by Joan Kayse
Adria’s heart clenched at the scorn in his voice. Bran had every reason to resent the circumstances, the people who had brought him to Rome against his will. By his own admission he would never fit into the Roman world. A cold despair spread through her stomach. Her world. He hated all Romans and no matter if she wore fine clothes or her usual tattered dress she would always be Roman.
Chapter Thirteen
“Cyma, be still and I will let Ceallach sit on your lap.”
Bran ushered Adria into the receiving room to find Bryna settling his nephew on Cyma’s lap. The little girl laughed as the baby grabbed at her hair, a drooling smile lighting his face when he fisted a golden curl in each chubby hand. It took so little to please the child. Bran cast Adria a sidelong look. Easier than puzzling this woman out. She’d gone from defiant to jealous—and she could deny it all she pleased, he knew the look of a woman’s jealousy—to subdued all in the span of their short journey.
“Open your eyes, brother,” Bryna said into his ear as he bent to receive her embrace.
Bran rolled his at her cryptic statement and returned her embrace adding a kiss to her cheek. “A simple greeting would suffice.”
Bryna’s green eyes twinkled in amusement but it did not hide the flash of knowledge, all too familiar to Bran.
“And who is this?” asked Bryna, nudging him away to survey Adria.
“Do you not know already?” he asked dryly.
Bryna raised a chastising brow at him.
Bran sighed. “This is Adria. She is the children’s nursemaid.”
“Is she?” murmured Bryna before enfolding Adria in her arms. “Welcome to our home.”
“Th-thank you, my lady,” stammered Adria, sending Bran a confused look.
“Please, call me Bryna. We do not stand on formalities here.”
“When has that changed?”
Bran turned to the voice and stifled a groan as the Roman Damon Primax and his wife Julia strolled into the room.
Bryna angled her head for a welcoming kiss from Damon while she reached out her hand for Julia’s. “What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about your husband, the Prince of Alexandria,” replied Damon.
Bran’s jaw clenched as he noted the assessing look the Roman gave Adria and the way it shifted to include him as he moved closer to his own woman.
Julia gave Damon’s arm a light tap of censure. “Remember your manners.”
Damon looked down at his aristocratic wife, his eyes hot. “Perhaps I need more lessons.”
“I do lessons!”
The adults stared at Cyma then burst into laughter.
“As to manners, he has never possessed them,” came a deep voice from the far entry.
Gods, was everyone in the Empire here? His brother-in-law Jared strode into the room like the master of the house he was.
“I keep them well hidden,” replied Damon. His casual manner belied the concern in his eyes as he assisted his heavily pregnant wife onto a couch.
Bran recognized the look Jared and Damon exchanged, a look that only men whose bond included a shared experience would understand. They’d both been slaves, Damon belonging first to Jared in their youth, then Jared as the result of treachery. While that was the only connection Bran held with the two Romans, it was a powerful one.
“Bryna, Ceallach wants a honey cake,” chirped Cyma.
Bryna laughed and picked up the baby. “Does he? I had not heard him utter a word.”
“It was baby talk,” Cyma explained. “Only little girls can hear it.”
Julia joined Bryna in laughing while Adria, he saw, only smiled.
“Well, then we must see to it,” said Bryna. “Come along and we’ll see if Esther has them ready.” She looked pointedly at Linus. “You too.”
Bran expected the youth to reply with a scathing retort but he did not, and though still sullen, shuffled after Bryna to the kitchens.
Adria made to leave, but Bran stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“What are you doing?” she murmured. “I am their nurse. I must go with the children.”
“No,” he whispered back. “You will remain with me.”
Bran kept his gaze on her as she nervously glanced over her shoulder.
“I am a servant, at least to them,” she added, the gleam in her eye a clear signal that he best not make the same assumption.
