For a Roman's Heart

by Denise A. Agnew

  The word came out easily, but the agitation in his gaze grew. “You’re quite the temptress, aren’t you? Teasing a man with questions, then telling him no.” He touched her hair. “With this mess of hair most men would laugh at the idea of relations with you.”

  “I didn’t think, when it comes to a women’s prize, that many men care so much about a woman’s face or hair. They want release. That’s all that is important.”

  He released a booming laugh. “That is the way of it for some men.”

  Play the dunce, Adrenia. Let him believe you are everything he thinks.

  “I’m nothing more than a humble and dutiful daughter with no training in these...these machinations you speak of.”

  Her answer narrowed his eyes, as if he couldn’t decide if she lied. He leaned back against the house and folded his arms. The sight of so much muscle didn’t stir Adrenia the way a mere glimpse of Terentius’s body could. “Don’t ask any more questions about slave girls or where they go after I’m through with them.”

  Some sprite inside her demanded an answer. She plunged headlong into the question. “Why?”

  He uncrossed his arms and leaned closer. His breath drifted across her face. “Because little girls who trespass where they aren’t wanted always come to a bad end.”

  The crazed glitter in his eyes sealed her next actions.

  She stood. “I have other work that needs to be done.”

  As a dismissal it should work well, but Sulla didn’t add up to an ordinary man.

  She started to walk around the side of the house when he captured her arm and turned her around. “Wait. We’re not finished here.”

  Before she could speak, he whirled her around and shoved her into the unforgiving wall. His big body pressed against her, and she instinctively pushed hard against his chest.

  “Let me go. What are you doing?”

  “I need a taste of the merchandise.”

  Panic surged up inside her. “No.”

  His mouth covered hers, and she tried jerking her head away. He grabbed her under the chin and forced her to keep still. His kiss was sloppy, wet, and he shoved his tongue inside her mouth. He tasted unpleasant, and she gagged. He pulled back, disgust written on his face. “You are inexperienced, but no one gags when a man kisses her.”

  “Maybe they do when you kiss them.”

  A vein in his forehead pulsed as his mouth twisted. He stepped back and landed a slap across her cheek. The force sent her head back into the wall. She groaned in pain and clasped the back of her head.

  His glare was heavy with contempt. “Bitch.”

  As he walked away she sank against the wall, trembling. When he disappeared from view, she covered her mouth and stifled a sob. Tears leaked from her eyes but she wiped them away and managed a gasping breath. She pondered whether to tell her parents when they returned, but knew deep in her heart they would blame her for what happened. She would stay quiet and make sure she kept her guard up when Sulla reappeared.

  Her mind raced from possibility to possibility. Her suspicions grew about the association between Sulla and her parents. Why had they taken Sulla into their limited circle of acquaintances? Where had her father met him? She closed her eyes and hoped for an answer. Sometimes, if she concentrated, a vision would come to her, or an intuition that proved accurate.

  Seconds later an answer came to her in screaming color. The young slave woman Sulla had bought lay spread eagle, her private parts open for all to see. Her eyes stared wide and vacant. Dead. She was dead. Her hair was matted with blood, bruises defined around her neck. Naked, Sulla leaned over her, ready to slake his lust on her dead body.

  Adrenia’s eyes popped open as she gasped in horror. She moaned. Adrenia clasped her hands to her stomach to ward off nausea.

  Please, goddess Coventina. Please make what I saw untrue. For if what she saw had come to light, the poor slave girl had suffered a horrible fate and her parents associated with a most heinous individual.

  “Pella, I must return the soldier’s cloak. Surely he needs it. Winter comes early.” Adrenia smiled as they came to a stop in the market area that had grown along the outskirts of the fort for decades.

  And I want to see him.

  While she’d weaved, Adrenia had found her thoughts returning again and again to the tall centurion and the excitement that moved in her blood whenever she recalled the day she’d first met him.

