Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  Galen punched Otto’s shoulder. “A German looking for a fight. Me, I’m just a friendly man who wants to make them the envy of their friends when they ride one of our horses. If they were going into battle, you’re the one they’d want in armor beside them.”

  Otto’s frown flipped into a grin. Galen was right. He was more than a foot taller than his Roman friend. Galen was much too short to serve in one of the elite cohorts of a Roman legion. He was so short they wouldn’t even take him into the lowest cohort unless it was a dire emergency that suspended the recruiting rules. Otto would hate being shorter than all the other men. Even most German women were taller than Galen.

  Funny how Galen didn’t seem to care about being a runt among giants. His usual response was a shrug and “it’s the heart, not the height, that matters.”

  Otto nudged his horse, and they started toward the vendor campground. “Probably, but if they watched you sparring, they’d want you just as much. After years training with your brother-in-law, we’re both good enough to beat anyone.”

  A corner of Galen’s mouth lifted. “And one of us is wise enough not to be trying to prove it to strangers.”

  Chapter 3: The Chieftain’s Daughter

  A drunken German stumbled into the road ahead of Galen, and he reined in to let the man cross. Raucous laughter came from a canopy pitched by the roadside.

  Otto’s gaze focused on the tables where men were drinking and gambling. “Let’s stop.”

  Galen’s eyebrows rose as he scanned the motley collection of men under the canopy. Some were merely drinking. Others were focused on the women serving the drinks. Some at the tables seemed sober and much too attentive to the drunks casting dice with them.

  “Maybe not the best idea to take the horse money into a den of thieves and scoundrels.”

  Otto pushed on his shoulder. “Don’t be such a cautious old woman. No one knows what we’re carrying.” A grin split his face. “Besides, I’ll protect you.”

  Galen returned the grin. That was often the best way to deflect Otto from an unwise course. “If we don’t go in, I won’t need protecting.”

  “But I can’t win at dice if I don’t play, and a few beers will wash the taste of the Romans from my mouth. I’m stopping.”

  Otto’s jaw set, the sure sign he wouldn’t listen to reason.

  Galen rubbed the back of his neck. “If you want to gamble for a while, go ahead, but let the cautious old woman hold most of the horse money. Some of those are probably sneak-thieves, and it’s easy to get so focused on the game they can take a purse without you feeling it.”

  Otto’s head tilted as Galen’s words struck home. He took ten denarii out of the large purse, dumped them into the smaller purse tied to his belt, and handed the horse money to Galen.

  “You got the money for Father; you may as well guard it.”

  Galen loosened his belt and slipped Otto’s purse under his shirt. He tied it to his money belt before lowering the shirt and buckling his belt over it to hold it in place. “I’ll go on to the western vendor camp and find us a good spot.”

  As Otto prepared to dismount, Galen slapped his shoulder. “Don’t stay too long, big man. I’m hungry already, and I don’t want to wait too late to eat.” His mouth started to open, but he shut it before his next thoughts escaped. Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to answer to your father if I let you get into trouble. Or to Val, either.

  One corner of Otto’s mouth lifted. “You’re always hungry. How can you eat as much as me and not get fat?”

  Galen grinned back. “Maybe I need more since I have to take more steps than a giant like you to walk the same distance.” His mouth straightened. “Seriously, watch your back. You can’t trust the men here, and I won’t be with you to cover you.”

  Otto squared his massive shoulders. “You sound like Father. I’ve had twenty-one birthdays. I’m a man, not a boy. I can take care of myself in a fight.”

  “But maybe I can’t. I’m carrying enough money to be a tempting target. Anyway, don’t stay too long. My stomach’s growling already.”

  Otto tossed his reins to Galen and sauntered away, giving him one backhanded wave before pushing into the crowd of men surrounding the gambling tables.

  Galen nudged his horse and headed for the vendor camp, leaving Otto to carouse and gamble. His lips tightened as he shook his head. Val and Baldric were right. Otto towered over most people, but his best friend had some growing up to do before he’d truly be a man.

