For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1) Read online

  Love and Warfare Series book 1

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  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  For Life or Until, a novel by Anne Garboczi Evans

  Love and Warfare Series Book 1

  Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording without express written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, locales or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  PUBLISHED BY: Cavé Books™, an imprint of Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 470, Fort Knox, KY 40121-0470. The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.

  *Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

  Scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  Cover design by iCreate Designs.

  Interior Graphics by Amanda Gail Smith (amandagailstudio.com).

  Library Cataloging Data

  Names: Evans, Anne Garboczi (Evans Anne Garboczi) 1987-

  Title: For Life or Until; Love and Warfare series book 1 / Anne Garboczi Evans

  432 p. 6 in. × 9 in. (15.24 cm × 22.86 cm)

  Description: Cavé™ digital eBook edition | Cavé™ Trade paperback edition | Kentucky: Cavé™, 2017.

  Summary: Celt Ness and Roman Tribune Aquilus come from different worlds. Neither could have imagined how much their union would change the world.

  Identifiers: ePCN: 2017938400 | ISBN-13: 978-1-68190-067-4 (trade) | 978-1-68190-066-7 (POD) | 978-1-68190-065-0 (ebk.)

  1. Christian fiction 2. man-woman relationships 3. suspenseful romantic thriller 4. ancient Rome 5. Historical fiction 6. family relationships

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  For Life or Until Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Excerpt: When Gambling

  Paterculi Family Tree

  Discussion Questions

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgements

  Cavé

  More Books by Anne Garboczi Evans Love & Warfare Series

  Lawmen & Suffragette Series

  Short Fiction

  Forever Family Series

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my two Latin professors, Dr. Noe and Dr. McRoberts. Thank you for all the riveting classes. I may never read Horace’s Satires in their original language, or make my own translation of the Georgics, but I had fun using Latin in this novel.

  Chapter 1

  A Catuvellauni village in the province of Britannia, the Roman Empire, Summer 85 A.D.

  Setting her water jar down, Ness gripped the hawthorn gatepost to the smithy. The shadow of the wattle and daub shop fell across the dusty yard. Inside the door, sparks from the smithy’s fire rose high as he labored over metal.

  Another man stood under the eaves. Cedric. Sun reflected off his bare chest, the tang of his sweat just scenting the air. He lounged back against the thatched wood. Ness’ soul soared.

  “Ness.” Cedric grinned at her. The leaves overhead made patterns on his body. “You break an ax too?”

  “My brother did.” She felt her ears redden at just the sight of Cedric. She’d now seen eighteen summers. Surely he’d ask her to marry him this summer.

  Cedric flicked her hair, his long fingers sliding through the golden strands. “Why the frown?”

  “Just turning the future over in my mind. Fiona’s father is selling two ewes this week. I’m thinking of buying them.” Heart pounding, Ness watched Cedric’s eyes. Did he love her? She’d loved him since before she knew what love meant.

  “Still planning that sheep farm?” Cedric moved his gaze to the smoke rising from the smithy roof.

  “Yes, only I need pastureland first.”

  Cedric swatted away a humming insect. The mark of briars scraped across his hard stomach and the burn of the sun reddened the tops of his shoulders. “Doesn’t your father have an extra field?”

  She stood straighter, her blue wool dress swishing in the breeze. “One extra field, yes. I plan on building my herd to a hundred sheep.” Behind Cedric’s father’s fields lay a vast plot of unclaimed land. If she felled the trees, she could use that land.

  “What are you going to do with all those sheep?” Cedric raised one arm and leaned more heavily on the smithy shop. His big shadow fell across her as he turned his gray-green eyes toward her. A tawny cockroach moved its disgusting body up the wattle and daub structure.

  “Shear them.” Ness ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. Her heart thumped against her ribcage as she dug her toe against a lone blade of grass. “Weave clothes for my children.” The entire village had paired their names together for three summers now. He must feel something for her. If only she dared bring up the topic.

  “A hundred sheep. How many children do you plan on having?” He grinned at her.

  She crossed her arms. “I’ll weave rugs and blankets and sell them in town. Bring in a good profit.”

  “You can’t weave.” Cedric rolled his eyes, a mocking light in those mystical globes.

  “I can weave.” She brought her eyebrows down, though she couldn’t help but smile at him.

  Cedric caught her hand at the wrist and held it up. “See, dirt on your skin.” His eyes laughed as he ran his finger across a line in her palm. “Women who weave for profit have the whitest of hands and sit inside all day.”

  Heat flushed through her veins and Cedric showed no signs of releasing her fingers. She had tangled the last blanket she’d attempted so badly that her foster sister, Enni, had taken pity on her and finished the thing. Perhaps she should work on her weaving skills before starting this business. She could scarcely breathe, but she flicked her gaze up to Cedric and smiled. “You prefer the weaving clothes for children plan then?”

