Faithful

by Carol Ashby

  She shuffled along behind him. By the time they finally reached a campground, each step was like lifting and swinging a lead weight. Three days of riding followed by three nights of fighting sleep until she heard her captors snoring, then most of this day in the wagon cage with her hands tied to the bars so she couldn’t lie down―she had never been so tired. But she needed to escape before the big one came. Even drunk, he would make it harder to get away.

  She followed Galen past other campsites toward the farthest edge of the camp. Several men waved at him as they passed, but one called him over.

  “Galen, I thought you went for Otto.” A gap-toothed grin split the wrinkled face of the old man. “Did you trade him for this beauty? If I was a young man again, I’d be glad to bargain for this one.”

  Adela struggled to keep her docile look. No man, old or young, had any right to trade her as if she were a horse.

  “She’s not mine to trade, Bruno. Otto won her.”

  Bruno leered and bounced his eyebrows as he scanned her body. “The goddess Fortuna smiled upon him. He’ll want to keep his prize, but you can’t blame an old man for dreaming.”

  It was all Adela could do not to rip into him with razor-edged words, but she held back. Show no anger so the short one won’t be expecting her break for freedom. Like freezing with an arrow nocked and drawn when a stag jerked up its head, waiting for that moment of inattention to return before letting the arrow fly.

  Finally, he stopped by a fire pit with the tinder and logs already set for lighting.

  Galen dropped the horses’ reins and stepped close. He drew his dagger. “Hold out your hands.”

  The fool was going to cut her loose. Adela cast her eyes down. He mustn’t see her excitement as she felt the vibration of the knife sawing on the leather strap between her wrists. She pulled her wrists as far apart as the strap allowed, putting tension on the strip that grew thinner with each pass of the blade.

  Thin enough! She jerked her wrists apart, and the remaining thread of leather snapped. She slammed her fist into his hand, knocking his dagger into the air. She snatched it as it fell and slashed at his throat.

  His head jerked back, and the blade sliced into his cheek. Not too deep, but the blood flowed freely along the length of the cut. Before he could respond, she kicked him strategically as hard as she could. He bent double.

  Adela hurled herself onto the black stallion and drove her heels into his flanks. The horse leaped forward.

  She was free.

  A shrill whistle pierced the air. The stallion stopped and tried to turn back. She fought to keep his head directed forward. Again and again, she drove her bare heels into his flanks, but he refused to budge.

  Another whistle split the air. The stallion’s ears lay back flat against his skull. He fought to turn his head, but she pulled hard on the reins to prevent it. Her strength was no match for his. Snorting and dancing in place, he swung his head back toward the camp.

  Adela jerked the reins to turn him forward again. With an angry snort, he arched his back as he launched himself upward. Her thighs lost their grip, and she lurched sideways as he landed on four stiff legs. Once more, he catapulted skyward, and Adela was hurled into the air. Afraid she might stab herself when she hit, she dropped the dagger. She slammed into the ground, landing flat on her back, shaken to her bones. She gasped for air as the wind was driven from her lungs. Her head smacked into the ground, and stars danced before her eyes. Her eyelids closed as she tried to clear her vision.

  When she reopened them, the short man stood over her. He was reaching down to pull her up.

  Fool. He was in range again. Her hands shot up to claw his eyes.

  With the speed of a striking snake, he grabbed both her wrists before her nails could reach him. He straddled her before sitting on her thighs. His large hands pinned her arms to the ground. She writhed and squirmed and tried to toss him off, but he kept her pinned as if she were no stronger than a child.

  His face leaned closer to hers. “I don’t want to hurt you. Stop fighting.”

  Liar. Of course he wanted to hurt her. She’d cut him and kicked him, and now she was at his mercy. She kept struggling.

  “Adela.”

  She froze when he spoke her name. His voice was quiet, gentle. No one had spoken her name like that since her mother died. Her eyes were drawn to his face.

  Where was the anger? Where was the snarl that should be twisting his lips? They curved up in a slight smile instead. And his eyes―not a trace of anger there, even though dribbles of blood left trails on his cheek below the cut.

  “That’s better. If you stop fighting and promise you won’t try to run, I’ll release you.” The smile got a little bigger. “I’m not going to hurt you, Adela.”

  As she looked deep into those brown eyes, she relaxed. Strange as it seemed, she believed him…almost.

  “I’ll take that as your promise. Don’t break it.”

  He released her arms and rose. Again, he offered his hands to help her up. This time she took them. He pulled her to her feet, then released her.

  She tossed her head as she ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it. Mistake. Her head throbbed where it had smacked into the ground. Her whole body ached from the hard landing. Still, she squared her shoulders and straightened to her full height.

  Her own eyes were level with his hairline. She tilted her head to raise her eyes even higher.

  “I’ll leave if I want to. My father is Adalmar, chieftain of the Hermunduri. My stepsister and I were ambushed by slave traders. Their leader used me to cover his bet with your tall friend. If you take me back to Father, he will pay you handsomely for serving me. It’s only three, maybe four days from here on horseback.”

