The Warrior's Bride Prize. Jenni Fletcher

in the villa doorway, bowing his head in greeting. ‘I’m Fabius Augustus Nerva, Legate Legionary of the Sixth Victorious Legion. Welcome to Coria.’

      ‘Thank you. I’m glad to be here.’ She bent her own head in response. As intimidating as the man looked, she was relieved to find that his expression was welcoming. ‘This is my daughter, Julia.’

      She gestured behind her, better prepared this time for the look of surprise that immediately crossed his features. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting a child either.

      ‘I see.’ Whatever his private thoughts, he recovered himself quickly. ‘Well, we’re always looking for new recruits. Have you come to join the legion, young lady?’

      ‘Marius says I’m an empress,’ Julia answered seriously.

      ‘Marius said that?’ The Legate’s eyebrows shot upwards as he threw a swift, questioning look at his Centurion. ‘Well, in that case I await your commands, but first you’d better come inside. My wife has arranged some refreshments after your long journey. You, too, Marius.’

      He stepped aside, letting her precede him through the vestibulum and into the atrium beyond. It was a large, airy room with a painting of a garden on one wall and an intricate mosaic of two tigers wrestling on the floor, their claws and teeth bared in ferocious combat. Livia bent her head to study it, so impressed by the intricacy of the design that it took her a few moments to notice the pair of sandalled feet standing at the opposite edge.

      ‘Oh!’

      She exclaimed in alarm, pressing one hand to her chest as she met the critical stare of another, younger man watching her with arms clasped behind his back. Tall and coldly handsome, he looked to be around twenty years of age with short blond hair, piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogant hauteur that seemed to ooze out of every pore. She didn’t need an introduction to know who he was.

      ‘Ah, Lucius.’ Nerva gave a strained-looking smile. ‘May I present Livia Valeria, your new bride.’

      ‘I’m honoured to meet you, Lucius Scaevola.’ She felt vividly aware of the contrast with the first time she’d said those words. They were expected of her, but this time she didn’t feel even the tiniest flicker of attraction. Neither, apparently, did he as his gaze flitted over and then past her.

      ‘She’s older than I expected.’

      He spoke in a tone of contempt to Nerva, as if speaking to her directly was beneath his dignity, and she felt the last of her hopes flitter away, replaced by dismay and indignation. Even if she was a few years past the expected age for a bride, he ought not to mention it aloud as if she had neither ears nor feelings.

      ‘Who is that?’ His gaze homed in on Julia suddenly, his voice turning high-pitched and horrified.

      ‘That is my daughter.’ She took a step to one side, blocking his view. ‘Julia.’

      ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Scaevola drew in a hiss of breath, seeming to rear backwards and upwards at the same time, like a cornered snake rising up on its coils. ‘A daughter? I wasn’t told anything about a child!’

      He whirled away from her towards Nerva. ‘Surely I can’t be expected to take on another man’s whelp? It’s preposterous. Just look at her hair! She looks like a Caledonian! A filthy barbarian!’

      Livia felt the blood drain from her face, the ball of tension in her chest tightening so fiercely she actually felt winded. She couldn’t speak, only stare, stunned into silence by the insult. Red hair had been fashionable in Rome for a time, years before when the sight of tribespeople from the north had been a novelty, but now it was hardly unique. There were plenty of red-headed citizens scattered throughout the Empire, though she’d heard that some Romans still regarded it as a sign of barbarism. Not that she’d ever heard such prejudices expressed quite so blatantly nor so vehemently before. Even Julius had only looked his disapproval, but then he’d liked her hair at first. He’d called it her crowning glory before he’d turned it into yet another reason to hate her.

      A faint sobbing sound emanating from behind her skirts forced self-pity aside and she curled her hands into fists as a rush of maternal fury overcame shock. Insulting her was one thing. Insulting her daughter was a different matter entirely!

      ‘We’re Roman.’ She pulled her palla back from her head, unveiling her own copper-red curls. If Julia was going to be condemned for her hair colour, then they’d be condemned together. ‘Just like you.’

      ‘How dare you!’ His expression managed to convey both outrage and horror. ‘You’re nothing like me!’

      ‘And we deserve your respect!’ She tossed her head deliberately so that the long tresses spilled over her shoulders, speaking with a disdain equal to his own. No matter what else, she wasn’t going to let Julia see her behave with anything other than dignity.

      Scaevola’s eyes narrowed to venomous slits before he turned back towards Nerva. ‘How could I ever take a pair like that back to Rome? It’s unthinkable! I’d be the laughing stock of the Senate.’

      ‘Lucius.’ Nerva’s voice held a warning note, though the younger man seemed not to notice.

      ‘I won’t do it. I’d rather marry a—’

       ‘Sir!’

      Livia spun around, as startled as everyone else by Marius’s interruption. Despite Nerva’s invitation to join them, he’d kept to one side of the atrium, half-hidden in the shadows, though she’d remained acutely aware of his presence. Even without looking she could somehow sense his proximity. If he’d left, she had a feeling she would have known it.

      She hadn’t counted on his coming to her aid, however, and yet that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. He actually looked angry, she noticed with surprise, his jaw a rigidly set line as he eyeballed the other man, though as a centurion he surely had no right to interrupt a tribune. She didn’t know much about the Roman army, but she knew that hierarchy was everything. Judging by the way that Scaevola’s mouth was hanging open, gaping like a landed fish, he could hardly believe it either.

      She held her breath, not knowing whether to feel grateful or concerned. As much as she appreciated Marius’s defending her, she didn’t want him to be punished for it. She had enough to worry about already.

      ‘Centurion?’ Nerva was the first to recover from his surprise.

      ‘Forgive my interruption, sir.’ Marius sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. ‘But I believe our guests are tired after their journey.’

      ‘Of course.’ To her amazement, instead of issuing a reprimand, Nerva agreed with him. ‘We can discuss this another time. Don’t you agree, Lucius?’

      The Tribune didn’t get a chance to answer as a kindly-looking matron emerged through one of the archways at that moment, her genial smile instantly defusing the tension.

      ‘Ah, you must be Livia.’ The woman came forward at once, hands outstretched. ‘I wondered what was keeping you all out here. I’m so delighted to meet you.’

      ‘This is my wife, Hermenia.’ Nerva looked visibly relieved by her arrival. ‘She’ll show you to your room. Under the circumstances, we thought it might be best if you stayed here as our guest for a few days. Until matters are settled.’

      ‘If they’re settled...’ Lucius sounded faintly rebellious.

      ‘Thank you.’ Livia clasped the woman’s hands gratefully, feeling as if she’d just been offered a raft in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. At that moment anything was better than spending any more time with her intended. Not that running away and hiding was going to solve anything, but it would be a welcome respite.

      Then she reached an arm behind her, drawing her daughter out from her hiding place. ‘We’d be happy to, wouldn’t we, Julia?’

      The older woman’s eyes fell on the girl