Wryn had loved Horus enough to make the boy his son? Libya traced her gaze over Wryn’s face as wonder pulsed through her veins. Taking a step closer, she touched his hand. His fingers felt so strong. Her breath caught. “Thank you.”
Hands around her baby, Gwen tilted her head. “Why would Victor want to adopt Horus?”
Arms tightening, Libya pressed back against Wryn. The point of his knife hilt dug into her side as she treasured his nearness.
In a step, Marcellus caught Gwen. He coughed. “Perhaps we need not ask these sorts of questions.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “You’re just acting congenial because Wryn saved your neck and endured the Emperor’s displeasure for you instead of revealing your secrets and allowing you to be crucified.”
“You should be grateful to me too.” Wryn circled his arm around Libya’s waist. His blood pounded as his fingers touched her tunica. “I mean, if you like that husband of yours.”
Gwen clasped Marcellus’ hand tightly. “Very well. Enough questions. But next time you adopt a woman’s son, ask her first.”
Why couldn’t he have had this moment alone with Libya? Wryn glanced to the heavens. “I assume you have a purpose in invading my villa, oh my sister?”
“Emperor Trajan’s triumphal banquet in honor of all of us saving his life and defeating the Viri. It’s starting within the hour.” Gwen flicked a leaf off her stola. “At last, an event I can attend.”
Marcellus smiled at her. “Well, you deserve it.”
Gwen’s eyes danced. “Now that I needn’t fear the Viri or Consul Julius stabbing you in the ribs, I plan to pay much less attention to propriety.”
“Less?” Wryn gestured up with his free hand. “You’re capable of paying less attention to propriety?”
Gwen flaunted her shoulders and kissed Marcellus, body pressed up against him right in the center of the garden.
He could imagine kissing Libya in a garden, though he’d much prefer a curtained-off doorway, with no prying eyes to halt what came after kissing. And no sister besieging Libya and his moment.
“Ready, Wryn?” Gwen beckoned him. “You deserve the laurel wreaths this time, so I won’t begrudge you them.”
“I deserve a lot more laurel wreaths than they’re giving me.” Wryn tugged Libya closer to his side. A hint of surprise flickered in her eyes, but she slid her hand over his, pressing his arm tighter around her waist.
A flash of heat like a meteorite flaming through the sky passed through him. If Marcellus and Gwen would just leave, he could speak with Libya. “You, Marcellus, you the Emperor crowns a hero. You would have killed Emperor Trajan yourself if I hadn’t stopped you.”
Marcellus lowered his voice. “I don’t care for the glory.”
“That’s the most exasperating part.” Wryn raised his free hand. Oh, to touch that hand to Libya’s waist as well. “Emperor Trajan gave you my prefect post, and I had to force you to even accept it.”
“I am sorry about that, Wryn.” Gwen bit her lip. “Marcellus and I went to Senator Porcii this afternoon to enlist his help to sway the Emperor’s mind. The senator said he’d consider helping if you marry Aulia.”
“No.” With a sigh, Wryn looked out the tablinum window. “I’ll give you all my prefect plans of what needs to change in the city, Gwen. I’m sure you’ll do an admirable job. You, on the other hand,” Wryn glared at Marcellus, “don’t touch any of it. You’ll end up committing more treason.”
“Thank you for saving my mother.” Marcellus’ eyes had a pensive light. “I’ll make it up to you about the rest.”
“I highly doubt that.” With a roll of his eyes, Wryn turned to Libya, his fingers still on her waist. She felt so precious, like a ray of moonlight come to life. “You’re the one who saved Emperor Trajan from that arrow. Wish to go to this banquet and celebrate?”
Gwen buried her fingers in his shoulder. For once, her voice sank. “Wryn, you know she can’t. The Emperor would never let a woman of infamia eat with senators. You’d do her no favors by trying to muscle her through the doors. It would only be torture for her there.”
Libya’s ebony hair fluttered in the wind as the breeze passed over the star on her lovely cheek. Without her, Emperor Trajan would even now lay beneath the ground, but because of that celestial mark and her free-falling hair, society could see naught but infamia.
A sigh passed through Wryn’s teeth. “You’re right, of course.”
