by London Casey
“Let her see him, Marius.” Appia moved into his office, her voice quiet. “Before the knowledge of his arrest spreads. He is her husband; they deserve a moment. It may be the last they have until the trial.”
Elizabeth fought the panic roaring through her. She dug her fingers into the wood, using it as an anchor. Warm hands closed over her shoulders, and she nearly bolted out of the chair.
Marius stood in front of her. She had been so blindsided by the panic she didn’t even see him until he touched her.
“I can give you five minutes with him. Don’t ask me for more—I should not be doing this at all.”
She needed several deep breaths before she could answer him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“I will take you back. Quintus is standing guard, and he may not give you room without my word.”
She nodded, pried her fingers off the chair, and followed him out the door. Appia moved to her side, taking her hand as they walked through the torchlit praetorium. Elizabeth was grateful for the support.
Kane was in the same slave room in the far back corner. Elizabeth saw Quintus standing outside it. He stepped in front of the doorway as they approached, muscular arms tensed, his hand on his sword.
“Captain—”
“I am giving her five minutes.”
“The prisoner—”
“Is her husband. Five minutes, Quintus. Now let her pass.”
He did, without even glancing at Elizabeth.
She limped inside, expecting the worst. Kane sat on one of the small pallets, staring at the floor. Lamplight slid over the heavy shackles that trapped his wrists, their chain attaching him to the wall. The thick iron collar around his neck stopped her in her tracks.
“Kane.”
“Go, Elizabeth.” He didn’t even look at her.
Anger replaced the fear that had gripped her since Marius told her of his arrest. “No, you don’t, Jackson Kane.” She stomped over to him, surprised him into looking at her. “I’m not letting you—”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her in, whispering against her hair. “You have the transport. I want you to go. Anywhere but here. Just go.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“I don’t want you here.”
She jerked back, startled by his cold voice, and her heart skipped when she met his eyes. He was mad. No—he was furious. What happened—“Get out of here, Elizabeth.” He let her go.
“I won’t—”
“Get her out of here, Quintus.” He pushed himself to his feet and turned his back to her. The chain scraped over the floor with every movement.
“Kane—why are you—”
“Quintus! I don’t want her here—not now, not again.” Every word slapped her. “Get her out of my sight.”
A strong arm caught her around the waist and lifted her off the floor. “No—Kane—damn it, Quintus, let me go—”
Quintus swung her out of the room and into Appia’s arms. “Take her and go. His request, not mine.”
“No—” She jerked free. “I have five minutes—you gave me five minutes.”
“Elizabeth.” Appia touched her arm. “He doesn’t want you here.”
“I know what he’s doing.” She turned back to Marius. “I want all of my five minutes.”
Marius nodded. “Let her in.”
Elizabeth braced herself, because she knew Kane would not react well.
She paused in the doorway. He still faced the wall, but now he had his left hand braced against it, his muscles tense. She wanted to touch him, to tell him she planned to do whatever it took to get him out of here.
“Kane.”
He stilled. “I don’t want you here.”
“I got that, the first time you snarled at me. It won’t work—I’m still going to fight for you, prove that you didn’t do this.”
She watched him turn around—and fought the need to retreat from the look in his eyes. She had never seen him so angry—not even when he faced off with Guy.
“Go home, Elizabeth. We are done.”
Even though she expected the retaliation, his words still stung. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Then this will hurt.” He stalked across the small room, dragging the chain after him. “I am done with you. Every woman in my life told me I don’t have the heart to love. They were right.”
“Kane, you—”
“Shut up and let me finish.” His rude tone stunned her. “I lusted, I took, and now I am done. Go home. I don’t want you.”
He was right. It hurt. And she wanted to hurt him back. Instead, she let the tears that stung her eyes slip free, and waited for him to comment, or taunt. He stared at her, like she was a stranger.
“If you’re lying to protect me, Kane, I understand. If you’re not—” She took a shaky breath. Just the thought left her aching, her throat tight. “Then we will deal with that. Once you’re free.”
He didn’t say another word. But those clear grey eyes, always so warm, so lively, were icy as they stared at her. Stared through her.
Quintus laid a hand on her shoulder. “Your five minutes are done, Elizabeth.” He spoke quietly, like she might break. It was a definite possibility.
She looked at Kane one last time, then nodded to Quintus and let him lead her away.
Marius laid his hand on her shoulder. She barely felt it. “Appia, take Elizabeth to the dining room. I will join you shortly.”
Appia wrapped one arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “Hold on to me, sweet girl. That’s it, one step at a time.”
She didn’t remember walking down the hall, or much of anything until Appia settled her to the couch in the dining room. The older woman knelt in front of her, touched her cheek. “Talk to me.”
Elizabeth shook her head. Every bit of control she had left held in the tears that wanted to pour out of her. Part of her knew—knew—that Kane had pushed her away to protect her. But the part that had been rejected since she was ten shouted louder, kept up with the “I told you so” litany until she started to believe it.
Hadn’t she been waiting for it? He would hardly be the first—but he would be the last, because no one would ever get close enough to hurt her again.
