Tag Archives: roman britain

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Captives of Desire — a short story collection

Rape, pillage, plunder. Those were the bywords of life in the British Isles from the time of the Romans in 50 AD until the Norman invasion in 1066. Captives of Desire includes stories drawn from each phase of these invasions, women who in one way or another found themselves caught up by men of conquering armies, women who met such invaders with courage, fear, and not a small amount of pleasure. One woman, one man, the blood of battle forgotten… worlds meshed and new generations sprang up from true love.

Five works of historical fiction in one tidy bundle! Buy at Amazon or Smashwords

Excerpt: TRIGGER WARNING Dubious Consent

The latch on the heavy cottage door rattled. Nefyn’s neck hair rose. She turned from her churning, thinking of the other villagers who, like her, had lingered in spite of the threat. Were they all caught off guard? Her ears strained. No shouts of warning rang out. But she knew the invading Saxons sometimes emerged from the forest like silent ghosts.

Another rattle, and the door yielded to his shoulder. His eyes, black as winter night, locked with hers. His round shield bore the image of a red dragon and a longsword glinted in his fist. Blood roared in her ears as she stood momentarily paralyzed in fear.

How foolish she’d been to wait! Loath to remove the last of their belongings from the home of her family, she’d clung to the comfortable place where her children were born, where her beloved Bedwyr might return for a brief time and she could touch his face and know that he still lived. One more day, she promised herself, before she burdened the cow with bundles of bedclothes and meager portions of foodstuffs and drove the beast up into the mountains to join the others.

Too late. Her heart pounded in her ears in the brief moments she surveyed his dangerous presence.

Luminous morning mist layered through the greening valley, and against that brightness, this man’s tall form loomed dark in the opening. Supple leather marked with dents and scrapes of battle clad his broad chest and girded loins. A baldric ornamented with gold medallions draped from his muscled shoulder, a gold torque encircled his neck. Every inch of him bristled with menacing strength. After an instant frozen in his stare, Nefyn dropped the plunger into the half-churned butter and turned for her escape.

The whole of southern Britain bled. Whatever the people did, however fiercely their strong men fought, the Saxons kept coming. By land, by sea, the horde of invaders drove west through the forests beyond the standing stones. Women, children, old and young died on their long knives and brutal axes. The ruthless bastards torched homes, barns screaming with precious livestock, whole villages.

Weary and scarred, the brave men of Briton stood to fight. They marched, fought, won, lost, fell back, regrouped, marched again. The rest of the people—families, villages, the old and infirm—fled before the invaders like hares from burning fields.

Clearly she had tempted fate too long. This morning, postponing her departure yet another day, she had set a fresh stew over the fire pit and turned to her tasks. Yet something of the day already pricked her nerves, whether the heat of summer or the long quiet wait for news. A premonition, she knew now.

His long sword and heavy shield clattered to the worn boards of the table and in two steps, his strong hands seized her, locking her breath in her lungs. Gooseflesh raced up her arms as he pulled her back against him. She felt his arousal hard against her buttocks as his iron muscled arms captured her waist and hips. In moments, he had torn away the cloak fastened at her shoulder and ripped open her linen robe, exposing her breasts to air.

“I mean to have you,” his dark voice rasped at her ear. “In every way.”

Shudders of trepidation plunged from her dry throat to her quivering belly. She swallowed, unable to form words as his rough hands bruised over her sensitive skin. The flesh of her breasts burned under his touch and swelled against his palms. Her body’s quick compliance enraged her.

“Mercy,” she gasped, struggling to free herself.

“No mercy,” he growled, yanking at the lower parts of her garments.

His fingers plowed into the thick curls between her thighs as she fought. She swallowed roughly, afraid to cry out.

“You resist,” he said, whispering in her ear as he fingered her. “But a man is what you need.”

His scarred fingers strummed the moist crevice, pausing over the stiff pleasure knot to circle and press until her hips responded in involuntary thrusts. One big finger slid inside, and she moaned.

“Oh! No, please.”

“Yes, sweet flower,” he muttered. “Cry for me.”

The width of his hand spread her legs. His fingers stroked inside her, teasing out the growing tide of fluids, thumbing over the stiffened morsel so that Nefyn jerked and begged. Lunged and twisting, she grappled with his arm that clasped her tight against his hard chest. He held with iron strength, his hot breath gusting against her ear.

With a growl, he shoved her forward over the table and threw her skirt up and over her back. One hand gripped her hair, causing her eyes to leak tears. As he squeezed her buttocks, his thumb found her center, drew her moisture as he spread her open. She heard the shift of his clothing as his baldric fell aside, and then the hard knob of his hot cockhead probed between her trembling legs.

