by Nhys Glover
How could he want to go exploring when all she wanted was to find a stable place to rest her aching body?
Once the ship was tied up, the passengers disembarked quickly so the crew could get on with unloading their store of amphora. As they went in search of an inn for the night, Cyra found the ground was moving under her feet as if they were still at sea. Had she experienced this when she left the slave ship? If so, it was simply one of the lesser discomforts she’d endured at that time; now it was the only physical distress with which she had to contend.
Several times, she had to reach for Leonis’ arm to keep from toppling to the road.
He laughed good-naturedly at her when she scowled at him. ‘I’ve spent almost two months at sea now; of course I’m handling it better than you. It took a few days to get my sea legs but after that, I was fine, and so will you be. I quite enjoy it now. The only things I don’t like are the boredom and inactivity once the novelty wears off, but there’s still plenty of light left to go exploring so that’ll fix the boredom.
‘Will you come with me? It would be good to stretch your legs and stabilise a bit. Give you something to think about besides your worries. They don’t help the situation; you know that, don’t you?’
And so, even though she wanted to find a quiet corner to curl up in, she found herself agreeing to the Dacian’s plan. He was right. Worry never helped anything. If exploring the beautiful tomb could keep her mind off her worries for a while and help make the ground stop heaving beneath her, she’d give it a try.
Once they found a room for the night and dropped off their less valuable possessions there, they headed up the hill above the harbour. It wasn’t hard to find the tomb; it was the most outstanding feature of the city, even from the streets below.
When they reached the large walled garden in which the tomb sat, Cyra was beginning to be happy she’d made the effort. The climb had worked out many of her kinks, the ground had begun to firm beneath her and the garden was beautiful and cool in the gathering shadows of late afternoon.
The tomb stood at the centre of the garden on a high platform, which they reached by climbing the stairs at its side. They seemed to have the place to themselves, and the quiet was soothing to her nerves. The lions that lined the stairs reminded her of Leonis. As she looked at each fierce beast, she wondered again how one man could have defeated such a creature.
At the top of the stairs, they found themselves on a huge platform on which the tomb itself sat. The platform was surrounded by larger-than-life-sized statues of gods and goddesses, and at each corner of the rectangular space, a chariot faced outward guarding the tomb. After walking around the platform to take in the view, they took another set of stairs up to the temple-like tomb itself. In the centre of the columned space was the sarcophagus covered in beautifully depicted scenes of battle.
As the sun began to set, they made their way back down to the platform and sat on its edge, watching the sky turn pink and mauve over the now deeply blue sea. The colours were astoundingly glorious. The warm air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and the sea, and it was a long time before either of them spoke.
‘In moments like this it feels good to be alive,’ Leonis finally said on an out breath.
Cyra wanted to disagree. They had no right to be enjoying themselves while her little Gali was suffering who-knew-what and Galeria was off trying to find her mother before she was sold into slavery. But the fact was, in this moment, looking out over the peaceful sea, the slight breeze stirring the heavy air and the loose strands of her hair, she did feel glad to be alive.
‘Life is short. I suppose it’s important to make the most of the rare moments of pleasure,’ she agreed reluctantly.
‘Would you consider increasing that pleasure?’ he asked, turning to look at Cyra, his hooded gaze telling her where his mind had now gone.
‘What, you like little girls? Or is it boys?’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone.
Why did he have to spoil this moment? They’d seemed to have reached a companionable place during their tour of the temple. Now his sexual overture discomforted her again.
His look of shocked surprise pleased her enough that she was willing to explain herself. ‘I hardly appeal to men who like women anymore.’
He looked back to the sea, his face losing its humour. ‘I don’t fancy children, but I do fancy a beautiful woman who happens to have lost her breasts. I was never particular about breasts. Give me a shapely arse any day.’ He delivered this little speech deadpan.
The outrageousness of his words, delivered so seriously, tickled her out of her bitterness. Before she could catch it, she found herself bursting into raucous laughter that sent doves perched on the nearby statues into noisy flight.
And laughing felt good. When she had laughed so much that her sides ached, she lay back on her elbows and stared back over her shoulder at the beautifully sculpted frieze behind them. She thought she saw Amazons fighting Achaeans there. They certainly looked like women warriors from where she sat.
As she wiped the tears from her eyes so she could see more clearly, the Dacian shifted at her side. In a moment, he was leaning over her, one arm on either side of her body, as he stared down into her upturned face.
‘You think me funny, little wildcat? Should I show you how much I desire you?’ His voice was laced with sensuality. It wasn’t a threat. She felt no violent intent in him, but the desire in his eyes made her uncomfortable. She shifted uneasily, trying to find a way to break free from the arms that were keeping her penned.
‘I have no desire to scratch your itch for you, Lion-heart. If you need release, there are plenty of women down there in the town who will do that for you for a small price. I don’t sell my body. And, as you aren’t my owner, I don’t have to give it away either.’ She pushed at one muscular arm until he moved it.
