When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2)

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  She jerked back. “Why are you here?”

  Victor opened his mouth.

  A whistled tune rose through the wind. Eric walked over the threshold, Lucia in his arms.

  “Eric.” Crossing the tiny space, Victor slapped him on the back. Then he stared at Lucia. “Why are you carrying a babe?”

  “Um, because she’s mine.” Eric gave him a glance that could freeze the Tamesis.

  Victor launched a none-too-friendly stare back.

  Cara stirred the porridge. “Do you ever hear Camulodunum news of Edna?” Edna should have married Alexandros the butcher by now. Unless he changed his mind? Why hadn’t Edna shown up to her wedding as she’d promised?

  Victor rolled his eyes. “Too much.”

  Too much? Had Edna perhaps run off with Victor? “How is she? Did she marry the butcher?”

  Still standing by Eric, Victor swung an irritated glance to Cara. “She’s well. Her babe screams a lot.”

  “Her babe?” Cara gripped the ladle. “You mean your babe.”

  “Quidquid.” Victor turned away from her. “Eric, the pentathlon games are in eight days. Are you competing?”

  Eric snorted. “Do I look like I have the denarii to pay the entrance fee?”

  Breath whooshed from Victor’s lungs. Cara blinked. Had Victor smiled?

  Victor traced his gaze down Eric’s filthy and barbaric garments. “Is that dock grease?”

  “Trade. Isn’t that what your father does?” Eric held Lucia higher against his chest. She clung to his finger.

  “Not on the docks.” Victor sniffed as if smelling a pungent odor, which, in all fairness, he probably was.

  “If my occupation and manner of dress offend you so, why are you here?” Eric didn’t glare at Victor, more like groaned.

  “I need to know the name of that legate we tutored under in Moesia.”

  Lucia screamed.

  “Balbinus Maximus.” Eric turned Lucia around, and the baby settled back against his arm, sleepy eyelids wobbling over her eyes. “If you’d spent a little more time in the babbler’s classroom, and less in your bed, you might remember it.”

  “I was fully satisfied with how I spent my time.” Victor slid a wax tablet out from under his arm. “Write it down for me.”

  Eric rolled his eyes and took the offered stylus. With a flourish of his free hand, he carved the letters on the tablet Victor held.

  “What do you do on the docks?” Victor tucked the tablet under his arm. “You look like you load the cargo.”

  “If I do?” Eric raised his broad shoulders. “Also, I have two ships coming in with gold from Dacia any day, so that will make a handsome profit.”

  “Ships?” Victor startled. “Are you named as the trader on the ship lists that get reported to the garrison?”

  Eric smiled as he nodded. “I thought you despised my work.”

  “I do, and you look like a barbarian.” Victor ran his disparaging gaze over the dirty wool of Eric’s Celtic trousers and the grease stains crossing his unshaven cheekbones. Then, rolling his eyes, Victor walked out the door.

  Letting the ladle slide into the porridge, Cara crossed to Eric. She laid her hand on his big arm. “He shouldn’t have insulted you like that.”

  Eric flicked her hair. “I wore Celtic trousers every summer when we visited my mother’s village, so I’ll take looking like a barbarian as a compliment, and the docks, while exasperating, are honest toil.” With a smile, he laid the now nodding Lucia on the straw pallet, then straightened up.

  She ran her gaze over the man she’d married. “You just don’t care, do you?”

  “Care?”

  “About what people think.”

  “I care what some people think.” Eric brushed his fingers over her cheek. His palms had always been callused from the discus and the javelin throw, but now each one of his fingers had calluses, and chapped skin ran across his knuckles with no patrician oil to massage into the creases. “Like you.”

  Tilting her chin up, she gazed into his eyes. She could see her reflection in them. “I think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”

  He laughed in her face. “You have to say that, you’re my wife.”

  No, she didn’t. She’d never have said that of Conan, no matter how many times he forced her to marry him. Cara ran one hand up Eric’s chest, gliding over the hard muscles there. Whether he believed her or not, he was incredible. “What do you have to say about me, oh barbaric husband?”

