Marius stormed out of the villa and along the Via Praetoria, mind whirling as if there were some kind of tempest raging inside his head. He’d asked her for the truth and she’d given it, more than he’d ever imagined, so much that he’d had to get out, to get some space to think, to absorb everything she’d told him and then work out exactly how he felt about it.
More than anything, he was furious. How could she have kept such a secret from him, now of all times, just when he’d thought they’d been getting closer? Just when he’d thought... He stopped the thought in its tracks. He wasn’t going to think it, wasn’t going to acknowledge any feeling for her at all when he was so furious.
Ironically, however, it wasn’t her story itself that enraged him, or at least not her part in it. When she’d told him about her marriage, he’d felt angry enough at her half-brother and first husband that he could cheerfully have wrung both their necks, though towards her he’d felt only sympathy. That and a strong desire to gather her up in his arms. The truth about her mother didn’t horrify him in the way she’d seemed to expect either. The fact that she was half-Caledonian didn’t bother him. Even the fact that her mother had been a slave didn’t bother him, although he knew many Romans would regard it as something to be ashamed of. The fact that she’d been keeping secrets from him definitely did bother him.
Yet even then he could understand it. Much as he resented her not telling him, he could see why she hadn’t. She was right—everything had happened quickly and she’d had Julia to think about. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect her daughter and after everything she’d been through he could appreciate her lack of trust. And she’d certainly been acting strangely on the evening of their arrival in Cilurnum. Maybe she had been trying to tell him something then... Now that he thought about it, he’d actually discouraged her from doing so.
No, he conceded, he wasn’t furious with her for either the details of her past or for not telling him. Both of those he could deal with. He wasn’t even upset with her admission about freeing the prisoner if she could. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t blame her. Imprisoning her in the villa, too, was only common sense, but lack of trust still wasn’t the root of his anger. No, that was something else...something that his mind instinctively shied away from, but that, for once, he couldn’t deny. It was the dent to his pride, the idea that she might have married him simply because of who his father was, that infuriated him, as if her secret would be safe with the son of a dishonoured soldier, a man who couldn’t be blackmailed because he couldn’t sink any lower.
Deep down, however, he knew even that was unfair. There had been an attraction between them from the start, a bond she’d called it—a word that seemed to describe perfectly what he’d felt, too. Despite everything, he believed that she’d wanted to marry him, a claim that might have warmed his heart the day before, but now left him cold. He believed that she was sorry. He even believed that his father had had nothing to do with her decision to marry him. But the very thought of his father had, as usual, made him see red.
Besides, it wasn’t true that he couldn’t be blackmailed. He did have something to lose, something he’d wanted and worked towards for the past thirteen years. Despite his recent, reckless behaviour, he still wanted to become Senior Centurion. It was the only way to redeem his honour after his father’s disgrace, the thing he wanted most in the world, or so he’d thought. He’d jeopardised that ambition simply by gambling with Scaevola in the first place and now the truth about her past could destroy it completely. She had the potential to bring disgrace on him, too, in some eyes at least. How could she have let him risk so much?
On the other hand, she hadn’t forced him to gamble—she hadn’t even known about the game of tabula—and, as much as he resented the accusation, he hadn’t exactly been open with her either. He’d hardly told her anything about his father at all. How was she supposed to know how badly his father’s disgrace had tainted his life or how much he needed to redeem his own honour?
His father’s disgrace... His own honour... He stopped abruptly, as if he’d just walked into a wall, standing stock-still and staring sightlessly ahead. Once upon a time it had been both of their honours that he’d set out to restore. Since when had it become just his? Since when had he stopped including his father in his ambitions and become ashamed of him instead?
It was raining again, he realised absently, heavily enough that pellets of water were dripping from his hair into his face. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d stepped outside. In truth, he barely felt it now, though he was almost soaked to the skin. Anyone looking at him would think he was mad.
Perhaps he was. He felt mad suddenly, Livia’s words pursuing him out into the open air, refusing to let him run away, demanding his attention. He’d gone to accuse her and she’d accused him right back—of hypocrisy, of putting Rome ahead of his father, of being enslaved to the Empire. And the worst of it was that she was right.
I could never be ashamed of someone I loved!
Those were the words that had really made him furious, the accusation that had sent him charging out of the villa and into the elements, fleeing the sudden onslaught of guilt. Now he couldn’t escape it as a flurry of memories came back to him, the impressions of a thirteen-year-old boy listening to his father’s dying words. He’d loved his father then, deeply and fiercely, only somehow over the years he’d forgotten it. He’d joined the army seeking redemption and yet at some point he’d let single-minded ambition and purpose take over from emotion, even from love. He’d let anger and bitterness get the better of him, allowing himself to be swayed by the opinions of others until finally he’d come to believe that his father really had betrayed and abandoned him. He’d become ashamed of someone he’d loved, someone he hadn’t realised he still loved, and he hadn’t even known it until Livia had told him. Was he going to turn on her now, too, like he had his father? Like her husband had on her?