“If your goal was to wound her enough to leave, you may have accomplished it.” Quintus spoke from the doorway, Marius at his side, far enough away that Kane could not attack either of them.
He stared at the floor, his left hand clenched in a fist. He meant to hurt Elizabeth, and the way he did it tore at him. “I will not see her harmed because of me.”
“You think Marius would let that happen?” Quintus stalked across the small room, close enough to hit. “That I would?”
Kane looked at the centurion, then at Marius, and realized that they both cared about Elizabeth. As she seemed to do with everyone they met, she had earned their loyalty. Kane felt better, knowing she would be protected, after he—
“You’re not dead yet,” Marius said. Kane stared at him. “The thought is plain on your face. Quintus arresting you was done in haste,” he limped forward and laid one hand on Kane’s shoulder, “but I want to continue the charade, if you are up for the challenge.”
“You don’t—” He looked from one man to the other. “You don’t think I’m guilty.”
Quintus shrugged. “After I let my temper cool, I took a second look at the fabric. It is yours—but it had been cut away from your garment, not torn. I considered that suspicious.”
Kane lowered himself to the pallet, his legs unsteady. “I spoke to her, in a way I knew would cut the deepest, because I thought you had already condemned me.”
“We believe in innocent until proven guilty. Even on the wild edges of the empire.” Marius sat beside him. “Distancing her may be the best for now. Appia will keep her occupied. And I have a way to do the same for you. I want to continue our training.”
“You—what?”
“Quintus has agreed to trade off with me, so I don’t overtax myself. But it will be goo
d for you, and we have a way to discuss a strategy without it looking like favoritism.”
“And how are you going to explain, when one of your soldiers demands to know why a suspected murderer is allowed to hold a weapon?”
The grin on Marius’ face warned him that he would not like the answer.
“That we are training you for your possible sentence—a glorious, bloody death as a gladiator, for the amphitheatre in Londinium.”
He was right.
Chapter Seventeen
Mac watched Harper straighten, the bloody crop in his hand moving away from the Security man he’d been torturing.
“So—Colette has chosen sides. I am disappointed in her choice.”
“She doesn’t know I’m still here.” Damned if he’d let her get hurt because of his stupid decision. “I knocked her out before she could finish me off. I managed to find my way to Medical all on my own. You can check the records—I buried it pretty damn deep, but it’s there. So—why are you so hot to find me?”
Harper turned to his victim. “You may go.” Just like that. The man had some nerve. He moved toward Mac, the crop tapping his leg. Mac readied himself, waiting for the rat bastard to try and flick that thing at him. He didn’t grow up on a horse ranch for nothing, “I wanted to recruit you for a special project, but your unswerving loyalty to Kane will be a hindrance.”
“So you put out a hit on me?”
“That is rather dramatic.”
“The truth is the truth. Suck it up, Harper.” Apparently, being shot and hiding out like a wanted man made him reckless. “Tell me why you’re hunting me down, using innocent people as whipping posts.” He’d pay for that, if it cost every last favor Mac had collected.
“I need a man with—vision. A man who understands the potential, the power of what you have in this facility. I wanted you to be that man.”
“Never happening.”
“What if I could change your mind?”
“You keep talking, Harper, but all I hear are lies.”
“Here is a truth for you, Macaffrey.” Harper let go of the crop and held his hands up. “I was not the one who ordered your death.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth woke up the next morning, opened her mouth to ask Kane how he was—and remembered.
She stared at the ceiling, the ache in her chest worse than it had been when he threw those words at her. Before Kane, she could shrug them off, move on with little damage.
But she let him in—all the way in, and each word pounded her like he used his fist instead of his voice to wound. This time she would carry the scars, and the heartache.
“Elizabeth?” Appia stepped in, what looked like fresh clothing over her arm. “How are you this morning?”
With a sigh, she rolled over and sat. She would have to face today, and tomorrow, and every day after that. Might as well get used to living through the pain.
“A little tired. What is that?”
Appia held up a soft blue stola. It had a wide, dark blue border at the hem, and was sleeveless, with decorative pins to hold it closed at the shoulders. “A new outfit for you. I thought you might want to look nice when you—” She cut herself off.
“When I what?” Elizabeth stood, one hand on the wall while she waited for her weak leg to uncramp. Appia smiled, moved to the chair next to Elizabeth’s sleeping couch, and laid the stola over it, every move deliberate. Oh, yes, she was avoiding. “What don’t I know?”
“Marius and Kane are going to start training again. There, I said it, and now that you know, Marius will have to allow you to… Elizabeth. Oh, my sweet girl.” She reached out, took Elizabeth’s hand. “Hearing his name hurts you.”
“No.” She lifted her chin, took a deep breath. “Not after this morning. Where are they training?”
“In the principia, as before. But this time Marius announced his intentions, to avoid another incident. There is no need for you to attend, if it will be difficult for you.”
“I want to.” I want to see him, hear his voice, watch him move, know he’s okay—
Stupid—stupid and hopeless. Even knowing he could have hurt her intentionally, she still cared about him, still wanted him. Idiot.