  Otto drained his fifth tankard of beer…or maybe his sixth…and raised it to catch the attention of the serving girl. As she refilled it, he scooped up the dice and shook them.

  “The dice are not your friends today, Gundahar. Too bad. I guess we quit now with all your coins in my purse.” He tried to hold back the grin, but it leaked out anyway.

  Gundahar rubbed his chin. “You owe me one more chance to win it back. I have something worth much more than what you’ve won from all of us.” His mouth twitched as he turned to the man standing behind him. “Bring the girl.” Turning back to Otto, his eyes narrowed as a friendly smile curved his lips. “I’m short on money, but I have just the thing to cover my bet. It’s worth many times over the coins in your purse. One roll each, winner take all.”

  Adela pulled against the lead rope tied to the leather strip that bound her wrists, but her captor was much stronger. He dragged her under a canopy and past a cluster of men who eyed her hungrily. Rough hands gripped her shoulders and shoved her up to a table.

  The kidnapper called Gundahar gripped her arm. “This one is especially valuable because she used to be a chieftain’s daughter. I guarantee that she was a virgin when I got her. I checked myself.”

  Gundahar turned his face toward her. “Isn’t that so, pretty thing?”

  Adela squared her shoulders as she drew herself up to her full height. “It is, and my father will find me and skin you alive for taking me. If you’re wise, you’ll return me without delay. Then he might spare your life.”

  Her stomach clenched. What did he mean about checking her himself? She couldn’t remember him or anyone else touching her, but somehow she got into the slave tunic. What else did he do while she was knocked out? She shoved the thought to the back of her mind. The daughter of a chieftain is always brave. Never show weakness. He mustn’t suspect she’d been scared half out of her wits for the last three days.

  He drew a finger down her cheek, and she snapped her head sideways, teeth poised to bite him. An ugly laugh met her failure to catch his hand.

  “I’m faster than you, pretty thing.” His eyes narrowed. “Meaner, too, so be careful.”

  She forced her eyes to meet his, but the cold laughter she saw there convinced her he saw the fear she was struggling to hide.

  “The pretty daughter of a chieftain should know how a slave shows respect to its owner. You’ll learn to do it quick enough.”

  Gundahar turned back to the man sitting across the table from him. “The son of a chieftain should know what to do with the daughter of one.”

  Adela kept up the courageous mask as she turned her eyes on the young man.

  He was brawny and much taller than most. Strikingly handsome as well. A mane of blonde hair and a trimmed beard. Piercing blue eyes that were dulled by the drink. A proud man who might just be the son of a chieftain. His eyes as he gazed at her didn’t look mean, but looks could be deceiving. Still, she’d rather be with him than the kidnapper. He might be won over to let her go, or she might be able to escape. Especially if he got drunk enough. He was close to that now.

  The big man shook his head. “I don’t need a slave. I’d rather have a good horse…but she is very pretty, so maybe this time I’ll let you use her to cover the bet.”

  Gundahar leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead, make your play.”

  The big man shook the dice and let them roll. He won. A sappy grin split his face as he looked first at Gundahar, then her. “I
guess I need a pretty slave after all. What’s her name?”

  Gundahar shrugged. “Whatever you want to call her.”

  She raised her head high. “I am Adela, daughter of Adalmar, chieftain of the Hermunduri. It is now you who must return me to my father.”

  The big man tilted his head as he watched her without uttering a word. She saw no fire of cruel anticipation in his drink-dulled eyes. It might prove to be a very good thing that he’d won her.

  Gundahar picked up the dice and shook them. “The dice haven’t been kind tonight. Let’s play tabula instead.” He snapped his fingers and held out his hand to the man behind him. The man placed some coins in it. “Give me a chance to win some back.”

  The big man turned his eyes on Gundahar. “Set up the board.”

  Adela watched them moving the colored slices of bone on the grid carved into the plank of wood. The play went back and forth, with the big man winning more than he lost.

  She’d almost figured out what seemed to be the rules when Gundahar rested his arms on the table and leaned in.

  “At the gaming table, you’re as good as I’ve played in a long time. Are you as good with a sword?”

