"Go to the command pavilion," Livia ordered, dragging me away from the medical tent and toward the legionaries already gathering nearby. "The Imperator will skin me alive if anything happens to you."
I pulled my arm free.
"No. I need to help them," I bit out, gesturing toward the wounded still lying inside the tent. "I cannot sit safely in the pavilion while people are dying. There are women and children here."
"The Imperator will hold them back," Livia said through gritted teeth, catching my arm once more. Her grip tightened. "Nothing will happen to this camp."
She lowered her voice.
"But let us not forget why the Britons have been attacking us these past weeks."
I stiffened.
"You."
Her words struck like a blow.
"You are the reason that Briton bastard continues to test our defenses. If he breaches the camp, he will come for you first."
Around us, the encampment had erupted into chaos. Legionaries raced toward the fortifications, shields and spears in hand, while servants hurried women and children toward the center of the camp. It was like they were trained for this.
Livia's expression softened, though only slightly.
"Please, domina," she said. "Do not make me choose between obeying my Imperator and protecting my patients."
Just as I opened my mouth to reply, Livia's attention shifted to something behind me.
I turned.
Quintus was striding toward us at a near run, already dressed in full armor. His expression was grim, and sweat gleamed on his brow despite the cool afternoon air.
"Domina," he said, coming to a halt before us. "The Imperator orders you to the command pavilion. You are to remain there until he comes for you."
"How bad is it?" I asked, unable to keep the fear from my voice.
The horn had stopped sounding, but that was rarely a good sign. Especially not when the entire camp was still rushing all around us.
"Go to the pavilion, domina, and you shall find out soon enough," Quintus replied, his tone clipped. "The Imperator will join you once he has assessed the situation."
I drew in a slow breath.
"Very well."
"Thank the gods," Livia muttered beneath her breath.
She turned immediately to Quintus. "Send several legionaries to the medical tent. I will need strong hands to move the wounded."
Quintus nodded once.
Then, before I could change my mind, he caught my arm and all but marched me toward the command pavilion.
I stumbled to keep pace.
"What would your Imperator say if he saw you handling me in such a manner?" I asked dryly.
Quintus did not so much as glance in my direction.
"He would say, 'Gratitude, Quintus, for ensuring my wife remained alive.'"
I narrowed my eyes at Quintus, only to stumble when he pushed aside the flap of the tent Marcus and I shared and practically shoved me inside.
"Stay here," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. Then, after a brief hesitation, he drew a dagger from his belt and pressed it into my hand. "No matter what happens."
I stared at the weapon.
"If anyone enters this tent who should not be here," he continued grimly, "use it. Strike hard. Strike first."
My fingers tightened around the hilt.
Qvintvs had been carved into the metal.
Before I could respond, he was already gone, the tent flap falling shut behind him.
I stood there for only a heartbeat.
Then I rushed toward the entrance, pulling the flap aside just enough to peer outside.
Chaos had consumed the camp.
Legionaries sprinted past in full armor, shields raised, officers shouting orders in Latin as trumpets sounded from the ramparts.
Somewhere beyond the palisade, men were screaming. The great gates at the front of the encampment had been shut, but smoke was already rising from several tents closest to the perimeter.
They had breached part of their defenses.
My heart lurched.
The Romans were fighting near the entrance, shields locked together in disciplined lines as Britons hurled themselves against them.
Spears flashed, steel clashed against steel. I caught glimpses of painted faces and wild hair amongst the attackers, but they stood little chance against the tightly packed Roman formation.
Even so, bodies littered the ground.
More wounded were already being carried toward the medical tents.
Yet no matter where I looked, I could not see Marcus.
I should have stayed inside.
That was what Marcus would have wanted, what Quintus had ordered.
But I could not see Marcus, and every scream that carried through the camp made it harder for me to remain still. I felt powerless, useless when people around me were fighting for their lives.
A stretcher passed, then another.
The second carried a boy no older than sixteen.
My stomach twisted.
I took a step forward, clutching Quintus's dagger tight in my hand, intending to make a run for the medical tent.
But a hand clamped over my mouth.
"Quiet."
The voice froze me.
My entire body went still.
Gen pulled me hard against his chest, one arm banded around my waist as he dragged me deeper into the shadows of the tent, away from the entrance and the noise of battle outside.
My fingers tightened instinctively around the hilt of Quintus's dagger, concealed within the folds of my blood-stained skirts.
"You truly thought a few Roman walls would keep me from you?" Gen murmured against my ear.
My hammered against my ribs.
Slowly, I forced myself to breathe, to think.
He was here, inside the Roman camp, the command pavilion, no less. Which meant he was either desperate, or very, very confident.
I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. Smell smoke and blood clinging to him.
"You should leave before my husband finds you," I whispered.
"No," he said, almost lazily. "On the contrary, I should very much like to meet him. We can finally settle this little problem of ours."
His grip loosened, only slightly.
But it was enough.
I drove Quintus's dagger backward with all my strength, plunging it into his thigh.
Gen cursed violently as the blade punched through the leather protecting his thigh. His hold on me broke instantly.
I stumbled forward and spun around, raising the dagger between us with trembling hands.
Gen had already taken several steps back.
Blood soaking through the dark wool covering his leg.
For the first time, I truly looked at him.
He looked nothing like the lord who ahd sat across from me at his hearth, who brought me books while I was recovering.
His blond hair was matted with blood and dirt. A cut splitting the skin above his brow, streaking one side of his face crimson. He wore a mixture of Briton and Roman armor, pieces clearly scavenged from the battlefield. Mud clinging to his boots and cloak.
Yet despite the exhaustion etched across his features, those blue eyes remained fixed on me with the same unwavering intensity, almost reverently even.
As though the wound I had given him mattered far less than the fact that he had finally found me.
I tightened my grip on the dagger.
Gen's gaze dropped briefly to the blade, before flashing me a sad smile.
"You truly have been spending too much time with the Romans."
Before I could react, he moved.
One moment he stood several feet away, wounded and bleeding.
The next, his hand closed around my wrist.
I gasped, trying to fight.
But the dagger twisted painfully in my grip before he wrenched it free.
In one swift moment, he pulled me back against his chest.
My breath caught.
The cold edge of Quintus's dagger settling lightly against my throat. Not enough to cut, but enough to warn.
"Let me go!"
"Forgive me, my love," he murmured against my ear. "But I have not come all this way to leave without you again."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
His arm tightened around my waist.
"You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice gentle, sensual. "Though I preferred you in my hall. Beside my hearth. Wearing my colors."
"Let me go."
"I cannot."
The words sounded almost regretful.
"I missed you."
My stomach twisted.
"Every morning, I expected to find you sitting at my table." His breath stirring the hair at my temple. "Every night, I reached for you in my bed."
I said nothing.
"I often thought about that night," he confessed quietly. "If the gods had been kinder, you would have carried my heir by now."
The tent flap burst open, cold air rushing in.
Marcus stood at the entrance, sword already drawn.
Blood covering his armor.
His eyes locked onto my terrified ones, taking in the way I was held against Gen, with Quintus's dagger pressed against my throat.
His eyes darkened, shifting to Gen.
"Take your hands off my wife."
Gen simply smiled.
"Come and take her, Roman."