“Come then.” Gwen motioned toward the garden path. “After seven years, you’ve earned this, Wryn.”
Ducking under a juniper hedge, Horus tore toward them with little Alena following after and seized Wryn’s hand. “Come play hoops with me. Alena wants to.”
Stepping away from Wryn, Libya grabbed Horus’ hand away. “Not now, Horus. He has to go.” She lifted her gaze to Gwen. “I can keep the children for you if you wish to go straight there.”
“Gratias, Libya.”
Marcellus took Gwen’s hand. “Come Wryn, don’t want to arrive late to the feast in our honor.” He nodded back to the villa.
“I’m not going.” Wryn took a step toward Libya. She smiled. His heart soared to celestial heights.
“You’re not?” Gwen lifted her dark lashes.
“One advantage to earning the Emperor’s wrath by saving his life. Unlike you, I don’t have to listen to idiot speeches and dinner guests’ inane chatter tonight.” Wryn turned away.
“Play hoops with me?” Horus snuck his hand into Wryn’s.
Wryn groaned. “How about throw a ball or play knucklebones or anything less effeminate.”
“All right, I’ll get them.” Horus bounded off with Alena as the grass rustled under Gwen and Marcellus’ departing feet.
Soon the enclave between juniper bushes stood empty except for Libya, who held Gwen’s baby. She watched him as her tunica blew in the breeze. Her dark eyes had never looked so enchanting. “Thank you for saving Horus.”
“I couldn’t let Victor have him.”
“You are a good man.” If stars could speak, their melody could not sound more lovely than her voice.
He looked into her dark eyes. He looked at Libya. A woman of infamia, worse than that, Victor’s woman. Infamia was a blood-red word scratching the divide between respected citizens and the ill-repute of the gutters, yet he saw no infamia when he saw her.
He saw Libya, the woman who dared Ostia with him, laughed over lyre music and poetry, clasped Horus to herself this morn as the tears of a mother’s happiness streamed down her cheeks.
Senator Porcii had spoken truth. The next Paterculi match would prove even worse. He had every intention of wedding a freed slave.
If the Roman courts didn’t acknowledge it as marriage, they didn’t recognize the Way as a religion either, and that hadn’t stopped him from following Christus.
He wouldn’t mind kissing Libya right about now either.
Settling Gwen’s baby on the grass, Libya crossed to Wryn where
he sat on a marble bench. She took a seat a few handbreadths from the man who had adopted her son. “You’re rather good at cleaning up the mayhem others have made.”
“It’s not fair. That was my prefect post and now because I went to the effort of saving his mother’s life, Marcellus, the man who would have killed the Emperor and doesn’t even desire political advancement gets my post.” Wryn groaned. “Gwen better do a good job of running this city, because I doubt Marcellus even knows how to wrap a prefect toga.”
Libya dug her fingers into a groove in the stone. “I meant with Horus.”
“What?” Wryn cocked his head, his brown hair sliding over his forehead. A warmth radiated from his countenance.
She touched his shoulder. “You didn’t create Horus’ predicament, yet you stepped in the gap.”
“I could never consider Horus as others’ mayhem. I mean he is mayhem every single moment of the day.” Wryn laughed, a winsome sound that enticed her to revel in it. His voice softened as his gaze connecte
d with her. “But I no more would consider him an imposition than I would you.”
“I?” Her breath caught. Wryn had spoken no more words about military escorts to Britannia. Dare she hope he wanted her and Horus to remain with him?
“You’ll stay here now, Horus and you, won’t you?” Wryn touched her bare arm, the brush of his fingers so warm.
“Gladly.” She moved closer to him. He’d called remaining under the same roof as friends torture. What did he intend? “Were you certain when you told your sister you’d no plan to marry for political advancement?”
“Quite certain.” He brushed hair back from her cheek. “I am thoroughly done with all that. Love’s worth more than the Empire’s stamp of approval on who’s eligible to marry.”
He intended to take her as his concubine. By Roman law, a man had to choose between concubine and wife. He couldn’t have both. Since she was a freed slave, she could never legally be his wife, but a concubine relationship could last a lifetime. The children of a concubine were born free, but they had no inheritance rights, unless the man adopted them, like Wryn had Horus.