  The big man took another swig of beer. “Good? That’s not the word for it. There’s none better. How many do you know who can fight two at once and disarm them both in less than ten strokes?”

  Gundahar’s eyebrows rose. “Two at once?”

  The big man took another drink. “In less than ten strokes.”

  “That I would like to see.” Gundahar’s smile started small and broadened.

  The big man grinned. “Many would.”

  Gundahar rubbed his chin. “Want another drink before the next round?”

  Big man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why not?”

  Galen sat by the fire pit, waiting. The wood and kindling were laid, ready to light as soon as Otto appeared. The problem was he hadn’t. It had been more than two hours. He should have come by now.

  A deep sigh escaped his lips before he tightened them. Keep Otto out of trouble. That’s what Val had said. That’s what Val always said when they headed out with horses to trade. Did she have any idea what that took sometimes? He and Otto were the same age, best friends for fourteen of their twenty-one years. So why was Otto still more like an impetuous youth than a grown man when some temptation dangled in front of him? Whether it was gambling, fighting, or getting drunk, Otto would leap right in if Galen didn’t hold him back.

  Galen rose and strolled over to the hobbled horses. He squatted and removed the hobbles from his stallion. The horse bumped him hard with his head, making Galen sidestep quickly to catch his balance.

  “You trying to cause me trouble, too, Astrelo?” The horse bumped him again, begging for a nose rub. Galen rewarded his persistence. “Time to break camp for a while, boy.” He threw his saddle on Astrelo’s back and cinched it. Then he unhobbled and resaddled Otto’s horse. Anything he left behind might not be there when he returned.

  He jumped to get his stomach on Astrelo’s back before swinging his leg across the stallion’s rump. As he settled in the saddle, he reached forward and patted the horse’s neck. “Let’s go pull Otto out of that gambling den while he still has some money left.” One more pat. “I swear, you have more sense than he does.”

  As he rode past Otto’s bay, he leaned and scooped up its reins. Even Otto’s horse had more sense.

  Galen dismounted at the hitching rail beside the canopy. He tied Otto’s stallion’s reins to the cross bar. Astrelo would stay with his reins simply dropped to the ground. He’d only scanned half the tables when he heard Otto call.

  “Galen. Over here.”

  Too many eyes turned on Galen as he walked past the tables in the front to the one where Otto half-stood and waved at him.

  Otto had four stacks of coins in front of him worth at least five times the ten denarii he’d started with. Galen scanned the faces of the others at the table. None looked happy, and the man with blond hair and a scraggly beard who sat across from Otto had a fake smile pasted on.

  A tabula board sat between them, and a quick glance revealed Otto was winning.

  Galen rested his hand on Otto’s shoulder. “I thought you’d be coming before this. Almost through?”

  “We’re in the middle of a match. I can’t leave yet.” Otto grinned. “Gundahar has some coins I need to win back.” Otto’s speech was slurred.

  Galen felt the coldness behind Gundahar’s smile as the gambler’s gaze swept him from head to foot and back. This man was not to be trusted, and Otto was too drunk to see it. Galen rubbed his cheek. “Looks like you’ve more than tripled what you started with. Maybe it’s time to declare victory and come eat.”

  Otto chuckled. “You’re always hungry, but there’s plenty of beer here to fill an empty stomach.” He offered Galen his tankard. “Try some.”

  Galen took a sip. “It’s good, but I’d rather eat.” He picked up the biggest stack of coins. “Better for you to come eat, too. Let’s take your winnings and go.”

  Otto slapped his shoulder. “I’m not ready to quit. But you can take some of what I’ve won.” He separated ten denarii from the pile and shoved the rest toward Galen.

  Galen scooped up the coins and dropped them into the purse hanging from his belt. It was risky to have so many see him take that much money, but arguing with Otto would draw even more eyes.

  A woman stood behind Otto with her hands bound. Otto twisted in his chair to pick up a rope. He gave it a tug, and she was forced to step closer to the table.

  “This is Adela from...I forget where.” A sappy grin split his face. “I won her. She’s much prettier than a horse.”

