Her Roman's Hand

by Catherine Chernow

Soon, she slumped against him and settled into a dreamless slumber.

  * * * *

  Much later, Lyla’s eyelids fluttered open. She squinted against the bright sun that shone through a lone window.

  When she could focus, she noticed she lay on a bed in a small room that contained a table, a chair, and nothing else. She glanced upwards at a small window. No glass pane covered it. No curtain blew in the breeze. The opening was small and as bare as the sparse furnishings.

  She heard sounds outside. Men, women and children spoke in some odd language, the cadence and pitch of their voices something Lyla thought she should know, but couldn’t comprehend. Footsteps echoed on the pavement, mingling with the sounds of horses and other animals. A bird’s shrill cry filled her ears. Then it disappeared.

  She waited, hoping to hear some traffic noise. Somewhere in the distance, a horn trumpeted.

  Her shoulders slumped when she realised it was not a car horn blast, but an animal’s call. Perhaps it was an elephant…

  Sweat trickled down her chest. The hot weather made her think Mark held her captive in the Middle East, but the foreign tongue everyone spoke didn’t sound Arabic.

  Then again, it could be some elaborate ploy to confuse her. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

  Just as she slid her legs from the bed, a door slid open.

  She held her breath, her eyes seeking something she could grab to throw at the intruder.

  A young woman stuck her head inside the room. She spoke in halting English. “You’re awake.” She nodded. “My master was starting to worry.”

  “Who is your master?” Lyla ventured to ask.

  The girl’s face split into a wide grin. “His Excellency, Marcus Fla—”

  “Marcus,” Lyla repeated. She narrowed her eyes. “You mean, Mark Hardin, don’t you?”

  The young woman angled her head, her face thoughtful. “I know no one by that name, but my master is his Excellency, Marcus Flavius Valerius.”

  Lyla glanced at the open door. If she could just tip that basket the girl held between her hands and create a diversion…

  The aroma of warm bread drifted by her nose. It made her stomach rumble. Okay, so she’d make her escape after she ate.

  The basket contained bread and an assortment of fruits and cheese. She sniffed the air, a delicious, tangy scent filling her senses, as well as something that smelt like a roasted pepper.

  When she glanced at the basket again, she noticed a small container filled with plump, little red peppers, nestled in red sauce. She wondered if they were as hot as they appeared, for they were like the tiny, spicy cherry peppers she purchased in a jar back home.

  The attention to detail, to what she liked, made her wary. How did this girl know she liked spicy food? Had Mark told her?

  “My master said you’d probably be hungry, but if I brought you that stuffed dormouse like I did to him yesterday he’d¼“ The girl stopped talking, and placed the basket on a table near the bed, but not before Lyla noticed the high colour in the young woman’s cheeks.

  Lyla ripped a piece of the warm, rustic-looking bread from a loaf. She chewed and swallowed, closing her eyes, savouring the flavour. It was soft on the inside, crusty on the outside.

  She reached for a grape, its juicy goodness sliding down her parched throat.

  The young girl poured some liquid into a cup that resembled and smelt like wine.

  Lyla just looked at it.

  “Go on,” the girl told her. “Drink it. You must be thirsty.”

  Right. Sure. Maybe it’s drugged! Lyla continued to stare at it, biting down hard on her lower lip. But the more she looked at it, the thirstier she became.

  Dehydration overshadowed doubt. She sipped the liquid at first. It tasted like sour grape juice, with a few sweet undertones.

  “I gave you the watered down wine, I thought the other would go right to your head, after what you’ve been through.”

  “You know what happened to me?” Lyla took another draught of the wine.

  The girl angled her head. “Of course, I do.” She looked at Lyla’s hands. “Do your wrists feel better?”

  Lyla noticed that the redness, bruising and swelling seemed to have faded somewhat.

  “They do feel better,” she murmured.

  “How about that cut?”

