Page 65 of Enslaved
Diana recoiled from him. “You are a race of brutal, primitive degenerates.” She had been holding the golden coin in her hand. She thrust it at him. “Take it, it defiles me.”
Marcus ignored the chain and swept her up into his arms. “I will defile you, by the gods I will!”
Diana struggled in vain. His arms were steel bands; his chest like the stone wall of the fortress. The more she tried to resist him, the more his anger and his lust became en-flamed. He threw her down onto the bed and tore open the cream robe. Then he threw off his mantle and lifted his tunic over his head.
Diana’s gaze challenged his as she lay trembling with fury. “If you force me, like a master takes a slave, it will kill my love for you. It will prove you a brutal, primitive degenerate and we shall be everlasting enemies.” Her voice was low and so intense it gave him pause.
Marcus ran his calloused hands through his hair in complete frustration. “What happened today? What has wrought this change in you? Talk to me, woman!” he thundered.
Diana drew the soft robe about her nakedness and sat up, curling her feet beneath her. Marcus, a tower of virile frustration, loomed at the foot of the bed. She chose her words carefully. “When I came to the fort today, you were busy, so I went into the temple. The brutal pagan sacrifice I saw sickened me.”
Marcus sank down on the foot of the bed with relief. “Is that what this is all about? Diana, you should not have gone there. You are too gentle and tender-hearted to understand these things. Why do you think I’ve never taken you to the temple?”
Diana shook her head. “It’s not just the blood sacrifice of animals. It’s the vast differences between us. I can never be reconciled to the Roman way of life. I can never accept your beliefs and practices.” She hugged herself, her arms crossed in protection. Her palms felt the soft wool of her robe. “The clothing, the food, and the language are small differences, easily overcome. It’s the way you think, your beliefs, your ideals that I’m totally opposed to. You think you rule the world by divine right. Your entire empire is based on power and oppression. Romans are sadistic by nature. The differences between us are too great to overcome.”
“The only difference between us that counts is that I’m a man and you’re a woman! Our bodies fit together so perfectly, we become one when I make love to you. Our differences are gone the moment we are joined.”
“No, Marcus. We set aside our differences so we can indulge our lust. When that is slaked, our differences are still there, larger than life!”
“What I feel for you islove!”
“Can you honestly say you feel no lust for me?” she demanded.
“Yes. I feel love and lust. A combustible combination. Most men and women would sell their souls to experience what we have!”
“I fear that is what I have done,” Diana said quietly. “Take this back.” Again she held out the chain.
“Julius Caesar was thegreatestpatrician, statesman, and general who ever lived.”
“Caesar was a conqueror, seizing land that didn’t belong to him and enslaving proud free people by the thousands.”
Reluctantly, Marcus took back the Caesar coin and slipped it over his head. He knew she was accusing him of these things, not Caesar, and it was true.
Marcus lifted his head, proud as an eagle, and with all the courage he possessed, asked, “Do you love me?”
Diana stared at him aghast. An unbearable lump came into her throat and her eyes flooded with unshed tears. She came up onto her knees before him. “Marcus, I love you so much I am heartsore.” Her arms went around his neck, and as he cradled her against him, her tears wet the column of his throat.
“Don’t cry, beloved, I can’t bear it,” he murmured, pressing her heart against his.
In the warm, protective circle of his arms, the horror of her afternoon receded. She would not tell him about Petrius —it would serve no purpose, and in any case, he would be leaving in a few days.
“I don’t care if you are Christian, Druid, Briton, or Celt. To me you are simply Diana—my heart, my life. Does it really matter to you that I am Roman? Can I not just simply be Marcus?”
Before she could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of a soft cough. Looking up, they saw Kell standing in the doorway among the shattered wood of the door. He was carrying a tray of food, and he had a look of cautious relief. No doubt he hadn’t known what to expect after seeing the general’s handiwork.
When Diana saw the food and realized Marcus had not eaten, she felt guilty. “It’s so late. Please eat your dinner, you must be exhausted.”
Marcus set the tray on the bed. “Share with me,” he tempted her. “My food always tastes so much better when you share it with me.”
Diana nodded and dried her eyes. Marcus scooped her into his lap and fed her all the choicest morsels, between his own mouthfuls. The desire to make love to her was like a torment inside him, but he banked the fires of his passion with an iron will. He had her gentled now and did not want to destroy the fragile bond that he had only just managed to reestablish.
After they had eaten, they talked together quietly. He told her of his day, minimizing the horrendous wounds and the high death toll. She showed him the things she had bought in the shops and he promised to show her how to write with a stylus. Then he tenderly tucked her into bed with a light kiss. “You look pale. Get some sleep, love. I just want to have a word with Kell, then I’m for bed too.”
Marcus had a nagging problem that had just multiplied a hundredfold because of Diana. He sought out Kell and they went into the solarium. Kell poured the general a goblet of wine and Marcus told him to pour one for himself. He indicated that Kell should be seated, but Marcus remained on his feet. He could always think better when he paced.
After he had walked the length of the mosaic tigress three or four times, he said, “I have a problem regarding the feast I throw for the governor and his centurions before they go to fight.”
“It has never been a problem before. As always, I will keep out of the governor’s way.”
