“At the market today. She slipped away when the procession came through the Via Sacra.” Lucia’s soft tone did little to soften the blow.
“What?” He lowered Callia to the ground, unable to wrap his mind around the idea. “How?”
“Flora and I searched as well as we could, but…” Lucia’s voice died away as she raised her hands to ask forgiveness.
Ademeni had run away just when she seemed to be adjusting. When they seemed to have reached some understanding last night. Why now? The bedlam of the city would give her cover, to a point, but could also be her worst enemy.
“How long has she been gone?” he asked, shooing Callia into Flora’s arms. When no answer came, he roared, “How long?”
Lucia winced. “Midmorning.”
Marcus’s hands turned cold. The sun was setting while they wasted words. Hand on his gladius, he turned and barreled toward the door.
“How gallant.” Tertullian stepped in front of him. “For a slave you plunge headlong into the night?”
Marcus shoved him against the wall, his forearm pressing against Tertullian’s throat. “Go home now and the gods will bless you.”
With no time to waste, he released his second and charged from the house. Picking up speed, he maneuvered through the narrow streets, his eyes sharp for any sign of Ademeni.
She didn’t know the city well enough to find her way outside the labyrinth. Or maybe she did. Despite her haughty attitude, she could not overcome a well-trained soldier on his first night home, or even a drunken fool with the slightest of poor intentions.
Jupiter forbid, someone might recognize her as Dacian and throw her into the holding pen with the rest of the prisoners. Fear pumped through his veins. Yet now that she dressed like a Roman, he might never find her.
Torn between checking the confines and moving more swiftly through the crowd, he opted to scour the area around the Forum. If all else failed, he would see if she’d been taken prisoner.
Never in battle had he tasted this kind of fear. Not even when Julia had arrived in Dacia. More personal, this bitterness kept him sharp. The further into the poor districts he moved, the more acute the scent of wine and urine, the rowdier the crowd.
No one respected his uniform here. No pause was given when he entered a room full of lawless brawlers and prostitutes. By all that was decent, he hated this city.
If nothing else, if the gods sent him home empty-handed, he knew nothing Lucia said or did would keep him in Rome. Her politically motivated plans for him had gone too far.
He clenched his fists. If her scheming turned out to be the one thing that pushed Ademeni away or caused her harm, he would never forgive her for meddling.
He forged ahead. He would find her. The last thing he needed was the weight of more ill-gotten guilt.
* * *
As the last rays of an orange sun sank over the horizon, Ademeni swallowed a trickle of fear. She turned in a frantic circle, looking for some familiar marking on a building or a friendly face in the crowd.
She’d come so far outside the center of the city that nothing made sense any longer. Quickly losing her bearings, she’d made one wrong turn after another. She chastised herself and headed east, but the city stretched on and on.
She slogged through dank puddles, assaulted by the stench of sewage and cooked fowl. Light and raucous laughter spilled from the open doorways of taverns, but she’d learned fast not to step inside.
As the light of day waned, morals and inhibitions faded. While she pushed through the crowd, people become bolder, offering lewd comments or sweeping their hands over her body. Disgusting suggestions pelted her, as if she were a temple whore.
“Come here, beautiful, we’ll show you what real Roman men are made of…”
She thought of Marcus. He would never have said such things to her, even when he knew nothing of her royal station. She had made a great error, leaving this way. Even if nothing had changed for him, that heartache was better than this.
On the heels of that thought, three drunken merchants approached from the end of an alley, one of them holding a hand to his crotch, the others holding weapons.
“What have we here, fellows?”
She whirled and backtracked through the streets, their laughter following long after she’d outstripped them. Once she regained her breath, she looked for any markers that might lead to more familiar territory.
And after she’d found her footing, then what? She slowed again. She couldn’t return to the house. If Marcus didn’t beat her, Lucia surely would.
In the distance, a great cheer rose into the night. Such noise only came from the heart of the city. Aiming for the sound, Ademeni sucked in rancid air and wiped the sweat from her face with her cloak.
She came upon a makeshift prison rather than some gladiatorial event at the Circus Maximus. Hiding in the shadows, she lost her breath at the sheer number of captives brought by Trajan from Dacia. Their horror and misery shook her, and she stepped into the light before realizing she’d even moved.
A strong hand grabbed her upper arm and spun her around. Face to face with Tertullian, she choked on a scream. Struggling to pull free of his grip, she brought more attention to herself.
He jerked her by the arm, pulling her into the shadows, pressing her into a corner. His breath, tainted with wine, stifled her, his words covered with lust. “Alone at last, Princess.”
Ademeni gagged and pushed him, but made no headway. Her skin crawled as he dragged his hands up her body. She turned her head, avoiding a brutal kiss. She gasped as he leveraged his weight against her, robbing her of breath to cry out.
His mouth attached to her neck, and she lashed out, nails gouging his cheek. He jerked away. “Damn you!”
A well-placed blow to his groin doubled him, and Ademeni slid free. His grasp slithered down her back, tearing the wrap from her shoulders.