  Lyla lifted her arm, noticing a small strip of clean linen covering the nasty wound Corvus inflicted with his lash.

  “That seems fine.”

  “My master tended to your wounds himself.”

  “He did?” She coughed when a piece of bread lodged in her throat. The girl patted her back and handed her the cup. Lyla gulped down the tangy drink, loosening the dry bread in her throat.

  The girl smiled. “My master always does what he promises.”

  This man, Mark…Marcus…or whatever everyone deemed to call him, seemed an odd mix. His kindness kept her off balance, making her forget his dominant nature and his inspection of her body in Corvus’ prison.

  Her face heated when she thought about how much she enjoyed his touch, and their lovemaking in his litter. Perhaps her body also responded to his kindness, for he had rescued her, after all.

  Lyla tipped her head to one side, suddenly curious about the young woman. “How come you got so embarrassed before?” She reached for some cheese, enjoying its gooey, runny goodness and salty flavour.

  She hoped the young girl wouldn’t tell her that Mark examined her in the same way he did Lyla. She feared for this girl, but if she were honest, the little twinge of jealousy nipping at her heart is what bothered her more.

  The young woman placed her hand over hers. “Here. Allow me. It is better if you spread the cheese on the bread.” She did so and placed the bread in Lyla’s hand.

  She wolfed it down, following it with several sips of wine.

  “My master said I could not give you the stuffed dormouse, or he’d beat me.”

  The hairs on the back of Lyla’s neck rose. “He beats you if you disobey?”

  The girl nodded, her face colouring again.

  Oh, boy.

  “I had trouble sitting the last time he did,” the young girl murmured.

  Lyla thought she might have misunderstood. If she heard the young woman correctly, it actually sounded like this girl’s master spanked her.

  Her pussy throbbed.

  An image popped into her mind of her own body draped over Mark’s hard thighs. It made her heart race. She had to think about something else to blot out her erotic thoughts.

  Maybe she could pump this girl for information, and use it to aide her escape from this wretched place. Although, when she glanced around the room, she determined that it wasn’t so terrible. In fact, it appeared rather pleasant, even if the furnishings were sparse.

  No! She couldn’t be taken in by her surroundings. Mark probably planned it all to make it seem better, when in reality she was nothing more than his prisoner, like she had been with that man Corvus.

  She had just traded up, but not for freedom.

  “What did you do to earn such a punishment?” Lyla asked, hoping to distract the girl. She glanced at the door, calculating the exact time she could run through it…

  “I was very young when I came here—eighteen.”

  Thoughts of escape flew from her brain. “You were only eighteen?” Lyla’s eyes widened.

  The girl pushed some long, brown hair behind one ear. “Yes. I was not happy, either.”

  “I can imagine,” Lyla replied, deciding to munch on a grape, curiosity winning over her need to escape in that minute.

  “My master had rescued me from a very evil man.”

  “Who?”

  “Corvus. He is a vile, hateful creature. He sells women into prostitution.”

  Lyla’s brow went up. “And this Marcus person got you away from him?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you are still a prisoner. Here. In Marcus’ house.”

  The young girl shook her head. �
��I’m not. I am his servant.”

  “Not much difference.” Lyla snorted.

  The young girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, but there is!” She sat down on the bed next to Lyla. “My master has tutored me in many different things.” Her smile grew wide. “He is teaching me languages because he feels I am very smart.”

  “You speak English rather well.”

  The girl nodded. “My master said that I and Decimus were worth teaching this Eeeenglish to. He also says that knowledge separates us from our fellow men. If I can learn how to behave like a noble woman then everyone will believe I am. And with his backing, I can be a great man’s wife some day.” She nodded.

  Lyla rolled her eyes. “A great thing to aspire to.”

  “Aspire? What does that mean?”

  Lyla batted the air with her hand. “Forget it. So tell me, how did you earn your punishment that time?”

  “I missed my family very much. I am from Greece. I wanted to go back to them.”

