of mind, to his body’s equilibrium, to his focus and control. Restless, he turned on his side and tried to get comfortable, accepting the ache in his groin as just punishment for his thoughts. Dangerous. Some part of his mind, the part that observed him, chided him—his conscience, he supposed—noted coolly that he did not consider taking her back with him into Rome in the morning and setting her free. No, he told himself as he slipped back into sleep. She stays.
Julia woke to a strange light, an unfamiliar room, a peculiar bed. Where…? She sat up, scrubbing the loose tendrils of hair back from her face, and found herself staring at a large wolf, that was watching her from the far end of the bed.
Oh, dear God, it wasn’t a dream. She was in a Visigoth’s tent, yesterday had happened, she was a captive, a slave, and she had no idea how she was going to escape. Her side of the tent must be facing east, she realised, as the strong glow of the sunrise penetrated even the heavy canvas to light her bed space.
And then the dream came back to her. Julia fell back onto the straw-filled mattress with a groan of horror and forced herself to remember her lurid night-time fantasy. Wulfric had captured her, held her against her will and yet her treacherous imagination had brought him to her bed, virtually naked. She had dreamt he had held her in his arms, caressed her face and neck, and she had felt the heat of his naked body, the sensation of silk over iron that was his skin and muscle. She had fantasised that his body had grown hard as he held her and that she had wanted to caress him in her turn, feel his mouth on hers—on every part of her…
‘No!’ Julia rolled over on to her side, dragging the covers over her head as though her shameful thoughts could be blanked out. It did not work. How could she be so wanton as to dream like that? To want her enemy like that? He was beautiful. There was no denying it. To depict the nude male form was considered an acceptable artistic convention; to admire the result was quite normal. But a respectable virgin did not lust after real men like that. One did not think about…
‘Are you awake?’ It was Berig, on the other side of the curtain, as effective an antidote to desire as any she could think of.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, get up, then!’ He sounded irritable. ‘Wulfric said I had to stay here until you were up and working with Una.’
‘He is not here?’ Oh, merciful escape if he is not! To have to face him with the memories of that dream fresh in my mind…
‘He’s in Rome, gone to Council. I should be there, waiting on him, not hanging around while you wake up.’
‘Well, go then,’ she snapped.
‘I cannot.’ Berig’s voice became fainter, he was obviously walking away. ‘I have to make sure you have breakfast and go safely to Una’s.’
‘I am quite capable of both.’ Julia flung back the blankets and got up. ‘Is there hot water?’
‘Yes, my lady. In a pot on our fire if your ladyship would condescend to come and get some.’ Berig sounded both angry and sarcastic.
Tugging her tunic over her head and winding the girdle round her hips, Julia scooped up her sandals and emerged into the main tent. Berig, wearing a fine linen tunic edged with heavy braid and with a silver clasp around his wrist, looked older—until she saw his expression, which was pure sulky youth.
‘You are very fine,’ she commented, pushing her feet into her sandals.
‘I was expecting to see the king. I have to do my lord honour.’
‘Well, go and see your precious king then and hold Wulfric’s horse, or whatever you are dressed up to do.’
‘Alareiks ist thiudans thizos mikilaizos thiudos thize Gutane,’ Berig snarled at her. ‘Is mikils guma ist.’
‘I understood one word of that—Alaric,’ Julia said impatiently, then realised that the high colour in Berig’s cheeks was genuine anger that she had spoken slightingly of his leader. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to insult your king, but he is my enemy. I give you my word, I will wash, eat and go to Una’s tent—you go to Wulfric. I am not likely to escape with Smoke dogging my every step, now am I?’
Berig narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Your word? Is the word of a Roman woman any better than those of the men?’
‘My word is good,’ Julia said steadily. And I did not promise not to try to escape, only to go to Una’s.
‘Very well.’ He was out of the tent at a run. A minute later she saw him canter past, his cloak whipping in the wind behind him.
Julia went to the latrine, managing, with some difficulty, to persuade Smoke to wait outside. Still, he was as good as a bolt on the door for ensuring privacy. He hugged her side while she ladled hot water into a bowl and worked out how the suspension hook could be swung to one side so the water did not boil dry.
Washed, her clothing straight, she set her sleeping space in order, then surveyed the rest of the tent. Yesterday’s platters and spoons lay unwashed in a large bucket. She pulled back the curtain that screened Berig’s space and saw his bed was in disorder and a pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor. Julia prodded them with her toe, shrugged and went to investigate Wulfric’s space. It was in a like state, only the pile of discarded garments was larger.
‘Hmm.’ Julia found bread, cheese and honey, poured hot water over the honey, dashed in a little wine and sat down inside the tent to eat. She washed up what she had used that morning and last night and replaced it on the shelves, tied a loop of leather around an eating knife and fixed it around her waist under her tunic and went out of the tent, leaving the rest of the housework exactly as she had found it.
Una was dropping clothes into a large bucket of steaming water. ‘Good day, Julia.’ She smiled. ‘You bring…so wasti? I do not know the word.’ She lifted a dripping garment out of the water.
‘Clothes? Washing?’ Una nodded. ‘No, thank you. I found hot water.’ It satisfied the other woman, who must have assumed she had left the laundry soaking in the tent. Julia smiled. ‘I can help you?’ She had no objection to assisting this friendly woman with the clear blue eyes and the swelling belly. She just had no intention of clearing up after two hulking males.
‘Thu hilpis.’ Una nodded agreement. ‘You could bring more water?’ She gestured to the yoke leaning against the tent wall.
‘Very well.’ Julia hooked on empty buckets and lifted the yoke. ‘Where from?’
‘The river is that way.’ Una pointed. ‘A very small river.’
Interested to see how far Smoke was prepared to let her go, Julia followed the direction the other woman had indicated. It led downhill and, as she went, she passed other women coming back, all carrying water. They stared, wide-eyed, at her clothing, but nodded and smiled when she greeted them. None of them showed any alarm at the wolf padding at her side—doubtless they all knew by now that Wulfric had acquired a female slave. How many of them understood her Latin, she had no idea, but Good morning probably sounded much the same to everyone, whatever the actual words used were.
At the bottom of the slope was the stream, its banks muddy and trampled. Someone had set stones as a makeshift hard standing and a small queue of women had built up, waiting patiently while their friends took it in turns to stand dry-shod while they dipped their buckets.
‘I’ll just see if there’s another spot,’ Julia said brightly to Smoke as she strolled off across the shoulder of the valley. She wandered along, trying to give the impression that she was interested only in the gaudy flash of a hoopoe flying past, or the spikes of wild flowers in the shade of bushes.
The first meander in the stream took them out of sight of both the watering place and any of the tents on the hill and there, straight as an arrow across the water, was a line of stepping stones, and on the opposite bank a deep grove of trees.
Now, all she had to do was to distract the wolf. There was a tree by the stones on her side. If she could just slip her girdle around Smoke’s