Gladiator Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

the torture.
    Tristan breathed in the crisp night air as he moved through the darkened camp to find Angus. He was too wound up to sleep. Valeria’s stubborn resistance incited his temper to the point of rage, while at the same time her softness and beauty stirred a tremendous lust in him, and between the two warring emotions he was afraid of losing control.
    She was a Roman!
    He shouldn’t give a damn about losing control around her or not. She could live or die and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. Instead of keeping her warm and secure in his tent, he should chain her out in the snow and let her freeze. He’d bet she’d be willing to do anything he asked after one night.
    But he knew he wouldn’t do that to her. If he was smart, he’d keep her chained with the rest of the prisoners. She’d be out of his tent and among her countrymen, where she had a fierce protector willing to kill anyone who would do her harm.
    No, he didn’t like that idea either.
    What he really wanted to do was drown his thoughts in a barrel of ale, and then go back to his tent and lose himself in the warm comforts of Valeria’s body. The only thing stopping him was knowing she wouldn’t accept him, and he wanted her to accept him with open arms.
A Roman
.
    What was wrong with him?
    Rome, and everything in it, was the enemy.
    Tristan came upon the tent Angus, Talorc and Conall shared. They always made camp at the back, near the horses. The three men were seated around a blazing fire, chugging on ale and laughing and jesting with each other.
    “Every time you tell that story, the woman’s tits get bigger,” Talorc grunted, running a hand through his dark hair.
    “They were huge!” Angus held his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate his point. “I almost died from suffocation.”
    Conall, a younger lad who had joined the army last summer, listened to Angus in rapt fascination. He spent most of his time trailing after the two warriors, but had yet to learn that Angus had a propensity for embellishing his tales of war and women.
    “Knowing Angus,” Talorc said, “he wouldn’t have stopped until he blew his wad, or he really did suffocate.”
    “Take this bit of wisdom, lad.” Angus swayed drunkenly and pointed a beefy finger at Conall. “Tupping a woman can be very dangerous.”
    Their hearty laughter soared, then drifted away when Tristan strode up to the fire and took a seat on one of the empty logs.
    “Commander.” Angus jumped to his feet, coming to attention by crossing his right arm over his chest in a salute.
    Talorc and Conall dropped their mugs of ale on the ground and assumed the same stance.
    “Be at ease.” Tristan waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I come to share your company.”
    The three men resumed their perches around the fire and regarded him with baffled stares.
    “We thought you already had company.” Angus grinned widely and waggled his yellow brows.
    “You should be buried balls deep in that wench we found,” Talorc continued. “Not sitting out here with us.”
    “Unless you’ve ridden her so hard she can’t take anymore,” Angus added, giving an artful grin as he sipped from his mug.
    “Enough!” Tristan roared, tension grinding in his jaw. “Get me some ale. The damn woman drank every last drop in my tent.”
    What else did she do in there when he was gone? At least she couldn’t get into any trouble shackled to his bed. He hoped.
    Talorc shoved at Conall and the young lad went over to one of the barrels to fill a mug for Tristan.
    “Does she not please you?” Angus wondered.
    Tristan liked his women fair-haired and gentle. Coming across the woman in the forest this morning had been like receiving a sign directly from the Gods and Angus had been excited to give such a prize to Tristan. His friend and commander needed to relieve some pressure, or he was going to crumble under the strain of his position. He led the strongest army in the north, and a strong army