  “Understandable.” Lyla nodded.

  “Yes, but I had to realise that I would never see them again, and that my master’s home would be mine, as well. I ran away, determined not to accept what had happened to me. I made it from the house and into the street. A platoon of soldiers headed right towards me. They stop for nothing and no one. I-I would have been trampled.”

  “Someone rescued you?”

  “The master.” The young girl sighed. “And punished me swiftly. I have never forgotten it.” She shifted on the bed, lifting one butt cheek, then the other. Her face grew pink. “He told me I had placed myself in great danger, and for that, I had to be chastised.”

  Lyla’s bottom tingled. She wondered if her face seemed as red as the girl’s. Her cunt was damp, too. Stupid. Why am I reacting this way?

  How strange, I would have thought he’d kill her. Instead, he spanks her for putting her life in jeopardy.

  “What’s your name?” popped from Lyla’s mouth.

  “Appia.”

  “That’s lovely.”

  Appia rose from the bed. Lyla grabbed her hands and placed them in her own.

  “Don’t let him sell you to another man. Fight it. Fight him,” Lyla said through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re young, but old enough to decide for yourself. Don’t allow your master to give you to another man. You can make your own choices.”

  “Wh-what do you mean? How can I possibly choose?”

  “You’re allowing your master to give you to someone you don’t know. What if this other man hurts you or—”

  “I trust my master. His friend is interested in me. Any true ally of my master will take care of me.”

  Lyla sighed. “Don’t fall for it.”

  For just a second, the girl looked like she considered her words.

  The perfect opportunity surfaced for Lyla to voice her other idea. She lowered her voice. “Appia, how about you and I escape this horrid place together? You could see your family again.”

  Appia’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious?”

  “I am.”

  Lyla glanced upwards, at the window. “Give me a leg up.”

  “A what?”

  “Cup your hands together, like this.” Lyla turned her hands palm up then laced her fingers together. “You’ll be making a kind of step for me. I’ll use it to hoist myself through the window.”

  Appia shook her head. “That window is too small.”

  “Nonsense. It’ll be fine.”

  “Mistress, this is not a good idea.”

  “Fine, if you’re not going to help me, I’ll find some other way,” Lyla huffed. She looked around the small room, deciding to move the bed closer to the wall.

  “Now what are you doing?” Appia angled her head.

  Lyla stood on the bed and placed her hands on the window ledge. She hoisted herself up, hanging onto the sill and poked her head through the opening. Outside on the crowded street, she saw men, women, and children all dressed in odd tunics and capes. They strode along like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  How she envied them.

  She gripped the ledge tighter. Soon, half her body draped over the windowsill. She looked down and dizziness washed over her.

  She was two stories up!

  “Mistress, please come down.”

  She wanted to. No way in hell she could jump into the street without breaking her leg, or neck or…

  She tried to slide her body backwards but soon realised she couldn’t nudge her hips through the opening. Again, she attempted to push herself backwards. “Appia, p-pull on my legs.”

  The girl tugged on her ankles.

  “Ow!” Lyla grimaced. “Not so hard.”

  “Mistress, you’re going to get hurt. I think this escape is—”

  “Not happening,” came the sound of a deep, male voice.

  Lyla cringed when she heard Mark.

  “Appia, you may leave,” he commanded the young woman.

  Shit!

  She heard Appia’s departing footsteps.

  Lyla wiggled her hips, hoping to dislodge them from the tight space.

  “Very nice,” Mark intoned, patting her ass. A chuckle followed.

  Her face heated. Sweat popped out on her forehead. It dripped down her face.

  Mark’s hands lingered on her tunic. Soon, he pushed it up, trailing his fingers along her skin. He grabbed her calves. “I should really let you stay up there.”

  “Fine! Go ahead.” Embarrassment crashed over her in simmering waves.

  “Have it your way.”

  Her eyes widened when she heard his footsteps.