Bran followed her gaze. Jared and Julia were pretending to chat while Damon, the ass, was studying them with blatant interest. “Every person in this house, save the Lady Julia, has been a slave.” He watched the shock wash across her face. “And if they still have doubts?” With his knuckle, her lifted her chin and caught her gasp of protest with his mouth. This kiss was slow, allowed him to savor her. Gods, he could live off the taste of her mouth alone.
When he ended it, he shot a look at the room including Bryna who had returned and was regarding him with wry amusement.
The two men gave slight nods, acknowledging his claim of Adria. He looked into Adria’s eyes and smiled.
***
Adria felt the attention of the two couples but she was still reeling from Bran’s kiss. To what purpose had he displayed such behavior? It was a possessive gesture, a marking of property. “Do all patricians kiss their nursemaids in such a public manner?” She raised her eyes to him, kept her voice low. “You agree that I am not your slave, yet you treat me as a possession in front of your family.” Bran’s expression reflected confusion before he closed it off.
Adria sighed. She had not wished to cast aside the levity she’d enjoyed with him, but did he not realize his actions made her uncomfortable?
“The children are settled,” Bryna said, strolling into her husband’s waiting arms. She gave him a quick hug then held out her hand for Adria.
Adria pulled her attention away from Bran, whose face was now made of stone and focused on his sister. Bryna was a beautiful woman with a clear complexion and cascading tresses of the most extraordinary red-gold hair. Her chin was small, but she recognized the same slope in her nose as Bran’s and her eyes were the same emerald hue.
Adria chewed her lower lip as she considered Bryna’s proffered hand. Bran’s sister may well have been a slave before and the men beside her, though with their regal bearing she could not imagine them subservient. But they were patricians now and being in the midst of them made her nervous. With a small sigh, she accepted only to jump when a jolt of energy shot up her arm. Bryna just smiled and led her to a second couch covered in deep-brown velvet while Bran settled on a stool whose legs shuddered beneath his weight.
“I’m glad to see my brother took my advice,” began Bryna, accepting a goblet of wine brought by a servant, “and found a nursemaid for the children. I assume your employment is recent?”
“As long as that, my lady,” replied Adria. She accepted a goblet of wine and slanted a narrowed look at Bran. “His offer was hard to refuse.”
“Probably at the point of a sword,” muttered Jared into his wine.
The resemblance between the siblings was even more evident with the glare Bryna shot her husband. Adria glanced at Bran’s scowl and decided that she would keep her observation that Jared was not far off to herself.
“You seem familiar to me,” added Damon, massaging the back of his wife’s neck with one hand. “Have we met?”
Adria took a sip of wine, the urge to fidget beneath his assessing, gray-eyed gaze strong. “My lord, I do not think that possible. The district I hail from is not...well it is not the part of the city one such as yourself would likely visit.”
“You’d be surprised how well traveled I am,” he answered, sharing an enigmatic smile with his wife.
Adria’s chest tightened at the look of love that washed over Julia’s face as she stroked a finger along her husband’s jaw. From beneath her lashes she peeked at Bran, wondering what it would be like for him to look at her in such a manner. With tender affection instead of bold claiming. Despite the distraction, Dam
on Primax faced her again, persisting. “I have seen you before.”
The Lady Julia smiled at Adria, “Do not pay any heed to my husband. He is cautious by nature. So, tell me about the children. Do you enjoy tending them?”
“Well, yes, they are—” What word could she use? “—lively and full of energy.”
“They are hellions, the lot of them,” countered Bran, “but they have calmed under Adria’s care.”
Julia sent him a disbelieving look before speaking to Adria. “I confess to being nervous about the arrival of our child.”
“Nervous?” said Damon. “I’m petrified.”
“No need to be, my lord,” said Adria, “I’m sure you will not feel a bit of the birthing pains.”
Bryna and Julia laughed.
Jared scoffed. “Do not be quick to discount the father’s role. Believe me when I say I suffered.” He gave Damon a sly look. “And I look forward to watching my friend here suffer in like manner.”
As if on cue, Julia gasped and clutched her belly.
