Surrender to the Roman

by M. K. Chester

  The metal weapon warmed in his hand and he laid it aside without comment. No need to involve everyone in this business.

  He watched Flora clear the courtyard of food and drink under Lucia’s gentle guidance while Ademeni paced the shadows after putting Callia to bed. He narrowed his eyes, studying the passionate Dacian woman. His pulse rose as she moved with fluid steps, graceful even under such pressure.

  Surely, even in her anger, she expected he would punish her. And he should. The safety of his family came first, and she’d gone far beyond threatening only him.

  The intricacies of life wrapped their many arms around him. He’d become entwined in subtle games with his second. No longer a simple soldier, Marcus had become embroiled in personal hostilities and intrigues under his own roof.

  When had he started to sympathize with his enemy?

  The surprise of that realization lodged in his throat. He’d suspected Tertullian’s sinister side, but his brother-in-law’s behavior tonight provided additional fodder that said he was not an honorable man.

  Marcus glanced again at Ademeni, recalling the haunted look on her face in the Dacian cellar and the deep hatred moments ago. His life had become complex the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  Pity that to keep peace in his home, he’d have to punish her. There could be no question as to the order of things, even if he didn’t like it.

  * * *

  How foolish could she be? Had she not decided to step back, watch and learn?

  One glimpse of that monster and she’d seen nothing but his blood on the floor. Lucia had hurried the guests from the house so quickly that Ademeni and her sister had been given no chance for farewell.

  And now, she would be punished for raising her hand against the family of Marcus Cordovis. Her father had killed men for lesser offences. Still, given the same opportunity, she would make the same attempt over again.

  She pushed her hands through her hair and took in Marcus from the corner of her eye. He prowled the front of the house like a lion, her weapon more powerful in his trained hands.

  A stab of fear stole her breath. Patience was his ally. When the house had been put to order and the others had gone to bed, he would dole out her discipline.

  And yet, he had not allowed Tertullian to shame Lilah.

  Compared to his vile brother-in-law, Marcus had displayed some small amount of compassion. Not enough for her to let down her guard, but enough to make her unsteady.

  Flora pushed by with a rude grunt, the bulk of the cleaning done. Lucia paused in front of her, glancing at Marcus, then back to Ademeni with a smile. “Time to rest.”

  “Surely—” she started, then stopped. He would beat her.

  “Go to bed,” Lucia advised. “If he cannot see you, his anger will lose its heat.”

  Her parting words did little to calm Ademeni. His every move set her nerves on fire. Even behind the curtain of her small room, she would be able to hear his footfalls. She could not escape him.

  One by one, Marcus extinguished the sconces, making a circle from one side of the house toward her. He made no sound, but his rigid spine and efficient movements made clear his mood.

  Rather than wait for him to reach her, she escaped to the cool darkness of her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and held her breath as his footsteps approached.

  Under the curtain in her doorway, reddish firelight died, replaced by the silver sheen of the moon against the flagstones. Marcus’s shadow lingered. Ademeni’s pulse thundered in her ears, and she pushed herself to her feet, ready to meet whatever demands he might place upon her.

  His anger washed over her from the other side of the curtain. She’d lost her head and deserved his rage. Yet how could he not see the nature of his second in command and do nothing about the man’s craven nature?

  She ached for Lilah, an aloof girl born with an airy, artistic bent that did not serve her here. Ademeni would have been able to bear Tertullian’s advances. She would have been more than a match.

  That’s why he’d taken Lilah and given her to Marcus.

  Her thoughts rounded to the general again. She rubbed her throbbing temples. Would he never make a move?

  Stepping to the doorway, she flinched as he pulled back the curtain. When he pushed his way inside the tiny room, she gave ground, then gathered herself.

  He filled the chamber with his presence. Even his scent and shadow took up tangible space, creating heat where before a cold wind blew. Her pulse increased to thrum against her ribs.

  Thunder rolled through his eyes, but she dared not look away. Then, something in his expression flickered. For a moment she saw beyond his anger.

  “You go too far.” His simple statement chilled her blood.

  He had, even by her own royal standards, been gracious thus far. Still, someone needed to tell him the truth about his sister’s husband.

  “You will not threaten anyone in my house,” he growled, jaw working between words. His gaze speared her. “I have been too lenient with you.”

  Words escaped before she could check them. “My sister cannot stand up for herself. You see how he treats her.”

  “You need not concern yourself with my family.”

  “I am not concerned with your family,” she argued. “I am concerned with mine.”

  Marcus pulled his hand back. She tensed, eyes closed, waiting for the blow to land. When it did not come, she peeked through her lashes and saw his confusion.

  “You will not humiliate me in my own house.” His harsh tone stung, while his incredible restraint gave her relief. “You make judgments without all the knowledge required.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from inflaming him further, as she’d never meant to call his manhood into question.

  Shaking his head, Marcus stepped back, his hand massaging the back of his neck. “Tertullian was right about one thing.”

  Ademeni could not imagine what that might be.

  “My gardens look terrible,” he mused, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “You will bring them back to life.”