He tipped his head back, letting the rain splash over his face as if it were some kind of cleansing force. Livia was right—they were similar. He knew how it felt to be torn between two conflicting loyalties as well. Deep inside, he’d always been just as divided as she was, torn between love for his father and loyalty to the Empire he’d sworn to serve.
Love and loyalty, two things that ought to go hand in hand, but which life seemed to have made very complicated all of a sudden. He couldn’t think of a worse time to start questioning his loyalty to Rome, on the very eve of a Caledonian rebellion, but now that he’d finally come to his senses, it was too late to go back. He’d do his duty to the Empire, would stay loyal to his oath of allegiance, but if he had to choose then he chose her, the woman he suddenly realised he loved—he’d been a fool not to see it before—the woman he wanted more than any ambition. Which meant, if they were going to have any kind of future together, there was only one thing he could do.
He turned his feet in the direction of the prison, gripped with a new sense of urgency.
‘Open the cell!’ he bellowed ahead to the guard.
‘Sir?’
‘Release him.’
‘Marius?’ Ario came running across the fort as the prisoner staggered out, squinting in the daylight. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Letting him go.’ He didn’t flinch from the Decurion’s interrogative stare, meeting it squarely. ‘I can’t explain, but it’s something I have to do.’
Ario held his gaze for a tense moment and then ran a hand across his jaw. ‘He hasn’t told us anything yet. We don’t know their numbers or when they’re coming.’
‘I know.’ He glanced towards the prisoner. Despite an outward look of defiance there was a distinct glimmer of fear in the boy’s eyes, as if he were afraid of what they were about to do to him. The thought made Marius ashamed and even more determined.
‘I take full responsibility. I doubt the boy will tell us anything unless we force him to and I won’t do that. We know enough. Those warriors would never have dared to attack us so soon in broad daylight if they weren’t planning something bigger. I’ll send word to Coria to prepare the legion.’
‘Without the prisoner, you’ve no proof.’
‘If I’m wrong, Nerva can demote me.’
Ario blew air from between his teeth. ‘Perhaps the prisoner told us something before he died from his injuries?’
Marius arched an eyebrow. ‘I don’t ask you to lie for me.’
‘But I will anyway.’ Ario swore softly. ‘I owe you a debt, remember?’
‘You’re a good friend.’ Marius watched as the prisoner disappeared through the fortress gates, then turned his gaze back in the direction of the villa, his feet itching to go back to her, though he had a fort to prepare for battle first. If only the battle didn’t arrive before he could set things right between them...
‘Go.’ Ario gave him a pointed look. ‘I’ll get everything ready.’
‘Set double lookouts.’ He clasped the Decurion’s arm gratefully. ‘And tell the men to get ready for battle. The rebellion’s coming.’
‘You’re back?’ Livia looked up sharply as he reappeared in the doorway. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale and drawn. ‘I didn’t think you would be.’
‘Neither did I.’ He took a step into the room. ‘I’ve let the prisoner go.’
‘What?’ Her eyes widened, looking bigger and bluer than he’d ever seen them. ‘Why?’
‘Because I know what it’s like to have divided loyalties, too. Sending that boy to a life of slavery might be the Roman way, but it would be wrong.’ He coiled and uncoiled his fingers, concentrating on keeping his voice steady. ‘It’s not my way either. I’d just forgotten that until now. Most of all, I don’t want to start our marriage with his fate coming between us.’
‘Start our marriage?’
‘Start again—if you want to, that is. Only listen first.’ He put up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘Then decide.’
He moved to the edge of the bed, planting his feet in the same spot where he’d confronted her an hour before, although it felt like days ago.
‘I told you, my father was accused of mutiny. It was while he was stationed in Germania. He was a senior centurion at forty years old, a soldier who’d come from nothing and nowhere and risen in the ranks on his own merit. His men loved him and he loved them, enough not to waste their lives.
‘There was an uprising amongst the Germanic tribes that year and my father was ordered to lead four cohorts east to stop it. It was already autumn, too late in the year for a campaign and in dangerous forested territory, but the Tribune who gave the order, a fool like Scaevola, wanted to win himself some acclaim. Everyone advised him against it, but the order stood. So my father led his men across the Rhenus. It didn’t take them long to realise the extent of their mistake. The tribes attacked them over and over, day and night. My father lost a quarter of his men just on the retreat, but when they got back to headquarters the Tribune called him a coward and ordered them back again. My father refused. He said he wouldn’t send good men to their deaths and was charged with inciting mutiny.’
‘What happened then?’ She asked the question softly.
‘What usually happens to mutineers. He was sentenced to death. Fortunately, he had friends, senior officers who knew his real value and pleaded for him.’
