Victor took one step toward the door. “I had planned to place a substantial order. It wouldn’t hurt your sales to be civil.”
“I’ll lose my business before I ever see you in this shop again.”
Victor left.
Then Father turned to her.
Cara scrunched back against the high table. The wax tablet shifted underneath her hand.
“What was that?” Father’s voice was loud, so very loud.
She fingered the wax, the numbers she no longer could recall.
“Tell me that was forced, though it didn’t look like it.”
Her voice shrunk. “No, Father. I chose.”
“Have you no sense of decency?”
“It was just a kiss.” She squirmed within her dress.
“Women have lost their reputations over a lot less. And he’s a patrician. You know what that kind wants from village girls.”
“He’s just a friend. I met him at – ”
“While working that patrician event with Edna no doubt. That’s the end of those.” Blood vessels bulged on Father’s temples.
“I already promised I’d work one next week.” She turned her gaze up to him. Surely he’d not actually carry through with this threat.
“No!” Father roared the word.
“But, Father!” Tears filled her eyes. She had to see Eric’s house, and his minotaur chariot, and the statue, and Eric.
“You can’t act like this, Cara. You’re getting betrothed in two months.”
Edna had told Father that lie. She didn’t want to marry. She wanted to take a servant position and see Greece. With Eric.
“Why, Cara? Why?”
Why had she kissed Victor? Hmm, because Eric didn’t love her and Victor had dared her and offered work for Father, and the coin had flipped to heads. Perhaps not the best explanation for Father. “Men are interesting, and the kiss wasn’t supposed to last that long. I promise I’ll never kiss him again.”
Anger fading, Father shook his head, a depth of emotions in his eyes she couldn’t read. “Here I thought you still a child, mi carissime.”
The afternoon breeze blew in the shop as Father walked out.
She turned to the wax tablet. Maybe if she finished all the counting today, Father would forget this incident.
After all, she’d only agreed to one kiss, same as Conan had taken many a time.
As the sun sank beneath the horizon and the first stars appeared, Cara sat by the hearth, throwing the loom’s shuttle back and forth. Nervous chills snaked through her.
Father’s firm footstep struck the threshold.
The shuttle fell from her hands.
He dragged a stool to the fire, close to her. The light of the flames played on his face as he watched her. He looked older than this morning.
Cara’s heart thumped against her ribs. Would he ban her from seeing Edna, making visiting the training grounds and Eric infinitely more difficult? Father wouldn’t actually forbid her from serving at the Paterculi event, would he?
“If it’s a man you want, you can have a man.”
“A what?” She stared through the dimness.
“I spoke with Conan. The way I see it, you should get betrothed to him now.”
“No, Father!” Blood sprinted through her. Her life would end if she married Conan.
“I’ve delayed it because I wanted to keep you young. Wasn’t ready to give my little girl’s hand to another man quite yet, but that wasn’t fair to you.”
Fair? She shifted on the hearth. Soot stained her hands, like Victor’s tunic this afternoon.
“As you said, you’re sixteen. Your mother was fifteen when she and I started out. There are proper ways and improper ways of expressing the way you feel. Marriage is a proper way, and fortunately, Conan overlooked the very improper way you expressed yourself today.”
“You told him?” Her racing heart started skipping beats at a mad pace.
“Of course, I told him,” Father’s deep voice filled the darkness around her as he plodded on, “but he’s agreed to tell no one else. After the betrothal, gossip won’t matter.”
“But Father!” He couldn’t be serious.
“But what? But you didn’t let a worthless patrician lay his hands all over you in here today? Who knows what else happened outside my shop? Do you even begin to understand how shunned you’d be if rumor of this got out?”
“I didn’t do anything improper outside the shop.” Well, she had kissed Eric. Cara summoned her most innocent face, the one that had earned her extra rolls at age five. “You’re not saying I can’t work with Edna anymore, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Besides, you’ll be married soon enough, so you won’t do that anyway.”
