Unbidden emotions filled her heart. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch him. Torchlight danced across the lean angles of his face, the smudge of dark bristles that shadowed the sharp cut of his jaw. Her gaze roamed over the thick muscles that roped his arms and broad chest, the bloody arrow wound in his shoulder.
Wishing she could ease his pain, she noted how he’d changed since she’d first seen him. Five months ago, he’d been little more than skin and bones. Caros’s new slave with no more than a will to live and brooding green eyes. Green eyes that clashed with hers across a sea of golden sand and left her breathless.
She swallowed hard. “Will he recover?”
The physician shrugged. “It’s a clean wound, but only the gods can say.”
The pallor beneath Quintus’s sun-bronzed skin scared her. Hesitant to touch him in case she caused him further pain, she brushed a thick lock of black hair from his brow and murmured his name.
“Don’t bother, my lady. He can’t hear you,” Petronius said. “Until I get him stitched up, you don’t want him to, either.” He tossed the bloody arrow aside and it clacked against the cement floor. He set down the extractor, stemming the fresh spurts of blood with a piece of the linen bandage. “Hand me that bottle.”
Adiona did as commanded, forgetting she took orders from no one. The physician poured the foul-smelling liquid over the wound, then began sewing together the hole’s ragged edges.
Quintus’s face contorted with pain. He groaned through his delirium. She spoke softly to him and soothed his brow until he calmed, deciding she would just have to wait and hate him tomorrow.
Caros Viriathos studied the training field below his bedchamber’s second-story window. A bright winter sun had reached its zenith, flashing off his men’s metal helmets and various pieces of weaponry. His pet, Cat, sat quietly beside him. The tiger’s long tail swished on the mosaic-tiled floor as he sniffed the cool breeze carrying the scent of lamb meant for the noonday meal.
After a month away from the Ludus Maximus, it felt good to return, but since his marriage he acknowledged the gladiator school he owned and built no longer seemed like home.
His new wife, Pelonia, claimed that distinction in his heart. Wherever she was, he wanted to be. Together, they’d decided to start their lives afresh on the Umbrian hill estate once stolen from her father. Eager to leave for the villa and fertile lands he’d been able to return to her as a wedding gift, he had much to do to settle his affairs here in Rome.
He heard his wife’s voice calling for him from out in the corridor. Assuming she had questions about the wedding feast they planned for Friday evening, he turned, a smile curving his lips. It quickly faded as she hurried through the door, her doe-brown eyes filled with distress. He and Cat both moved toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Did you know Quintus was injured while we were away? Alexius entered him in the games!”
He sighed. Home less than an hour and she’d already heard the bad news. He folded her in his embrace, enjoying how she fit against him, her floral scent, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I know. Alexius tried to help him—”
“By tossing him into the arena?” She pulled back and looked up at him with a dubious frown. “Quintus is a brother in the Lord. He’s a slave because of his faith in Christ. You should free him, Caros. Not allow him to be maimed or worse in that horrid ring of torture.”
He felt her shudder and knew she remembered the day she’d been cast into the arena for her faith. He kissed her brow, grateful the Lord has spared them both, yet wishing he could erase the nightmare for her. “I tried to free Quintus before we left for Umbria. I know he wants his liberty and I had no intention of sending him to fight.”
“Then why—?”
“Because he declined my offer. If he accepted, he’d be indebted to me or so he claimed. He’s a merchant, Pelonia, and a proud man with self-respect. He knows the value of a denarius and he’s determined to pay his full debt himself.”
“But how can he if he has no coin? Why not loan—?”
He shook his head. “I offered. Again, he declined. He won’t take anything that isn’t earned. When he leaves here, he intends to be free in every sense of the word.”
“So Alexius entered him in the arena for the prize winnings.” She searched his face. “But Quintus has only trained five months. How can he be ready?”
