Kiss Across Chains (Kiss Across Time Series)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Her guard captain “gently” tapped Oresme on the shoulder and brought him across the road and into the patch of shade cast by Taylor’s mobile, square parasol, carried by four slaves holding a corner each erected on a staff.

  Oresme look thunderous, but resigned. He held himself stiffly.

  “You short changed me on the terms of our agreement,” Taylor said shortly.

  “Straight to the point, my lady.” Oresme glanced around, looking for eavesdroppers.

  “I trust everyone who stands within hearing distance,” Taylor said flatly, although she knew nothing of the sort and cared less about Oresme’s reputation. “I know it was Zeno who really made the decision, but he took orders from you.”

  “That is correct,” Oresme agreed evenly.

  “I understand he pissed himself when they flogged him in the market this morning,” Taylor added and smiled brightly at Oresme.

  His jaw sagged and the truculent look in his eye faded. Shock and dawning suspicion replaced it.

  “I suggest,” Taylor continued, keeping her tone pleasant and light, “that tonight, when you bring the slave to me, you remember Zeno’s fate. I can always arrange something similar for you.”

  Oresme drew in a slow, deep breath, his chest lifting under the leather breast plate. “Aye,” he said finally. “I understand.”

  “Eleven o’clock and not a moment later,” she told him.

  “Eleven…” he began to protest. He halted, then nodded shortly. “Eleven.”

  “And make sure he is freshly bathed and sweet smelling when he arrives,” Taylor added.

  Oresme’s jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. “It’ll cost more,” he ground out.

  “Take it out of the taxes your guard didn’t pay.” Taylor turned to go and looked at him over her shoulder. “Give Basilides my regards.”

  Oresme’s eyes widened in surprise.

  * * * * *

  Evaristus alerted Brody by tugging on his ankle from his position on the bunk below his. “Something is happening,” Evaristus called softly.

  Brody looked down at the cavern floor below. Oresme was crossing the cavern in long strides, his cloak furling behind him. He eschewed the dalmatic most men wore, preferring to wear armor over a tunic, in imitation of military men.

  Oresme strode directly over to where Basilides sat on a wide stool and began to speak in a low, hard tone, his hands working furiously as he spoke.

  Evaristus climbed up to Brody’s bunk and sat cross-legged next to him.

  “Can you hear what he’s saying?” Brody murmured.

  “Bits and pieces. He’s speaking very low.” Evaristus narrowed his eyes, focusing his concentration. “He’s talking about her, your lady.” He grinned. “He’s not using nice words, either.” He listened further, then pursed his lips. “Hmmm….”

  Both Basilides and Oresme turned and looked up at the bunks.

  At Brody.

  Basilides was scowling.

  * * * * *

  Oresme’s men arrived a few minutes after the chimes in the streets below announced the hour, the sound floating up through the open windows to where Taylor leaned against a cool column of marble, waiting.

  Every minute that passed after that before Taylor spotted their shadows moving along the processional seemed to last forever. With no time-keeping gadgets to mark the exact passage of time, she could only guess when another minute had elapsed, and she knew that in her heightened state of anticipation, her judgment of time was absolutely skewed.

  For a brief moment she wished she had Veris’ and Brody’s accurate and infallible sense of time. It would serve her well right now.

  But then she saw the movement of dark patches at the far end of the processional. Her heart leapt and she pushed herself away from the marble column she had been leaning against and hurried silently down the cool tiles toward them.

  Kale, alerted to her movement, lifted herself up from the floor where she had been squatting and followed Taylor down the length of the passage, her bare feet making no sound on the floor.

  Taylor halted as the tightly gathered group drew closer to her.

  The one in the lead threw back his hood and she hid her surprise, for it was not Zeno, the one-eyed guard she had been expecting. She had been bracing herself for insults and anger from him.

  The man staring coldly at her was younger, a typical Greek with the dark hair and eyes, and there was intelligence in his expression and gaze. “Where do you want him?” he said shortly and softly.