Married? To Conan? Father wouldn’t actually force her to do that. He wouldn’t. “Can’t I work one more event?” She had to see Eric’s maps and the minotaur chariot – and Eric.
“This isn’t about events. This is about your life, Cara. You’re a woman-grown. Do you even know where things like that can lead?”
Paranoia. One kiss occurred and Victor certainly hadn’t been thinking that. Also, she did not wish to discuss this topic with Father. “Edna’s mother talks to me. You needn’t explain.”
A relieved look crossed Father’s sweating face.
“Get up, Cara. There’s work to be done.” Father’s voice carried through Cara’s closed door.
She pulled her coverlet tighter.
“Cara, I can’t get the forge heated and feed the cooking fire.”
Father couldn’t actually intend to force her to marry Conan. She’d never see Greece or Eric. Conan would want her with child as swiftly and often as he could contrive, babe after squalling babe. She’d taken care of a baby for a day once. One of the neighbors had fallen ill and she’d offered to watch her infant. It had shrieked until it turned red in the face.
“Cara, now.”
Throwing off the covers, she walked out to the shop. “You always promised you’d consult me about a betrothal.”
“There’s nothing left to consult over. You already said Conan’s who you wanted. Better to get it sealed now, before he changes his mind about my daughter who would act like a common – ” Father glared at the banked fire. “Anyway, you should rejoice he didn’t have a change of heart after yesterday’s behavior.”
“It was merely one kiss.” Surely Father would relent.
“There was no merely about that kiss.” Father dug his tongs into the smoldering ashes, tossing sparks high.
Her ears pounded, legs weakening. Father sounded in earnest, and legally he had every right to force her. “I don’t want Conan. At all.”
“Change your mind now, because why? A patrician shows you attention? You’ll get nothing from those kind except shame.”
“Father, I don’t even want to marry.” Her pleading voice shook. Unmarried, unhindered by babies, she could find work and travel the world, maybe even with the Paterculis.
“You’d prefer kissing men like that without a marriage vow? That will only end in ruin, and – ” Father accented each angry word by hurling a new log on the fire. Whether he fumed at her, or the imaginary hordes of men out to ruin and impregnate her, she couldn’t tell.
Either way, he’d chosen a husband for her. “Father, please.” Tears choked her. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted you to force me.”
Dropping the last log, Father caressed her cheek. “Your mother would have helped you plan the wedding. This can be a time of joy, Cara girl.”
More deliveries again, and Father had ordered her home within the hour, leaving no time to see Eric at the training grounds. She’d already tried Edna’s house, only for Edna’s mother to turn her away.
Cara shoved her palla off her hair. Hot summer air blew around her face. The marble temple rose in front of her.
Cheering, young men held up a wooden wheel decorated in streamers. “Fortuna! Fortuna! Bless us with good fortune this year.”
Colorfully
attired girls danced in the street. Small children ran in and out between their legs. The scent of incense sticks wafted through the sticky air as older men sloshed cups of ale. “Fortuna! Fortuna! Bring good luck upon us.”
Ducking between moving bodies, Cara struck her knuckles against the door of Father’s customer.
Two colorfully dressed girls with bright cords twisted through their hair danced closer.
“Did you hear about…?” Blue-cord girl dropped her voice as tambourines shook and cymbals clashed.
A girl wearing a green sash drew back. “The infamy of it!”
“Unwed and with child. By a patrician no less.”
Green-sash girl narrowed her eyes. “Which patrician?”
“They say Marcellus.” Blue-cord girl raised her tambourine.
“No surprise. He’s responsible for half the illegitimate children this side of the countryside, they say.”
The door in front of Cara gaped. She handed the bag of nails to the man within and took his coins. As she turned down the crowded street, she glanced back at the girls.
Who did they speak of? Happily, she’d only ever interacted with the amiable patricians, not this Marcellus.
