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‘No...maybe.’
‘Because I’m such a monster?’
‘No.’ She pressed her teeth into her lower lip. ‘But you called him a barbarian. I wanted to be sure he was all right.’
‘And was he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So then you turned around again and left?’ He folded his arms. ‘Or is there something else you want to tell me?’
Her gaze slid to one side guiltily. ‘I told him to answer your questions about the rebellion. I thought that if he told you what you wanted to know then you wouldn’t hurt him.’
‘I’ve already told you I’ve no intention of hurting him.’
‘Not you, but...’ she waved a hand ‘...others. I thought that perhaps you might let him go.’
‘He’s a prisoner, Livia. I can’t just let him go.’ He sighed. ‘So you admit that you spoke to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
She dipped her head. ‘I told you, my mother was a Briton. She taught me some of her language.’
‘Is that so?’ He felt a surge of anger, pushing himself up off the doorjamb and advancing slowly towards her. ‘Except you told me she was Carvetti. According to Ario, you were speaking Caledonian. Or do you imagine us Romans don’t know the difference?’
Her whole body tensed visibly and he took another step forward, looking down at her from the edge of the bed and lowering his voice dangerously.
‘Tell me the truth, Livia. No more lies.’
For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then her face seemed to crumple abruptly.
‘I never wanted to lie! I had to, or at least with Scaevola I had to, and then I didn’t know how to tell you. I’ve spent the last ten years not being allowed to talk about it.’
‘Talk about what?’
‘The truth! I thought you might prefer not to know.’
‘I would imagine every husband wants his wife to tell him the truth... What’s so funny?’ He scowled as she gave a bitter-sounding laugh.
‘My first husband probably thought so, too, before he found out.’
‘I’m not your first husband,’ he growled. ‘I’m your second and I do want the truth.’
‘All right.’ She pressed her lips together tightly before looking up at him again, a look of resolve on her face. ‘The truth is that my mother was Caledonian. She came from north of the wall. She was also a slave.’
Chapter Twenty
Livia held her breath, waiting for Marius to respond, to show some sign that he’d heard her at least, though his stern expression gave nothing away. She hardly recognised the man she’d gone to bed with two nights before. This one looked as impenetrable as marble. Seconds or minutes might have gone by before he slowly unfolded his arms.
‘Go on.’
She let the breath go in a rush, her body shuddering with relief. If he gave her an opportunity to explain, then th
ere was a chance, a faint one perhaps, but still a chance that he might understand, too.
‘Her name was Etain. She worked on my father’s country estate. He owned her for twelve years before they even met.’
