The Warrior's Bride Prize. Jenni Fletcher

that she took a surprised step backwards.

      ‘Yes, sir?’ a voice from somewhere within the mass of legionaries answered.

      ‘Lead from the front. I’ll march at the rear.’

      ‘Yes, sir!’

      Livia heaved a breath of relief, taking up a position beside him as the column of soldiers all turned around at once, moving in unison as if they were one and not many individuals. Then she looked down at her feet, belatedly wondering if she were making another mistake, after all. Her thin sandals were completely impractical for marching over hard cobbles and as for her pristine white stola... She threw a surreptitious glance towards her companion and then tugged the hem up around her calves, hoisting it out of the dirt.

      ‘Have you changed your mind, lady?’

      She whipped her head up in chagrin. She hadn’t thought that he was looking at her—he wasn’t even looking at her now, staring straight ahead as if he were keen to inspect the tops of his soldiers’ helmets—and yet apparently he still knew what she was doing. She had the distinct feeling he didn’t miss anything.

      ‘Not at all.’

      ‘As you wish.’

      She narrowed her eyes at his insouciant tone, then had to start the march at a near run as the column started forward abruptly.

      ‘I thought that centurions usually rode?’ She looked around for a horse, increasing the length of her stride to match his.

      ‘Some do, some don’t, but I never ask my men to do anything I wouldn’t do.’

      ‘Like march in full armour on a warm day?’ She wondered how heavy each man’s equipment was. ‘It doesn’t look very comfortable.’

      ‘If there’s one thing the Roman army’s good at, lady, it’s marching.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘As for the armour, it’s something a soldier gets used to. If we were attacked, we’d be glad of it.’

      If they were attacked? She felt a flutter of panic, Porcia’s earlier words echoing in her ears. Was such a thing really possible, then?

      ‘I thought the frontier was peaceful again?’ She tried to keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.

      ‘It is, for the most part, but it’s still wise to be cautious.’ He glanced downwards, as if detecting the fear behind her words. ‘You’re safe with us, lady.’

      ‘Yes...thank you.’

      She threw a swift glance over her shoulder at the carriage. Now that she’d insisted on walking, she wished that she hadn’t. She wanted to be near her daughter instead, holding her safe in her arms. The thought of Julia being in danger made her feel physically sick. More than that, it made her furious, too. Tarquinius had assured her that it was perfectly safe this side of the wall and she’d been fool enough to believe him. As if she didn’t know that almost every word out of his mouth was a lie! But how could he? She’d never deceived herself into believing that her half-brother cared a fig for her happiness, but she’d assumed he might at least want to keep her and his niece alive. Now it seemed even that much was beyond him! All he cared about was money and social advancement—allying himself to people who might prove useful to him. In his eyes, she and Julia were nothing more than commodities to be traded. Roman or not, they were little more than slaves.

      She clamped a hand to her throat, as if there were actually a shackle there that she couldn’t unfasten, determined to ask her questions of this disconcerting Centurion and get back to the carriage and her daughter as quickly as possible.

      ‘Is the pace too fast, lady?’ He was looking down at her again, she noticed suddenly. If she wasn’t mistaken, he even looked faintly concerned.

      ‘No.’

      She dropped her hand to her side. The pace was too fast, forcing her to take two steps for every one of his, but at least it distracted her from her anger at Tarquinius. Besides, she still had questions to ask...

      ‘I was just wondering who sent you to meet us. Was it Lucius Scaevola?’

      He twisted his face to the front again, the muscles in his neck and jaw bunching visibly before he answered.

      ‘No, lady. Fabius Augustus Nerva, the Legionary Legate at Coria, sent me.’

      ‘Oh.’ Even though she’d sent her message directly to her new husband... ‘Then is Lucius Scaevola away on some kind of mission, perhaps?’

      ‘None that I know of.’

      ‘Is he unwell?’

      The few heartbeats it took for him to answer told her the truth before he did.

      ‘No, lady.’

      ‘Oh.’

      She felt the last vestige of hope crumble away. If Lucius Scaevola wasn’t away or unwell, then it seemed he had no desire to come and meet her himself. The thought was depressing even if not unexpected... Well, she’d wanted to know what he thought of their union and now she did. Apparently he was just as enthusiastic about it as she was.

      But at least she was there, she thought with a renewed burst of anger. She was the one who’d come all this way, doing her duty to her family, which in her case meant following Tarquinius’s orders. Scaevola might at least have come to greet her. Just when she’d thought she couldn’t be any more humiliated! Only now that she’d made herself a hole, she seemed unable to stop digging...

      ‘What is he like?’

      ‘Lady?’ The tone of the Centurion’s voice conveyed a distinct reluctance to answer.

      ‘Scaevola. We never had a chance to meet in Lindum. I’d like to know what kind of a man he is.’

      The jaw muscles tightened again. ‘I can’t say.’

      ‘Can’t or won’t?’

      She surprised herself with the question. She was being too insistent, too demanding, but her nerves were stretched almost to breaking point and she couldn’t seem to help herself. She didn’t care what this Centurion thought of her now. His very reluctance to answer was alarming. Surely he could tell her something. Anything! Even Scaevola’s hair colour would be a start.

      ‘It’s not my place to answer, lady. He’s a senior officer, a tribune.’

      ‘A tribune?’

      She stopped so abruptly that he was a few paces ahead before he noticed. She’d assumed that her new husband must be a man of rank for Tarquinius to want an alliance, but Tribunes outranked every Centurion in the army. Only the Legate ranked above them.

      ‘But I thought he’d only just joined the army?’

      ‘He has.’ If she wasn’t mistaken, his lip curled slightly. ‘But he has good family connections. Men like that don’t enter in the ranks. Or fight much either.’

      ‘No, I suppose not.’

      She put a hand to her head, thoughts whirling. Not just a tribune, but a senatorial one, too? Such a man was more than a few steps above her on the social scale, more like a whole ladder away. The debt to her half-brother must be huge indeed for him to accept her as a bride, but what exactly did Tarquinius want from him? What was her half-brother planning?

      She twisted her face to one side, vividly aware of the Centurion’s stern gaze. They’d climbed out of the woodland while they’d been talking on to a plateau overlooking the rugged moorland to the north. The landscape in this part of the country was noticeably wilder than the flatter marshlands around Lindum, with jagged crags and rocky outcrops dotting a spartan terrain that seemed particularly suited to the man beside her.

      On any other day she might have admired it. Today she felt as if a black cloud had passed over the sun, obscuring any warmth or beauty and making her feel powerless and vulnerable, like one of the reedy-looking