Britannia,
AD 59. Decimus is a long-serving senior centurion who dreams of retirement in
Rome. Luciana is a Cornovii princess devoted to the freedom and survival of her
tribe. Connected only by a passion for horsemanship, the pair could not be more
ill-matched. After a deadly conflict thrusts these enemies together, each is
determined to fight their desires and triumph over the other. Who will
ultimately control the other’s heart?
But
Decimus and Luciana are not the only ones on the hunt for supremacy; a
desperate struggle over the province is beginning to simmer to a boil. There
are whispers of mysterious Druids fomenting unrest among the western British
tribes, whose inter-tribal divisions threaten to subsume them. The future of
the Roman legions in the province is suddenly thrown into doubt as casualties
begin to mount. Decimus and Luciana find themselves entangled within a web of
characters, Briton and Roman, playing with Britannia’s destiny to serve their
own ends.
The
hunt for power is on, where only one side can emerge triumphant. But just who among
these hunters will end up hunted?
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***
Excerpt
‘I’m
well aware of how your kind treat prisoners, Princess. You’d be wise to
remember you are one yourself.’
‘How
dare you?!’ Her bright green eyes flashed menacingly. ‘I’m far more valuable
than any token prisoner! Tell your men to unhand me at once!’
‘I have
already granted you an audience.’ Decimus set his jaw, staring back at her
coldly. ‘If you do not state your reasons forthwith, I will have you removed.’
‘Not
until these soldiers release me.’
He
huffed, frowning down into her eyes. They had, much to his irritation,
captivated him again; he was helpless to break their gaze. ‘You have already
killed before. If given half a chance, you’ll probably do so again.’
‘Sir,
my wrists are bound and the door is guarded.’ She panted, trying to soften her
expression. ‘I couldn’t attempt anything even if I’d wanted to.’
His
gaze trailed down to her heaving bosom. The outline of her small, shapely
breasts was just visible beneath her filthy blue gown. Heat flushed into her
cheeks under his stern, intense inspection; her lips suddenly began to quiver.
‘Let
her go,’ his voice commanded crisply.
The
legionaries reluctantly relinquished their hold on her arms and hair. They
stood, hovering before the centurion hesitantly.
‘Wait
outside. Tullius will be here to observe her.’ Decimus waved the men away and
bent down to begin unlacing his tall leather boots. He waited until the
legionaries had squeezed past Tullius to stand in the narrow hall before he
spoke: ‘Now, perhaps Your Grace will be so kind as to tell me what this is all
about?’
She
collected herself and sat up straight. ‘I’ve come to offer you my services.’
‘Services?’
He withdrew his foot from his boot and eyed her warily. ‘What sort of
services?’
‘The
man who tried to steal Father’s torc – he was your attendant, was he not?’ She
glanced around at the debris and abandoned scrolls scattered across the floor.
‘It would appear you’re in need of another one. And, as I’m the responsible
party, it’s only fair I should offer myself as a replacement.’
The
centurion’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would Your Grace want to become my slave?’
‘Luciana,’
she breathed, maintaining eye contact. ‘My name is Luciana.’
‘A
Latin-speaking Briton with a Latin name?’ He frowned quizzically.
‘If
you’ll recall, my father did try to assimilate us.’ She shook her head.
‘You may use me as an interpreter. Surely, that makes me valuable to you.’
‘I have
no need for a cultured slave.’ He rested his chin on one palm. He drummed the
fingers of his other hand against his knee in contemplation. The thought of
Aquila, standing in his stall and in desperate need of a thorough rubdown,
suddenly sprang to mind. ‘How are you with horses…Luciana?’
A smile
spread across her lips. ‘I am an excellent horsewoman, sir. My family bred and
raised some of the best horses on the island, better than the Iceni. I’m
well-versed in their care and temperament.’
‘Hmm.’
He thought for a moment longer, weighing up the notion, then decisively shook
his head. ‘It wouldn’t work. The army is no place for a woman slave.’
‘You
insult me as a warrior!’ She snapped angrily. ‘I am not so fine that I cannot
raise or strike your silly tents or use your stinking latrines! Besides,’ she
softened her expression, lowering her head towards the floor. ‘As a woman, I
can offer you…other services.’
Decimus
inhaled sharply as she wrapped her lips around his naked toe. Her tongue slowly
caressed his hard, calloused skin. The gentle warmth radiating from her touch
set his nerves alight. He closed his eyes, feeling his throat constrict. As the
sensation travelled up his leg, his foot violently began to tremble. With a
concerted growl, he wrenched his foot away, kicking her aside.
Luciana
fell onto her elbow. She panted as the warm taste of her blood begin to fill
her mouth. She held his gaze, eyes glittering. His noble, handsome face scowled
back at her, remote and picturesque. A Roman’s face. But something about his
icy eyes seemed to betray him. What she saw roiling within them made her curl
her back and lick her lips in satisfaction.
Decimus
gazed at her, frozen, for an interminable moment. She was no replacement for
Cato; she was a viper. He knew she would devour him if given the opportunity.
But shockwaves were still pulsing up the leg he slowly placed back on the
floor. The urge he’d thought he’d finally outgrown rekindled in his loins with
a youthful fervour. She, who had set his every nerve alight, was willingly
offering herself to him. He wanted, nay, needed to possess her.
‘Tullius,’
he said in a surprisingly calm, even tone, ‘go to the quartermaster and have
him withhold five hundred denarii from my pay. Let it be noted for the purchase
of one slave from the legion’s collection. And dismiss the guards; the princess
will be staying with me.’
A
native of Dayton, Ohio, A.M. Swink grew up obsessed with two things: books and
horses. After a childhood of reading, writing, showing, and riding, she moved
to Lexington, Kentucky to complete a degree in equine science and management
and a degree in English literary studies. She now works in Lexington as a
college professor of reading and writing. In her spare time, she has travelled
extensively around the UK and Ireland, exploring ancient sites and artefacts,
as well as tracing her own ancestry. She is proud to be descended from County
Cork’s Callaghan clan.
When
not writing, she can be found collecting and showing model horses or enjoying
her favourite British comedy programmes.
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