  People milled all around them, taking advantage of the sun high in the sky, and the warmth that had driven away frost. Clouds still gathered in the sky, a heralding of colder weather.

  Pella gazed upward at the giant wooden fortress gates. Adrenia wondered if maybe they’d lost their minds. After all, the soldiers at the gates might not even let her inside.

  Adrenia glanced around, self-conscious. She didn’t like her scraggly locks, but what could she do? Now her hair didn’t even come to her shoulders. “If it wasn’t for my clothing, I’d be mistaken for a boy.”

  Pella’s eyes flashed. “Your parents told you to return the cloak, didn’t they?”

  Adrenia started walking. “They told me yesterday. I’ve pleaded illness the last couple of days.”

  “You were sick.”

  “And the centurion’s cloak kept me extra warm.”

  Pella’s warm eyes filled with mischief. “What is his name again?”

  Adrenia caressed the wool cloak looped over her forearm. She’d folded it neatly, not wanting it to drag in the dirt. “Terentius.”

  Pella smiled as they looked both ways before using the stepping stones to cross at an intersection. “I can’t wait to see the man that’s inspired this much passion in you.”

  “Passion?” The word came from between Adrenia’s lips like a sigh. “What I feel for him…it’s dangerous. I agree with my parents that I should return the cloak. Then maybe I’ll forget him.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  Soldiers watched from the two rectangular towers flanking the main gate of the fort. Adrenia wondered once more, as they came to a halt in front of two soldiers standing at the massive entrance, if she’d lost her senses. She hadn’t lied to Pella. Her parents had insisted she return the cloak. She knew she must return the garment. She’d only pine for her centurion if she didn’t.

  My centurion.

  Still, she ached, not wanting to return it any more than she wanted to see him again. Seeing him would mean feeling that way…the way she shouldn’t feel and keep her sanity intact.

  She’d dreamt about him every night. He stood in a field near the Haunted Woods, his body tall enough to show from the waist up in the high green grasses. He wore his mail armor, a transverse crest of white and black on his helmet. Over and over the dream preoccupied her until she woke each morning, her loins aching and burning with a disturbing and powerful need. After each dream, she longed to reach between her legs and tease the aching flesh into blessed release. So she kept these dreams deep within her, like a secret chamber or treasure box. No one could take away her dreams if she kept them sacred.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Pella stared at the soldiers. The men remained impassive, features stony as they guarded the fort with their lives.

  “I’m certain,” Adrenia said. “Will your husband be very angry if he finds out what you’re doing?”

  “Pontius is extraordinary. You know that. He’s the best man I know.”

  “Stop reminding me.” Adrenia’s envy came clear in her voice.

  Pella laughed. “Someday you’ll have a husband and feel the same way about him.”

  Without a pause, Adrenia answered, “No. I don’t think so. There are few men like your Pontius. And they usually want younger women to marry.”

  Pella went silent, her gaze thoughtful and concerned. “You’re twenty.”

  “You’ve been married since you were sixteen.”

  Pella sighed. “And now I’m twenty and without children. So you see, we all have burdens to bear.”

  Ad
renia took her friend’s hand and squeezed before releasing. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to whine.”

  “Don’t worry. I understand. But believe me, someday you’ll find a man as wonderful as my Pontius and have many babies.”

  Adrenia enjoyed a fantasy vision of the centurion, his powerful arms tightening around her as she rode his horse just as she had the first day she’d met him. The thought of being pregnant with his child sent a crazy, dancing arousal pinwheeling through her. Her thoughts swirled with the magic, the indescribably wonderful sensations she experienced at the simple thought of him.

  “We’re here to see Centurion Terentius Marius Atellus,” Pella said to one of the soldiers at the gate before Adrenia could demand the same.

  “Who asks for him?” the soldier nearest them asked in a rumbling voice.

  “Adrenia Tertia Brigomalla,” Adrenia said. “It is the utmost importance that we see him.”

  One soldier headed into a smaller side door that was part of the larger gate. Adrenia and Pella waited patiently.