Damon’s face drained of color. “What is it? Is it time?”
Julia gave him a shaky smile. “No, not yet. It is but another healthy kick from your daughter.”
“Not a son?” Adria asked.
“A boy would be most welcome,” said Damon, “but it takes a true man to father a daughter.”
“I suppose you will find out when the babe comes.”
Julia gave a short laugh. “We already know the babe is a girl.” She turned warm eyes to Bryna who smiled into her cup.
Adria’s brow creased. “I do not understand...”
Jared brushed a kiss over Bryna’s hair. “My wife has a gift.”
Bryna gave him a sideways look. “You once called it a curse.”
“How could it be a curse when it brought you to me?”
Adria turned to Bran, who shrugged a shoulder. “Bryna has the sight. She can see things. You Romans call such seers.”
“It is a family trait,” Bryna added.
Bran looked uncomfortable at that, while Adria’s attention was drawn by the scrambling of feet from the doorway.
“Bryna, Ceallach licked honey off my fingers,” exclaimed Cyma.
Adria caught the little girl’s hand before she could lay sticky fingers on Julia’s linen stola. “Oh, I think not.” She tsked beneath her breath as she held onto Cyma’s wrist. Before she could make excuses to clean her charge, a maidservant entered, In her arms, she carried a sticky-faced Ceallach who immediately pointed to Cyma. “No!” he said with a burbled giggle.
“His first word!” exclaimed Bryna, hurrying to take the boy from the maid.
“And it is no,” sighed Jared, rising to join them. He looked askance at their guests. “A trait also inherited from his mother.”
Everyone laughed, though Adria wasn’t certain the grunting noise Bran made could actually be called laughter. But the lines bracketing his mouth eased with a slight smile and his eyes crinkled with humor.
Her heart slammed into her chest.
Adria had never seen Bran with his guard so completely down and the effect was devastating. Oh, there had been glimpses in the weeks since he’d brought her to his domus, with the children, Menw, and the easing of tension during their lovemaking. But the shields had always been nearby and replaced in an instant if an emotion grew too close.
As if he knew she was watching, Bran looked from his sister’s family to her and Adria could almost see the barriers rise. But not before she caught longing in his eyes. Her heart responded with an intense desire to help him gain what he wanted—peace, a home. A family.
An ear-piercing screech disrupted the room. Bran and Damon leapt to their feet, daggers in hand, while Jared pushed a protesting Bryna and laughing Ceallach behind him. Adria watched open-mouthed as a large, orange-striped beast raced into the room and streaked beneath a table, howling like a demon. Close on its heels was Julian, wooden sword raised, screaming along with the cat.
Adria jumped in front of the boy and caught him around the middle. She almost toppled as he tried to crawl under the table.
“Julian! Cease this instant!” she said, bracing her legs against his fervor.
“But it’s a crazed Persian!” the boy protested, wagging his weapon at the crouched, hissing feline.
“The boy is close to the truth,” said Jared who received a jab in the ribs from Bryna.
“What’s wrong with it, besides demon possession?” asked Damon, leaning down to peer under the table. “Dear gods, it’s covered with honey!”
Bran had taken hold of Julian so Adria knelt for her own evaluation. Sticky tufts of fur sprouted from the cat’s back and sides, and its whiskers were stuck together. The cat bared its fangs, its golden eyes feral.
Bryna joined Adria on the floor. “Cuini, it’s all right,” she crooned. “Come Cuini.”
Adria backed to a safe distance as the cat, with one final hiss at Julian, crept into Bryna’s arms.
“My apologies, sister,” said Bran, his voice stern as he looked down at the now-subdued boy in front of him. “Julian will be punished.”
Adria glanced past Bran to the doorway from the kitchen. Concealed in the shadows stood Linus, arms crossed, a smug curl to his lips. She shifted her gaze back to Bran. “May I speak with Julian?”
Bran’s eyes narrowed. “To what purpose?”