‘Nerva?’
‘He was one of them. The case was taken before the Governor of Germania. He couldn’t dismiss the charges or contradict a tribune in public, but he was able to spare my father’s life, for all the good that it did. He was dishonourably discharged and sent home in disgrace.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘When he came back to Rome he was a different man, as if something had broken inside him. Before he died he told me the truth about what had happened.’ He gritted his teeth at the memory. ‘I was so angry.’
‘He didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘I know. I wasn’t angry with him, at least not at first. I was angry at Rome, at the Tribune who’d punished him when he’d been doing the right thing. I hated Rome back then.’
‘But...’ Her brow creased. ‘I don’t understand. If you hated Rome, then why did you join the army?’
‘Because I was young and alone. I wanted to belong somewhere, to redeem our family name, too. I thought that if I could reclaim my father’s position then it would prove that he hadn’t been the one in the wrong after all. I kept his sword, this sword, to remind me of that purpose.’
He reached a hand to his belt and sighed. ‘But people treated me as if I were the traitor, as if I were responsible for his crime, and then I turned against him, too. I felt as though he’d abandoned me, as if he’d put his men ahead of me and left me to fend for myself, having to face all the insults and beatings on my own. I started to believe all the things they said about him, that he’d been foolhardy and stubborn. I started to believe that I ought to be ashamed.’ He shook his head. ‘I still wanted to become Senior Centurion, but I forgot why I wanted it in the first place. I forgot that I was doing it for him as well as for me. I had a choice between him and Rome and I chose Rome. I betrayed him, not the other way round.’
‘You’re being too hard on yourself. You were young.’ She stood up in front of him. ‘How do you feel about him now?’
‘Now I feel the way I did when I was a boy. I loved him and he loved me. He would never have betrayed me. He only ever tried to do what was right. I see that now, thanks to you.’ He lifted a hand tentatively to her cheek, gently caressing the skin with the backs of his knuckles, half-expecting her to flinch. ‘I might have been a slave of Rome, but you set me free.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Are you?’ She didn’t look it with her brow still furrowed. ‘Livia, what is it?’
‘You said that the Tribune who condemned him was a man like Scaevola. Is that why you married me? Revenge? Is that why you played that game of tabula?’
He cupped her cheek in his palm as he took a few seconds to consider the idea properly. Nerva had asked him the same thing. Had revenge been a part of it? Had he been mistaken in his motives there, too? No, this time he was certain. As much as he’d enjoyed defeating the Tribune, that hadn’t been the reason he’d played.
She put a hand on his arm before he could answer. ‘It’s all right. I understand and I’m sorry about your father, truly. For what it’s worth, I think he was an honourable man. He did the right thing, even if Rome didn’t think so, and you’re a good man, too. Whatever the reason you married me, you saved me from Scaevola and Tarquinius and I’m grateful. I’m only sorry that I’ve made life even harder for you.’
‘You haven’t...’
‘I have.’ Her fingers tightened. ‘You made an enemy of a senior officer just to protect me. You put your career at risk and if anyone finds out about my mother then you’ll have an even harder time becoming Senior Centurion. That’s what you need to do, to fulfil your ambition for your father’s sake. Julia and I can go away and live somewhere else—’
‘No!’ he interrupted her fiercely. ‘I don’t want you to go away. I thought I was angry because I risked my career for you, but you made me realise how worthless that ambition was, at least in the way I was pursuing it, without emotion, without love. I won’t let ambition rule my life any more. If I become Senior Centurion, then I’ll do it the way I want to do it, as the man I want to be, my father’s son. Your husband, too, if you’ll still have me? And I don’t want you to deny who you are or lie about who your mother was either.’
‘Do you mean it?’ Her eyes were bright with emotion.
‘Yes. I lost my way before, but I won’t do it again. I think I always knew it deep down. That’s why I risked my sword for you, because I knew some things were more important. I knew that you were more important. You still are. That game had nothing to do with revenge, Livia. I played because I couldn’t stand the thought of Scaevola laying so much as a finger on you.’
‘You didn’t want him to touch me?’ Her voice sounded faintly husky.
‘I didn’t want any other man to touch you. I wanted to be the one to do that.’
‘But I thought...’ She licked her lips, as if she felt the need to moisten them. ‘On our wedding night, you didn’t...and then the other night...’
‘On our wedding night, you needed time with your daughter. The other night you seemed tense and I didn’t want to force you into anything.’ He raised both hands to her face this time, cradling it gently between his fingers. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t want you.’
‘So you do want me?’
He leaned closer, sensing rather than seeing her sway towards him, too. ‘I want you as much as I did the first time I saw you, more than any woman I’ve ever met. Whatever our reasons for marrying, whatever our loyalties, you were right—there is a bond between us. We belong with each other and I want you, Livia. Now.’