  “Say? My contemplation ran more along the lines of do.” His knee touched her skirt, pinning it to the wall. He tangled his fingers around hers, pressing them back as he moved his body closer to hers.

  She let her eyes dance. “Only because you have to?”

  “Absolutely. No other reason at all.”

  Handwriting sample in hand, Victor strode swiftly across the Londinium townhome where Father had taken up a month long residence. His father sprawled back in a cushion of sunshine.

  “Eric’s got a ship.” Victor scowled. Eric seemed accursedly happy about it too. Eric got stuck with a less than virtuous plebeian wife and squalling baby in a hovel, and he still looked happy. Cara wasn’t even exceptionally pretty.

  Father looked up from the cushions. “What?”

  “Do you think Legate Paterculi will spend his days here reading garrison shipping logs?”

  “Legate Paterculi is meticulous. When he comes to Londinium, he’s more than likely to read the ship logs.”

  Victor groaned. “I’ll send our pirates to pillage Eric’s two ships. We can’t have Legate Paterculi tracking down Eric before those pentathlon games.” Also, he wouldn’t mind wiping that aggravating happiness off Eric’s face.

  The sturdy brick of the Camulodunum garrison rose on every side. Victor glanced left and right, soldiers all around, marching, drilling, mock-fighting with armatura swords. He clenched the letter that the skilled forger had composed.

  A legionary motioned Victor into an office.

  His red-crested helm lying on the table, Legate Paterculi leaned over a pile of tablets. The man had the bearing of a soldier.

  “Legate Paterculi.” Victor inclined his head.

  The man who’d die within the week looked up. “What brings an Ocelli into these four walls?”

  “I’ve a missive for you, from Eric.”

  The legate jumped to his feet. “Eric’s contacted you?”

  Victor nodded.

  “How is my son?”

  With a shrug, Victor handed Legate Paterculi the wax tablet. “Ask him yourself at the Londinium pentathlon in six days’ time.” Praise Fortuna Eric didn’t have the coin to compete, or else he’d have to kill Eric, too.

  The evening breeze blew through the cracks in the walls. Cara leaned over the money-counting tablet. If she got the first shipment sold within a fortnight, then Lycaon would send out the next two ships before winter storms. With four-tenths profits on those, that came out to 4,800 denarii.

  When had Eric said the Olympic Games occurred? If she got these chalices to sell fast enough, he might make it after all. Despite the fact that no one in all Londinium would hire her, she excelled at this. She looked at Eric. “I’ll set up a stall at the market for the gold-plated chalices. Many shopkeepers frequent there.”

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Seated cross-legged by the hearth, Eric dug his spoon into porridge. “Come in.”

  A slave stood in the doorway, a brand burnt on his arm. “Sir,” the slave inclined his head, “Lycaon Vibianus sent me. He’s just had news. Pirates captured your ships.”

  No! The tablet fell from Cara’s hands. Eric couldn’t lose all this, not after everything else he’d suffered for her.

  Eric clenched the bowl. “Both ships?”

  The messenger nodded.

  The bowl shattered, broken beneath Eric’s grip. “Everything gone?”

  The slave nodded. “Dominus Vibianus instructed me to tell you that he’ll expect the six h
undred denarii.” With that, the man disappeared into the street.

  Six hundred denarii? Cara’s breathing came hard and fast. She earned pennies laundering, Eric a denarius a day at those wretched docks she’d sentenced him to by her actions.

  “What will I do?” Eric looked out to the night rather than at her.

  Cara’s heart thudded. What would they do? She’d hunt for more laundering clients, and that would earn what, an extra denarius a fortnight?

  “I failed – again.” Turning from her, he kicked a log into the fire, his movement so forceful the hanging cauldron spilled.

  “You didn’t fail.” Would Lycaon allow them to charter another ship so that, after another year of shipments, they could pay the money back? That would mean another long winter for Eric slaving at the docks, living in this hovel, and eating unsalted porridge seasoned with weevils. If only she could earn a man’s wages.