  Galen’s eyes widened as he raised his eyebrows. Much prettier than a horse? That might be the greatest understatement he’d ever heard. Enormous ice-blue eyes flashed with anger. Flaxen hair swirled around a face of perfect symmetry. Gracefully arched eyebrows, chiseled cheekbones. Full lips that Otto would describe as irresistibly kissable were set in a determined line. A threadbare slave’s tunic with a tear at the neckline revealed too much of her curvaceous figure. Scarcely longer than a tall man’s shirt, the tunic provided a heart-pumping view of a pair of legs with graceful curves in all the right places.

  His hand covered his mouth and pulled down across his chin as he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Baldric’s family had never owned slaves. Many times, he’d heard Baldric’s scathing comments about the Romans who thought of their slaves as no more than work animals or living household furniture. What was he going to do when Otto brought one home? Especially a stunning beauty like this girl.

  Otto offered the rope and shook it a little when Galen didn’t immediately take it. Galen forced his tightened lips to relax. Otto could get his back up at the slightest thing when he was drunk.

  When Galen took the rope, the sensation of those arresting blue eyes focusing on him pulled his eyes to hers. The anger had vanished, but was he looking at a mask? Those eyes weren’t placid like a lake. More like the still stretch of a river just before you rounded a bend to find treacherous whitewater.

  “It’s getting late. I’ll take her back and set up camp. Better come soon if you want me to leave any supper for you.”

  Otto grinned and slapped Galen’s shoulder. “You thought me gambling wasn’t a good idea. Just goes to show you...but I’m almost through.”

  Galen tapped Otto’s arm with his knuckles. “Maybe it would be good to slow down the drinking if you’re going to keep gambling.”

  A deep laugh rumbled in Otto’s throat. “Getting drunk is something real men do. I can handle it, Mother.”

  Galen took a deep breath and slowly released it as he scanned the faces around them. Scoundrels and thieves without a doubt. Hanging out with these men when he was roaring drunk was not wise, but there was no way he’d convince Otto of that.

  “See you back at camp.” Galen led the girl over to
the waiting horses. With two spirited horses and one gorgeous girl following behind him, too many eyes were watching. Better to head out the wrong way, then double back.

  He’d have to stay up until Otto came to spell him on watch. He didn’t want an unexpected visitor to relieve him of money, horses, or girl.

  Otto’s drunken guffaw echoed behind him. On second thought, he’d better plan on watching all night. Otto would be worthless as a guard when he finally came.

  Chapter 4: Not What She Expected

  Adela followed the big gambler’s short friend like a docile milk cow. Freedom was getting closer. From three kidnappers to the drunken giant to this man who was shorter than anyone else around the gaming tables―each in turn less able to keep her from escaping. It should be easy to get away from this Galen.

  The gambler’s friend didn’t impress her. He only came up to her eyebrows, and she liked tall men. The taller, the better. His deep, strong voice sounded odd from a man no taller than the boys who were starting their spurt into manhood. Maybe some would think his face handsome, but he looked too Roman. Wavy, dark brown hair with a strand that fell across his forehead, dark brown eyes, nose with a bulge near the top―he looked nothing like the blonde, blue-eyed Germanic warriors who made her pulse jump when they stood close. Well, almost nothing. He was broad-chested, and the forearms bared by his rolled-up sleeves were brawny.

  She admired men who had that hard edge to them, like they were ready to go into battle, ready to fight at the slightest provocation. This short one had no sign of the warrior about him. He smiled and cajoled his big friend rather than telling him to stop gambling and drinking. But that was probably all a short man could do with a man so obviously better than him. His friend had handed over his winnings and her without any argument, but he was still drinking and gambling.

  Adela sucked air between her teeth as something sharp poked into the arch of her foot. Mistake to be watching her captor instead of where she stepped. The kidnapper had stolen her shoes. Her feet weren’t toughened for walking barefoot on rubbish-strewn streets, and this Galen was taking forever to get to their camp. First north, then west, then south―it was like he had no idea where he was going.