  The short one shook his head. “I can’t do that. I don’t know whether what you say is true. All I know is that your clothes are those of a slave, and Otto thinks he won you from your rightful owner. Even if I could be sure you’re telling the truth, Otto is the man who can make that decision, not me.”

  “I’m no man’s slave, and you will release me now so I can return to my father.” She thrust her chin out and looked down her nose at him.

  He showed no sign of being impressed by her haughty attitude, and that smile remained.

  “No. I can’t let you go. If I did, some other man would grab you to sell again. But when Otto comes, you can tell us the whole story. I can persuade him to take you back to your home if you can convince us what you claim is true.”

  He kept looking straight into her eyes. Men never kept their eyes on that part of her. He was explaining instead of commanding like he would a child or servant. Or a woman. Hermunduri men didn’t treat her with the kind of respect they’d show another man.

  But that smile might be concealing what he was really thinking. Her eyebrows lowered as she tried to take his measure. No lust burned in his eyes before he spoke again.

  “You know your best chance of getting home is to stay with us. Don’t try to run away if going home is what you want.” His eyes never wavered from her own. “I want you to promise me you won’t.”

  She could see the wisdom of what he was saying, but she didn’t trust him, even with those brown eyes that seemed honest. She’d give no such promise. She stared at him, not uttering a sound.

  He sighed. “Since you won’t give me your word you won’t run, you’ll have to stay tied up when I’m not watching you. When Otto comes, we’ll decide what to do.”

  As Adela glared at him, a shiver vibrated from her head to her ankles. The tunic the kidnapper had put her in was sleeveless and short, reaching not even halfway down her thighs. The fabric was thin and so worn out in places she could almost see through it. The sun was low on the horizon, and it gave little warmth. She rubbed her arms to ward off the chill.

  As he kept his eyes on hers, he whistled. The black stallion with the star-shaped blaze sauntered over to him. He reached into a sack tied at the back of the s
addle and pulled out a brown shirt and pair of pants.

  He held the clothes out to her. “Here. You’ll be warmer in these.”

  She took them without a word. Why would he show her such kindness? She’d tried to kill him. Even now, a little blood oozed from the cut she’d made on his cheek.

  She stepped into the pants and pulled them up, tucking the threadbare tunic in. Then she pulled the long-sleeved shirt over her head. The pant legs didn’t even reach her ankles. The waist was too big, but it fit well enough at the hips. His shoulders were broad, so the shirt enveloped her like a father’s shirt on a child. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, so she rolled them up to her wrists.

  He retrieved his dagger, then picked up her lead rope. He cut off a short length to make a belt and tossed it to her. She tied it on top of the shirt, cinching it at her waist. When she looked at his face again, a broad grin met her gaze.

  “What’s so funny?” A testy edge sharpened her voice.

  “My clothes don’t do a pretty girl like you justice.”

  She scowled. “Don’t think your flattery will get you something from me.”

  His grin mellowed into a simple smile. “I’m not asking for anything.”

  She made no reply. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d never had a compliment before from a man who wasn’t trying to manipulate her.

  “Sit down on the log there. I’ll start us a fire.”

  Adela strolled to the log with head held high. She wasn’t going to let him think she was in any hurry to obey anything he said.

  It took only a few moments before he had it lit. The flickering flames and yellow-hot coals at the base drove away the chill. It was the first time she’d been comfortable since she’d awakened strapped to the horse.

  He lifted the saddles from the horses and carried them over near the fire. From the large sack that held the clothes, he extracted a smaller one. He pulled out a wooden plate, three rolls, and a chunk of cheese.

  Adela’s eyes locked on the food. The kidnappers had given her water, but she hadn’t had a morsel of real food since she’d been taken. She forced herself not to lick her lips. She was not going to ask her captor for anything.

  As he cut the cheese into smaller pieces, he paused and looked up at her. “When did you eat last, Adela?”

  She raised her eyes from the food to his. She swallowed. “Before they took me.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that, but the food was so tempting and she was so hungry...

  He took one piece of cheese and handed her the plate. “Then you should have this.”

  She stared at the plate, then at him. “But what will you eat?”

  He tossed his piece of cheese in the air and caught it with his mouth. “I’ve had it. I eat too much most nights anyway.”

  He left the fire to hobble the horses. The black one nuzzled him, and he stroked its nose and patted its shoulder before returning. He glanced at her often, and she returned his scrutiny.

  A stump stood near the fire, and he settled onto it.

  She stared at the plate and then at him. He’d given her all his food. What was he going to want for it?

  He tipped his head toward the plate. “Go on. Eat.”

  Although she was tempted to gobble it down, she made herself eat slowly, savoring every bite. She sneaked a peek at him. He was staring into the fire, his face relaxed into the slight smile that seemed to be his permanent expression.

  He was treating her too well. He must want something. Men always did.

  Chapter 5: Thieves and Scoundrels

  The final trace of orange faded from the slice of sky visible past the edge of the canopy. Otto drained the last drops of beer from his tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His stack of denarii had grown since Galen left. As he stared at the tabula board, Gundahar shifted a bone rondel between his left and right hands.

  “The horses your short friend had…they were fine animals.”

  Otto shifted his gaze from the board to Gundahar’s face. “Some of the finest in Germania.”