  Adrenia’s anxiety rose. “Maybe he won’t see me.”

  Pella’s serene expression didn’t change. “Oh, he’ll see you. From what you described, the centurion was taken with you.”

  “He was thoughtful.”

  Pella nudged her with her elbow. “Thoughtful? Yes. But you said he looked at you with particular interest.”

  “It seemed that he did. I’ve had few men look at me that way, so I could be mistaken. But the way he…I don’t know…caressed me with his eyes. It gave me that feeling.” Adrenia felt that sensation now just recalling it. “That swirling low in the stomach. As if I was special.”

  Pella put her fingers to her chin in a contemplative pose. “Do you yearn for him?”

  Adrenia didn’t have to contemplate. “I want to see him, yet I’m terrified of seeing him.”

  Pella patted her friend on the shoulder. “Oh, dear. You do have it bad for him.”

  “Have what?”

  Pella shook her head and an impatient sound left her throat. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “I need to give this cloak back to him quickly. I know nothing about him, Pella.” She twisted her fingers together, then brushed her hand over the rough wool cloak. “He could be a monster.”

  Pella smiled. “Could be. But I doubt it. You of all people would recognize a monster.”

  Adrenia thought about her friend’s assertion. Uncomfortable sensations, anxiety and apprehension were daily friends. Adrenia knew, in her heart where she didn’t explore too deeply, that she knew many fiends. “Just because he’s not a monster doesn’t mean he wants anything more to do with me.”

  “You think the worst before you know for certain. Perhaps he feels more for you.” Pella’s eyes, so kind and warm, sparkled with mischief. “Where have your dreams disappeared to, dear friend?”

  “They’ve hidden where no one can take them away from me.”

  After what seemed a lifetime, the soldier returned. “Come this way.”

  The soldier led them through the hustle and bustle of the auxiliary fort. As they walked along a narrow area flanked by leather tents and a few more substantial wooden buildings, she passed an altar that read, “To the god Abandinus, Vatiacus dedicates this out of his own funds.” A small clutch of soldiers stood near the altar and watched a candle burning low upon the altar. The quiet, pious scene surprised her. She expected their religious ceremonies to be private. So many soldiers were dirty, grunting, big creatures with few manners. These men seemed a different sort.

  The dirt street stretched forever, and she guessed the sprawling area reached around six acres and might support half a legion or less. Inside this structure, Adrenia felt both protected and fearful. Many men looked at her blankly, some with curiosity, others with disinterest, few with thinly veiled lust. Most of the soldiers worked hard at something, whether it was blacksmithing, cutting wood, building, making tools or polishing dented shields and repairing armor. Talking, shouting, order and chaos, it all sounded loud and disturbing to her. She breathed deep and caught the pungent scents of man, leather, dirt and food cooking. Shouts echoed in the distance. A light rain drifted down from a few sparse clouds and dampened everything around them with dew that sparkled in temporary bursts of sunlight between the clouds.

  Finally they reached a block of wooden structures where the soldier leading them stopped. He knocked on one door. It opened swiftly on squeaking hinges, and a large man stood in the doorway.

  “Sir. As you requested, I’ve brought the women,” the soldier said.

  “Thank you.” The rumbling voice Adrenia remembered, so deep and husky, belonged to Terentius.

  Terentius took in the sight of Adrenia and Pella with a severe frown. His gaze snapped to her hair and lingered, then dropped to the threadbare cloak about her shoulders. His mouth worked for a second as anger flashed through his eyes. For just one moment fear lashed through her veins and threatened to send her running in the other direction. Had she made a horrible mistake coming here? He looked hard and unforgiving. The man she’d met along the roadside no longer existed, and a tiny piece of her heart longed to crumble, to die. To weep with the thought she might have been wrong that he felt some caring for her, no matter how small.

  Then his gaze landed on the red cloak over her arm, and his attention narrowed. “Adrenia? You are here without your father? Without any protection?”

