Slave Princess. Juliet Landon
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Praise for Juliet Landon
THE RAKE’S UNCONVENTIONAL MISTRESS ‘Landon’s understanding of the social mores and language of the era flows through the pages …’ —RT Book Reviews
A SCANDALOUS MISTRESS ‘.sensual and emotion-filled read.’ —RT Book Reviews
HIS DUTY, HER DESTINY ‘Landon has written a titillating and entertaining battle of the sexes, one in which readers cannot help but take sides—both of them.’ —RT Book Reviews
THE BOUGHT BRIDE ‘Landon carefully creates the atmosphere of the eleventh century, incorporating intriguing historical details.’ —RT Book Reviews
THE KNIGHT’S CONQUEST ‘A feisty heroine, a heroic knight, an entertaining battle of wills and plenty of colourful history flavour this tale, making it a delightful one-night read.’ —RT Book Reviews
‘Captives are rarely in a position to bargain about their future, and you’re no different, princess or not. You are my slave. Better get used to it.’
‘Then it would have been better to let me die at Eboracum with my maid, Roman. That way I would have been free.’ Throwing off the blanket, she stood up in one swift unbending of her body, intending to put more distance between them.
The soft mattress hampered her feet—the curve of the canvas was not designed for her height—and the long reach of Quintus’s arm caught her wrist in an iron grip, pulling her off-balance. Furiously she tried to throw him off, her eyes blazing with green fire. ‘No man may touch me!’ she yelled, competing with the roar outside.
‘Then that’s another thing you’d better get used to, Princess High and Mighty.’
About the Author
JULIET LANDON’s keen interest in art and history, both of which she used to teach, combined with a fertile imagination, make writing historical novels a favourite occupation. She is particularly interested in researching the early medieval and Regency periods, and the problems encountered by women in a man’s world. Her heart’s home is in her native North Yorkshire, but now she lives happily in a Hampshire village close to her family. Her first books, which were on embroidery and design, were published under her own name of Jan Messent.
Previous novels by the same author:
ONE NIGHT IN PARADISE** THE WIDOW’S BARGAIN THE BOUGHT BRIDE HIS DUTY, HER DESTINY THE WARLORD’S MISTRESS A SCANDALOUS MISTRESS* DISHONOUR AND DESIRE* THE RAKE’S UNCONVENTIONAL MISTRESS* MARRYING THE MISTRESS SCANDALOUS INNOCENT (collaboration with the National Trust)
* Ladies of Paradise Road
**linked to Ladies of Paradise Road trilogy
Author Note
For many years I longed to set a story in Bath, one of England’s most ancient and beautiful cities in the West Country, developed by the Romans for its famous natural hot springs. Like other natural phenomena, the springs were venerated by earlier Celtic tribes, but after the Roman invasion the place became known as Aquae Sulis (Waters of Sulis, the presiding Celtic god). Excavations have revealed exactly how the Romans built temples and healing pools to channel the waters, creating a spa for visitors from far and wide to bathe and make offerings in return for all kinds of help. It must have been an early example of a tourist town, with all amenities. The name of Minerva, the Roman goddess of healing, was then linked to that of Sulis (as Sulis Minerva) so as not to offend the local deities, of whom the northern goddess Brigantia is yet another counterpart.
Tracing the history of places back through the ages—like Bath, Lincoln and York, for instance—can be both fascinating and rewarding when so much has been discovered through archaeology to show us how people lived. The social history is what I find most interesting—particularly the various ways in which ordinary people sought cures for their ills through nature, in discoveries that reveal how closely their daily needs and hopes resembled our own. I hope that my story of how Romans and Celts co-existed during those difficult times of occupation will be the beginning of deeper research by the reader.
The Roman army packed up and left England two hundred years after this story, leaving our island with Latinised place-names that have since changed to the ones we know today. So Eboracum is now York, Danum is Doncaster, Lindum is Lincoln, Corinium Dobunnorum is Cirencester, Aquae Sulis is Bath, and Corieltauvorum is Leicester. Other places mentioned, like Margidunum, have now disappeared, being little more than staging-posts along the main highway.
Slave Princess
Juliet Landon
Chapter One
Eboracum—A. D. 208
The slapping of cupped hands on oiled skin echoed off the stone walls of the gymnasium like lukewarm applause. It was interrupted, however, by a bad-tempered grunt. ‘Steady, man! That’s still sore.’
Fingertips explored a pink scar streaking diagonally like a ribbon across the muscled shoulder. It was healing well. ‘Where, sir? Just there?’ The fingers fondled.
‘Ouch! Yes, you imbecile!’
The slave grinned and continued his kneading.
‘If you were not such a good masseur, I’d have you flogged,’ the deep voice grumbled into the towelled pillow.
‘Yes, sir,’ the slave replied, hearing a smile in the empty threat. Quintus Tiberius Martial was not a soft touch in any sense, but nor was he given to floggings and beatings. Florian had been in the Tribune’s service since he was twelve years old and so far had only suffered tongue-lashings for his misdemeanours.
The Tribune’s back was long, tapering and sculpted, divided by a valley with hills and mounds of hard muscle rising on each side, the Titanic shoulders extending to arms as strong as tree branches.
His dice-playing towel-wrapped companions looked up from their game to smile at the tetchiness. ‘Time you had some exercise,’ one of them volunteered, softly.
From the slab, Quintus opened one dark eye to glare at his friend. ‘I’ve been exercising all morning, if you recall. Where were you?’
‘Not that kind,’ the friend said, winking at his partner.
The partner moved one of the pieces on the board and shuffled himself deeper into his towel. ‘Horizontal, he means,’ he said, helpfully.
‘Yes … well … this is probably as horizontal as I’m going to get until I’m properly mended,’ Quintus mumbled, crossly.
‘Rubbish!’ said the friend, wiping the sweat from his face with one forearm. ‘You are mended. Isn’t he, Florian?’
‘Indeed, sir. I believe our forthcoming trip to the hot springs in the south will complete