  “I won a beauty yesterday. A fine stallion with markings unlike any I’ve seen before. Nearly black but the mane and tail are pale.”

  Otto’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

  “I have him back at the camp. I’m through here for the night, so come with us and you can see him.”

  Otto scooped up his coins and dropped them into his purse. “Let’s go.”

  He wobbled some when he first stood. “Is it far? Galen’s waiting supper for me in the western vendor camp.”

  “We’re in the southern camp, and it’s close.”

  “Are you thinking of selling him?”

  “Maybe, if the price is right. I don’t raise horses myself.”

  Otto slapped Gundahar’s shoulder. “I do.”

  Gundahar turned to his friend who’d brought the girl. “Let’s take Otto to see the horse.” His smile broadened into a grin. “He’s ready for a new owner.”

  He summoned the man who’d lent him the coins for tabula with a flick of his fingers before turning back to Otto. “Follow me.”

  It was dark by the time they reached the campground. The smell of smoke and roasting meat wafted around Otto as they worked their way past the cookfires.

  Gundahar looked back over his shoulder at Otto. The other two men followed close behind. “Our camp is on the far side, past the bushes. We like it quiet.”

  At the edge of the campground, Otto glanced at a cage mounted on wheels. His mouth turned down. “Is that yours?”

  Gundahar’s eyes flicked toward the cage. “That belongs to the man who owned that slave you won.”

  “Not very big to keep a woman in. She couldn’t lie down.”

  Gundahar shrugged. “He tied her hands to the roof bars, so she couldn’t lie down, anyway.”

  Otto’s frown deepened. “Even a slave should get to sleep.”

  They walked through a narrow opening into a small clearing behind the tall bushes.

  Gundahar’s mouth split in a wicked grin. “And we’re going to help you get some.”

  Otto’s arms were jerked behind him. He bent double, flipping the man gripping his arms over his head. As he straightened, an explosion of pain pulsed through his head, and he collapsed to his knees. Another blow, and he crumpled to the ground.

  A booted foot slammed into his jaw, and Gundahar’s leering face faded to black.

  Adela’s shoulders slumped as she swallowed the last bite of bread. Her eyes kept drifting shut, and she blinked hard as she fought to keep them open.

  Galen’s gaze locked on her. He rose from the stump and approached with hand held out. “Through with the plate?”

  She passed it to him without a word.

  He swept the surface clean with his hand, then returned it to the sack by his saddle. He came back to the fire with a bedroll tucked under his arm.

  Her spine straightened when he unrolled it beside her.

  She forced a scowl to hide her accelerating heart rate. “I’ll kill you if you touch me.”

  His brown eyes were unperturbed as his smile broadened. “I don’t plan to, not that way. You need to sleep before you fall into the fire. But since you didn’t promise not to run, I do have to tie you up.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. Lie down and get comfortable first.”

  Adela’s gaze shifted between the bedroll and his eyes. No threat lurked there. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to sleep deeply. Maybe she could trust him.

  “I won’t try anything. I’m only going to sit by the fire.” He squatted by the bedroll, with her lead rope in his hands. “The sooner you lie down, the sooner you can sleep.”

  Adela pulled a deep breath and took the first step toward trust.

  After she lowered herself onto the bedroll, he bound her ankles, but not so tightly it was uncomfortable. She lay on her back and held her hands out, wri
sts together. Again, the rope was not too tight.

  He flipped the top blanket over her. “Rest in peace, Adela.”

  She didn’t answer.

  With a smile slightly broader than his normal expression, he turned and strolled back to his saddle. When he untied the roll at the back, it opened to reveal a fleece-lined vest. After slipping into it, he resumed his post on the stump.

  As Galen sat by the fire, he faced a dilemma. What were they supposed to do with a slave, if she really was one? If she had been kidnapped, it would be an easy matter to take her home. But what if she hadn’t been? Baldric didn’t own slaves, and he despised the Romans who kept them. He would be furious with Otto for bringing one home to keep. What should they do with her if she didn’t have a father to return to?

  He glanced at her. She was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Otto often let his eyes instead of his head do his thinking. He might just think keeping her was a good idea, even if she had been kidnapped. It was very clear Adela didn’t want any man to touch her. He couldn’t let Otto use her for entertainment, even if she was a slave. He sighed. Keeping Otto out of trouble like he’d promised Val could be a lot harder than she ever imagined.

  He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. Dear God, I thank you for the many blessings of this day. Thank you for…

  The tension flowed out of him as he communed with God. It was the perfect ending of a mostly good day. Good except for Otto’s choice to drink too much and gamble too long. But God could bring good from bad. At least the girl was better off with them than with her former owner. And if she really had been kidnapped, then God’s hand had surely been upon her when Otto won her tonight. He’d convince Otto to do the right thing. He’d always been able to do that. No reason to think he couldn’t do it again.

  Adela watched the short Roman as he sat with his eyes closed and a relaxed smile. She’d never seen a man close his eyes for so long when he wasn’t asleep. When he finally opened them, he stared into the fire. Then he glanced at her. When he caught her watching him, a bigger smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before his eyes turned back to the fire.