She turned her gaze up. Taut lines crossed Conan’s cheekbones, his eyebrows plunging toward his blue eyes. “But Conan – ”
“I said, it’s happening. How many times do you wish me to restate that?”
She touched his hand, which clenched over her other, and turned a pleading gaze up to him. “Please don’t force me, Conan.”
“Force?” He raised his voice. “I’m doing your father a favor agreeing to bridle his wanton daughter by giving my good name to you.”
Her heart beat against her ribs. She glanced through the doorway to where Father sat, back turned to her, deep in conversation. She’d begged Father again this afternoon to let her out of the betrothal, and he’d said “no”.
“That kiss was where your wantonness ended, correct? I’ll not take aught but a virgin as my bride.”
“I’ve no desire to be your bride.”
Yanking her back, out of the other room’s line of sight, Conan forced her chin up. “Tell me the truth, Cara. Are you still a maiden?”
“Of course I’m still a maiden. It was just a kiss, like the kind you’ve given me a hundred times before.” She glared up at Conan. Eric wouldn’t have grabbed her hand and kissed her against her will.
“I’m your betrothed.”
“Not through any wish of mine.”
Conan ran his gaze up and down her, a calculating look in his eyes. “I suppose I believe you’re still an innocent.”
“Suppose! I’m not a loose woman.” The curvy girl at the Ocelli party must have spoken truth that the bridegroom couldn’t tell, or why would Conan ask her again and again?
“Good.” Taking a step forward, he shoved her into the wall. He ran his fingers over her lips, his calluses rough as they pushed against her skin. “Then these are mine. No man touches them again save me, you hear me?”
She wanted to spit. Instead, she stepped forward and ran both hands up his chest, pressing her body fully against his. “So, I may do this and this with other men, just not a kiss?”
“It was no jest, Cara. Within a fortnight, you’ll be in this home as my wife and I expect obedience.”
She stepped back and arched her shoulder, elbow out. “And if I refuse to give it?”
“You’ll give it.”
So certain his tone and he spoke truth. Men ruled the world, and especially their wives. She dropped her gaze to the freshly hewn wood beneath her feet. Maybe Conan felt out of sorts because she’d kissed Victor. It was one kiss. Conan would forget that in a day or two and things would be as before. She used to like Conan, and she’d do well to remember that before she made her husband-to-be more furious.
Releasing the deserved anger, she turned her gaze up to Conan and tried to smile. He’d always loved her smiles. “Will you still take me to Gaul though, once you become my husband?”
“I will do many things once I become your husband, but taking you to Gaul is not one of them.” Even lowered, his voice sounded harsh as winter nights.
She twisted her fingers in her sash as she gazed at the man who had wanted her for two years now, and who, in a few days’ time, would get his wish. Her racing heartbeat choked her, her hands clammy as cold chills ran down her trembling legs. All too familiar emotions slithered over her skin, dread and shame.
Eric’s bride would feel safe and cherished, not dread-filled and ashamed on her betrothal day.
Chapter 8
Cara tied off the threads of the cloth she’d woven. Today she’d deliver it to one of those street children who ran naked near Edna’s house. She snuck a glance at Father. He blew on the forge’s new flames. “Father, may I work at the Paterculi dinner tonight?”
“No.”
“Please, it’s my last chance before Conan squashes all diversion.”
“Cara. Marriage is a beautiful thing.”
She rolled her eyes. Would Father relent on selling her off if she told him that Conan had commanded her not to kiss other men and planned to hold the wedding within a fortnight? No, Father, unlike her, would approve. “Please let me go. It’s extra money. I could use it in my new house.”
“I don’t want you mixing with those men.” Father stirred the coals.
“It’s at the Paterculi villa. They go to First Day services. Nothing inappropriate will happen at their event.”
“They are better than most patricians.” As Father nursed the baby flames to life, he furrowed his brow, considering her request.