  “Ha. You’ll only have boys and they’ll run wild in the fields while you’re chasing your sheep.” Standing straighter, he slid one arm behind her, his fingers just touching her shoulder.

  No, she wouldn’t. She’d have a beautiful golden-haired girl with Cedric’s piercing eyes.

  She felt the cool touch of skin against skin as he brushed his fingers beneath her hair. Something wriggly touched her neck.

  With a scream,
she slammed her head back toward his chin. “Cedric!”

  He jumped away from her, the filthy cockroach still wriggling between his fingers.

  “I told you ten times ago to never put a creature down my dress again.” She jammed her hands against her hips and glared at him.

  “You started it last month.” Reaching forward, he took her hand again. He traced his thumb across the freckle on her wrist.

  “I used leaves not revolting insects. And drop that filthy cockroach immediately.” She jerked away from him.

  “Did you see my new horse?” Cedric nodded to the far side of the smithy.

  A magnificent brown-black stallion threw its head up, showcasing the beautiful arch of its neck. With every stomp of its hooves, the creature displayed the power in its frame. Riding that mount, one would outrace even the wind.

  A gasp passed through Ness’ lips. “Is that one yours? I want to ride him.”

  “Only if you ride with me.”

  “I’m a perfectly competent horsewoman.”

  “The smithy said another half hour before my ax is done.” Cedric’s eyes flashed with mischief. “Ride with me now.” He extended his big hand.

  Her heart flopped wildly as she reached for his fingers.

  “Soldiers!” A voice screeched from the wattle and daub hut across the grassy path. Mailmura, the medicine woman, pointed a knobby finger toward the village green where metal flashed in the sunlight.

  Cedric dropped her hand and scowled. “Does the chief know they’re here?”

  A sea of iron and red plumes spilled out of the eastern forest into the space. Scabbards clanked against armor and the harsh sound of Latin filled the air. At the clatter, finches skittered up from the stone well in the center of the clearing.

  With a sigh, Ness nodded. “My father spoke to them this morning.”

  “Why did the chief let those Roman pigs here?” Cedric glared at the men who swarmed the green, turning grass into mud with the tramp of their hobnailed sandals.

  “As if my father could say no to a tribune with a garrison?” Ness turned her back to the clamor. Though the soldiers would eat plenty of the village’s precious stores that needed to last until harvest, and likely not pay either, even Father could do nothing about it.

  “Bloody conquerors.”

  “They’re here to quench an uprising further north. You wouldn’t want marauding rebels burning our crops.” Ness ran her gaze over the foreigners. “Or sheep farm.” She smiled at Cedric.

  The hawthorn gate creaked. Cedric turned.

  “Cedric.” A girl with long black hair waved from the grassy path. Cedric moved toward her. The Pict girl smiled and Cedric laughed. The girl touched his chest and Cedric leaned closer. Village gossip had it that Cedric had spent more time with the Pict girl of late.

  Tears stung Ness’ eyes. She refused to believe those rumors. Grabbing her clay jar, she headed toward the well.

  On the green, the din of soldiers’ jostling equipment mingled with the stench of dozens of unwashed bodies. Mud caked even the armor on their backs as they crowded around the village well.

  Taking a deep breath, Ness forged ahead. Her bare feet sank into the dew-soaked grass. The clank and glint of metal surrounded her, enough weapons to keep the village’s forge burning for years. She glanced back at the smithy shop, but red-crested plumes and iron breastplates encircled her now.

  Latin phrases flew back and forth: some orders from officers, some bickering as soldiers shoved for water, and a lot of coarse talk. An overconfident youth looked at her and said words about her that would have made his mother blush red.

  Ness puckered her face. Perhaps Cedric had it right about Romans.

  The circle of men around the well parted in front of her. Ducking under ironclad limbs and soldiers’ canteens, she grabbed for the well’s rope. A stocky legionary snagged it away.

  A vulgar Latin phrase concerning her came from the man’s lips. His comrades laughed. The men thought she didn’t know the language?

  “Stulto intellegens quid inter est—what a difference there is between a wise man and a fool.” Ness reached for the rope.

  “You chit.” The stocky legionary shoved her shoulder. Dozens of other soldiers crowded closer.

  She could smell their breath and the stench of their tunics. Ness pressed back against the cold stone of the well.

  The man lay a hand on her arm, a brown hand with coarse black hair growing out of it. Digging his fingers into her skin, he jerked her against his chest.

  She rammed her fist against him. His breastplate absorbed the blow, his dark arms hard as iron.

  The legionary pressed even closer, his greasy face a mere handbreadth from her now.

  Ness’ heart pounded in her throat. She twisted right and left. Javelins and breastplates hemmed her in on every side.