  Taylor stepped aside. “Kale, show them the antechamber.”

  Kale beckoned. “Come,” she commanded.

  The huddled group continued down the processional and Taylor fell in behind them. She followed them into the front room of her suite and heard the soft rattle of chains as they were unfastened.

  She moved around the group, to where Kale was watching with eagle eyes. The slave woman considered the guards of charioteers to be beneath her in rank and a lesser breed of people. Her prejudice was rich and open and she had managed to belay her disapproval of Taylor’s association with them and their drivers via expressions, sounds and gestures, even though she was not permitted to say anything directly unless invited to speak freely, which Taylor had carefully not given her permission to do.

  The group dissolved, leaving Brody standing alone in the center of them. Then one of them stepped forward to snag the back of the hooded cape, as if it was a forgotten item. It was whipped away, with a sharp tugging motion.

  Brody was naked beneath.

  Naked, and covered in bruises, scratches and wounds. His hair was damp and hung down the center of his back in a tangled skein. He had a black eye forming and there was a raw scrape along his jaw that looked like his face had been ground against stone.

  There were older bruises all over his ribs. Some of them, Taylor recognized from last night, but others were forming and they looked bigger and deeper.

  There was a series of scratches that turned deeper and uglier as they moved from his forearm up along his biceps to his shoulder. It was his left arm and Taylor knew in her gut that Brody had been using that arm to fend off a knife.

  “Animals,” Kale muttered, her nostrils flaring, as she took in Brody’s state and the guards, who stood grinning around him.

  “It is eleven in the evening. The stink of the cavern has been scrubbed from his hide, as ordered,” the lead guard said. “We will be back two hours before dawn. I trust there will be no protest when we retrieve our prized driver this time.”

  “One hour before dawn,” Taylor bargained.

  “Two,” the guard said flatly. “We will need that much time to return through the streets to the Hippodrome before sunrise and without being noticed.”

  It was a reasonable objection. Taylor nodded reluctantly. “Two hours, then.”

  The guard did not react. He did not wish her a good evening, or give any of the standard pleasantries. He simply turned and walked away, the rest of his men following just as silently.

  Kale inclined her head toward Taylor. “I will leave you, my lady. I will return before the guards, to wake you, if you need waking.” She floated away, more regal than Taylor could ever aspire to be.

  Taylor stepped toward Brody, who was watching Kale leave. When Kale disappeared, he looked back at her.

  “They’ve beaten you. Again. Oh, Brody…”

  He shook his head. “You scared the crap out of them, Taylor. This is the only way they can hit back.” He held out his arms. “I am clean this time. They used boar brushes and soap that I think was nearly pure lye. I think it took off layers of flesh.”

  She hugged him gingerly, afraid to add any more pain to his already pain-riddled body. “They hit back hard,” she whispered. “The cowards.”

  “They’re all that,” he agreed, his lips moving against her hair. “I don’t know what miracle you pulled off, but Zeno has disappeared. He was a sadistic bastard so no one misses him for a nano second. Oresme has been looking
thoughtful and Basilides is flat out scared.”

  “They thought they could dick me around because I’m just a woman,” Taylor told him. “So I showed them it wasn’t a good idea.”

  She felt his silent chuckle. “We’ve had a marvelous time watching them shit themselves wondering what you’d do next.”

  “Despite the beatings?” she asked, appalled.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Worse than guards coming at you with a knife?” she asked. “I know defensive knife wounds when I see them.”

  He was silent for a few seconds, then he said softly, “Worse than guards with knives.”

  She shuddered. This was the reason why, sixteen centuries later, Brody still carried the traces of his time as a slave. The brutality had left very deep imprints on his soul.

  Then Brody’s stomach rumbled and in the total silence in the room it sounded loud.

  Taylor stepped away from him. “God, you must be starving!”

  Brody gave a lopsided grin. “I could eat,” he confessed. “Especially more of that fancy stuff. And wine.”