And why not? She merely wanted to see the minotaur chariot, and the statues, and the maps. Then she’d wed Conan as Father commanded. She just needed one more night, and Eric had promised to show her everything.
Boots thudded outside the open door.
“Conan.” Crossing the room, Father clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Cara stiffened.
“Should I allow Cara to work at the Paterculi villa tonight?” Father said. “She wants to one last time, and they have a good reputation.”
Cara flung herself off the bench. “Why are you asking him?”
“He is about to become your husband. It seems only right that he should have some say in your whereabouts.”
“No.” She raised her voice. “You were telling me that I could.”
“Cara.” Father dug his eyebrows down, his voice too hard to cross. A few times, he’d even used that tone with Mother, and Mother always cried afterward.
Cara collapsed onto the bench. Wasn’t it enough that she’d marry the man, without giving him the chance to ruin her last opportunity for maiden pleasure?
“What do you say, Conan?” Father stood beside him.
“After that last display? My wife will not expose herself thus.”
His wife? Father hadn’t sold her off to him yet. “But Conan, it’s good wages for light work.”
“If you can’t live on my wages, you have no business marrying me.” Conan pierced her with his gaze.
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Cara!” Father said.
“Well, I don’t.” Cara knotted her hand into a ball. “Please don’t make me, Father.”
“I’m signing that betrothal, Cara.” Crossing to the forge, Father took up his hammer.
Cara swung her gaze to Conan. “The Paterculi party is just one night. You’re acting utterly despotic.”
Conan raised one eyebrow. “This is me embracing leniency. You have yet to see my despotic side.”
A chill pierced through her marrow.
Her knees wobbled.
Another spell began.
Father let him talk to her like that. Father, who hadn’t even let her go with the merchant’s wife to the coast because she might meet the “dregs of society,” was letting a man threaten her in his own shop.
Turning, Cara raised a trembling hand. “But Father, I wish to go.”
He shrugged his broad blacksmith shoulders. “You have the man’s answer.”
Grabbing the cloth she’d woven, she ran past Conan before he could see the terror sweeping over her.
“You have work to do,” Father called.
“I’ll do it after I see Edna.” Perhaps venting about this betrothal would make the spells stop. She’d already had two this morning thinking over Conan’s words of yesterday.
If Edna would see her, that is. Why did she hide? Was she ill? If so, she’d help nurse her back to health.
Conan rested his hands on his belt. “Last thing you need is a friend like Edna.”
Could he cease talking? Every time he spoke another chill ran down her. Soon the room would start to tilt, and the horrid thoughts would begin. She glared at Conan. “I’ll decide that.”
“Not after you marry me,” Conan said.
Fury stilled her hands’ trembling. “If you think for one moment that you can control – ”
“Cara,” Father said. “No more.”
Dropping her chin, she walked back through the shop. She’d thought Father had hordes of rules, but not to compare with Conan. Would Conan command h
er the same as those babies he planned for her to bear?
Conan moved toward Father at the forge fire. “Aidan’s got the day after tomorrow off. He’ll act as a witness if we sign the betrothal then.”
Eric chafed against rules and his father’s martial decrees same as her. If she saw Eric right now, she’d kiss him so long Conan wouldn’t care about Victor’s kiss anymore.
The stool’s leg wobbled as Victor sat.
Morning sunshine lit Father’s sickly face. He raised his angry voice again. “Are you a fool? Tell me if the Paterculis suspect our piracy.”
“I’ve already told you. Eric knows nothing about his father’s work.”
Father threw a tablet. It shattered on the tile. “No, you’re just too gutless to employ the means necessary to press Eric.”
“There’s nothing to find out.” Victor glared at his father.
“Ha! Hold a party at my farmhouse tomorrow night. Get Eric drunk, then ask him what he knows.”
“Eric doesn’t drink.” He barely gambled, and never touched a woman, well, except for this Cara. He’d relish the expression on Eric’s face when he told the man that he’d kissed his girl. Almost did more, too, if not for the inopportune timing of that girl’s father. If he invited Cara to the party, that oversight could be remedied.