She counted the garment as a loss and plunged headlong into the crowd, choking on fear. The bodies slowed her frenzied pace, and Tertullian dogged her steps. When he grabbed her shoulder, she danced away, caged now by the good citizens of Rome.
“This one is from Dacia,” he shouted to the milling crowd. “Don’t let her get away.”
His accusation silenced those in the vicinity, and their attention turned on her as one. She had to think quickly, think like her enemy.
“He lies,” she cried, denying her heritage to save her life. She yanked the household purse from her belt and threw the gold against his chest. “Take my money, you drunken thief!”
When the coins clattered against his armor, the crowd fell upon them, and she darted through the circle of onlookers. Without looking back, she sprinted around the pens that held her people, into the avenue and toward the only recognizable safe haven.
The Temple of Venus.
Taking the steps two at a time, she fell against the closed doors. When she heard Tertullian’s shout from below, she gasped for breath and rapped her knuckles against the cedar. “Let me in.”
The doors gave way as Tertullian reached the bottom of the temple steps. She slid inside, insisting, “Bar the door. He’s a madman.”
An older woman, head covered and wrinkled face drawn, studied her then nodded. With the door barred, she hustled a hysterical Ademeni toward the rear of the temple, past the likeness of the goddess and two primed altars.
Inside a secluded chamber, she offered Ademeni cold water and a clean towel. No questions were asked, and Ademeni volunteered nothing.
“Thank you for your kindness,” she stammered. “I have nothing to offer your goddess.”
“Nothing is necessary, child. Wait here.”
The old woman left the room, closing the door behind her. Ademeni jumped to her feet when she heard a bolt slide into place. She threw herself against the door. Locked.
Panic clutched her heart. Why would they let her inside only to lock her away? Did they plan to give her over to Tertullian once he told them his lies?
Worse
yet, did they plan to sacrifice her? Perhaps they needed her for some ritual to appease their goddess.
She paced the room, alternately beating the door with bruised fists and sobbing for mercy. Near exhaustion, she knelt and prayed to any deity that might hear to deliver her from Tertullian, even if such a request meant certain death. She would rather be sacrificed than given over to that lecherous mongrel.
When she’d exhausted herself and it seemed they’d forgotten about her, the bolt retreated, and the door swung wide.
Ademeni scurried to the corner and crouched in the shadow, waiting to see what end awaited her.
An all-too-familiar voice sliced through the tension. “There you are.”
Chapter Ten
Marcus distrusted his eyes. He braced himself against the doorway, his shadow stretching across the floor. In the far corner of the room, a woman huddled beside a wooden bench. Ademeni turned fear-filled eyes on him.
Relief surged through his mind, chased by anger. The blend of conflicting emotions immobilized him, and the stifling aroma of incense made him waver. He didn’t know whether to gather her in his arms or berate her for causing so much trouble.
He hadn’t felt so confused since he’d courted Julia.
Ademeni’s gaze slid away, signaling her defeat. He felt no triumph in the moment, tasted no joyous victory. Dread darkened her face, shaded her eyes and turned his hands to ice.
She still feared him. After the way he’d cared for her in his bed, she still believed he would harm her.
He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He wanted to tell her how he’d lain awake, watching her as she slept. How he’d hated the sunrise because it meant he had to leave her.
Instead, he stepped inside the room and eased toward her. She jumped from his extended hand like a scared rabbit.
Her rebuff soured his stomach. Biting back his ire, he offered his red cape to warm her, but she looked at the garment as if it alone had started a thousand wars. Regardless, he wrapped it around her hunched shoulders.
“It’s late. We must go home.”
At the word home, her jaw tightened. Another mistake. Not her home. Stubborn woman. His home was her home.
Through clenched teeth, he offered a piece of advice. “Perhaps you ought to think of my house in such terms.”
Pursing his lips, he took her by the arm and led her from the room. The curious eyes of the temple priestesses followed their every move. This story would rip through the streets with the force of lethal Greek fire. The great general cannot control his slave.
The closer they moved to the entrance, the more Ademeni dragged her steps. When he pressed his hand against the door, she resisted, her flesh twisting beneath his tightening grip as she tried to break free.
Her whimper of pain stopped him cold. He didn’t want to hurt her, but neither did he need a scene in the street. At this rate, the sun would rise before they reached his gate.
He softened his approach and his grasp. “What troubles you?”
She swung her gaze from him to the door, then backed up another step. “Is he outside?”
“Who?” he demanded, short on time and patience. His clipped words sounded more like an accusation than a question.
Her jaw snapped shut, and he mentally cursed himself. No telling what personalities she might have run across in her journey. Later, he would find out exactly where she’d been and who she’d seen during those missing hours.
“Nothing will harm you, I swear it.” By the gods, this had to stop. Staying in the temple was not an option. “We must go.”
She nodded, her soft lips pulling into a frown. He ached to soothe her fears, to kiss away her worries, but time would not obey his command to stand still.