  She blinked. He wanted her to get her hands dirty—dirtier than they already were? He’d lost his senses if he thought so.

  The pitch of his voice fell, as if he told a secret. “You will not see the outside of this house until the work is done. Nor will you sit or play with my daughter until green things grow under your hand.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, surprised by how deeply this hurt her heart. He’d taken the things that brought her some joy and intended to keep them from her. Without Callia’s company, the days would become endless. And if she couldn’t leave the house, she would never learn the streets.

  Before she could speak, a rush of tears scalded her eyes, and she turned her head.

  “You can start in the morning.”

  When she next looked, he’d gone, and the room without him seemed larger than her father’s entire palace. Her skin prickled with cold, and she retreated to her straw bed to lick her wounds.

  Marcus Cordovis puzzled her. His lack of physical punishment meant nothing when emotional torment hurt just as much. Maybe he was simply a different kind of brute, one who played on the heart and mind rather than the body.

  But in that moment when his guard had fallen and she’d seen beyond his anger, she’d felt something different. Her intuition whispered that he knew the kind of man Tertullian was—perhaps better than she.

  He understood something of her position, if not her pain. She refused to admit that she’d wanted him to use his hands, but not for punishment. Rather, to soothe her worries away, as he had after she’d been attacked in the streets.

  Pulling a wool blanket across her body as she reclined, she accepted her blunder. She’d lost her temper and would have to prove herself in one way or another to regain some measure of his trust.

  Flora would laugh circles around her attempts at gardening. Ademeni might not see the city streets for months. An impossible task lay at her feet. He could not kn
ow what he’d asked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for dreamless sleep. Tomorrow she’d have to regain the ground she’d lost. Quite literally.

  Chapter Seven

  “Surely Trajan will install you at the highest levels.”

  In the quiet haze of a new day, Lucia’s words echoed off the stone tiles of the kitchen. Marcus had risen early and meant to bring some of his work to the house, where he could keep a watchful eye on the progress Ademeni made in the garden.

  And keep his curious daughter otherwise occupied.

  When Lucia had brought up his next post, she’d made clear where she thought his career should lead. “He should appoint you to lead the Praetorian.”

  He’d considered the position over the years, could even agree that Trajan might entertain the idea. Others held him in high esteem and might naturally assume he’d want the post.

  But there was nothing natural about that particular position. “The Praetorian Guard is no place for a man like me.”

  “The history of deceit and corruption in the Praetorian is exactly why Trajan needs a loyal, honest man.”

  “I can be more useful elsewhere. I’ve been pondering options since leaving Dacia. When Trajan returns, I will seek an audience with him.”

  Across the wooden table, Lucia wove her fingers together. “And what if he already has plans for you?”

  Marcus grimaced and bought time to think while he chewed a handful of dates. “The emperor always has plans. The trick is to make him believe your idea is his idea.”

  “And what is yours?”

  Hesitating, he studied Lucia’s pained expression. She did not want him to leave Rome. To leave Callia. Perhaps to leave her, as age advanced. Again.

  “I could stay in Rome, retire,” he offered.

  Her eyebrows shot upward. “And what would you do?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d never been anything but a soldier. That he’d lived this long and risen this far served as a testament to his survival skills.

  He would never leave the army.

  Lucia smiled in return and laid her hands over his in the middle of the table. “Have your audience with Trajan. He has given you fair guidance in the past.”

  A soft voice sounded in the distance, Ademeni’s feminine tones blurring the straight line of his future. He glanced behind him, down the hall, hopeful for a glimpse of her. When he looked again at Lucia, her eyes narrowed.

  “And what are you doing with this young woman?”

  “Nothing.” He straightened. “After what she did last night, I should sell her today.”

  “But you won’t.” The matron laughed, a gentle sound that smoothed his ruffled feathers. “I know you better than you think. I see how you look at her, and she at you.”

  “Is that why you give her Julia’s trinkets?” He deflected her perceptive comments. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “I hoped you would.”

  He sat up straight. “Why?”

  “Did she not look beautiful?” Lucia paused as she chose her words. “You haven’t moved past Julia’s death. She’s been gone for five years. You’ve barely stopped long enough to realize she’s not here. Though you don’t say so, I know you will ask Trajan for a new post, away from Rome. You will leave what you cannot stand.”

  “I have to consider every option.” His heart strained with the lie. Julia’s memory smothered him in this house. Lucia was right—he hadn’t planned to stop traveling at all. Perhaps he wanted to outrun his guilt.

  “Her death was not your fault.”

  Lucia’s whispered forgiveness bore into his heart. Julia’s death, no, but her life. Marcus dropped his bravado to ask, “Why did she go to Dacia, Lucia? I did not send for her. Camp is no place for a woman.”

  Lucia shook her head. “Only the gods know what possessed her. I begged her to stay but when she found herself with child, nothing would stop her. She hoped you would give up your post and settle for life in Rome, maybe become a politician. You are drawn to stubborn women, Marcus Cordovis.”

  He ran his hands over his face, out of arguments. “It’s too early in the day for such talk.”