She ran her gaze over Wryn. A lifetime of starlit nights, playing music by bonfires, speaking of poetry. Tears built in her eyes. She reached for his hands as she gazed up at him. How she loved this man.
His hands met behind her waist, tugging her almost on top of him. The strength of his arms imprisoned her. He moved his mouth over hers, desire shining in his eyes.
That look, she’d seen it a thousand times before on the faces of so many, many men. How could Wryn possibly see her soul when he looked at her like that? He deepened the kiss.
He tasted of sunshine, but at the crush of his mouth over hers, a thousand long gone scents overwhelmed her. Human sweat, tavern ale, the stench of too often-used beds. She’d been little more than a child those first years at the brothels. She’d hated the men’s kisses worst, for they always forced her lips apart with theirs just before imposing themselves in other ways.
Then they’d stand, shifting the bed’s weight. Their gaze would meet hers one last time, disdain in their eyes for the prostitute they delighted to make use of, but could never respect.
Shivers ran through her as she endured Wryn’s kiss. His hands parted, allowing escape. Her pounding heart slowed as the wish to tear away subsided. Once again, she felt safe in his arms.
She traced her gaze over his tanned skin, his large hands, the tunic stretching across his chest. She could feel his gaze on her. Aulia had wished for his touch. Wryn didn’t deserve the scars on her heart that he had no hand in making. Was he certain he wanted her? “Are you sure that —” She bit her tongue.
“Sure that what, Libya?” Wryn slid his finger across her cheek.
What if he took her up on her suggestion to find a pure virgin? She wanted Wryn. “Nothing.” Perhaps she wouldn’t feel the familiar chills at a man’s kiss if she initiated it. Reaching out, she touched his arm.
He turned his gaze to her, the same desire in his eyes that she saw in those brothels. Her stomach churned. Could he truly see her soul while desiring her?
This was different. He took on her son as his own. He earned her respect. Hot flashes joined the cold chills, though she hid them with a smile, same as always. She pressed her lips to his.
Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he responded, longing in his eyes. His hands on her back felt hot even through the linen. How much hotter yet when only skin separated them.
Instead of that familiar numbness she felt in Ostia, her body revolted, uncried screams rising. Man after man flashed before her mind’s eye, some old, some young, some rough, some gentle enough, all over her, none of them Wryn. Unwept tears choked her. If only she could be like other women.
“Why are you kissing my mama?” Horus poked his curious face over the back of the bench, his gaze on Wryn.
“It’s all right, Horus. I wanted him too.” Her blood-drained fingers paled further. Lies. Lies. How many lies would she have to tell Wryn in a week, a month, a lifetime? She fought to keep her body from trembling. She hadn’t even lain with him — yet.
Even on her worst nights at the taverns, she hadn’t let men’s touch affect her beyond what a hasty scrubbing in the wash basin could mostly fix. One kiss with Wryn and the images overwhelmed her. She hadn’t experienced this so strongly since that first terrifying month when the slavers had sold her to the brothel and not only revulsion and shame, but also excruciating pain, had constantly accompanied her.
Why did she feel this now after ten years of inuring herself to infamia? She loved Wryn.
Her heart sank. That was why.
“I know it’s all right. I just wanted to know why.” Horus touched Wryn.
Wryn wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace.
His strength surrounded her and she leaned back against him, soaking in the warmth of his touch. If only he always held her and never kissed her. He wouldn’t though.
Wryn smiled at her son. His fingers brushed her thigh as he rested his hand on the bench. The thin linen she wore felt like nothing beneath his touch, and he could tear it from her body just as easily. Wryn squeezed her hand. “You see, son, your mother and I —”
She couldn’t do this tonight. “Look, Gwen’s son is yawning. I’d best put him to bed.” She tore away from Wryn’s arms.
For the moment.
The scent of flowers hung in the evening air as Wryn looked at Libya. Bending, she picked up Gwen’s youngest. The baby screamed.
Libya bounced the baby on her hip. “Are Horus and Alena all right here if I put him to bed?”