  Despite everything she thought she knew about this man, fear rose inside her. She drew her shoulders back. “We are.”

  She thought she saw admiration flicker in his gaze, and then concern flashed in his eyes just as quickly.

  “Sir,” Adrenia said. “This is my dear friend, Pella Pictrix, wife to Tiberius Pontius Pictor, a farmer on Cordus land.”

  Terentius saluted. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Pella had a ready smile for the centurion. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Please be gentle with my friend. She was ill this last week.”

  Adrenia glared at her friend. “Pella.”

  “Ill?” Terentius’s voice chopped through the stillness.

  “It was nothing significant,” Adrenia said, intimidated by his fierce expression.

  Pella squeezed Adrenia’s shoulder gently. “I’ll wait for you outside the fort.”

  For a few seconds Adrenia’s stomach dropped, then her heartbeat quickened. Alone with Terentius. Excitement danced inside her and a little panic.

  Terentius nodded at Pella. “Very well, ma’am.” He turned to the soldier. “Escort her from the fort and then remain with her until she is reunited with her friend. Make certain no harm comes to her.”

  The soldier’s eyes didn’t flicker at the request. He saluted. “As you will it, sir.”

  As the soldier and Pella disappeared down the street, Terentius assessed Adrenia once more with those disturbing eyes that stripped her of defenses. “Come in.”

  He allowed her to enter first. The room had one window, and the remaining light came from a single candle on a desk against one wall. Through a door to the left she caught a glimpse of a pallet like hers at home, only much larger. Various equipment, his chain mail, his swords, other tools littered a worktable. A makeshift cooking area lay in one area. She stared, amazed, when she saw the Italic helmet on the table. He’d secured a transverse crest on top of the helmet in the same white and black she’d dreamed. A shiver passed through her. It shouldn’t surprise her that she’d foreseen his attire.

  She touched the rough, stiff hairs used to make the crest. “I dreamt it was white and black.”

  He closed the door and locked it. “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Terentius moved in close to her. Although he wore only a blue tunic, wide leather belt, and boots with socks, he intimidated with his size and masculinity. “You were ill?”

  “A trifling thing. My stomach was unhappy for a day. Something I ate perhaps.”

  Without missi
ng a beat, he reached up and cupped his huge hand over her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You don’t have a fever.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You’ll see the medicus before you leave the fort.”

  Surprised, she blurted the first word that came to mind. “No.”

  He glared down at her. “You will. I won’t have it any other way. You were ill the day I first met you, weren’t you?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Damn it.”

  She flinched.

  His hands went to his hips, and he stalked the room like some untamed beast ready to erupt in violence.

  He fascinated her. His body moved with assurance, muscles coiling and bunching.

  It was terrifying to watch him.

  And oh, so, exciting.

  Her breath caught. She hadn’t imagined him that day he’d given her the cloak. He wasn’t a god come down to earth for a short stay to tantalize women, steal their hearts and leave. No. He was flesh. He was blood. In some way that was far more daunting and thrilling.

  He turned and pointed at her, his soldiering voice in place. “You’ll see the medicus.”

  “You’re not my husband, sir.” The defiance in her voice surprised her. “I do not have to obey you.”

  He closed his eyes a second, then took a deep breath. “Do this for my peace of mind and to assure you are well. Not because you don’t want to obey me.”

  “I don’t have funds to pay for a medicus.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll pay.” Before she could launch another protest, he crossed to a table and picked up a goblet. He handed it to her. “Take this water. You must be thirsty. I just poured this.”

  She had a strong thirst, and as she sipped the water, the cold, delicious drink eased her throat and calmed her. “Thank you.”

  Before she could speak again, he asked, “Is that my cloak?”

  “Yes.” She held it out to him, but he didn’t take it.

  “Why did you bring it back? I realize it is worn, but—”

  “No.” She almost gasped the word, and when she reached out to touch his chest, her hand brushed hardness. She snatched her hand back. “It isn’t that, sir. You were most generous to allow me to borrow it.”