by Joan Kayse
Chapter Fourteen
He knew Adria was a thief but he’d never expected her to be a liar.
Bran sat at the small, marble-inlaid table Jared’s servants had brought out, drinking wine and watching his brother-in-law roust Damon for a fifth time in a game called calculi. It was a game of strategy, the placement of the black and white stones on the board something easily recognized by his warrior and gladiator’s mind. The former spy had accused his friend of using his wife’s sorcery to defeat him. How else, Damon had complained, could his superior skills have been overcome?
Pompous ass.
But the pompous ass had played a role in saving Bryna from Jared’s crazed uncle, a man who had lied to his nephew about the circumstances of his Roman’s mother’s death.
Liars. Romans. Was there a difference?
His attention swerved back to Adria. From the moment he’d assigned her the task of nursemaid, she’d protested her lack of skill with children. But she’d lied. She was perched on a couch in a small alcove with Bryna, Julia and the children. Cyma sat snuggled against her side while Julian, back to putting on a brave front, allowed Adria to tend to the scratches on his arm courtesy of Cuini the demon cat who, indeed, did not enjoy bathing. Linus sulked in a corner, his own injuries bandaged, and he noted Adria glancing at the belligerent whelp with concern. Cuini sat curled on Bryna’s lap watching them all with a detached, superior air.
No experience? He scoffed. Adria handled the children as if she were their natural mother. She’d seen past Julian’s fear and discerned Cyma’s craving for love, things he’d recognized on some level but had been at a loss to know how to handle. They were opening their hearts to her. He took another drink against the half-formed thought that he might be doing the same.
That was preposterous. He had no room in his life for a woman, especially a Roman woman. Not when he was set to leave and return to Eire. A Roman woman would be appalled at the mere thought of living in a barbarian land much less the simple life of the clan, his tuath.
But gods, she fired his blood like no other. Engaged him like no other. Being with Adria, even when they sparred, lightened the heaviness that dwelled within him. Her body was a man’s dream, her spirit and intellect an aphrodisiac. He felt alive with Adria. As he had not felt in three years.
Bran took another sip of wine, giving her a speculative look. The lines of her body were still tense, though under the easygoing chatter of his sister and the Lady Julia they had begun to relax. Shared interests bonded women, he supposed, whether they be patrician or plebian. He watched Adria accept Ceallach from his mother’s arms, his groin tightening at the sight of her cuddling the babe.
“It’s a mystery, is it not?”
Bran scowled at Damon whose eyes remained on the playing board as he contemplated his next move. The bastard always spoke in riddles. “What?”
Damon moved his black piece and smiled at Jared’s grim face before he glanced at Bran. “Women. They are a mystery.”
“To Romans, perhaps,” Bran answered.
“To men,” countered Jared, moving his white stone only to have it taken by his friend. “We believe we understand them and they allow us to think that, while they cut a path straight into our core.”
Bran scoffed. “Nonsense scribed by your poets.”
Damon smiled at some secret memory. “Do not discount poets,” he said. “They have their uses.”
Jared leaned back in his chair and picked up his chalice. “Adria is beautiful. She must have cost your purse dearly.”
“She is not a slave!” Bran snarled. He clamped his jaw against the flair of protective anger. An image of Adria’s wounded pride as he’d kissed her before the others flashed in his mind. He’d been spurred by the desire to taste her and yes, at the heart of it, the need as a male to mark his own. Yet his actions, no matter his intentions, had been those of a master.
Damon raised a brow, first at him then at Jared. “A fine thing then, since we all know how onerous it is to serve another against our will.”
Bran ground his teeth together. He was not about to explain the circumstances of their relationship. There was no way to predict how they would react to the knowledge that she was indeed his captive, that she shared his bed, no matter that she did so of her own will. Romans valued citizenship above all else, be they patricians, freedmen or thieves and they might take issue with the situation. Forcing himself to speak nonchalantly he replied, “She has agreed to watch the children, an arrangement that is beneficial to us both.”
