, but she had her own private reasons for not doing so. What were his? Had he felt so rebuffed simply because she’d said she was tired?

She felt a shudder of ignominy. What if he simply wasn’t that attracted to her? What if she’d been imagining things all along? After all, he’d been the one who’d pulled away that first morning on the ramparts and she’d been the one who’d asked him to kiss her after she’d poured wine over Scaevola’s head. That was still their one and only kiss after more than a day of marriage! Shaming as the realisation was, it was yet another area in which their relationship was alarmingly one-sided. What if he didn’t really want her at all? What if...?

The pressure of his hand on her hip stopped the thought in its tracks.

‘Livia?’ His lips were close to her ear, warming it with his breath. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was inhaling the scent of her hair. She’d washed it in rose-petal water for their wedding—would the scent still cling to it? She hoped so...

‘Yes?’ she answered before she could think better of it, holding her breath while his fingers slid gently along the curve of her thigh and then around, coming to rest between her legs.

‘When I

get back...’

He didn’t finish the sentence, his lips drifting along the side of her throat as his hand continued its slow progress between her legs, upwards this time.

When I get back... She arched herself backwards, moulding herself into the curve of his ar