  “Well said,” Lucia agreed. “But one piece of advice?”

  “What is it?”

  “Take Ademeni into your bed. The comfort will do you both good. She’s beautiful, and she has a soft heart for you. It is common enough.”

  Her suggestion took him by surprise. “She would rather kill me.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, or you would have either sold her or taken her for your own already. She’s had ample opportunity to take your life, but it seems she’d rather have Tertullian’s.”

  Marcus remembered searching Ademeni’s animated face in the flickering light of the cellar. She was the first woman to affect him in years, but he dared not admit any feeling for her. Doing so amounted to weakness. “I sympathize because she does not deserve her fate.”

  “Who does?” Lucia shrugged. “What have you to say about the gods’ business? Are you one of them? Or have you become a Christian instead?”

  “No, no.” He shook his head and raised his hands with a smile that faded. “I cannot force her to me. She is not a whore.”

  “Of course not, but consider that you may be of comfort to her, as well. I am not encouraging a marriage, only companionship.” Lucia nodded with a bow of her head. “Do as you wish. I’m just an old woman of no use to you.”

  Marcus grinned. He saw through her too. “You’ve come to care for her.”

  “No more than you, but she is not unlike my daughter in some ways.” She hid a smile. “Whatever you decide, tell no one of your plans. Rome is filled with envious and ambitious men—a dangerous combination.”

  He cautioned himself, even against Lucia’s motherly advice. She had her own reasons for creating an interest in Ademeni, yet her bold permission had taken him off guard. She had dealt with her daughter’s death in a way he could not yet fathom.

  And her warning did not fall on deaf ears. He needed to tread carefully—with everyone. If Lucia wanted him to stay in Rome, she still had enough political power to make that happen. As for Tertullian, a change in status with the army was long overdue.

  * * *

  Ademeni sank her fingers into the damp earth and choked back disgust. If her father could see her now, he would not hesitate to wallop her. Or laugh until he cried.

  In the past two days, a virtual forest had appeared as if conjured by the high priest of Roman vegetation. Plants, small trees, vines and other greenery taunted her from the sunny courtyard. When she planted one, three more arrived, waiting for her attention.

  Marcus Cordovis meant for her to finish the job. She felt his constant presence behind her, where he sat just inside the archway of one of the smaller rooms where he’d erected his camp desk.

  From there, he not only directed Trajan’s return, he also dictated her comings and goings. He inspected her progress two or three times each day.

  And he kept Callia occupied far from her.

  His low voice rumbled behind her while she bent to plant grapevines along the back wall. Annoying how she could never quite hear his words, yet the sound of his voice comforted her. She found herself longing for the very man she’d sworn to kill.

  The tide of confusion washed in at sunset every day and kept her awake at night. No matter how she willed herself to feel differently, his good qualities outshone the bad. If they were not here, in this house, but on the battlefield, she would feel differently.

  She dragged her wrist across her brow and sat back to inspect her amateurish day’s work. How anything grew in this grainy soil was beyond her knowledge. No wonder Rome ranged far and wide. They were probably very hungry people.

  “Julia used to keep the gardens spotless.” Lucia stepped through the drift of Marcus’s voice. “She made it look easy. She had a gift.”

  “A gift I do not possess,” Ademeni muttered. Her back a
ched, and she straightened. “I wish I did.”

  Lucia handed her a cup of water. “Julia had a great many gifts, but then, I am biased. She attracted butterflies somehow. I don’t remember what she used.”

  Ademeni gulped the water, her interest rising. The older woman seemed in the mood to discuss her daughter, and she sensed an opportunity. “Maybe Marcus remembers?”

  Lucia smiled. “He was one of the butterflies.”

  “Oh.” Ademeni’s face heated. So Julia had entertained many suitors. “How was he selected from so many?”

  “I met Marcus quite by accident, at my nephew’s home. My dog escaped, and he rescued her.” Lucia slid her a twinkling glance. “He made quite an impression, even as a young man. His father was a man of some stature, and had afforded Marcus a good military education.”

  Ademeni flushed again and took another swallow of water. Her first impression of him had been that of a conquering warrior, larger than the mountains. Frightening and arousing at the same time.

  “Would you believe Julia had never noticed him?” Fondling the leaves of the vine, Lucia laughed. “But once she did, completing the arrangement took no time at all.”

  Customary arranged marriages, as they had in Dacia.

  “Were you married?” Lucia asked.

  The surprising question jolted Ademeni back in time. Her father’s face came into sharp focus, his command ringing in her ears. “You will marry the man I have chosen for you.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “For all of three days.”

  “Three days?”

  “He died—robbed on the road north, where he made his home. I was to follow a few days later. I received the news as I packed.”

  Lucia’s light touch on the shoulder felt comforting. “How terrible for you.”

  Ademeni blinked. Terrible? She’d barely known him, had spent a handful of confused nights in his bed. “It seems long ago.”

  “It must.”

  An uncomfortable truth lay between them. Lucia was treating her as an equal. Ademeni took advantage of the moment. “How did Julia die?”