“I’m certain it is,” said Damon with a half-smile.
Bran leaned forward, spearing Damon with a glare, his hand on his knife hilt. “Watch your mouth, Roman.
Damon’s own blade, slipped from the side of his boot, was in his hand. “Rather protective of a mere servant aren’t you?”
Bran seethed less from the sting of Damon being able to draw his weapon faster, than the implication that Adria was more than a servant to him. Damn meddling Roman.
“Guests in my house will not be threatened,” said Jared evenly, though the underlying tone of his voice was iron. “Bryna would have my head if I allowed anything to happen to her cherished brother and Julia Manulus, I’m certain, would not relish finding another husband so soon after—” He put his tongue in his cheek. “—procuring this one.”
Bran held Damon’s flint gaze for a long moment before the former spy re-sheathed his weapon. “Believe it or not, gladiator, I understand your position more than you think. Not only are women a source of mystery and puzzlement, they bring out the worst—” He looked at his wife, his gaze filling with fierce protectiveness. “—and the best in us. As much as we are loathe to admit it, we aren’t complete without them.”
More Roman poetry, Bran thought with disgust. Yes, the two couples seemed to have found the type of happiness he had once thought possible, but that was rare. What he and Adria shared was as mutually satisfying as it was fleeting. Adria had been amenable to their arrangement and when he sailed for home, the time spent with her would be nothing more than a pleasurable memory.
“I am not being protective,” he replied gruffly. “She is a servant, nothing more.”
A soft gasp sounded from the alcove. Bran’s heart lurched and he poised to rise, hand on knife when the sound dissolved into soft laughter as Ceallach jumped up and down on Adria’s lap. The rich, melodic sound of her laughter flew through the air like an arrow and found its target straight in the center of Bran’s chest. He felt the color drain from his face.
Damon nodded his head sagely and moved another stone. “Only a servant, eh? Do all servants make you look as if you’ve just been trampled by a chariot?”
***
Something was wrong with Bran.
Adria looked over her shoulder. Jared and Damon continued their easy banter as they played their board game but Bran, scowl fixed on his face, green eyes hard, looked as if he was preparing for battle.
“Do not fret, Adria.” Bryna adjusted the covering over her sleeping son. “My brother is not ill, merely catching a glimpse of life and finding himself kicked by it. Fortunately, his head is very hard and can bear the abuse.”
A shiver flowed down Adria’s spine as she looked askance at Bryna. She liked Bran’s sister very much. She had a soothing quality about her that had cut through Adria’s initial anxiety about socializing above her class had made her feel welcome. Even the lady Julia, a lady of pure patrician blood, had treated her with kindness and respect.
But Bryna’s green eyes, mirrors of her brother’s, held knowledge in them that Adria could not decipher. It was unsettling.
“I’m proud that Bran refrained from purchasing a nurse,” continued Bryna, her expression sobering. “Slavery is a vile thing.”
Adria did not recall Bran mentioning the state of her employment.
Bryna smiled and continued. “How did you meet?”
Adria suspected Bryna knew the answer already. “We met in the marketplace.” Tha
t should be vague enough to thwart any further questions. She hoped the woman’s gift would not be able to discern the true nature of the situation. That she had stolen from Bran. That because of her, he had lost valuable assets. Assets that would soon take him from her. Adria rubbed at the sudden tightness in her chest.
Julia motioned Julian to join her on her couch and put an arm around him. “The Forum is such a bustling place. How fortuitous that you happened upon each other.”
That was one way to phrase it, Adria thought ruefully. Another would be that he’d chased her across the city like a rabid dog. She glanced at Bran again. “Yes, it was fortunate. He needed someone to care for the children.” And she? What had she needed? Someone to show her what she could never hope to have? A home? A family?
“Adria?”
Adria returned her attention to Bryna. The woman was studying her and shivers once again skittered down her spine.
“Be patient with him,” she said. “Open your heart and trust him. You will both need such things, patience, honesty, and most of all trust. It will be what saves you both.”