“Oh, please!” she cried.

“Quiet, woman,” he grunted in a hoarse voice. “I will have you.”

He shoved hard and drew in sharp breath as he entered her. Thick and long, his rigid organ drove deep into her belly. With her waist in the firm grip of his hands, she steeled herself to his plundering as he drew back for another thrust.

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Freebie Time!

Free full-length historical romance novel, Caerwin and the Roman Dog! This special offer ends June 30, 2017. To get in on this deal, sign up for Liz’s Hot News, a free monthly newsletter. Each month’s issue includes free short and sexy fiction, hints and factoids, and lots of fun! Sign up this week at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9 and get our Super Hot July Freebie Novel!

5 stars — “A great read worth 5 stars!

“5 STARS for Ashworth and her historical genius!”

5 stars — “Ms. Ashworth has created a complex tapestry of characters all set against a well-researched backdrop. I continue to applaud her ability to mix history with eroticism so aptly.”

5 stars — “This story just pulled me in. History, romance, mystery, political intrigue and just good writing. Can’t wait for the next installment!”

and many more!

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Free — Limited Time Offer!

CaerII cover ebook
Free E-Books to THREE WINNERS!
 
For your chance to win an ebook copy of the newly released Caerwin & Marcellus PLUS an ebook copy of the first book in this two-book story, Caerwin and the Roman Dog, subscribe to Liz’s Hot News! This e-newsletter arrives in your inbox once a month full of sexy shorts, special offers, and much more. No obligation, no cost–this newsletter will quickly become one of your favorite hot spots.
 
To subscribe and enter to win, visit http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9

In one day’s time, Caerwin’s life changes forever. Everything she knows is lost in a vicious bloody battle—her family with its network of kinsmen, her home at the bustling hillfort of western Britannia, her ancient way of life as a Celt. Reeling in shock, her wrists and ankles bound, she faces the man responsible.

She spits at his greeting and vows to kill him.

Marcellus, commander of Rome’s Legion XIV Gemina, spares this fiery young beauty from the slave traders who take away survivors of her tribe. War hardened and even more inured by Imperial Rome’s dissolute ways, he’s drawn to her innocence.

He wants her. He’ll make her his no matter what it takes.

Contest ends at Midnight Saturday July 30. Adults only due to explicit and occasionally dark sexual content.
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New Release Giveaway!

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Three signed copies of Caerwin and the Roman Dog will be given away at the end of the Goodreads Giveaway Event! From now through December 1, you can sign up for your chance to win a copy at https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27235437-caerwin-and-the-roman-dog

This is a completely free, no obligation event.

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Sci-Fi/Fantasy vs Historical Fiction — What’s the Shared Ground?

braid promo copyI think every reader shares a fascination with alternate worlds. Thus the appeal of not only science fiction and fantasy but also historical fiction. In Caerwin and the Roman Dog, I explore the past as it existed at the height of the Roman Empire and the end of Celtic control over Britannia.

In my work over the last year in putting this novel together, I reached the obvious conclusion that research is the key to authoring a good book. It doesn’t matter if the story centers in the past or the future, or even in the present day. Building a believable setting where the characters will interact means making sure that the ‘world-building’ is effective. What did they eat? What was the weather? What were their daily routines?

In my novel, the setting is the Shropshire area of England, a place near the River Severn that borders Wales. Elusive mists shroud ancient hillforts where Rome’s legions pursue their conquest of the native tribes. Despite greater numbers, native warriors wield weapons and armor far inferior to Roman arms. (Details of Roman armor can be seen on my “Romans” Pinterest page.) The biggest difference, however, rests in Rome’s military organization—the army functions like a well-oiled machine.

It’s fascinating to study the chain of command that Rome perfected and which is used by today’s writers even in the most far-flung fictional world of the future. Obedience to the command hierarchy and to the operational rules of a legion creates a strict dynamic for any character caught up in that reality. In my story, that character is Marcellus. As the book opens with Legio XIV’s assault against the Cornovii tribe, the tribe’s defenses have been breached and action quickly devolves to a mop-up operation. Marcellus rounds the hillfort perimeter and spots a young woman, Caerwin, trying to make her escape. Instantly enchanted, he brings her back to camp and embarks on seduction.

And yes, in the midst of its historical action and setting, this novel is a sexy romance with a big dollop of BDSM.

