I was not stupid. I would not stay in the water long enough that I would get sick. But I had a point to prove, though I was not entirely sure what it was, and so I would stay until I was done.
Tilting my head back, I worked my fingers through my hair, dislodging grains of sand. Now that my body had acclimated to the water, at least a bit, it seemed warmer to be in than out, so I remained that way, head tipped back, facing the shore. I was completely submerged, but for my face, and though my lips were numb, it felt wondrous to have finally replaced the grime of travel with the salt of the sea that I so loved.
I looked toward the shore, allowing myself to float as I did. I had not forgotten how, it seemed, though it had been so many years since I had been to the coast.
Marcus was standing at the very edge of the water. Gone was his characteristic rigidity. With one hand shading his eyes, he squinted out in my direction, his face painted with uncertainty.
It seemed that I had finally managed to affect him. I had finally broken through that damned honor, that armor of his damned brotherhood.
The satisfaction that surged through me told me that that was the point I had wanted to prove. Leaning forward, waving my arms through the water, I felt my feet touch the bottom, wriggled my toes in the sand one last time. Then I began to make my way back to the shore.
I moved slowly, deliberately. I told myself that it was because I was loath to go in, but I knew that that was not the truth. I wanted to affect Marcus even more, wanted him to be affected by the sight of me. And so I moved slowly, allowing the water to swirl around my body in the reverse manner it had when I had submerged. A mirror image of my baptism in the sea, first my breasts became visible, then my belly. My hips, my legs, all were naked and open to his stare.
I held my hands out in front of me as I walked, and was struck by the contrast between their icy white sheen and the darkness of the water.
I walked straight to the edge of the water, stumbling only a bit as the suction of the liquid released me. This brought me directly in front of Marcus, who stared down at me, confused.
I kept moving, walking right into his arms.
Rising up onto the tips of my toes, I wrapped my arms around his neck, his shoulders. I pressed my body squarely against his own, and luxuriated in the juxtaposition of my icy cold temperature against the innate heat that seemed to burn inside of his skin.
I could not kiss his lips from where I stood—I was not tall enough. But I fastened my mouth over one of his nipples and suckled it into my mouth, hard.
I felt his cock rear to life, going from semi-erect to hard and hot in the space of a breath. At the same time he recoiled from the frigidity of my skin, but for only a moment.
My assault had done as I had hoped. Though he stood stiff for that long moment, as if trying to find a way out of my embrace, out of this relationship that we both knew could never be, not for real, he gave in quickly.
Cupping his hands under the slippery globes of my bottom, he hoisted me up until our faces were level. I mashed my mouth against his, my tongue already seeking. I clasped my legs around his waist, rubbed my center, which had remained hot despite the cold, rubbed it right over the leathers that covered his erection.
I kissed him with every pent-up emotion that I possessed spilling out of my lips and into him. He swallowed them and returned the fervor, licking over my mouth, my tongue, my teeth. Finally he buried his face into my neck, kissed the corded muscle there, and groaned as if in defeat. With my arms and legs still twined about him, I pulled back, tried to search the face that he was hiding. He kept his face buried, speaking into my skin. I felt the vibrations hum over my shoulder.
“Alba.” That was all that he said. “Alba.”
I wanted more. I wanted an indication that this was not the last time we would touch. I wanted to know that he and Caius and I could be together, at least while we were here.
I wanted to hear him say that he wanted me, that they both did. That they both wanted me more than the lives they had back in Rome.
That they would sacrifice for me. For me and for my child.
I wanted them to be everything that my husband was not.
Before I could express my desires, before the flood of words could start, I sensed movement. Looking up, I squinted into the distance, saw a figure at the top of the small hill on which the house sat.
It was Caius. He was watching our embrace, had possibly been watching it since it had started. His body was rigid, tense, his hands fisted, his feet planted wide.
He did not look happy.
I hummed a sound out of my throat. Marcus turned, with me still clasped in his arms. I knew when he saw what I had, for his body also tensed, the muscles contained beneath his skin pressing against me.
Now facing the other direction, I could no longer see Caius, and protested. Instead of turning back around, Marcus simply reached a big hand up, trailing over my back until it threaded into my hair. A gesture of comfort, I was not appeased, and squirmed until he put me back on my own feet.
When I turned around again, this time by myself, Caius was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Neither Caius nor Marcus mentioned the embrace on the beach, not that evening, not in any of the days following. Neither of them tried to touch me again, either.
I was frustrated. I was angry. I did not have much time to ruminate on my feelings, however, for Drusilla continued to lie abed. She was sick, very sick, and I was thinking very seriously of sending back to Rome for a doctor.
The only thing keeping me from doing so was Drusilla herself. She insisted that it was simply the journey that had drained her, that she would be fine any day now. And as soon as I reached the end of my patience, as soon as I had decided that she needed medical attention, she would take a turn for the better, would get out of bed and bathe, even take a meal.