Alarm flared in Adria’s chest at Bryna’s somber tone. “I do not know what you mean. Bran has said he requires my services for only a short time.” And then where would she be? Back to the streets, scraping and pilfering and evading thugs like Tiege. She circled an arm around Cyma who gave a contented sigh, her sweet, warm body snug against her side. Gods, she would miss them.
She would miss Bran.
“Bran needs many things,” Bryna replied, “but he will need you most of all.”
Adria rolled her eyes. “Forgive me, my lady. Bryna,” she amended at Bryna’s pointed look. “Your brother does not need anyone. He is well able to take care of himself.” And her, the thought came unbidden.
Julia gave a small laugh. “Adria, I would not be so swift to discount Bryna’s counsel. You see, she has the gift of prophesy.” Her gaze sought out Damon, her eyes softening. “If not for her, I might not have my husband.”
Adria gave Bryna a cautious look. “You are an oracle?”
Bryna shrugged. “That is the designation my master used to make his profit, though I despised it and him.” Her voice softened as she too looked to her mate. “Though I will allow that it is what led Jared to me. And that is the true gift.”
Adria pondered that. There had been a blind woman when she was a child who’d sit at the entrance of the temple district soliciting alms. It was rumored that she could predict the future, but Adria’s parents had called it nothing more than superstition.
Bryna, she did not doubt, was quite sincere in her beliefs. One look at the love on the woman’s face when she looked at her husband was evidence enough. But she was not in love with Bran as these women were with their spouses. The very thought was ludicrous.
Then why was there such an ache in her chest?
Adria took a calming breath. “I thank you for your concern my lady, but my service with your brother will be over soon.”
“Ah, yes,” said Julia speaking to Bryna. “When does Bran sail for your homeland?” With a small gasp, Julia clapped her hand to her mouth.
“Do not concern yourself, Julia,” said Bryna. “I know of his plans, though once again he thinks to spare me. I believe he plans to leave by the end of next week.”
Adria fought down a wave of panic. So soon?
Bryna stood and took Ceallach from Adria. “Those are his plans. But as you and I both know, Julia,” she said looking first at her brother then at Adria, “plans often change. Now these two look as if they could do with a nap along with the baby.”
Bryna waved Adria off as she shepherded Cyma and Julian toward Ceallach’s waiting nurse. Julia lumbered to her feet, Damon rushing to her side. He murmured something in her ear which made her smile, his hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. The intimacy of the moment clutched at Adria as Damon walked his wife toward a guest bedchamber to lie down. She wasn’t quite certain rest was on their minds.
A frisson of awareness shot through her and Adria knew Bran stood behind her. Easily explained, she thought, desperate for reassurance, plus she was very attuned to her environment by nature of her profession. It would have been the same if a servant had approached. A wave of heat surged through her, moments before she felt his touch on her shoulder.
Without thought, Adria covered his hand with her own, shivered at the feel of his warm skin, the strong length of his blunt-edged fingers. A hand that could wield a sword with deadly precision and gently hold Cyma when she cried. A hand whose callused touch caused her body to tremble. A hand that she wanted to hold forever.
“The hour grows late,” he said.
Adria shook herself out of her reverie and her impossible dream. “Your sister has taken the children to nap,” she said, rising to her feet, careful to avoid his probing gaze. She could not trust herself to look at him, not until she had the jumble of clashing emotions sorted out and her mind planted firmly back into her reality. A life without Bran.
Adria swallowed past the thick lump in her throat. “I will call you when they awaken,” she said and hurried down the corridor.
***
“Did you find the bitch?”
The man on his knees flinched. A common occurrence, as most everyone within the fourteenth district—at least anyone with half a wit about them—did when in his presence. Tiege smiled. He so enjoyed the power of terrorizing.
“Master,” the man paused and moistened his cracked lips. The wretch spoke as if he had a mouth full of rocks or as if his tongue were too large for his mouth. Tiege smiled to himself. If the man came bearing unsatisfactory news he’d cure him of that condition. He’d cut the thing out by its root.
