The Gladiator’s Bride
by Nhys
Glover
a Historical Romance
Release Date:
November 1st
Blurb:
Crippled by
shyness, shunned for being not-right-in-the-head, gifted artist and Roman
noblewoman, Marcia Mica, has only two people in the world who truly love her –
her teacher, Daedalus, and her childhood friend, Asterion, both slaves in her
father’s household. But when forbidden love blooms between the unlikely
friends, only disaster can come of it. That disaster leaves Marcia horribly scarred
and Asterion sold into the arena as a gladiator.
Years later, Daedalus brings a
broken Marcia to Britannia, and Sabrina, the healer who saved his life when he
was a boy, works miracles on the scarred girl. However, not all scars are
physical and those Sabrina has no ability to heal.
When Sabrina and Marcia are
kidnapped by a Celtic leader bent on revenge, Asterion must depend on the
dreams of a Celtic Seer to find the love of his life and help foil a revolt
that threatens the fragile peace in Roman Britannia. But even if he and his
friends succeed, can scars that are more than just physical ever really be
healed and can those whose lives are owned by others ever truly be free to
follow their hearts?
Excerpt:
As he took the shortcut through the forest, heading for home, a shadow flitted through the trees and appeared at his side. He was so shocked by her sudden appearance that he dropped the sack of flour.
‘What? Who? What are you talking about? Don’t come up on me like that. I might have hurt you.’
‘Mind your own business. It’s nothing to do with you!’ He slung the flour-sack onto his back again and stomped off down the narrow trail.
‘Don’t you talk to me like that, Asterion! You’re my slave and I have the right to know what you’re doing with your time. You aren’t free to go where you like, see who you like!’ she snarled at him.
He stopped and looked down at her in shock. In the last year he’d grown taller by almost a head than she was. Now, the year’s difference in their age seemed insignificant. In fact, after spending time with the widow, he felt much older and more worldly-wise than she was. Marcie was still a child, even though her sixteen-year-old body said otherwise. This little display of temper only went to prove it.
Their relative stations in life had always been ignored by mutual, unspoken agreement. They’d always been equals. But now, by throwing his servitude in his face, she’d crossed the line. She’d showed him how she really saw him. How beneath her he really was.
Marcie’s mouth dropped open and he was immediately aware of the seductive draw of it. Those red lips were so full and sweet, covering perfect white teeth that looked just like rows of pearls. By brushing back a stray tendril of glossy brown hair, she drew his eye to the seductive softness of it, made him itch to bury his fingers in its lengths.
But honey-brown eyes that were usually filled with warmth when they gazed at him were now wide with astonishment and pain. And he suddenly realised what he’d done.
In that moment, he wanted to call back the words and go back in time to do this all again.
‘She sucked what?’ she gasped, her cheeks flaming red.
‘He’s gone to the coast to check on our cargo. Pater went with him,’ she said absently, clearly not focused on the information she was imparting.
‘Then it’s me who has to get back. I’ll be in trouble if I’m much later.’
‘Marcie, don’t. You don’t understand. I’m a man now. I…I have needs I can’t control. The widow helps me. Haven’t you noticed the difference in me the last few months?’ He was almost pleading with her for forgiveness. And that was stupid. What had he done wrong except take an hour a week for himself? He deserved that, didn’t he?
‘Yes, I’ve noticed. You look so smug and cocky, swaggering around the place. The boys say you’ve got too big for your own sandals now. They say that the widow has played with more than your prick. She’s played with your head. Made you think you’re better than them.’
‘I am better than them. And it didn’t take the widow to make me know it. What do you want from me Marcie? Tell me – ’
She launched herself at him so fast that he again dropped the sack of flour. Her tightly closed lips butted against his in a fiercely innocent kiss. It smashed her teeth into his, cutting his lip, and it felt nothing like the soft, seductive caresses the widow gave him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her in fury. His head felt ready to explode.
‘I need more than kisses! Don’t you get it? We aren’t children anymore. And I need more than friendship and kisses. And you can’t give me what I need. You’re the little mistress and I’m the slave. They’d cut off my balls if I so much as looked at you the wrong way!’
Her eyes filled with tears again and she sobbed so hard it felt like her searing pain came from his own chest. Looking at her hurt too much, so he dragged her into his arms and pressed her to his aching heart.
Author bio:

At home in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales of England, Nhys
these days spends most of her time "living the dream" by looking out
over the moors as she writes the kind of novels she loves to read: The ones
that are a little bit steamy, a little bit different and wholly romantic.
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