I vowed that I would not be convinced the next time she took a turn for the worse. I would send for a doctor, for a medic, even. I did not need to send all the way back to Rome—I would simply have Caius or Marcus ride to the town a half day’s journey away. Surely they would have a medical expert of some sort.
If either of the men would go, that was. As Marcus had said, they had given their word to my husband that they would care for me, that they would not leave my side, and that was exactly what they did.
It was maddening. Wherever I went, one of them was ten paces behind me. They slept in shifts, so that one was always awake to watch over me as I slept. They even hovered outside the door while I used the chamber pot, and since I was with child, that was quite often.
I knew that they did not think me that much in danger. The revolt led by Spartacus had almost certainly been a freak occurrence. No, they did not think I was in danger . . . but they had given their word, and they would be true to it or die.
Truthfully, though I would have enjoyed just a moment’s peace, knowing that I was well and truly alone, I was somewhat impressed with their unwavering attention to their vow. Not all men would have taken their duties that seriously.
I might have found the company pleasant, but for two things. The first was that, since Drusilla was sick and the four of us were alone in the house, I had to learn to do things that I had never before been expected to take on. Cooking, cleaning, washing up—I was the only other woman, and so it was my duty.
I made many mistakes. I did not appreciate an audience in the direct vicinity when I made bread that was flat and hard, or when I tried to make up a bed. I knew that I could have sent back to Rome, appealed to Lucius, and he would have sent one of our other girls to help me—Marina, most likely. But then Drusilla would have been expected to return to the ludus herself, and I knew very well that Lucius would force her back to her regular duties immediately, regardless of how sick she was.
I would much rather learn to do these things myself and let her rest, let her
heal from whatever sickness this was. It did not seem to be contagious, so I was not concerned that the rest of us would fall ill. We did not need more help.
The second reason that I wanted some time alone was simply to gain some relief. Being in the company of one or both men whom I cared for so deeply, whom I wanted so very much, was nearly driving me insane, especially since neither of them made any move to touch me.
I found myself in a constant state of arousal. My skin would hum with nerves while I baked bread, and my nipples would contract when linens from the wash brushed against them. I was wet nearly all the time, and I dreamt of one or both men bending me over a table and taking me from behind.
Four evenings after we had arrived, the two gladiators and I sat in one of the large rooms facing the sea. Drusilla had been well enough to come downstairs, to eat a meal, but she had tired quickly and was now back in bed.
If the men found it strange that I would let my slave girl rest, that I would take the chores upon myself, they did not say it. This I appreciated. I did not feel like explaining myself. I had eaten a meal, too, but I was still hungry. I found that I was nearly always hungry now, now that I was sharing my food with the baby inside of me.
Rising, I moved across the room to where I had placed a platter of fruit earlier in the day. My fingers danced among the pile of figs, finding one that was plump and sweet with juice. Taking in hand the small knife that I had also set on the tray, I cut into the fig, intending to cut it into slices to savor on my tongue.
The metal of the blade sliced into my finger. With a shout and a curse, I raised my finger to my mouth, but the flow of blood was heavier than I thought it would be. Holding the finger out in front of me, I saw that the cut was deeper than I expected, as well.
I had never been one to feel faint at the sight of blood, but I had never had to contend with a wound myself, either. So I simply stood, the finger held out in front of me, dumbfounded.
I had no idea what to do, as the blood dripped to the floor in fat wet drops.
Both Caius and Marcus were by my side before I could again cry out.
Marcus took my hand in his, inspecting the finger, not at all taken aback by the blood. I supposed that compared with some of the wounds he had sustained in the arena, this was nothing more than a small scratch. But he treated it as if it would be fatal to me, barking at Caius to get a cloth.
Marcus squeezed the finger tightly in his palm, again not seeming to notice the blood that smeared his palm.
When Caius returned with the cloth, Marcus wrapped it carefully around my finger, then my hand. It looked rather as if my hand had been mummified, and I laughed weakly at the sight.
Marcus ran a hand over my hair then, and the gesture reminded me of the caring with which he had touched Caius after the other man’s injury at the party.
“Marcus.” Caius’ voice was a growl, a very clear warning. I looked to him, my feelings bruised.
“It was all right for you to touch me, so long as my husband decreed it?” I felt my temper begin to rise. “But if Marcus touches me willingly, it is not permitted? No matter that it is what I want?”
The tears overflowed, hot and filled with the beginnings of anger. I could not see Marcus’ face from where I stood beneath his chin, my hand still held in his own. But I could see Caius, and he appeared stricken. Angry, even, but with himself, not me.
I had hit the heart of the matter like a blade driving home. In a fit of emotion that I refused to attribute to my being with child, I decided that I was sick of the pair of them.
“I am going to my room. And I am going alone.” I was furious. I was sick of being a pawn in the game of men. Yanking my hand from Marcus’ grip, I shoved through the hard wall of muscle that the two men created just by being there. I would make sure that Drusilla had everything she needed, and then I would close myself in my room. At that moment, I did not care if I saw either gladiator again. I did not care if I saw my husband, either.