“Let me help you dress, and then we will eat. The training starts in an hour.”
Elizabeth nodded, afraid if she opened her mouth again every thought in her head would come spilling out. She always imagined if she was ever jilted by a man she loved, she’d feel panic, or anxiety at the very least. Never, in even her worst case scenarios, did she conjure up the stunning, breath-robbing ache that stabbed her with every breath. Or the need to see him, even knowing it would hurt her all over again.
Kane stood in the center of the yard, stripped to the waist, a sword in his left hand. He still felt uncomfortable with his back exposed, but he knew by now most of the soldiers in the fort had seen his scars, or at least knew about them. He shifted, getting used to the loose wool trousers that hung low on his hips, the leather sandals on his feet.
Half a dozen soldiers stood around the edge of the ring Marius created, weapons drawn and ready to use in case Kane decided escape was a good idea.
The moment he saw Elizabeth walk in with Appia, he wanted to do exactly that.
She looked beautiful, and fragile, and tired. Though she hid it well, smiling at the soldiers they passed, Kane saw it in the way she moved, her hesitation before every step with her right leg. She did not even glance in his direction.
He ached at the sight of her, all too aware that the words he had flung at her yesterday could never be taken back. Already he sensed a distance between them. His original intent was to create that distance, keep her away from any violence that he faced. He saw now how well he succeeded, and his success may have built a wall he could not breach.
When she finally looked at him, the jolt of it shook him. He loved her, more than he ever thought he could love another person, and what he said to her could never be forgiven. Should never be forgiven.
Marius limped into the ring, wearing a similar outfit, and minus his crutch. It surprised Kane to see him without it, and that he moved so well on his own. He had spent most of their first session with it, and finally threw it aside right before Elizabeth and Appia appeared. This might be more of a challenge than he expected.
His right side still gave him fits, and though his back was healing faster than he thought it would, it was still not fast enough. Elizabeth was right—he had been spoiled by the machines and the medical technology of his time.
Marius smiled at him and raised his sword. “Ready to be trounced by a crippled old man, my friend?”
That casual reference still pulled at him. He nodded, took a deep breath, and lifted the sword.
Marius went after him before he finished preparing himself. Out of pure instinct he snapped his blade sideways and caught the sword aimed for his face. A sharp gasp behind him pinpointed Elizabeth’s location. The grip on his heart eased, just a little. She cared enough to be worried for him.
He circled the yard, kept Marius in sight. The man already had his sword up again, his muscles tensed for an attack. Kane wanted to initiate, but he was afraid it might spook the soldiers on guard. The last thing he needed was to be run through from behind.
With a smile, Marius nodded at them, obviously reading his thoughts. “Don’t hesitate because of the swords at your back. They have been ordered to stand down except at my command.”
“I feel so much better now.”
Marius laughed—and lunged forward, obviously hoping to catch Kane off guard. But Kane anticipated him, and took him at his word by going on the offensive.
Before ending up here, he hadn’t handled a sword since he was in school—and most of his bouts were with Gordon, keeping the blade between him and the boy’s manic attacks. There had been little finesse, and no real training.
Marius had years of training, and actual fighting behind him. Even with a bad leg, he swung the sword like it was an e
xtension of his hand. Kane ducked, cursing as his side complained, and tried to cramp up. His left arm shook already—from the weight of the sword, from days confined to a bed. He refused to let it stop him.
“Kane—come at me. Now.” Marius left himself wide open. Kane knew a trap when he saw it. He started to move in, and lunged to the side at the last moment, the flat of his blade smacking Marius’ forearm. “Well done.” Marius shook out his arm. “Painful, but well done. Point to the foreigner.” He regarded Kane with a bit more respect.
“Whenever you are ready again, old man.”
Marius shifted his sword from hand to hand, with such careless skill it left Kane impressed, and more wary. “Time to show the foreigner how a real Roman fights.”
Kane didn’t know what to expect—but it wasn’t the full out charge, sword aimed at his face.
He danced backward, aware he would forfeit if he stepped out of the ring. Before he could talk himself out of it he gripped his sword with both hands, raised the blade, and parried Marius’ attack.
With a hoarse shout he threw his weight behind his sword and forced the other sword down until it tapped the ground. A hand touched his wrist and he almost drove his sword up at the owner. The hand closed over his forearm and stopped him with the ease of man handling a child.
Quintus smiled, and took the sword from him. “Point and win to the foreigner.” Leaning in, he whispered, covering it by wiping down the sword. “Kneel and put your hands behind you. The match is over, and now you are a prisoner again.”
Kane obeyed, every inch tired and sweaty. The shackles closed over his wrists; he forced himself not to flinch at the weight pulling on his shoulders. Quintus helped him stand, which was a good thing. He didn’t think he could do it on his own. The short bout exhausted him. He glanced over at Marius, who sat on a stool on the shade of the basilica. He looked just as worn, but he lifted the cup in his hand and smiled at Kane.