Lizzie Ashworth’s new
release: Caerwin and the Roman Dog
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.
Lizzie Ashworth
has been through career, marriage, kids, and even ran her own cafe, but writing
has always been her secret love. Hidden away on a remote woodland hilltop in
the Arkansas Ozarks, she accepts advice from her hound dog Weezie and her black
cat Esmeralda. She has authored seven novels and several short stories which
explore the intimate nuances of human relationships.
Liz writes erotic
romance because her mind just naturally runs to the gutter. Also, it’s way past
time to celebrate women’s sexual freedom and the evolution of our culture to
finally bring sex out of the closet. What she find most exciting about this
minute in the history of literature is that through indie publishing, the
author can directly connect with her readers.
She enjoys
cooking, gardening, and vacations at the Pacific coast. Sunrise and sunset provide
her favorite moments, the magical twilight between two worlds when anything
seems possible. Most of all, she loves snuggling up with a good book.
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 with 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.”
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