  She picked up his hand. “Come with me. I had Kale put a meal together for you. More fancy stuff, only different than last night.” She tugged him toward the inner rooms, where the meal had been left. “Hot food this time, as I was pretty sure they would bring you here when I said they must.”

  “Hot sounds marvelous,” Brody replied, following her without resistance.

  “Let me find you something to slide into while you eat. You don’t want to drip hot sauce on your flesh.” She lifted the lid of a chest and pushed aside silk mantles and delicate robes, looking for the heavy winter robe she had spotted folded at the bottom. She pulled it out and shook it out. “It’s huge on me, so you should have no problems with it.”

  Brody was already sitting on the edge of the divan where he had sat last night, looking over the half dozen dishes laid upon the giant circular bronze tray sitting on the ottoman in front of him. He was inhaling in big, slow breaths, sampling the aromas.

  “It smells even better, as a human,” he said.

  “That’s because your body is responding to the smells and making you feel even hungrier,” she told him, stepping around the ottoman and holding out the robe. “Here, put this on.”

  “I’m fine,” he told her shortly.

  “I’m not,” she shot back. “It’s my fault you have those cuts and bruises. You said as much. It would help if I didn’t have to keep looking at them.”

  He looked up at her sharply. Then he got to his feet and slipped the robe over his shoulders and wrapped it around him. “It’s not your fault they’re ignorant fucking morons. You’re working with limited means in a world you don’t know…” He shook his head. “I’m amazed you pulled this off a second night, Taylor. I’m truly stunned. I’m sure you’ve already learned how small a woman’s freedom of choice and movement is here.”

  Taylor grimaced, which Brody responded to with a flash of one of his big smiles. “I see you have,” he added. He sat on the divan and reached eagerly for an apricot and bit into it and chewed.

  “Do you want to know what I did?” she asked, pouring wine.

  Brody shook his head and swallowed. “No,” he added for emphasis. “I don’t want Oresme and Basilides to have reason to think I know more than I should. Keep it between you and them, Taylor. Leave me as the ignorant sex object.”

  Taylor tried not to smile, then not to laugh, instead. She gave a breathless wheeze and handed him the wine. “Oh, you’re really getting off on that idea, aren’t you?”

  “An ignorant slave?” he asked innocently. “Not likely.” He drank some wine.

  She rolled her eyes. “The sex object whose services of which all the rich wives have knocked themselves out trying to buy.”

  The corner of Brody’s mouth lifted just a little. “It’s a pleasant amusement that passes the time.” He sobered. “But mostly, I spend my time thinking about you and Veris.”

  Taylor drew in a slow breath, searching for the calm she had to deliberately reach for whenever she thought about Veris and how very far away he was. “That’s how I did it,” she told Brody. “That’s how I tied Oresme and Basilides up in a knot and got you here for a second night.”

  Brody looked puzzled, so Taylor added, “I imagined I was Veris and figured out what I would do if I were him. It worked so well I’ve been almost scared at the effectiveness of it. No one seems to be able to cope with a woman who acts like a man.”

  “Or looks like you,” Brody added. “I’m beginning to understand why Oresme has been looking so thunderous and thoughtful.”

  Taylor reached for a bowl and scooped up some sphoungata for him, the spongy omelet that was a local dish. “Eat up. You’re going to need your strength before the sun rises.”

  “I am?” he asked with the same innocent tone.

  “Veris has the bad taste not to be here. You’ll have to be twice as creative tonight to make up for it. You two have been neglecting me dreadfully.”

  Brody’s gaze simmered as he chewed. “That’s a gauntlet hitting the floor if ever I heard one.”

  She grinned. “I imagine you’ve heard one or two in your time. Real ones, too.”

  “Aye, but the sword I will use on you bites a different way altogether, my wanton wife.”

  Taylor pushed the plate of figs toward him with a slow smile, a shudder of anticipation running through her, and settled back on the divan to wait.