“Master,” the man began again. “We’ve searched the entire ward and three others besides with no trace of the girl.”
Tiege kept his face neutral. The man began to visibly tremble.
He wanted the girl.
The same courage he’d come to admire in his months of observing her was the same attribute that had sealed her fate. The little witch. Adria. He’d discovered her name through some select and painful—for the ones asked—questioning. She had been foolish enough to challenge him, to taunt him in front of his followers and humiliate him by boldly stealing his coin and threatening his reputation.
And she would pay. Oh, yes. She would pay.
With her life, yes—eventually. But first this Adria would suffer. He would use her and humiliate her until she cried for mercy. She would beg for death. But the stupid whore had challenged his authority and must serve as a lesson to others.
Beneath Tiege’s cold stare the informant paled. Tiege turned to his bodyguard, a formidable Briton who did well as his second because he rarely spoke and was unopposed to following his every order. Tiege didn’t trust him anymore than he did any of his men, but for now he served his purpose.
“The short blade, I think, Albion. I want to dig the tongue out.”
His spy looked as if he might soil himself.
“No! Master! Please, I did not fail you.”
Tiege took the knife the silent man handed him and studied the blade. “Do you have the girl?”
“N-no,”
He took a step down from the dais as two of his burliest men stepped forward to hold his arms.
“No!” repeated the man on a strangled cry. “But we have seen her.”
Tiege paused mid-step and waved his men away. The man collapsed on his hands and knees, whimpered. “Where?”
“In...in the Forum this morning.”
“And why did you not capture her?” he asked with a deadly undertone.
The man had developed a most pronounced stutter. “S-s-she was with the ba-barbarian.”
Tiege froze, his vision hazed over black as anger overtook him. The gladiator! He’d cost him two of his best fighters and aided the girl in her escape.
“The gladiator has the girl? Is she in one piece?” Damn, he’d be pissed if the barbar
ian bastard had usurped his right for retribution.
“Oh, yes, Master,” answered the man, falling back into his groveling position beneath Tiege’s pointed glare. “They seemed content together. There were children and it was, well domestic.”
Tiege frowned. As angry as he’d been that night, he’d wager this coward’s tongue the gladiator had not been happy with the girl. And children?
He flipped his knife back to Albion who caught it by the handle and slipped it into a sheath on his belt. “Send more men into that area. Search every vendor stand, look under rocks if you must. Find out where the girl is.”
Tiege barely registered the relief on the man’s face as he scraped and bowed his way out of the lair. “Albion, sharpen more blades.”
Chapter Fifteen
The trip home was taking a lifetime.
Or so it seemed to Adria. After Cyma and Julian had awakened from their nap, Bran had made hasty excuses and rushed their farewells to Bryna and Julia before he’d hustled them out the door. Now they walked the darkening streets in silence as they had on the trip there but she sensed it was not in response to rude stares. Her few feeble attempts at inquires had been met with curt, one-word responses and the occasional growl.
She cast a sideways look at his locked jaw, head raised and his gait confident. He never walked with his eyes cast down but always looked straight ahead. A response to his days in slavery, she supposed, when he’d been forced to bow in submission. Not now. Now he met each person’s gaze as they passed, fleeting though it may be but clear in its message that he mattered.
But he hadn’t looked at her once since they’d left.
Menw met them at the door, the worry at their later-than-anticipated return melting off his face. He greeted Adria, sent Bran a puzzled look then ushered the children into the kitchen for their supper. Bran bypassed the meal and headed for his workshop, leaving Adria alone in the atrium.
She trailed into the kitchen and without a word began to help Menw with the meal. She gave scant attention to Julian and Cyma as they chattered on about their visit, her thoughts with Bran and his behavior. Indignation warred with something that felt suspiciously like hurt. Which was preposterous. Adria knew full well that there were no tender feelings between them. Oh, she’d come to like the surly barbarian, even admired him for his care of the children, recognized the courage it had taken to survive the horrors of the arena. But there was nothing as deep as love between them.