Once exposed to the chilled night air, she attached herself to his side, so close their steps came in unison. She hid her face under his cloak and burrowed against his shoulder. He indulged his urge to protect her and held her tightly.
Leaving the temple area, he battled the distraction of Ademeni’s intoxicating scent and the warmth of her body. She’d divided his attention enough for one night. Once in the street, he had only enough energy to focus on getting them home.
The crowd had thinned, so foot travel became easier. Only criminals lurked in the shadows now. With one hand secured around Ademeni’s waist, he gripped the hilt of his sword with the other, keeping watch for any sudden movements.
Fear kept him alert, and anger kept him moving. What a damnable woman! Trajan would return to Rome at noon next, and Marcus had chased her around the city all night. When he needed to be sharp, she waylaid his attention.
As they drew near the house, her body stiffened, and she slowed her steps again. He ground his teeth. She could throw a tantrum once inside, but she would go—one way or another.
Marcus stopped short of the entrance and gave her one opportunity to cooperate. “What now?”
She dug her heels into the ground and continued her stubborn refusal to speak.
If he weren’t so worn, he might admire her dogged determination. “You always leave me so little choice.”
“You have little choice?” Her face reddened as she unleashed her venom. “You have all the choice in the world.”
He grasped her by the shoulders to force her to look at him. “I did not make this world.”
His words took their toll. Her amber eyes filled with tears, and she shoved away from him with a sudden force he hadn’t reckoned.
She retreated. Darting forward, he caught her wrist as she started to turn. He reeled her in, circled her waist and lifted her over his shoulder with ease.
She screamed loud enough to wake the Ferryman. Up and down the lane, dogs responded to her high-pitched wails. For all the noise, her flying blows did no damage to the armor strapped to his back.
Did she never run out of energy? He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and kicked the gate, intent on getting both of them inside without further damage to anything but his ears.
And his pride.
* * *
The front door crashed open then shut, the din distant to Ademeni as blood rushed to her head. How dare he take her over his shoulder like some common fishwife?
Surely she had pushed him far enough this time. He would finally become the terrible monster she’d envisioned on the day he’d taken her from the cellar.
She hardened her heart. From the moment he’d walked into the temple chamber she’d rejected the joy that had accompanied his presence. Each blow she landed now denied the idea that she needed any part of him.
Hot tears scalded her cheeks, and she choked on her rage. No curse she hurled slowed his pace toward the back of the house. Not even the curious faces that appeared and disappeared with each bounding step affected him.
No one came to her aid.
Stopping short, Marcus flipped her off his shoulder and set her feet on the cold stone floor of the kitchen. She reeled backward, dizzy.
Darkness ate away the edges of her vision, and her knees buckled. Marcus grabbed her by the shoulders and lowered her onto the bench as she sputtered. His hands on her snatched the curses from her tongue.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructed. “Now another.”
Hitching a shaky breath, Ademeni closed her eyes and soon heard the clank of metal against stone. She opened her eyes to find Marcus removing his armor, piece by piece, while she recovered.
Her mouth went dry. How could two men be so vastly different, Marcus and Tertullian? Fascinating how the man before her never wasted motion, how every movement had a purpose. His efficient disrobing left him standing before her in his belted tunic, his arms and legs cut and glistening with the exertion of the chase.
Marcus stood as if waiting for her to make one last, mad dash toward freedom. Devoid of military accoutrement, only deep lines framed his mouth and ran across his forehead. His fingers twitched, and his gaze narrowed.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.
“Of whom do you speak?” He raised his eyebrows then turned his head. Over his shoulder, Flora loitered in the hallway shadows. She wilted at his fierce look, but when he turned such tools on Ademeni, she felt only emptiness.
“Flora wishes to see my punishment,” she muttered.
“Go,” Marcus barked at Flora, who took her time in retreat. He rubbed his hands over his face, curled his fingers through his short hair. “I ask again, of whom do you speak?”
“No one in particular,” Ademeni lied. The truth held no use, no hope. Marcus only saw Tertullian through blinders, such as one might place on a horse. “What is my punishment, dominus?”
His voice lowered to a growl when he addressed her again, for she hadn’t used that title for him since lying in his bed. “You smell like a kennel.”
“You have made me a dog,” she countered, rubbing her arms for warmth. She could not stop pushing him toward the unseemly end.
“I have done no such thing.” His spine straightened, and he drew up to his full height. “My house is filled with contentious women—you more than any other. What should your punishment be for running away, for putting us both in danger?”
She bit her tongue. He had been too lenient from the first day, but she would never tell him such a thing. To do so would be to ask why and risk an honest answer she was ill prepared to accept.
He raised his hands to her in mock supplication. “You tell me—from your vast royal experience—what should your punishment be?”
Despite his sarcastic tone, Ademeni knew that if she looked at him, if she met his eyes, she would see the hint of agony that underpinned his words.
He didn’t want to punish her. He never had. Marcus had not asked for her to be his slave and had treated her better than some Roman wives. He did not run to prostitutes or cavort with married women. He was a loyal man who needed a loyal woman. Like her.
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