Virgin Slave, Barbarian King by Louise Allen

Author:Louise Allen [Allen, Louise]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Kings and rulers, Fiction, Romance, Rome, Patricians (Rome), Historical, Young women, Germanic peoples, General, Love stories
ISBN: 9780373294770
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-12-01T08:00:00+00:00

Wulfric rode into camp late, long after most people had retired to their lean-to tents or under the shelter of their wagons. The guards patrolled the perimeter, solitary souls sat by their dying fires. Berig was snoring, he could hear the familiar sound wafting on the hot, still air even before he saw the wagon. Smoke’s tail begin to wave.

Berig had told him approximately where they were camped, the wolf had guided him home. Home. He had never realised that before—that was what this wagon and its tent were. He had given up calling anywhere home years ago, clinging instead to the vision of a villa somewhere in Gaul, shady courtyards, lush fields, a vision that Alaric’s orders to go south had dashed to fragments. It had become an impossible dream and yet now one slender girl with brown eyes and the courage of a warrior had given him a home wherever she was.

A drift of savoury smells assailed his nostrils as he slid off the back of his horse and stood, his forehead resting against the saddle for a long moment, too weary to unharness the animal.

Christus, but he was tired. It seemed as though he had been travelling for his entire life, and in the wrong direction at that. The grey turned its head and butted him impatiently. Wulfric squared his shoulders and straightened up as a slim shadow slipped under his arm and took the reins.

Go and sit by the fire. There is food in the pot, and warm water by the hearth.’ She pushed him, a kitten pushing a mastiff, he thought with an exhausted flash of humour. ‘Move, you big lump, how can I get the saddle off with you leaning on it like that?’

Yes, domina,’ he murmured, straightening up and walking towards the glow of the fire.

He folded up when he got there, not onto a stool, but cross-legged on the ground, his back against a wheel. There was the water, a towel draped across a stool where he could reach it. There was the pot of stew, the platter of bread, bowls set ready. He washed his hands, splashed his face and towelled himself dry, then just sat there, eyes closed, too bone weary to eat.

Somewhere on the other side of the wagon he could hear Julia talking to the horse. It was obviously not cooperating, he thought, listening to her scolding.

Eventually he heard the light footsteps, knew exactly when she had seen him by the way they turned from a walk into a tiptoe. ‘I’m awake,’ he said, eyes still shut.

Eat something, then,’ she ordered, in much the same tone she had used to the horse. There was the scrape of a ladle in the big cooking pot, the splash of wine into a beaker. Then, ‘What did you call me just now?’

Domina. You are the lady of the household, are you not?’

She gave an amused snort. ‘Of course, look at me, mistress of two ox wagons, two makeshift tents and a cooking pot.

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