This was not the place to discuss her reasoning so, swallowing the retort and the pride behind it, she said, “Please.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Bran’s face. He nodded once. Adria took Julian by the hand, leaving his sword with Damon, who gripped the hilt tight while eyeing a still-hissing Cuini, and led her charge into the garden.
The boy plopped down on the edge of the fountain, head hanging, shoulders slumped. With a sigh, she joined him. She searched for a way to begin. “Julian, you fight often. Do you like to fight?”
Julian shrugged.
This was not going to be simple. “Every time you battle, there is a different foe. Thracians, Greeks, Egyptians, today Persians.”
“You have to stay strong,” he blurted out, “else you die!”
Adria watched his thin shoulders shudder and he swiped at his eyes. Her heart clenched at the sadness in his voice. “Die? Like your mother died?”
“My mother was a strong fighter,” he said, defensively.
“Yes, she was.” Must tread lightly. “She must have been very strong to fight in the arena.” Forced to fight, never knowing from match to match if she would die and leave her children. Sympathy welled in Adria’s chest for the woman.
“She always told us to be brave,” continued Julian in a forlorn voice, “that she would never leave us.”
Adria’s heart clutched. But Beatrix had left, in a gruesome way. She’d left her children and broken a promise that had been a gamble to begin with. Adria knew the desolation, the feeling of loss. Her parents by action had made the same promise to their daughter but in the end had left her alone.
“Your mother did not wish to leave you. I know...” she laid her hand on Julian’s arm, which he jerked away. Adria grasped it again with a firmer grip. “I know this because no mother would want to leave a son as strong as you behind.”
Julian’s lower lip trembled. He raised his head, his beautiful brown eyes brimming with unshed tears. “She said that we belonged to her, not her trainer. She said we would always be safe.”
Adria did not need experience with children to recognize a broken heart. Julian’s face twisted with grief and he crumpled into her arms, his face buried against her chest. She held him close, rocking back and forth as he sobbed out his grief. She closed her own eyes against tears and made a silent vow to Beatrix that she would keep her little boy safe.
Julian’s sobs quieted and for a few long minutes, Adria just held him.
“Warriors don’t cry,” Julian said in a hoarse whisper.
“I suspect they do.” Adria thought of the all the suppressed pain she knew Bra
n held close and wished she could ease him as she did the little boy. “They just do so in different ways. Now. Tell me the truth. You did not put the honey on Bryna’s cat, did you?”
She saw loyalty war with the truth in the boy’s eyes. “No. But I did chase him.”
She’d accept that for now and would deal with Linus later. She dipped her hand in the cool water of the fountain and gently washed his flushed face. “Now you will go into the receiving room and ask forgiveness of the Lady Bryna and Lord Jared.”
“And then you will accept your punishment.”
Every protective instinct in her flared at the deep voice but Julian merely nodded at Bran who had entered the room, his broad shoulders propped against a column. Julian dried his face on the sleeve of his tunic and squared his shoulders.
“Yes, sir.” He rose to his feet and Adria knew he would not appreciate a hug in front of Bran. But she winked as he passed by and was rewarded with a weak smile.
As Julian moved past, Bran made to follow.
“Bran?”
He turned and gave her the same odd look he had every time she called him by name.
“Do not be too harsh on him.”
“He is my responsibility,” he answered. “I will not have him acting the heathen.”
Adria’s temper flared. “He’s only a little boy.”
“There are very few steps from youth to manhood. Better he learn now the honorable way to behave.”
Among the people of the streets there was a strict code that one did not reveal information on another but Adria could not bear to see Julian suffer all the consequences. “You do know that there is more to it than what there appears to be.”
“Do you mean the fact that Linus played a role? That he is the one who thought it would be entertaining to souse the poor creature with something it could not easily remove? Is that what you mean?”
Adria nodded her head mutely.
“That is why Linus has already begun the task of bathing the beast.”
“But felines do not like water,” Adria said.
Bran’s lips curved into that endearing half-smile that she loved. “I know.”