I simply wanted to be left alone. Life would be easier that way.
I was not pleased to hear a knock outside my door an hour later.
I ignored it.
It persisted.
I was tired, I was sore, and I was still hungry, though I would damn myself before I descended the stairs to find something to eat. My finger no longer bled, nor did it much hurt, but knowing how it would hurt when doing chores the next day made me cross. The knock only reminded me of just why I was in such low spirits, and so I gritted my teeth and yanked the curtain that separated my chamber from the hall hard enough that it tore off its hangings.
Marcus stood on the other side, his face set in the stony stillness that was habitual for him.
“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” My voice was as icy as the water of the sea outside.
He nodded, but the nod seemed to have nothing to do with my words. “Come with me, if you would, Domina.”
“I want to be alone. Perhaps I did not make that clear.” I stepped forward, meant to brush past him and use this interruption as an excuse to head downstairs and find something to eat.
Instead I found myself lifted off of my feet. I squawked, an entirely unflattering sound, and threw my arms around his neck for fear of being dropped.
“What are you doing? Put me down now.” I imbued my voice with every ounce of authority that I had. I was furious.
I might have been mistaken, but I thought that I detected just the ghost of a smile around Marcus’ lips as he merely shifted my weight in his arms and began to walk down the hall, toward the room where he had been sleeping.
“I cannot do that, Domina. Apologies.” I let loose with another sound of frustration, but I realized quite quickly that my protests were futile.
This man was a beast made of muscle. He could do as he liked with me, and nothing I said or did could make a difference.
I subsided into bitterness. “No doubt my husband gave you more orders.” It was a cheap shot and I knew it, but the man did not seem particularly disturbed by it. Rather he cocked an eyebrow, and continued the rest of the way to his room.
I turned my head away, determined to be stubborn. I did not fear him, but nor was I interested in the reason that he had hauled me here. At least, that is what I told myself. But I again found my choice taken away when Marcus adjusted me so that my weight was supported by one arm. His free hand took my chin in strong fingers and turned my face so that I had to look into the expanse of the room.
I blinked at what I saw. The bed looked to be made with fresh sheets, clumsily made, but still clean. Surrounding the bed were fat pillars of wax that burned bright at their tips, the bright orange flames dancing in the dusky air provided by the rising moon.
Marcus released my chin. I turned to look up into his face, found him looking back at me with a question that remained unspoken.
“What . . . what is this?” My voice shook.
His was solemn. “I have wanted you since the first moment that I saw you. I told myself that I could not have you unless you asked, unless you started things. I have tried to abide by this, but it seems that it has not made you happy.”
I could not believe he had seen this, understood it.
“So I am taking a turn and asking you now. We cannot be together forever, we both know this. But we can be together here and now. So I ask if you will lie with me.” Uncertainty trickled over those strong, sure features, just for a moment, and it astounded me.
I could not believe that it had been caused by me, that I had been the one to break through the shields of the gladiator.
I was humbled.
“Yes.” As if there was anything else I could have said. “Yes, I will lie with you.”
There was a hint of a smile, which I now understood was an expression of great joy in this stoic man.
He carried me to the bed, laid me down gently on top of sh
eets that smelled of soap and the sea.
I was overjoyed. This, this was what I wanted, to be held in the arms of someone so strong who yet was soft for me. Someone to whom I did not have to tell my wishes or desires, because he already knew them.
If I was still not completely satisfied, if I still felt that something was missing, I chose to ignore it. I would be happy with what I had.
I stretched on the bed, inhaling the intoxicating scent of candle wax and the smoke that danced around the flames as the pillars burned.
Marcus stood beside the bed, looking down at me intently. Slowly, slowly, he raised his fingers to the strings of his subligaculum. I watched avidly, my skin beginning to flush, as he deftly untied them and let the soft, worn skin drop to the floor.
He stood there, proud and naked. I wanted him to come to me of his own accord, but now I understood something.
It was a show of respect for me that he would not approach me unless I asked. It was not so very hard to ask, knowing that.
I stretched an arm out to him, waited for him to take my hand in his. He came easily, sitting at the side of the bed with a grace that reminded me of who and what he was.
Bending at the waist, he kissed me softly on the lips. His hands toyed with the long strands of my hair, then traveled down over the hills of my breasts and over my belly.
There he stopped, his palms splayed over the swollen flesh. My stomach did not look quite so big against the hugeness of him.
He looked at my belly, then looked at me. I knew he wondered, as I did, if the child growing inside was his.
There was a choked noise from the direction of the doorway. I turned quickly, my head craning, and saw Caius standing just on the inside of the curtain. I had not heard him approach, so wrapped up in Marcus had I been.
I flinched, waiting for his anger, or at the very least his unhappiness, at what he saw before him. But instead he approached the bed, slowly, hesitantly.
“Apologies for my behavior earlier.” He kept his gaze fastened to mine, his eyes so bright and so blue that I felt they might sear my skin. When he cast me that crooked smile, I felt something hitch in the depths of my belly.
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