He tucked a soft tendril of black hair behind her ear. “Under normal conditions, I’d say he couldn’t be, but Quintus is keenly intelligent and surprisingly agile for one of his class. After he’d been here only a matter of weeks he was already making progress with some of the more advanced battle stances. Alexius told me he fought well.”
“What does that matter now that our friend is injured? His life is worth more than silver. He could have died.”
He lifted her chin with his index finger and looked deeply into her eyes. “Isn’t it you who always reminds me God has a plan for everyone’s life?”
She nodded, but her mouth drooped into a playful pout. “It isn’t nice to throw my words back in my face.”
“And it’s such a beautiful face.” He chuckled and kissed away her frown. “You should be thankful you have a husband who listens.”
She hugged him tight and laughed. “Oh, I am, believe me.”
“Then listen to me,” he said, pleased to see her smile again. “All will be well with Quintus. I’ve denied his request to reenter the ring—”
“What? He asked for another fight? Does he have no care at all for his life?”
“I admit his spirits seem much lower than when we left a month ago. He has the hardened look of a man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies. That’s to be expected after all he’s suffered, but for the moment at least, I’ll ensure he stays breathing. I’m confident the Lord will reveal a way for me to help him earn his freedom without the aid of the arena.”
“Well, then,” she said, resigned, “we shall just have to wait and see.”
Cat bumped Pelonia, jolting her sideways, his patience for attention at an end. Laughing in surprise, she bent over the tiger and nuzzled the top of his striped head. She rubbed Cat’s ears and grinned at Caros. “I think he missed me.”
“I know I would if we were separated a month.”
“A month?” She grimaced. “Don’t think you’ll ever be free of me that long.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Watching her affectionate play with Cat, he marveled at how important she’d become to his happiness, his peace of mind. He tugged her back to him and kissed her tenderly. “A month would be an eternity I couldn’t endure. I miss you the moment you leave my arms.”
Quintus finished the letter he’d written to his brother and rolled up the scroll once it dried. Since his arrest, he’d lost track of the number of messages he’d sent Lucius. None of the correspondence had been answered and he despaired of hearing back from his good-natured but irresponsible twin.
For all he knew, Lucius had taken the gold Quintus entrusted to him after his arrest and traveled to Capri to waste it on dancing girls and honeyed wine. That Lucius had been the sole person Quintus had to rely upon from his prison cell testified to the bleakness of his situation at the time.
Praying Lucius wouldn’t let him down again, he dressed and left the gladiator barracks. Caros’s visit earlier in the morning had been a blessing. It pleased him to know his friends were content and encouraged his faith to see God’s hand at work in their lives.
Drawing in a deep breath of cool, winter air, he crossed the training field, eager to get back to sword practice and regain his full strength. After four days, his wounds were healing. The twinge in his shoulder bothered him less and less, while the ache in his thigh caused no more than a slight limp. It was his dreams of Adiona’s glorious amber eyes and flowing dark hair that conspired to torture him.
He searched the stands until he realized he was looking for those same amber eyes in person. Had he really believed she might be the
re just because Caros had returned to Rome? Disgusted by his disappointment in her absence, he despised the flaw in him that continued to crave a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.
“Why are you out here?” Alexius called from a short distance down field. “Go back to the barracks. You’re supposed to rest at least another two days.”
Quintus waited for Alexius to work his way through the maze of gladiators and other training apparatus. “I’d rather bleed to death out here than die of boredom inside that sweltering jail.”
Alexius laughed and clapped him on his good shoulder. “Normally, I’d take pity on you, but Caros and Pelonia are hosting a wedding celebration Friday eve. I have strict instructions to make certain you’re well enough to attend.”
“I’m well enough now.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the main house. A sense of peace radiated from the domus. The open shutters welcomed the sunlight and laughter carried on the breeze from the second-story window.
A shaft of unexpected envy lanced through him. He didn’t begrudge Caros and Pelonia’s happiness, but he couldn’t stop wondering why God had denied all his prayers for a loving wife and a joyful home. He’d spent years praying for Faustina to come to Christ. He’d done his best to be a good and godly husband, but she’d shunned him and his beliefs. Now it was too late. Faustina had taken her own life after the tragic death of their son.
