He was enjoying their battle, for he understood the war that she now fought within herself. He knew that he had simply to persevere, for she was by nature an extremely passionate woman; and she would not give up at the first breach in her defenses. She would fight on until he plunged deep within her warm, wet body; until she climaxed beneath him, a curse upon her lips for him. And strangely, the prospect excited him more than if she had yielded to him without a struggle. He would never really tame her, he knew now; but eventually she would stop resisting him.
Beneath him, Zenobia fought to free one of her hands. If she could just get one arm loose she might use it in her defense. His big, hard body pressed down upon her, forcing the breath from her until, tearing her head from him, she gasped for precious air. He used the opportunity to release her arms and catch her face between his two hands. "Look at me!" he demanded of her in a voice she found she was powerless to resist. Her anger-blackened eyes confronted his sky-blue ones. His knee forced itself none too gently between her thighs, and then he was slowly, deliberately entering her. With a gasp of shock, and a terrible fear she could not explain rising up almost to suffocate her, she attempted to turn away. "No!"
His voice whipcracked sharply. "I want you to look into my eyes when I enter into your body."
"No!" Her voice had become a desperate whisper.
"Yes!" His hands held her head so tightly that she thought he might easily crush her skull. She trembled, mesmerized like a small bird caught before a snake, unable to look away as he slowly pushed himself into her helpless body. With deliberate and provocative movement he took her. His blue eyes bore deep into her soul, and the last thought Zenobia had before she fainted dead away was that he was somehow taking over her entire being and she had not even the strength to protest. Instead, she gave way to the rich, warm darkness that enfolded her and took away all need for thought.
"Zenobia! Zenobia!” Through the mists she could hear someone calling her name, and with a small protest she struggled to return to the sweet darkness; but the voice persisted. "Zenobia! Open your eyes, goddess! Open them!" Still protesting, she finally opened her eyes, although the effort was a mighty one, for her eyelids felt heavy. Before her foggy gaze Aurelian's face loomed, and to her surprise he appeared worried. Now as she focused and he became clearer, she could see relief etched upon his handsome face, even tenderness.
"I hate you," she managed to say weakly, and he laughed, elated.
"I thought I had killed you," he said, "and a dead queen is of no value to me."
She struck at him futilely, and with a growl of delight he gathered her into his arms and held her close. "Be quiet, goddess. I'm not going to hurt you. Just be quiet now." Because she was too ravaged to do anything more she lay quiet within his embrace; then reluctantly she began to relax. Soon she was dozing against his chest, and a lovely warmth began to penetrate her chilled frame.
When she awoke she knew that several hours had passed, for she could tell through a loose place in the tent that it was night. Carefully she eased herself out of his embrace. Her body ached in every joint. More than anything else in the world she longed for a hot bath, sweet-scented and soothing to ease her tired and sore mucles. With a sigh she knew that it would have to wait.
She looked over at Aurelian. He lay quiet, his breathing soft and even. Zenobia studied the emperor carefully. Her first brief impression of rugged handsomeness still held. He was surprisingly youthful-looking despite the fact that she knew him to be in late midlife. About his eyes and very gently etched into the skin on his upper cheekbones were the telltale signs of aging. Still, she thought, a touch bitterly, he was a damned satyr below the waist. He hadn't bothered to remove his short red military tunic during this last assault upon her, so she could see little of his body, but where the tunic rode high she could see the beginnings of a scar along his left thigh. From the width of it she suspected it was probably a spear wound. There were several other smaller scars upon his legs and arms, enough to show he had done his battle time, but not enough to say he was careless.
Even in sleep the line of his mouth indicated that he was a tough, stubborn man rarely given to softness or compassion. She shuddered remembering their battle of that afternoon. Never had she felt so… so possessed, or less in control of her own body and mind. When he had forced her to look at him she had come totally under his control, and she knew that he had reveled in her weakness. Zenobia vowed that she would not let that happen again. The next time he demanded she look into his eyes, she would appear to give her complete concentration, but in reality she would unfocus her eyes.
Quietly she rose from the bed and stretched slowly, easing some of the tension from her battered body. She was unaware that he watched her through slitted eyes, for not once had his breathing altered to warn her that he was awake. She had a fine body, he thought, despite the fact that she was over thirty. He liked her long legs, sleek flanks, barely rounded belly, and particularly her full but firm breasts. He liked women with big breasts, but often with age those fine breasts sagged. Ulpia's certainly had.
As he watched Zenobia raise the lid on her small trunk and pull forth a robe in which to clothe herself, he wondered about Carissa. She would have had her child by now. Was it the male child she had been so sure she carried? He also wondered whose child it actually was. Oh, there was always the possibility that he had finally fathered a child, but he seriously doubted it. People liked to believe that his lack of sons was poor Ulpia's fault, but he knew that it was not.
Before his marriage he had occasionally kept a mistress, and none had ever presented him with a bastard child. Since his marriage he had kept a steady stream of minor courtesans, and certainly none of them had borne him children. Only Carissa had ever claimed that he had fathered her child. He was dubious, but since he had never intended divorcing Ulpia to marry his venal little niece, he did not argue with her. Possibly the child was his. He had to admit that he was curious.
Aurelian opened his blue eyes and watched Zenobia as a cat watches its prey. He certainly felt sorry for Marcus Alexander, but then to the victor belonged the spoils, and he, Aurelian, was the victor.
11
"Please, Carissa, please help yourself and let us be done with this birth." Ulpia Severina, Empress of the Romans, leaned over her niece and tried to encourage the girl.
"It hurts," Carissa whined petulantly.
"I know, dearest, but you must push the babe out."
"How could you know? You are barren, aunt," was the cruel reply. Carissa turned her head away from Ulpia, and groaned.
"Come, Ulpia," said Dagian's soothing voice, and her strong, kindly hands gently pulled the empress away from the bedside. "Come and have some wine with me; The midwife will care for Carissa quite well."
Dumbly Ulpia nodded and allowed herself to be led from Car-issa's bedchamber and back into the sunny atrium. Two slaves hurried forward bearing comfortable chairs, which they placed by the pool. A third slave placed a tray with a decanter of wine and two chased silver goblets upon a low round table. Dagian waved her servants away, then poured out the sweet golden wine and handed Ulpia a gobletful.
"Marcus should be with her," the empress murmured. "This is her first child."
"Ulpia, you cannot keep up the pretense any longer. Theirs was not a love match. If you do not know the truth then I will tell it to you now. The emperor forced this marriage upon my son. He was contracted to a lady in Palmyra with whom he is deeply in love. I know that however much you may love Carissa you do not for a moment believe the baby she is about to birth is my son's. They have been married four months, and he has been back in Rome just over that time."