Journey To Rome: Hadrian and Reisha-Book One

By L. K. Killian

While on a desperate race to reach Rome, General Hadrian and his men - including the mysterious Praetorian Guard, Pailief - are ambushed. Only the help of a beautiful healer saves their lives, but as treacherous repayment, they force her to join their perilous Journey to Rome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. K. Killian
• Release date: Aug 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476178936

L. K. Killian

I think a lot of us have a book in our hearts and heads that keeps us company and wants to be written.When I retired, instead of buying a new car I took a trip to Rome. While there, Emperor Hadrian’s name came up at the Pantheon. This temple to the gods had been built around the first century, and burned twice, but he had his architects rebuild it. I had previously visited Hadrian’s Wall in 2002.It was as if Roman Emperor Hadrian took over the English romance novel I had planned and made it his own. But I’m not complaining. This novel has been a joy to write. I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it.I could never have done this without the help of everyone at Writers Village University -WVU.com. I began by completing the F2K class twice, which is free. Another great help to those of us who wish to complete a draft of our novel is NANOWRIMO.COM.I would be happy to give anyone encouragement if you want to write your own novel.

Book preview

Hadrian and Reisha I:

The Journey to Rome

By L. K. Killian

Copyright 2012 by L.K. Killian

Smashwords Edition

Intro: While on a desperate race to reach Rome, General Hadrian and his men - including the mysterious Praetorian Guard, Pailief - are ambushed. Only the help of a beautiful healer saves their lives, but as treacherous repayment, they force her to join their perilous Journey to Rome.

Foreword: This is a historical romance novel based on the history of Emperor Hadrian and First Century Rome. It is a work of fiction loosely based on fact.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your personal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I would like to especially thank Sherry Holt, my editor. I would also like to give thanks to Josh Thornbrugh for the cover art, Hemingway Hall Group, F2K, and Writer’s Village University.

You can find me at the following website: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/lindainalabama7

Chapter One

Reisha always choose to meet danger while standing alone. With her long golden braid falling down her slender back, she knelt to pull weeds from the village cemetery. She alone loved caring for the wooden carved headstones of the village ancestors. They were not her ancestors, as she had been raised an orphan. The peach and apple blossoms from nearby trees trembled in a breeze.

She looked about as a gust of wind whipped the fallen blossoms into a frenzied rainbow. Did they offer her a whispered message to run, she wondered. With the purpose of warding off danger, she came to the cemetery in the dusky evening. For days, her dreams warned of peril for the village.

I will not run. She spoke to the energies in the wind. I must be here to keep the others safe. The wind wrapped her misty-green cloak about her feet.

She turned her head this way and that to focus on what might come forth. Standing alone, she felt the beat of many horse hooves riding hard toward her gentle land.

Men, she whispered.

Fear rose in her throat. She swallowed the foul taste. For only a moment, she wished she was invisible. Then she remembered she was the only one who could be the protector.

If I do not draw the men away, who will? The wind whipped and pulled long strands of her hair from her loosely woven braid. Her crystal green eyes peered down the valley's only road. She placed her hand on the small knife strapped to her belt. This was not the first time she had butted heads with men.

She took small steps toward the road to offer herself as defender of her village. Her people would now be making their evening meal and getting ready to settle in for the evening. If the danger did not arrive soon, the sun would set behind the range of massive, dark mountains. The enemy might miss seeing her, travel onward, and possibly find her village.

The earth continued to rumble beneath her feet. The dust from the lonely road rose in a swirl. The soft green leaves on trees fluttered. Beautiful Reisha gathered her powerful staff with its energy endowed talisman of feathers and river stones. She stood straight, as if she were a Roman sentry. The setting sun caught in her hair and glistened like a beacon in the approaching twilight.

What is in that cemetery? One of the riders in the procession shouted.

Reisha felt the slowing of the horses as the men looked her way.

The swirls of dust and clods of dirt kicked up by the horses settled as they slowed. The leader, riding slumped in his saddle, held up his hand to stop the weary band of men. They slowed to a stop.

Reisha stood alone. Her hair blew about her face. The man she supposed to be the leader turned his prancing black stallion toward the cemetery. The tall, strong horse snorted and jerked against the reins. The warrior guided the horse a few paces toward Reisha, but she made no attempt to run.

The warrior called as if to a lost child. What is your name?

To her ears, his voice was raspy and deep, wrapped in pain. Sir, my name is Reisha, and this is my valley. She stood tall with her staff in one hand. In her other, she brought a bouquet of violets to her nose. She inhaled as her sparkling eyes met his dark face.

Violets, my mother’s favorite, the warrior murmured.

And why are you here alone as darkness falls? Where is your father, as you do not look of an age to marry? She saw his dancing black eyes survey her from the top of her soft golden hair to the tips of her leaf covered boots. Her cloak concealed her willow-like body.

I am twenty and three. Some say past marrying. I have come to meet with you, sir. Her chin tilted in his direction, and then she leaned to his left so she could include his men in her reply. There had been other occasions when she had met marauding men on this darkened road. She would once again offer her healing skills to save her village.

His voice dropped to a low and deliberate vibration. What business do you have with me? Who told you of our arrival? Do you hire spies? She had expected him to be sure of himself. Warriors always were.

I stand before you to offer my services--if you will leave my village unharmed. She paused for a heartbeat. You are the leader of this band of men? She wanted to call them a band of misfits but curbed her impulse. Instead, she looked intently at this battle weary man with his broad shoulders and hair and beard of yellow curls. She lifted the violets once more to her freckled nose. The setting sun caused the evening breeze to feel cool.

He growled at her, What services do you have to offer me, green-eyed lady? And what keeps me from taking you and your village?

The jingling of reins told her his men and their tired horses grew restless. For sure they were hungry and perhaps also injured. Other men could be chasing them from the last village they might have plundered.

She took a moment for a closer study of this giant of a man. I can see blood dripping from your vestment. You are badly injured, and may not be able to sit your horse much longer. I am a healer. Reisha paused for her answer to settle into his thoughts.

Well, then, let the bargain be struck! His halting laugh was even deeper than his voice. Do you have your own steed or shall I lift you to join me on mine? When he leaned down to offer her his hand, she saw pain darken his eyes.

Your horse will do, sir. She held her staff in one hand, took two steps forward, and placed her hand high upon his arm. She lightly jumped as he lifted her to sit on the saddle, in front of him. His well-trained horse did not move a muscle.

Pain laced his words. "Hmmm, you