Quintus shrank away from thoughts of Fabius. His son had been his reason to wake each morning. Every detail from his mischievous smile to his boundless energy had been a wonder. Now all Quintus had left was an eternally broken heart.
“Quintus? Did you hear me?”
He blinked and focused on Alexius who watched him with intense silver eyes. “No. What did you say?”
“I said you might be interested to know the widow Leonia will be a guest at the master’s fete Friday.”
Quintus’s heart kicked against his chest and his pulse quickened. He clawed his fingers through his hair, schooling his features to hide his reaction. “What does she have to do with me?”
“After what she overheard in the hospital, I’d wager you’re not her favorite person.”
“Most likely not. If I’m able to speak with her at the party, I’ll apologize.”
“I’ve known her a number of years,” the Greek continued. “So take this as a friendly warning. Say nothing to her and stay clear of her presence. When she’s riled, Adiona Leonia resembles one of the lions her family is named for.”
Quintus ignored his sudden impatience for the party’s arrival. Adiona may be a lioness, but he’d meet her at the gate when she arrived, before she had time to join the festivities and he, as a slave, lost the chance to speak with her. Despite the countless rumors among the men in his barracks, Quintus didn’t believe the widow’s heart was made of marble. He had no excuse for the cruel things he’d said about her and after all the mistakes he’d made in his own life, who was he to criticize her manner or her morals?
Alexius laughed suddenly. “But then, given the odd connection between you two, perhaps you’re just the man to tame her.”
Chapter Three
“Hurry with my hair, Nidia. I’m late for Caros’s marriage fete. I must be on my way.”
Her nerves stretched taut, Adiona fidgeted with the alabaster cosmetic jars and jewel-encrusted bottles lined across her dressing table. She should have left half an hour ago. She and Pelonia hadn’t started out on the best of terms. If she were unreasonably tardy for the celebration, Caros would never believe she hadn’t intended the slight against his new bride.
And Quintus will think you’re more vain and rude than he already does…
“Hurry, Nidia. I must leave.”
The glow of oil lamps in the polished silver mirror allowed her critical, kohl-rimmed eyes to study her blurry reflection and keep track of the maid’s slow progress with the curling rod.
Thanks to the cosmetics, Adiona’s skin was fashionably pale. A light dusting of rouge across her cheeks and a berry stain on her lips went well with the deep rose color of her embroidered stola. Long gold earrings set with pearls and garnets brushed her shoulders. A matching necklace, rings and bracelets glittered in the firelight. As always, she looked the part of a wealthy matron, deserving both honor and respect.
But you deserve neither, you fraud.
She dabbed scented oil behind her ears and across her inner wrists, but the cinnamon perfume failed to soothe her agitation.
Nidia pinned the last curl in place. “I’m finished, domina. You look beautiful.”
Adiona jumped to her feet, as eager to escape the accusations in her own eyes as she was to be on her way. The quick movement jostled the dressing table. One of the perfume bottles crashed to the floor, spreading shards of glass and sweetly scented oil across the colorful tiles. With an uttered oath, she ordered Nidia to clean up the mess and raced into the hall.
Her steward, Felix, snapped to attention from where he’d been leaning against the frescoed wall. “Salonius Roscius awaits you in the inner courtyard, my lady. I told him you were on your way out for the evening, but he insists he has important news.”
“He’ll have to return tomorrow,” she said without pausing her rapid pace toward the front of the palace. “The meeting with my property manager has made me late.”
“But domina…” Her steward’s steps gained ground behind her. “He says it’s urgent.”
“When is it not urgent, Felix?” she tossed over her shoulder. “And yet, when is it ever?”
“He brings word from your heir.”