Outside the blacksmith’s shop, shadows grew long. Cara threw the shuttle through the loom, finishing another cloth she’d give a street child.
Father banked the forge fire. “Conan’s holding a dinner tonight to celebrate the completion of his new shop wing.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going.”
With a yank, Cara tied off the wool. Two days since Father had sold her off to Conan, and he showed no signs of relenting.
Father laid down his shovel. “Come.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Why?”
Did he plan to track her every move until the marriage bars locked shut behind her? She squared her shoulders. “I have to finish cooking the chicken if I’m to have something to bring.”
“Very well, but bank the hearth fire well. Another house burned down by the garrison.” Father turned and the clomp of his sandals faded into silence.
How could Father do this to her? Her pulse raced. Tomorrow night Eric would have the maps, and the statue, and the chariot and she’d not see any of it. She forced herself to breathe.
Maybe marriage would prove bearable. She’d be a matron instead of a child, free from Father’s rules. Of course, she couldn’t kiss Eric anymore, but perhaps Conan would let her serve at some of the patrician events, see the foreign crystals, marble statues, and maps. She could imagine traveling the world even if she’d be stuck in Camulodunum forever.
Cara skewered the meat. Done to perfection. Her heart dropped. Now she had to face Conan.
Light and noise streamed from the carpenter’s shop and spilled out into the dark street. Cara paused in the darkness.
The aroma of roasting pig, freshly baked bread, and savory leeks wafted out on the night air. The open door revealed long tables and benches surrounded by colorfully attired townsfolk. Through the door, to the left, stood the new wing of Conan’s shop, decorated with flower blossoms.
The wicker of the basket handle bore into Cara’s arm. She scraped her nail across the basket, which the scent of boiled chicken exuded from.
A few paces within, hemmed in on every side, Conan stood, speaking to Aidan. His gaze hit her. He turned and jostled his way to the door.
The light pouring from the doorway stopped several paces before Cara’s feet. She watched as Conan walked out to the darkness where she stood.
She drew her chin down.
“How dare you play the wanton’s part?” He grabbed her upper arm. “I’ve a good mind to lock you in the house once I marry you. Did you serve at that patrician party solely to find a man to throw yourself at?”
Wanton? Had she calculated wrong and kissing Victor had been wanton? “I just wanted to see the tapestries, and the statues, and the mosaics from far off lands. I’ll not kiss anyone again if you let me serve at the parties when we’re wed.”
“You’re – ,” Conan used an oath, “right you won’t kiss any other man again. And no, you’ll keep my house and tend my babes, not gallivant to patrician parties.”
Cara bit her lower lip. Pruella had spoken truth. Men didn’t respect women who were wantons. Now that she thought of it, sneaking out of Conan’s bed was a much less plausible solution to male hardheadedness than sneaking out of her room in Father’s house.
Conan scowled at her. He was tall, but not on the big side, yet each of his muscles drew taut. His sandy hair swished back from his brow. She used to think him handsome.
“Come.” He grabbed her hand and led her into the shop. A high table stood by the hearth, flames heating the back edge. Father sat on one end. He smiled at her as if all this would make her happy. As if that new wing with its impressively high roof, scrubbed clean boards, and carefully crafted furniture could bring her pleasure.
Conan’s house was ten times better than what Aidan had bought for Pruella, and she’d never want for food or clothes like Edna’s family. Maybe she should have wanted this, but she didn’t.
The clamor quieted and she looked across the crowd. He had invited quite a few potters, several masons, and many shopkeepers, everyone up-and-coming in town.
Conan cleared his throat. “Welcome, guests. I thank you for joining me in celebrating the opening of my new shop wing. This week, I discovered I have even more cause to celebrate. In a few days’ time, this woman,” Conan held her hand high as everyone looked, “will become my betrothed wife. Let us make merry.”