  “Don’t leave me up here!” She glanced down at the street. Her head spun.

  “Then ask me nicely.”

  “Please, get me down,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He tugged on her calves, giving them a hard pull. Her hips finally slid through the narrow opening.

  “Ow!” she cried as her body scraped the sides.

  Mark caught her around the waist and eased her down on the bed.

  She collapsed onto it, rubbing her right hip then her left one.

  “Let me see.” He started to hike up her tunic.

  She slapped his hand away.

  He raised a brow. “You had no trouble baring yourself to me in the litter.”

  “Th-that was different.”

  “Really?” He rose to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “How so?” His mouth lifted in a wry grin.

  “Go on.” Tears filled her eyes. “Make fun of me. What do I care?”

  He raised her chin with the tip of his index finger. “I am not making sport of you, Lyla.”

  She pushed his finger away. “What happened in the litter¼”

  “Make no excuse for your desire,” he murmured. “I enjoyed it, and I know you did, too. There was no harm in relieving your, um, distress.”

  “My distress is just beginning.” She’d enjoyed what happened in the litter far more than what she cared to admit. To him. She still didn’t trust him totally.

  “While I would love to argue with you, this morning’s incident will not be debated.” He scowled. “Foolish woman, even if you made it through that small window you would have broken your neck on the pavement below. What were you thinking?”

  “I guess I wasn’t. Thinking, that is.”

  “Desperation makes people do stupid things. I would hope that you could learn to trust me and—”

  She bounded from the bed. “Trust you?” she ground out. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because right now, I’m your only friend.”

  “Some friend,” she muttered. “You bought me, then—”

  “Should I have allowed you to languish in Corvus’ prison? Or maybe, I should have let some other man, someone who doesn’t possess my patience, buy you?”

  “Now I’m in your prison.”

  “Correction. You are in my home. That is a
far cry from prison.”

  “Your home. Prison. What does it matter?” she retorted. “You’re still the warden.”

  “However you wish to view me is your choice.”

  “Hah!” She slashed a hand before her. “You told me I have to obey you, therefore, I have no say or choice.”

  “Let me put it to you this way. If you continue to try to escape, I will take you in hand. That you have no say in.”

  She balled her hand into a fist at her side.

  He glanced at her hand. “Don’t.” He shook his head. “It will go badly for you if you hit me.”

  She hated that he saw through her so easily. “I guess you’ll punish me the same way you do your other slaves.” She lifted her chin defiantly, but her face burned just the same. Thinking about him spanking that young girl, of him doing the same thing to her, made her pussy beat in time with her racing pulse.

  He cocked his head, studying her. “You seem to be very interested in punishment.”

  “Not in the least,” she lied.

  “Uh, huh.” A wicked grin lit his face.

  She opened her mouth to reply then closed it, fear snaking down her spine. Her back tingled with it. She was more afraid of her reaction to his sheer maleness than anything else.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but I repeat—if you continue to try to escape, I’ll be forced to take action.”

  Her body betrayed her when she thought about him beating her ass the way he beat Appia’s. Her clit throbbed again.

  He stepped away from her.

  She felt relief for the small distance between them. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned his face. A dark, purple bruise lined one side of his jaw. She pointed to his chin. “What happened?” She reached out to touch it, the need to soothe the ugly mark on his strong, angular jaw making her act without thinking.

  He grabbed her finger then engulfed her hand in his. She marvelled at how pale hers seemed, locked in his large tanned one. His olive-tone skin gleamed in the light coming in from the window up above.

  Her hand shook.

  Slowly, Mark drew it towards his mouth. He placed a small, tender kiss on the sensitive skin beneath the underside of her thumb.

  She sucked in a breath and swore she could feel the kiss in her breasts and pussy.

  “Would that your concern for me be genuine,” he murmured. “I would move the skies above to get you away from here and back where you belong.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I want you to know that I have the book in my possession.”