“Use this then.” Sliding a drawer open, Father pulled out a small jar filled with a crumbled herb. “Brew it and mix the tincture with wine. The herb loosens all inhibitions and leaves the imbiber with no memories of what has passed.”
“I said he doesn’t drink.”
“If you can’t trick him into drinking one glass, you’re more idiot than coward.”
Victor clenched his fists. “What’s your plan when I prove Eric knows nothing?”
“We’re thousands of denarii behind in our payment to the Viri. Legate Paterculi is fabulously rich. You’ll kidnap Eric for me and hold him for ransom.”
Kidnap Eric? Victor dug his fingers into the stool’s seat. “The legate’s a hard man. Perhaps he wouldn’t care what happens to Eric.”
Father laughed. “Trust me, he’d die for that boy.”
Outside the window, a raven flew through the hot air, cawing. Victor scraped his fingernail across his thumb. “Why Eric? There are dozens of other patricians we could hold for ransom.”
“You’ll do what I say, boy.”
“After I drug Eric, I’m going to Moesia to get the experience to someday leave this Britannia exile and secure a political post in Rome. I shan’t kidnap anyone for you until I get back.”
“Very well, but within a week of Eric returning to Britannia shores, I expect him kidnapped, or I shan’t help you gain that post in Rome.”
Without his father’s influence, he’d never get any political position, and a short kidnapping wouldn’t permanently damage Eric. Victor groaned. “Very well.”
Cara struck the broom against the smithy floor. Her harsh broom strokes whipped up dust. Afternoon light reflected off the bronze mirror on the wall. Only hours left until the Paterculi event, and she wouldn’t be there.
“Cara,” a voice that sounded like Pruella’s called through the doorway.
Cara kept sweeping.
“Can I come in?”
The second time the voice spoke, Cara dragged the toe of her boot across the floor.
Pruella’s palla slid off her head as she stepped inside. A smile stretched her face. “I’m with child, I think.”
“Oh.” Cara slammed her broom down. The cord around the straws split, broom disintegrating. She should summon enough politeness for congratulations, but she had no more patience left for any of Conan’s friends.
Walking up to her, Pruella knelt by the pile of straw. “The tighter bound brooms keep the house cleaner. Twist the strands like this.”
Cara pulled the broomstick out of Pruella’s hands.
Stepping forward, Pruella invaded Cara’s space. “Conan asked me to speak with you.”
Asked Pruella? How dare he?
“A good wife respects her husband’s authority. You shouldn’t defy him.”
Holding her chin high, she stared right into the self-righteous depths of Pruella’s mud-colored eyes. If she did embrace defiance, what did Pruella or Conan propose to do about it? Beat her?
Actually, Conan might consider that an option. The splinters of the broomstick dug into her hand.
Her insides churned, sweat building on her palms, but she marched up to the door and shoved it further open. “Leave. Now.”
With a sniff, Pruella swept out. Cara’s breaths still came fast.
The walls wobbled. Was another spell beginning?
Midday meal preparation be cursed. She was going to see Edna.
The summer heat twisted around Cara as she ran toward the north. Soon she saw Edna’s house. Despite the day’s heat, the door was shut fast. She rapped her fist against it.
Kelwyn poked his head out. “Edna doesn’t want to see you.”
“Why?”
“Sorry.” Edna’s brother slammed the door.
Why wouldn’t Edna see her? Cara rubbed at her tearstained eyes as she continued on and turned down the alley where a stench rose from hovels.
A naked little girl played in a mud hole. The girl’s mother stood behind her, a baby clutched to her hip. From the look of the mother, food had been scarce.
“I wove some wool,” Cara said. “You can have it for your daughter.”
“How much?” The woman couldn’t have seen more than twenty summers, maybe less.
“A gift. It’s warm for winter.”