  They had almost all night. Brody would make her enjoy every moment of it now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The soldiers returned at the appointed hour and this time, Brody was ready for them both mentally and physically. So was Taylor.

  Kale had found a plain, short tunic in the slaves’ quarters that would fit Brody and brought it to him shortly before the soldiers were to return. It was clean, white and hemmed. Brody gave a small smile of thanks as Kale held it out stiffly, her expression wooden. “I am indebted to you for your kindness,” he told her.

  She sniffed. “You speak fine enough,” she allowed, with a glance at Taylor.

  Taylor hid her smile as Brody slid the tunic on, and poured a cup of the hot, spiced wine Kale had also bought with her. “Here, to warm your belly,” she told Brody as she held it out to him. “And you should eat more.”

  Brody gave a gusty sigh. “I don’t know if I could eat more.” He took the cup and sniffed it appreciatively, then sipped. “Mmm. I’ve never eaten so much in my life.”

  Taylor caught Kale’s second glance at her. She understood Kale’s thoughts clearly. There was pity there and a dawning recognition of the vast difference between Kale’s life as a slave and Brody’s. Taylor had seen Kale’s gaze flickering over Brody’s bare body, lingering on the bruises and cuts.

  Kale had probably never been struck by Ariadne, or Ariadne’s family. Certainly, she had never lacked for food, water or adequate shelter and she was cared for when she was sick. She held a privileged position in society and until this moment, it was possible she had never considered the plight of other slaves who did not enjoy Kale’s situation, or wondered if they didn’t deserve their fate.

  It wasn’t just Taylor who was receiving an education into the intimate workings of chariot racing.

  Taylor coaxed Brody to eat and drink by handing him morsels between mouthfuls of the spiced wine, picking out items she had identified as food he had already acquired a liking for. Brody liked the medley of spices and combinations of unexpected flavors, as opposed to unadorned food. If he had been able to eat as a vampire, she suspected he would be a gourmand or a chef, while Veris would be the plain steak and potatoes man, who would want hot, workmanlike food cooked well and plenty of it, for that had been the food he had favored when he had been human in Norway.

  This went against what she might have predicted if she had thought about, but it held constant with the fact that of the two of them, Brody was the one that spent the most time in the kitchen and was t
he better cook of the two, when it came to preparing meals for the humans in the family and their friends. Veris could put a meal together well enough and he was always willing to do his share, but he didn’t have Brody’s creativity.

  While Brody ate, Kale went to receive the soldiers and escort them through the sleeping household.

  Taylor rested her hand on his thigh. “I’ll arrange another night as soon as I can, Brody. I can’t take you out of there – it would screw with history too much. But a night of rest, here…that I can do, as often as I can.”

  From beyond the entrance to the suite, Taylor heard the soft sound of footfalls. His guards were arriving.

  Brody lowered the cup, his dark eyes on her face. “You shouldn’t be doing this much, Taylor. God knows how it will fuck things up.”

  “You want me to stop?” she whispered. “You want me to leave you there in that hellhole and go about Ariadne’s life for the next six months or however long it takes for Veris to reach us? Let you rot there, or wait for the next chariot race to…to…” She halted, not able to complete the sentence.

  “Kill me?” he finished. His fingers curled over her wrist. “Taylor, you might have to brace yourself for that.”

  Her heart stopped. She felt it halt. Her stomach seemed to split open to receive the plummeting organ. Her whole body stilled.

  “What?” she whispered with lips that seemed to have grown numb. Even her hearing had shut down. There was a high buzzing in her mind. Brody’s fingers over her wrist was the only sensation available to her and they were a hot cuff, making her flesh sweat.

  She shivered.

  Brody shook her wrist for emphasis. “I don’t know what year this is. It doesn’t matter anyway because I don’t know what year I died. But I think it’s soon, Taylor. The way things are moving in the cavern—the races and the drivers…the events—from what I can remember, I think it’s going to be very soon.”

  His eyes seemed to be growing larger as she stared into them. Larger and blacker.