At any time of man’s history or future, the introduction of an attractive woman into a man’s camp is certain to cause trouble. But Marcellus’ infatuation with a blue-eyed Cornovii princess takes second place when his superior officer succumbs to his battle wounds. His death propels Marcellus to sudden promotion as the legion’s commander. He’s not of the regular army serving a twenty-plus year term, but rather a young professional of privileged rank meant to gain a taste of military life before returning to serve Rome’s senatorial or merchant class. His crisis isn’t just rebellious tribunes or a young woman he can’t get out of his mind, but also the heavy burden of responsibility that comes with leading a force of ten thousand men in a hostile wilderness.

The struggle for Caerwin focuses on her stubborn refusal to accept her change of circumstance. No longer part of her ancestral family and tribe, she’s suddenly enslaved to a Roman commander. Can anyone ever come to terms with such a loss of freedom, family, and home?

The greater context encompasses two worlds. Dying on the Roman sword are the ancient traditions of Britain’s Celtic tribes: allegiance to spirits embodied in springs, rivers, hills, trees, and other natural elements, a social order strongly resembling modern democracy, and advanced skills in metallurgy and weaving, to name a few. Many of the mysteries of that world are lost forever because the Celts did not have a written language. Building a fictional world based on this relative dearth of information forces an author deep into archaeological records.

At the time of our story, the last one hundred years since the triumph of Julius Caesar has seen the erosion of Rome’s early republican political system. In its place is a sprawling empire under the sole control of its emperor. The Senate has been reduced to a rubber-stamp function in state affairs. Appetites of all kinds are indulged in hedonistic lifestyles, and this reality shows up in the backstory of some of our characters.

Rome depends on its army and the conquest of new lands to produce its wealth including precious metals and gems, agricultural bounty, and that ever useful commodity, slaves. Since the initial invasion of Britannia in 43 A.D., Emperor Claudius has made it clear to his governor that the four legions under his command must subdue and occupy this island and seize its treasures for the greater glory of Rome. Marcellus has no options. Even in a foreign winter’s cold, he must lead his troops on search and destroy missions.

Restrained in his bedchamber, Caerwin awaits his return knowing that he spills the blood of her people. She hates him. And yet, because he has favored her with his affections, she fares far better than the rest of her fellow countrymen. How does she negotiate that conflict? What is the emotional toll in knowing that she is the survivor? Can a vulnerable young woman resist her body’s urges at the hands of an experienced lover?

Caerwin can never return to the home and family she once knew, but she can at least plan to escape the hated bonds of Roman captivity in the hope of living again among others of her own kind. Will she attempt such a dangerous venture?

Much as he is drawn to this rebellious young queen, Marcellus can’t walk away from his duty to Rome. The concessions he makes to Caerwin soon result in mutterings among his tribunes. Personal and professional crisis ensues.

*✩* 99¢ PRE-ORDER now through November 9, 2015 *✩*

Amazon → http://www.amazon.com/dp/B016LA6ZVA

Originally posted at http://jimbossffreviews.blogspot.com/2015/10/guest-post-lizzie-ashworth.html

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Caerwin and the Roman Dog

Caerwin cover*✩* 99¢ PRE-ORDER now through November 9 *✩*

Set in 47 AD, the story centers on a young Cornovii princess—Caerwin—who watches from the rocky battlements of her tribe’s hillfort as Rome’s legions approach. Devastation ensues as the Roman phalanx crushes Briton’s valiant warriors. Captured and held in Roman camp, she faces Legate Marcellus Antistius who makes it clear she will submit to his demands. In spite of her resistance, he forces her pleasure. She begs to die.

Caught between his increasing infatuation with this Briton princess and the demands of his military command, Marcellus must come to terms with his past.

A fiery novel of domination and submission, this historical romance follows Caerwin as she refuses to come to terms with her new reality: life as she knew it is over. Forever. In its place stands a man she can never love.

Excerpt:

The man she had seen on the white horse paused in the opening. His stare fastened on her and sent chills down her spine. He stood taller than the other men, his body of a stature more like her own people than these rat men of Rome. His layered metal vest had been removed as had his helmet and other outer garments, so that he wore only loose breeches that ended at his knees. She swallowed, casting her eyes away after her first long frozen moment.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked quietly.

The words shocked her, spoken fluently her familiar language. She turned to face him. Words rose to her lips but remained unspoken. He examined her, openly casting his gaze up and down her body as if he owned her. The terrible realization struck her—he did own her. She had been caught up at his command and now stood captive to his whim.

She spat in his direction and turned her face away. Tugging against the tight leather bonds, she succeeded only in chafing her wrists. Her nerves heightened to brittle pitch as she sensed him approaching. She knew what he would do, what such men did to captured women.