The woman stared from gaunt eye sockets. “If she survives the winter. My man can’t find work, and once the frost takes our garden, we’ll starve.”
“I – ” Cara bit her lip.
“He’s a freedman, writes Greek, used to copy it down for his master. Know anyone who needs a scribe?”
Eric might know someone, but Father wouldn’t let her see him tonight, and after that, Conan certainly wouldn’t. “I’m sorry. I don’t, but….” Cara shifted her feet against the hard dirt as if saying these words aloud would make the marriage happen. No matter what she said about the matter, the marriage would occur, and she needed to face reality. “There’s a carpenter on Light Street, third shop on the left. I’ll be his wife before winter. Come find me if your child’s starving.”
For one instant, a glimmer of hope shone through the woman’s desperate eyes. “Gratias.”
Cara walked on. Two streets down, hoofbeats sounded.
A patrician galloped through the narrow street, his fine horse contrasting with the dilapidated buildings. She glanced up at him. Victor.
His gaze met hers and he yanked the horse over. “I’m hosting an all-night festivity tomorrow night at my farmhouse outside of town. Wish to come?” He acted as if three days ago had never happened, which is exactly how he should act. One kiss, ill-advised maybe, but scarcely the catastrophe Father and Conan made it into.
She glanced right and left, but only a small boy played on the street. “Edna won’t talk to me and I can’t go without her.”
“She’s shunning you, too?”
Cara squeezed her eyebrows down. Edna shunning her, Edna’s best friend. Edna parting ways with Victor, whom she had obsessed over. Pruella’s mother’s comment about baking. None of this made sense. “Were you on this side of town to see Edna?”
“No!”
“What happened between you and her?”
Victor shrugged, highlighting the fine linen of his tunic and the gold signet ring on his left hand. “Guess she’s done with me. Quidquid. Come tonight.”
Go? Unlike the Paterculi event, Victor’s parties started after dark, so she’d have time to sneak out after Father went to sleep. She could ask about scribe positions for that woman’s husband.
Victor rested his elbow on his saddle. “I’m leaving for Moesia the morning after, with Eric, so it’s the last one.”
Leaving? For Moesia? The jour
ney alone would take weeks. She’d be married by the time Eric got back. Even though Eric didn’t love her, she had to tell him farewell. “I want to, but it’s not safe to walk the countryside alone.”
“Meet me behind the temple then, just after sunset.”
“Will you take me back, too?” She studied Victor’s face. Walking to the temple alone at that hour still courted danger. Eric would have offered to meet her at her house.
“Of course.”
She ran her tongue over her lips. Victor would probably get drunk and forget, but Eric would take her home. She needed to return by the fourth watch of the night at the latest because Conan would arrive at the first hour to sign the betrothal.
Eric glanced at the packed bag at his feet. All he’d need for several months away listening to a long-winded former legate, who thought him a dotard, explain the arrangement of legions between Moesia and Dacia. Dotard or not, he would pass this class.
Standing, Father moved from behind his writing table. “You’d best leave soon, son. Legate Balbinus Maximus’ forum on Dacia starts an hour before sunset at the inn by the docks. You’ll stay the night there and leave with the others in the morning.”
Eric frowned. Victor had invited him to an all-night farewell celebration before the ship sailed for Moesia, but between this afternoon’s discus throwing, and the morn’s wrestling bouts, he craved dinner and sleep.
Besides, if he knew Victor, all-night was synonymous for other things that he’d not break the Most High’s law by participating in. Unlike Victor’s last party, he didn’t need to go to take care of Cara. She’d never attend an all-night festivity.
“May I meet the ship on the morrow?” At least he could enjoy one more evening with his familia before this exile to the far seas.
“No, you will go. I expect you to make use of every opportunity to learn in Moesia as well.”
Eric stared out the window to the garden. The late sunshine reflected off the white statue of Odysseus, which a Macedonian sculptor had crafted. Cara never had come and seen it last night at the politically tinged farewell party Father had hosted for him.
When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 11