The Warrior's Bride Prize. Jenni Fletcher
‘Thank you.’ Livia glanced towards Nerva. ‘I appreciate your hospitality.’
‘Think nothing of it. We’ll speak properly tomorrow.’ He sounded sombre. ‘When you’re feeling refreshed.’
‘Yes.’
She didn’t know how else to answer, her gaze darting past him towards Lucius and then Marius. Standing on different sides of the room, the two men looked like complete opposites. She knew what one of them thought of her—he’d made his opinion abundantly obvious—but as for the other...
Marius’s expression was stern again, even sterner than it had been on their journey. His anger seemed to have faded and yet there was an air of danger about him, as if he’d only restrained, not overcome, his temper. Even so, she couldn’t help but wish that she’d guessed the identity of her new husband correctly the first time. Instead he’d been the one to come to her rescue against her real intended, a man who appeared to be even more loathsome than Julius. She hadn’t thought it possible that her second husband could be any worse than her first, but apparently it was.
She dropped her gaze at the thought and fled.
‘I won’t do it!’ Scaevola’s eyes glittered with anger as he stormed up and down the atrium.
‘You made an agreement with her brother.’ Nerva’s usual unruffled demeanour was severely ruffled. ‘If you refuse to go through with the marriage then he’ll have grounds against you.’
‘Better that than dishonour my family.’
‘You’re the one who’s brought dishonour on your family!’ Nerva’s tone was distinctly unsympathetic. ‘Drinking and gambling and who knows what else. Your father would be appalled.’
‘He still wouldn’t want me to marry a barbarian!’
Marius gritted his teeth at the insult. The combined effort of biting his tongue and restraining his temper was becoming more and more difficult, but unless he wanted to end up demoted, or worse, it was also necessary. His earlier interruption had been bad enough. Arguing with a superior officer was strictly forbidden, even when the officer in question had nothing superior about him. He wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him, except that the callous way Scaevola had insulted Livia and her daughter had enraged him to the point that he would gladly have given a year’s pay for the chance to beat the living daylights out of him.
In all honesty, he still would. It was bad enough that Livia was going to marry such a man—the very thought of which made him inordinately, inappropriately furious—but from what she’d told him earlier, she was still in mourning for her first husband. What kind of brother would force his sister to marry again while she was grieving? What kind of man would even concoct such a scheme, debt or no debt? Everything about it felt wrong.
‘If you’re so worried about your family honour, why don’t you ask your father to pay the debt?’ Nerva fixed Scaevola with a hard stare.
‘Because he would refuse.’ The Tribune’s eyes dropped to his sandals. ‘He already told me there’d be no more money before I left Rome.’
‘Then as I see it, you’ve no choice. I suggest that you either apologise to your new bride and hope that she forgives you or prepare to stand trial.’
‘Her brother wouldn’t dare to accuse me of anything!’ Scaevola blustered. ‘He knows who I am.’
‘I’m sure he does, but do you know who he is?’ Nerva held up a hand before the youth could answer. ‘He’s a powerful man in Lindum and you’re a long way from Rome. Your family name won’t protect you this far away. Now I suggest that you take the night to consider your choices. Try staying sober for once.’
Lucius gave an angry snort, his handsome features contorting with malice as he turned and almost walked into Marius. ‘As for you, Centurion, you had no right interrupting me earlier.’
‘You’re absolutely right, sir.’ Marius folded his arms pointedly. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Insolent dog! I ought to have you whipped.’
‘If there’s any whipping to be done then it will be on my authority, not yours!’ The last vestiges of Nerva’s self-control seemed to snap. ‘You deserved to be interrupted. Don’t ever insult a lady in my presence again, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now get out. I’m sick of the sight of you.’
Marius lifted his chin, meeting Scaevola’s glare with a hard look of his own as the latter stormed out of the room.
‘I apologise, sir.’ He unfolded his arms again as he turned to face his commander.
‘For which part?’ Nerva gave him a barbed look. ‘The interruption or the insolence afterwards? He’s right—you ought to be disciplined.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I ought to have you whipped.’
‘Whatever you think best, sir.’
The Legate held his gaze for a long moment before waving a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather have Scaevola whipped, no matter what his father might say, but what on earth possessed you? I’ve never seen you behave that way to a senior officer before.’
Marius shrugged his shoulders non-committally. He’d never concealed anything from Nerva before, but he could hardly tell him the truth, that he’d resented the other man’s treatment of Livia. Or that, even now, he could hardly stop thinking about her. Even though she’d left, he could still picture every detail of her face: her patchwork of freckles, her sharply curved brows and, most of all, those luminous eyes fringed with dark lashes so long they seemed to caress her rounded cheeks.
When she’d pulled her palla back, proudly unveiling the mass of her burnished red curls, he’d found himself half-wanting to cheer, half to bury his face in them. The way she’d stood up to Scaevola had made him want to bury himself in other places, too, not that he ought to think about that. He ought not to think about those places at all. Even if he couldn’t seem to help himself. The way that she’d looked and acted had been nothing short of spectacular. He’d never desired a woman more in his life.
He cleared his throat at the thought. ‘Scaevola just seems to bring out the worst in me, sir.’
‘He does in all of us. We’ll be lucky if the fool doesn’t start a mutiny. Half the legionaries already want to stab him in the back, or so I’ve heard.’
‘I couldn’t comment, sir.’
‘No, of course not.’ Nerva gave him a penetrating look. ‘Although I do expect you to inform me if the situation deteriorates any further.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me about the woman.’ Nerva gestured for Marius to follow him into the villa, leading the way past the colonnaded courtyard to his office. ‘Not exactly a blushing young bride, is she?’
‘No, sir.’ The words made him strangely defensive. ‘I suppose not.’
‘You’ve had a chance to speak with her. What do you think?’
‘I don’t dislike her, sir.’
He didn’t trust himself to say any more. None of his thoughts were exactly appropriate for sharing. Admittedly, she wasn’t young, in marital terms anyway, and she certainly hadn’t been blushing that evening. She’d looked more like a ghost when Lucius had insulted her. And he definitely didn’t dislike her.
‘And there’s a child...’ Nerva closed his office door behind them. ‘Well, Scaevola’s