  “You call this success?” Eric held up her money-counting tablet and then released it. The tablet broke against the dirt. “My father was right. I am a failure.” He crashed to the stool, head falling into his hands.

  “Eric.” She touched his shoulder. “You didn’t fail. The pirates aren’t your fault.”

  “Oh, yes I did, and none of your fantasies about me will change that.”

  Fantasies? The fact that he’d believed her when he didn’t even remember, and rescued her and Lucia, was no fantasy. Cara grabbed his hand. “You’re not a failure.”

  He shrugged and turned moody eyes to the dark sky outside.

  “Eric.” She shook his shoulder, but he didn’t move his gaze back to her. “You married me, kept us from starvation, are a wondrous father to Lucia. How could you ever think that you fail?”

  “Lucia was failure, too. She’d not exist, if I’d made the right choice.” Eric stared at the dirt.

  “An accident’s not a failure.”

  “It is if you become drunk and get an almost betrothed girl with child, or at least it is according to my father, and I’m beginning to think he was right about me.”

  Her heart constricted. Not an accident, a plan, her plan. Would he stop believing himself a failure if she told him that? What if the truth made him leave her?

  Before he consigned himself to another winter at the docks, Eric deserved the chance to leave.

  Cara’s hand trembled, and her whole body with it. “Lucia was no accident. I hadn’t touched wine the night of Victor’s party. I planned to do that with you.”

  He jerked up. “You planned?”

  “I was sober and you weren’t and I started it.” Head down, she rubbed her thumb over her fingers. “You turned away at first, but then you did it.”

  “Wait! You what?” Eyes wide, Eric stared straight into her soul.

  “I,” Cara tried to swallow, but her throat refused, “was sober, and I sort of seduced you.”

  “I believed you when I didn’t remember because I thought you’d never lie to me.” Eric raised his voice and the noise pounded against her senses.

  She shrunk into her dress. “Lucia is yours. That’s true.”

  “You lied to me.” Condemnation shone in Eric’s brown eyes.

  “It wasn’t all-the-way a lie. You did create a child that night.”

  “I wouldn’t call any words from your mouth the truth.”

  She twisted sweaty hands over. Moisture dripped down her neck and under the stomach of her dress.

  “Why did you do it?” Eric leveled his clear gaze at her like the angel Gabriel’s judgment sword. “On the chance you’d get to marry the one patrician in the room who actually cared if he fathered a bastard child? Must have disappointed you then to see me reduced to such dire straits.”

  “No!” That, at least, she hadn’t done. “I was angry at Conan. I only lay with you to punish him. I never meant for you to marry me.”

  Eric froze. “You came to me to punish the carpenter?”

  She nodded swiftly. She hadn’t meant to force Eric to marry her, lose him his inheritance. She was a detestable person, but she hadn’t intended that.

  Eric lifted his hands in the air, his broad shoulders so stiff. He deserved anger with how much pain her sins had caused him. “All this was about your carpenter and you planned to marry him the whole time?”

  Cara gulped, head throbbing now. When they’d almost starved, or Lucia had screamed all day, or the early mornings faded too fast into long nights, she’d jumped into Eric’s arms for comfort. With the news she told him, no comfort lay in his arms. “Yes, but then you got me with child and Conan didn’t want me. I didn’t have any options left. I’m so sorry, I – ”

  Flinging the stool back against the wall, Eric strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “On a run.” Hand on the doorframe, body filling the space, he turned back. “Next time you’re in love with an almost-betrothed, maybe don’t purpose to lie with a drunk stranger at a tabula game.”

  She dropped her gaze to the dirt as he disappeared into the night.

  Hours later, she felt him slide into bed beside her.

  When she awoke, he’d already left. Left for an early morning at the docks? The morning sun shone through the doorway. On the bed beside her, Lucia screamed. Cara scooped the baby up. Would Eric direct his indignation at his daughter, too?

  Cara’s heart pounded against Lucia as she fed the child. She’d made Eric lose everything.