“Most likely Drusus means to beg more coin.” She plucked a white silk palla from her maid’s outstretched fingers and swirled the bejeweled shawl around her shoulders without missing a step. “If not for my cousin’s sweet wife and lovely daughters, I swear on Jupiter’s stone, I’d never send that worthless leech another copper as.”
Without warning, the beaded curtain separating the corridor from the inner courtyard parted. Salonius’s large frame filled the doorway. The epitome of a Roman upper-class male, he was freshly shaven and clothed in white linen. Dark curls were cropped close to his head and his manicured nails suggested many hours of leisure spent at the baths.
“My lady.” He bowed and gave her one of the quick smiles she was certain he practiced in any reflective surface he came across. Why so many women found his studied seduction attractive, she couldn’t guess.
“Salonius,” she acknowledged with a quick nod. “You’ll have to excuse me. I must be on my way.”
His hand snaked out and caught her wrist in a light but unbreakable grip. “Surely you can take a few moments to see an old friend, my sweet?”
She tried to shake off his touch, but he held firm. “Unhand me,” she said loftily.
“In a moment.” He brushed his wet lips over her knuckles.
Repulsed, she yanked free of his hold and wiped the back of her hand on her stola.
Torchlight lent him the feral, yet amused, appearance of a hyena. “When are you going to stop this charade and admit you wish to wed me as much I want you to?”
“I suppose when the River Styx runs dry and Vulcan’s forging fires extinguish.”
His laughter echoed through the domed corridor. “Don’t lie, precious. Everyone knows you’re just waiting until I fall to my knees and beg for your hand.”
“I’ve no doubt everyone and the little wife you keep hidden away in the country would find that most amusing. As for me, I’d think you quite foolish.”
His laughter faded, replaced by an ardent seriousness that caught her off guard. “You know I’d divorce her like this—” he snapped his fingers “—if you’d agree to be my wife.”
“Then your wife has nothing to fear from me.”
His expression soured as he slowly circled her. “You’re off to the Viriathos reception, I imagine.”
“Yes.” Aware that wealthy, yet idle, men like Salonius both revered and despised the gladiators
, she hid a smirk at his disgruntled tone and turned to leave.
“Wait.” He held out a scroll as if it were a treat meant for an eager puppy. “I returned from Paestum by way of Neopolis this afternoon. You’ll want to read this.”
“Leave it with Felix. I’ll see to it when I return.”
“No, Drusus has important news. It can’t wait.”
Resigned and conscious of the passing time, she swiped the scroll from his outstretched hand and hurried away before he delayed her further. Outside, she cringed at the late hour. The sun had already set, its red-and-gold streaks fading into a deep purple sky.
A brisk breeze ruffled the curls piled high on her head and flowing over her shoulders as she crossed the columned portico to the litter awaiting her. Titus, her lead guard, drew the transport’s heavy drapes aside. Her gold bracelets jangled as she climbed inside and breathed the scent of cloves her slaves had used to freshen the luxurious cushions. “Let’s be on our way, Titus. Caros will never speak to me again if I don’t show my face soon.”
The litter lurched as four burly slaves lifted the conveyance and prepared for travel. Titus gave orders for her three other guards to take their positions surrounding the group.
The light dimmed as they carried her from her palace’s torch-lit courtyard and into the dark streets of the Palatine Hill. With no lantern to read Drusus’s message, she adjusted the heavy silk of her embroidered stola and reclined against the fringed feather pillows and mountain of furs.
“Gods below, I hate weddings.” Only for Caros could she be swayed within a league of a marriage fete. She despised all reminders of her own marriage. Even now, eleven years later, she remembered the terror and helplessness she’d suffered that hideous day. And worse, later that night when Crassus ordered his guards to beat her for failing him.
A shudder of disgust rippled through her. Her fingers tightened on the scroll and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad the wicked old toad was dead. Reminding herself she was no longer that helpless twelve-year-old girl, but an independent woman in charge of her own life, she pushed the hateful memories to the back of her mind.
The Protector Page 3