  The soldier grabbed her other arm. She hit at him with her elbow.

  The men’s rough hands closed in around her from every side. Her blood raced. She couldn’t breathe. “Cedric!” she screamed.

  “Let her draw water,” barked a male voice. A Roman officer, a tribune, stood just outside the ring of soldiers. His helmet reflected the sunlight as he stood, feet spread confidently.

  Canteens crashed to the earth as legionaries cleared posthaste and the stocky soldier disappeared into their midst.

  The breath she’d held escaped her lungs as she grabbed for her water jar.

  The tribune strode across the vacated space. “You can draw water,” he said in a poor attempt at Celtic.

  The tribune insignia blazed across the cuirass on his torso. Armor obscured his chest and a helmet covered his head, making him just another nameless officer. He fixed an inquisitive gaze on her.

  “My thanks.” Inclining her head, she attempted to affix the rope to the jar. Her hand trembled. The rope slid.

  “Are you well?” He touched her shoulder, his calluses scraping across the cloth.

  “Most well. Gratias.” She slid back and, with a jerk, got the jar fastened. Lifting the jar over the well’s boundary, she kept her gaze on the rough rope fibers.

  Without asking permission, the tribune closed his fingers on the rope and hauled up her full water jar.

  Someone jostled her shoulder. Cedric grabbed for her water jar. “Idiot Romans. Wish they’d all throw themselves into a bog.”

  “Cedric!” Ness swiveled toward him. “He’s a Roman officer. He could have any of us killed just for looking at him wrong.”

  Cedric snorted, anger tinting his cheekbones red. “You think the masters of the world deign to learn our language?”

  The tribune narrowed his eyes. “What did he say?”

  Ness’ heart stopped. The sun’s heat reflected off her water jar in dead silence. She dragged her nail against the clay lip. “He said thank you for your help.”

  The tribune ran his calculating gaze over Cedric’s angry face. The man looked at her again. “Do you lie as fluently in Celtic as in Latin?”

  Ness gulped. Air blew through the high oak tree overhead. Romans could have one killed on a whim. “Mea culpa. He didn’t mean anything by it.” She wiped a slick hand against the wool fibers of her dress. “It’s just hard with foreigners overtaking our green.”

  “Foreigners fighting your battles, bringing gold from across the empire for building projects in your province, providing peace. What’s so hard about that?” Standing there, the tribune looked as hard as the iron on his chest and his gaze still fixed on Cedric.

  “I’m sure you’re right. You won’t take offense against him, will you?” Ness grabbed for her water jar and glanced to the wattle and daub houses where the path of retreat lay. She gripped the clay between moist fingers.

  “Tell me honestly what the Catuvellauni see as the benefits and downsides of Roman rule and I’ll take no offense.”

  She jerked toward the soldier.

  “Truthful answers only.” The tribune rested his hand on his sword pommel as he dug his gaze into
her.

  Ness swallowed. She looked toward Cedric. Though he stood tall, hands looped in his belt, he moved his gaze back and forth between the tribune and her as they exchanged foreign words Cedric couldn’t understand. The tribune had the power to wreak vengeance on Cedric or her. If only she hadn’t gone for water. Perhaps she should add honey to the truth. This tribune had demanded honesty.

  Her voice felt small as she forced herself to meet the tribune’s gaze. “Legate Vocula raised taxes again. The former legate cared much more for justice.”

  The tribune tilted his head. His hard mouth parted, curiosity in his gaze. “What’s your solution?”

  “Increase trade. Vocula’s tariffs are so high no one can afford to trade with Gaul and Germania.” That meant her wool profits would need to stay within the province.

  A decurion called from the woods. The tribune turned toward the man.

  Gesturing to Cedric, Ness hastened back the trail through the village.

  When she’d come within a pace of the shelter of wattle and daub houses, the tribune’s voice rose above the breeze. “What’s your name?”

  She turned back. The tribune looked at her, an intenseness in his gaze. She mounted her water jar higher on her hip. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

  Hastening her step, she disappeared into the village.

  Fading evening light spread its brilliance across treetops as Ness tread a well-worn path. Her family’s house faded in the distance as she continued down the hill past stately oaks and green fields. To her left, deep storage pits lined with timber pitted the landscape. Beyond those rose Cedric’s rolling fields.

  Life teemed around her, the wheat past waist high, the tree branches overrun with leaves. The jars yanked at Ness’ arms, but she hummed a Celtic song.

  The words told of a perfect first love that conquered all and never waned. She and Cedric could have that kind of love.

  Ahead, a waterfall skipped down moist rocks and bubbled into the brook below. She plunked her water jars beneath the running flow. The waterfall crashed around her. Water droplets splashed on her face. Then she saw him. She froze.