  Eric had left so early this morn. For work? Or had he left her? He’d spoken truth, though. She’d used him, so wickedly, and he’d had to pay the price of it. If she were him, she’d run.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, spilling on Lucia’s skin. How could she survive without Eric? He was her world. She loved him.

  Wait, why did she fret about a broken heart? Without Eric, she and Lucia would starve to death long before that.

  Chapter 25

  The sun set and darkness covered the street. Cara sang Lucia to sleep, then tucked her beneath a worn cloak. Grabbing the water jar, she poured it into the cauldron.

  The dock loading should have ended an hour ago, but still there was no sign of Eric. Her pulse fluttered as she hauled up the heavy cauldron. Third basket of washing this day. She knelt by the perpetually full laundering basket, which still earned but pennies. Where was Eric? She’d hunt for him, but he’d not want to see her face. Not now.

  Not ever?

  What would she do if Eric didn’t come back? Cold chills ran down her spine, the moisture of heating water slick against her face.

  How could she have done that to Eric? Camulodunum had spoken truth about her. She didn’t deserve respectability, not after what she’d done.

  Her body shook.

  Tears spilled over to mix with the steam on her face.

  Behind her, a footstep thudded at the entranceway.

  Grease streaked Eric’s arms, sweat slathering his tunic as if the labor at the docks had gone late.

  Her heart stopped. He’d come back. At least for one more night.

  He fixed his brown-eyed gaze on her. “Why me?”

  She cringed.

  “Any other man there that night would have willingly aided your revenge scheme except me. Why did you choose to punish that self-righteous carpenter with me?”

  Such hardness in his gaze, like when Conan had discovered she’d kissed Victor. Her fault this time too, only a thousand times worse. Tears streamed down her face, her nose dripping. “Because I was in love with you.” I still am.

  Eric took a sharp step back. His big frame slammed against the wall. “You wanted me, not the carpenter?”

  “Of course, I wanted you. Any girl in the world would want you. You’re wondrous, and intelligent, and kind, and….” Hacking sobs shook her body. “I truly didn’t mean to trap you into marriage, though. I pledge.” As if he’d believe her promises now.

  “Would you still have chosen me over him if you’d known it be this?” He swept his grease-streaked hand around the hovel.


  “Of course.” Bed lice and a hovel were a trifling price to pay to get Eric. Regardless, because of her fully-purposed actions, Eric would no longer want her. Her knees trembled. She sank to the hearth.

  Eric bent his massive frame over her. He took her hand and flipped it, revealing angry blisters. “Despite that marrying me forced you to labor from sunup to sundown, and eat weevil-laced porridge, and kiss an unshaven man filthy from the docks?”

  The tears in her eyes stilled as she turned her gaze up. “Don’t you know the answer? I’d give my last coin for the privilege of marriage to you.”

  He looked deep into her eyes.

  Eric had every right not to believe her, but she spoke truth.

  With a groan, he dropped her hand. “Then why agree to marry this Conan?”

  How did Conan become part of this conversation? “It’s not like I could have married you. You’re a patrician.” Would Eric leave?

  “Didn’t mean you had to go agree to marry some carpenter so irksome that he drove you into another man’s arms.” Eric gestured up, his frustrated gaze moving away from her to the darkness outside.

  She squeezed her knees against her chest. “I didn’t agree to marry Conan.” Would Eric stay because of Lucia? She was his daughter.

  Eric jerked his gaze down to her, his frame miles above her as he stood. “What?”

  “Conan had wanted me forever. He asked Father for me two years ago. Father arranged the betrothal the week of Victor’s party.” She was almost betrothed when she’d done it. Cara ran her finger over the uneven patch on her dress. No, Eric would leave for sure, and it’s not as if she could blame him.

  “Without asking you?”

  In a monotone voice, she spilled out the information he wanted to know before he left. “Father thought I wanted him, but it was because of Victor.” Another man she’d kissed. What did Eric think of that? “After I kissed him at my father’s shop, Father worried I’d ruin my reputation, which I did four days later, so I guess he feared wisely. Anyway, Father thought it best to betroth me to Conan.”