‘Cyra, have you ever been with a man for your own pleasure?’ He continued to stare down at her, the hand that he’d moved now coming up to play with her hair that was tied neatly back. She could feel the heat of his skin against her cheek. The smooth inner arm grazing her was a sensory delight. His words drugged her and she closed her eyes to block out the promise in the blue depths.
Why did he have to be such a handsome man? His tawny hair, golden skin and bright blue eyes were so different to hers. She looked down to see how their skin contrasted. Hers was dark olive, the hairs on her arms fine and black. His were coarser and fair, his gilded skin burned pink by the day in the sun.
Had she ever known pleasure with a man? No. She’d been trained to give it, not to receive it. Certainly, she could feign pleasure during the sex act because that’s what men wanted, but except when other girls had practised on her, she had known no true sexual pleasure, no matter what she’d told Galeria. All she associated men with was pain and humiliation, even though the only man she’d actually completed the act with was her first master.
However, the promise in the Dacian’s blue eyes was not of pain or humiliation. He promised her pleasure and the thought was more than tempting.
‘I have no time for men. I say again, if you have an itch, get it scratched by someone who’ll be happy to service you. There may be one who’d do it for nothing, you’re pretty enough.’
With a bark of laughter, Leonis shifted away from her and sat staring out at the sea again. ‘Pretty enough, am I? Well I suppose that’s something.’ He grunted his acceptance as he nodded. ‘You’re a fierce little creature, wildcat, but I’m the slayer of lions, so a wildcat shouldn’t be that hard to tame. Maybe once you get to know me a little more you’ll change your mind.’
‘Will you wrap a cloth around my neck to get me to do your bidding?’
He was back so fast she jerked away in fear, but his nose touched hers and his eyes, now fiery with rage, looked deep into her soul. ‘I would never force a woman to do my bidding. Women come to my bed because they want to, because they desire me and want what I can give them. Don’t insult me by sug
gesting otherwise.’
And then his soft lips were touching hers in a sensual kiss, but before she could decide if she liked it or not, he was gone again, standing up and offering her his big hand to rise.
‘Come on. We don’t want to be walking back in the dark, and I’m hungry again. You must be, too. You haven’t eaten a thing all day. Do you want to go to the baths?’
She reluctantly took his hand, still reeling from his quicksilver change of mood, and let him draw her to her feet. When she looked up at him, he seemed so far above her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
‘No baths, but I’d like to eat and then I need to sleep; I didn’t sleep well last night.’
‘If you slept in my arms you’d rest more easily,’ he said with exaggerated lechery, wriggling his expressive eyebrows at her.
‘I’ll take my chances, thanks all the same, and unless you want to lose your manhood, I would suggest you keep your distance during the night. I might think you’re my last master and take a dagger to you.’ She kept her voice light and exaggerated the threat with a teasing note, but she knew there was a hard edge to it. She wanted there to be. He said he wouldn’t take her unwillingly, but men said anything when it suits them. Once she was asleep, he could do whatever he wanted to her.
‘I’ll keep that in mind, my little lioness. Let’s go.’
The inn he’d chosen was a street back from the port and was noisy and less than clean. Decaneus had reservations about the meal they consumed there, but he was so hungry he didn’t much care, and the way Cyra wolfed down the greasy stew with a coarse chunk of bread, he didn’t think she did either. If he’d had his wits about him, he would have done as Nexus had on their journey out and asked the Master of their vessel where best to find accommodation, but pride kept him from asking for advice and now they were paying for it.
They’d barely entered their tiny room on the second floor when their door, which had neither lock nor bar, began to be repeatedly opened by a series of grizzle-haired, drunken sailors seeking entry. When Decaneus barked at them they disappeared fast enough, but he couldn’t squash the thought that they were a topic of conversation down in the main taproom and that men were coming up to check out their chances of overcoming him and taking Cyra. It was a temptation, travelling with a beautiful woman, and he’d noticed every male eye on her while they ate.
He also knew he’d never get any sleep if he didn’t work out a way to keep the door jammed shut through the night. He tried putting their possessions in front of it but they weren’t heavy enough to keep it closed. The last invader had proven that.
When Cyra caught him staring intently at the door she shrugged, took out a triangular chock of wood and pushed it hard into the gap at the bottom of the door.
‘Have you never had to keep people out of your room?’ she asked with a note of exaggerated disbelief at his ignorance.
‘Normally I sleep with a dozen men around me and at least one keeping watch, and when I was travelling with Nexus nobody dared enter our room when we slept. That’s one daunting male.’ He laughed lightly as he thought of the way most men’s gazes slid away when they saw Nexus. It was as if he wore his power like a cloak. Even neglected as he’d been at the beginning of the journey, it made no difference. In fact, in some ways, it made him more dangerous. A man with nothing to lose was a dangerous foe. No one wanted to test how far he’d go to protect what he carried on him.
‘Well, I learned at an early age that if I wanted to be left alone I needed to find a way to lock a door. This works well and it’s portable. See?’ She tugged on the leather strap handle to try to pull the door toward her. It wouldn’t budge.