Bending down, he pressed his lips against hers, his unwanted touch rough. She stiffened, but he didn’t stop. Her hands itched for her to thrust against Conan’s chest and shove him away, but publicly humiliating the man her father would give her hand to in mere days seemed a perilous idea.
She pushed ever so gently against his chest. Conan dropped his gaze to her face. Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head, signaling him to stop. His blue-eyed gaze followed that head shake and he yanked her tighter.
She dropped her gaze to the arm hem of Conan’s reddish brown tunic as his lips bore into hers. One act of wantonness and he’d lost all respect for her wishes?
People lifted chalices, clanking them against each other as they roared their applause. Tears formed in Father’s eyes.
As the cheers died, Conan pushed a double-wide bench out for her to sit on. She sank onto the furthermost edge away from him, her one leg off the bench. His fingers dug into her waist as he jerked her back beside him.
Around them, women bustled trays of food to tables, but with Conan’s leg and chest pressing up against her, Cara had no taste for food.
On her left, Father spoke to another blacksmith. Conan looked to his right to make conversation with a potter who talked about building a new warehouse. Had Conan merely invited these people to get more business for his shop?
Behind her, Pruella’s mother approached with a basketful of rolls. “Want some, Cara?”
To avoid a lecture, Cara reached into the basket. The rolls were baked to a light crust as if a baker had crafted them. “Did Edna bake these?”
Why wouldn’t Edna talk to her anymore? She’d visited Edna’s house three times this week, and Edna’s mother had turned her away each time.
“Edna’s not doing any baking work these days.”
Cara stared at Pruella’s mother. “What do you mean? That’s their main source of livelihood.”
“Maybe Edna should have thought of that before she….” Pruella’s mother cut the words off.
Cara felt her eyes widen. “Before she what?”
“Never you mind. A maiden doesn’t need to hear such news.” Pruella’s mother patted her arm. “I’m very happy for your betrothal, Cara.”
What had Edna done? Received a flogging at the garrison jail?
An elder from the church approached them. Slapping Conan on the back, he grasped his hand at th
e wrist. “Well wishes on your married life.” The elder turned and smiled at her. “Conan is a lucky man.”
“I know.” Conan directed a smile to her as the elder’s words required, but his gaze was sharp.
An older butcher approached from in front of them. Resting his hand on the table, he leaned forward, shouting over the noise of feasting people. “May Fortuna always favor you as on this day. You have a fine shop and a fine wife-to-be.”
Squeezing between benches, Aidan approached their table. For the first time ever, Aidan acknowledged her existence with a smile. He turned to Conan. “Best wishes to you, Conan, my friend. Long life and happiness to you, and may your wife-to-be grace your home with many sons.”
Please no!
The feasting and congratulations continued until she’d had quite enough of people’s approval.
Finally, the hour grew late. Once overflowing tables crowded by bodies, now held only meat bones. Little knots of twos or threes gathered on nearly empty benches. Father moved to the door and sunk deep into conversation with Pruella’s father.
Standing, Conan held his hand down for hers. “I’ll show you my new wing.”
As she had no choice, Cara took his hand and followed him through the benches and tables to the wing.
“I’ll keep the finer pieces that I make here, show them to my buyers. There, I’ll put a table so we’ll not have to eat in the shop.”
She moved her gaze in the direction of Conan’s pointing hand.
“I constructed an extra bedroom there. The old one we can use for storage, or children later on.” He pushed a door open and moved to let her see. An oak bed frame sat on the neatly swept floor. A delicate leaf pattern, which must have taken hours to carve, decorated the wood, a newly stuffed mattress resting above.
What, two, three days until their betrothal? After that, the wedding ceremony would, no doubt, follow quickly on its heels if Conan had anything to say about it. “Conan.”
He turned to her, gaze hard.
She cleared her throat. Would he listen? “Father wanted this betrothal now, not me. I’m not even sure I wish to marry, and I don’t want to marry you.”
“Every woman marries.” He snorted, hand still over hers. “This betrothal is happening.”
When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 10