He placed himself in front of her, so close she could not look away without seeing his chest. His scent stung her nose, sharp and edged with the copper hint of blood. Stains marked his arms and face, sweat-encrusted dirt and smears of blood. His voice startled her, so close and so quiet.

“What is this trinket?” he asked, fingering the torque.

She glared at him. “Shall you steal it from me like you have stolen our lives and our land?”

“I wish only to converse with you, to ease this friendship we’ve started.”

She snorted and strained at the bonds holding her. “I wish only to kill you. I would leave your body for the crows.”

He grabbed her face and held her still while his mouth tasted her. His lips moved against her lips. His tongue sought the seam and when she refused to spread her jaw, he bit her lower lip. Her shocked cry gave him entry, and his tongue invaded her mouth, probing and pushing.

Hate rose in her chest, blinding her. She clamped her teeth down on his tongue, savoring a brief taste of blood as he jerked back.

“Vipera!” He wiped his hand over his mouth. “You won’t win this battle, but if you wish a contest…” His big hand closed over the neck of her garment and ripped it down the front of her body. The beautiful woolen dress she had so carefully woven hung off her shoulders.

“I will have you,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Whether you wish it or not. Let the others portion out the gold and silver, whatever meager wealth your tribe held. I have wealth enough in coin. You with your hair like copper,” he added, fingering her long braid, “your eyes blue as sky—you are my pillage for this day.”

Evening damp had risen from the nearby river, and the cool air hit her exposed skin like a slap. She refused to look down on her nakedness or to meet his smirking gaze as he made a show of his careful examination. He pinched her nipples and probed the thatch of red hair between her legs.

“A virgin?” He laughed, pressing his finger deeper. “I’m surprised you’ve reached such an age without marriage. I will find much pleasure in this.”

She flinched at his intrusion. Were it not for the ties binding her ankles and wrists, she would have flown at him and gouged out his eyes. She cursed him, calling down the wrath of gods on him and his company.

“Your gods won’t help you,” he said, removing his finger and inspecting the faintly-red stain. “I’m your god now.”

Amazon → Buy link

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Caerwin and the Roman Dog

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I’m so excited to finish my first draft of a new novel! Set in 47 AD, the story follows a young Briton woman caught up in her tribe’s struggle to fend off Roman invaders.

Here’s a scene from the early pages of the book:

Horses appeared at the edge of the clearing. A white horse came first, a massive beast draped with red saddlecloth and gold ornamented breastplate and bearing a man of Roman rank. His red cloak swirled and the red plume cresting his fearsome helmet bristled as he pulled his horse short. Two dark horses came up on either side, also mounted by cavalrymen cloaked in the hated Roman red and bearing weapons of war. They held their shields close on their bared thighs and carried short swords dripping with the blood of her kinsmen.

For a long frozen moment, Caerwin stood without moving as her eyes locked with the dark stare of the man on the white horse. As if the ground could swallow her. As if she could summon the powers of the ancient ones and rise to the sky to fly away.

As if he spoke to her in some forgotten language.

Motioning toward her, he shouted words she did not understand. Immediately one of the men at his side kicked his horse forward. He came directly toward her, galloping across the clearing.

Virico’s ghost whispered in her ear. Run, Sister. We are dead.

Caerwin dropped the bucket and ran. She leapt over rocks and thickets of dog violet, struggling for balance along the precipitous slope. Her feet flew over the ground as the sound of hoof beats came ever nearer. Plunging into thickets of young rowan and yellow-blooming broom too dense for a man on horseback, she ignored the gorse thorns tearing at her flesh and deftly wove her steps southward across the familiar landscape.

Blood pounded in her ears. She would escape to the river and float downstream to the caves. She could hide there, wait until danger had passed then return to help the survivors. She ran headlong, ignoring the lash of limbs and stones that bruised her feet. The ground dropped sharply. She gasped for air, dodging side to side to keep from tumbling headfirst off the incline.

She strained to hear hoof beats over her ragged breath and pounding heart. She risked a glance toward the hilltop as she broke free from the thicket of gorse. Smoke rose in thick black plumes.

Strong arms grasped her midsection and hauled her upward. In one unceremonious thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs, the Roman hauled her belly down against his battle-stained thighs. He stank of gore and sweat.

“No!” she shouted, fighting against his grip as he swung the horse around. She cursed him, pounding his legs with her fists.

He pressed her down against the horse’s withers and made no response to her insults. As they galloped back, she twisted and fought against his grip. His strange words issued in a torrent then a hard blow struck her head. Light flashed across her eyes. Then her eyes stared and saw nothing.

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Stay tuned for the final version, coming soon!