Wryn nodded. Her tunica swished as she turned and walked away, a baby in her arms. Someday they’d have a baby of their own. He wanted a wedding, complete with the religious ceremony and wedding feast despite the fact Rome would never recognize Libya as his wife.
“Wrestle me!” Horus lunged.
Wryn thrust his hands out to keep the child from cracking his own ribs. He should talk to Libya tonight about when they would marry. There were two days until First Day, a perfect occasion for a wedding.
“Me too.” Alena scrambled on the bench.
Wait, he should probably plan some sort of romantic gesture first. Wryn smiled. He wouldn’t give Libya cause to mock him this time. Though she’d seemed much more interested in kissing him than mocking him tonight.
Horus jumped on Wryn’s legs, blocking Alena. “Girls can’t wrestle.”
“They can if they want to.” Wryn stretched out a hand to Alena. At least Gwen’s daughter could because he would never hear the end of it if Alena reported to her mother that she’d been denied the same opportunities as a boy.
Horus swung his fist. Alena hurtled off the bench, brown curls smashing against the grass.
“Horus!”
Tears gushing from her eyes, Alena let out a roar ominous enough to make lions tremble.
Awkwardly, Wryn knelt on the grass. He patted one hand against the girl’s back. “It’ll be all right.”
“No, it won’t!” Alena bobbed up, her mussed curls sticking to her tear-stained face. “He hit me.”
“I’ll hit you again if you try to wrestle.” Horus crossed his arms, feet spread. “Only I can wrestle with my father.”
Alena screamed louder.
Wryn groaned. Now he not only had a bawling three-year-old to somehow comfort, but also a six-year-old to chastise.
So much for speaking with Libya tonight.
Chapter 35
Something pounded on his door. Rubbing his hand across his eyes, Wryn sat up from his bed. Glimmers of light already streamed through the window.
Gwen shoved her head through the curtain. “Just so you know, I’m picking up my children. They didn’t get kidnapped in the night.”
Wryn stood. He never slept past dawn. Then again, Gwen’s son hadn’t stopped shrieking until the second watch of the night. Even though Libya had tended the baby, the whole house had shaken from the screams. Surely t
hat’s not how all babies acted? For all Horus’ faults, the child slept at night.
“I’m visiting Aulia next.” Pushing the curtain further aside, Gwen stepped into his room. She never had possessed any concept of privacy. “No chance you’ll change your mind and marry her, I suppose?”
“I’m marrying Libya.” Crossing to the basin on the table, he splashed water on his face.
Gwen’s hand fell from the curtain, and it swished shut behind her. Her mouth gaped. “She’s a freed slave, a woman of infamia. You can’t even legally marry her.”
“I’ll marry her in a religious ceremony.” Taking his gladius, he buckled his sword belt. He had to show up to the garrison today, at least long enough to take a few days off. He had a month of leave built up.
“Roman law won’t recognize it. Her children won’t be able to legally inherit —”
“Then I’ll adopt them like Horus.” A month lasted a long time. They could go somewhere interesting. They could visit the library of Alexandria, or perhaps Libya would prefer Greece and the Athenian beaches. Horus had been begging to go to Sicily in the hopes that a pirate would appear and capture them. Personally, he wasn’t inclined to give Horus a vote in where the three of them would travel.
Wonder in her eyes, Gwen shook her head. “You’re really making your worst enemy’s son your heir? Yes, Marcellus and I guessed the connection.”
“He’s just a boy. He needs a father too.”
“Why Wryn —” Gwen raised her black lashes. “I do believe you’ve grown a heart. I imagine Libya was elated to —”
“I need to tell her that.” He grabbed his cuirass. First, the garrison, though.
“Wryn! You talked to me before her.” Gwen struck the plaster. “Also, you shouldn’t assume a woman will take you.”
“I saved the woman’s life and adopted her son. I’m also a patrician. What do you think she’s going to say — no? Besides, she’s spent a lot of her time kissing me.”
“Wryn Paterculi!” Gwen’s shrill voice pierced the air.
That’s definitely where her baby had gotten the idea to stay up shrieking until the second watch of the night. His babies would never act like that. “Do you need to scream at me a few moments more to feel fully satisfied, or can I go talk to my bride now?”
Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4 Page 35