Ingenious. He gave the door a pull himself just to make sure. It seemed the harder he pulled, the more the little wedge dug into place. It probably wouldn’t take a heavy shoulder rammed against it, but then, any midnight callers that came their way would be more interested in stealth. He’d sleep with his sword at his side and if anyone did try to barge through the chocked door, he’d be awake in an instant, ready to fight.
The room, when he took the time to study it, was a Spartan affair. It held one straw pallet and a small table that held an oil lamp, a jug of water and bowl. A none-too-clean pot for relieving themselves was under the table. The roof was so low he was only just able to stand, and it sloped down at an angle toward the small window that faced the narrow street below. He’d been forced to bend to get over the door’s threshold. It was like being in a coffin.
Of course, Cyra had had no problems at all. She made herself at home the moment they entered the stuffy, fetid space.
‘There’ll be bedbugs,’ he grumbled, looking at the less than clean pallet of straw that passed as a bed.
‘I’ve slept on worse. And if we put our cloaks under us, we’ll separate ourselves from the worst of the filth.’
‘Why are you being so accepting of all this? I’d have expected you to be complaining that I hadn’t found us a better place to lay our heads.’
‘I’ve more important things to worry about than where I sleep. As long as I’m not disturbed, I’ll be content. Just remember what I told you. I’m sleeping with my dagger under the pillow.’
‘What pillow?’
Cyra looked at the bed, noticed the lack of pillows and shrugged. ‘I’ll use my bag with my stola on top. Now will you quit complaining and settle for the night? We have to be up before dawn.’
She threw her light woollen cloak across the far side of the pallet that was barely wide enough for them both to fit on. Then she dumped her bag at the end away from the sloping roof and window. Finally, she folded her stola into a neat square and with her dagger in hand dropped down onto the pallet. With admirable pragmatism, she wedged herself into the corner against the wall, leaving him the edge and more space for his big body. With a huff of annoyance, she turned her back on him.
‘Goodnight then, little wildcat. Sleep well. If you feel the need for company during the night, feel free to wake me. I’m always at your service.’ He made sure his humour was in every inflection. The grunt that came back at him told him he’d succeeded in ruffling her feathers a little more. Pulling off his tunic, he followed her lead, preparing his bed. Then he lay down in his larger half of the pallet and folded his hands behind his head.
For the first time in a very long time, he felt content. Certainly, their future was unknown and possibly dangerous, but in this moment, he had his woman at his side, food in his belly and a safe place to lay his head thanks to her ingenuity. It was enough.
As he drifted into sleep, he remembered the taste of her lips. So sweetly innocent, for all the life she’d been forced to live. One day soon, he’d taste those lips again and teach her what pleasure there was to be had between a man and a woman. He’d teach her what it was to be his woman. He didn’t realise he was smiling as sleep claimed him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
8 June 82 CE, HALICARNASUS
Cyra came to wakefulness slowly. Her first awareness was of darkness and heat. The second was of breathing beneath her ear and the damp clamminess of sweating skin. Next came the scent of man, pleasant and familiar. When had a man ever smelled pleasant and familiar to her? A long ago memory of her father slipped into her mind. Yes, she remembered his scent, not altogether pleasant but certainly familiar and loved.
While she allowed her mind to dally in her childhood for a few more seconds, her other senses were gathering more information. Her body was not lying on the scratchy pallet. Instead, she was lying on her stomach against a hard, naked body, the top of her head wedged into someone’s neck. She moved her left hand up from where it rested on something long, hard and covered, and slid her palm over smooth, damp skin and springy chest hair.
Not her master then, he’d kept his body hairless and would never have permitted her to sleep on him in this way. As her groggy mind searched for answers, the body beneath her shifted a little and a big hand came up to rest on her shoulder. She studied the coarse
fair hairs on the sun-reddened arm. This was familiar, too.
Then she stiffened. Memories resurfaced. The Dacian who was so full of himself. The lion slayer. She’d told him to keep his distance and now look where they lay. How dare he place her in such a compromising position, as if they were lovers.
‘Awake then?’ It was more rumble than sound, but she understood him. Before she could scramble away, he tightened his hand on her arm keeping her in place.
‘Don’t move, Cyra. This feels a satisfactory way to awaken. But I did prefer where your hand was before.’ There was that teasing, arrogant note in his voice again. It was starting to annoy her.
To let him know how unsatisfactory she found their position, she dug her short, sharp nails into the skin of his chest. He yelped and let her go.
‘Be lucky my dagger isn’t at hand,’ she said, making the most of the moment to draw away from him and sit up. Despite herself, she was suddenly overpowered by the sight of him, his beautiful, muscular body laid out in front of her, golden hair mussed with sleep, bright blue eyes hooded with drowsy seduction. Her heartbeat increased and blood suffused her face. As if it weren’t as hot as Hades in there already, now she had arousal overheating her again!
‘You had my dagger in your hand a moment ago,’ he smirked at her, revealing an appealing dimple in his left cheek. Damn him, did he have to look so edible? And did he have to know it?
‘I assume you put my hand there.’ She sniffed and edged away a little further.
‘The first I knew of any of this was returning to wakefulness with your delightful little body on top of mine and your hand pressed to my weapon. Pity I was wearing a loincloth.’