The Patrician (16 page)

Jared raised a brow. “Three?”

The man looked at the empty space behind him.

“Aghh! Keep her for yourself then!” he growled and stalked away, the chain at his ankles dragging in the dirt.

Jared blew out a breath, sent Bryna a peeved look and pulled her with him to a niche along the wall that he had claimed for his own. He sat down, stretched his legs out and began to eat. Bryna followed suit though she sat as far away from him as the chain would allow. “Eat your bread,” he commanded.

“I don’t want their rancid bread,” she said petulantly.

Gods, he was in no mood for her stubbornness. “You
will
eat the bread. Every morsel, if I have to shove it down your throat, piece, by moldy piece.” He scowled at her. “I won’t be burdened with a weakling.”

“Weakling! Women of Eire are not weaklings!” She tore off a chunk of the bread, popped it in her mouth and began to chew—and sputter.

Jared rolled his eyes and slapped her on the back. “Slower. They do not allow us water to wash down our sumptuous meal.”

The glare she sent him should have set him on fire but the harsh laugh that rose in his chest died out at the anguish he saw reflected in the depths of those beguiling eyes.

He muttered a curse, stretched out on the hard ground and turned his back to her, forcing Bryna to lie close behind him to prevent the chain from jerking her forward. In an instant, he realized it was he who was in the awkward position. Despite her best efforts—and he heard her curses—she was forced to press against him.

The pain of a dozen bruises, the lingering sting of cuts and lash marks, Jared noticed none of them. Only the sweet, soft touch of her body against his.

Fuck.

J
ared snarled, the sound distant and hollow in his mind. He was enshrouded in fog, alternating gray and foreboding and then whisper thin. He could not see, could not move, could not speak which fueled his soaring rage.

Images shimmered then took form. The first was a man, dressed in a purple edged toga, a Roman citizen with eyes the mirror image of his own. He stared at Jared with regal dignity and disapproval. Jared opened his mouth to speak, to ask again the same question of why, to find a way to ease his bewilderment, but the man he had once called father, turned his back as always and faded into the pitch blackness.

Another swirl of mist wavered into a petite, dark eyed woman, her midnight hair covered with a blue woolen veil, one Jared knew smelled of jasmine. Her expression was soft and gentle, the smile on her lips reflected in her eyes. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. He strained to reach her, but she too melted away. The weight of sorrow was unbearable and he heard his childish voice call
mother
.

His head dropped to his chest. There was no way to stop the constriction around his heart, no way to find solace or dispel the emptiness, the loneliness.  There was no place for him. No way to change the past. No way to bring back to life what had died inside so long ago. It would have been better if he had died with all the others.

It would have been better had he never been born.

The fog began to churn around him. He raised weary eyes and watched blankly as another figure took form.

It was a young woman, dressed in a simple shift of sea blue. She wore a torque of twisted gold around her neck. Waves of gold red hair spilled down her back, curling around her hips like a fire lit cloud. Her fair complexion reminded him of silk, soft and inviting and Jared’s eyes drifted along the gentle curves of her body. Verdant eyes watched his regard, reached out to him, beckoned to him. Waves of strength and love washed all the doubt and hurt away.

He yearned for the salvation the woman’s arms promised. He bunched his muscles, pulled hard at his bonds, but the invisible force binding him, mocked his efforts, and tightened their hold. Desperate to reach her, he roared his anguish.

A pain like a hammer hit him square in the chest and Jared gasped, eyes wide open. He gulped for air, was aware of dull, disinterested looks from the other slaves of the
estraglia
. He was covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat, trembling like a frightened two year old.

Above him faint streaks of daylight stole through the barred windows. Restless clanking of chains reverberated through the dimness as the other slaves tried to ease their worn bodies into positions of comfort. The harshness of his reality quickly dissipated the images of his nightmare, leaving him feeling a vague apprehension. In all of his life, he’d never had dreams so vivid.

Jared glanced down. In the night, Bryna had spooned against him, her firm little ass pressed against his body. He shifted his hips and the movement caused her to wiggle back into his warmth. He sucked in a breath as his cock hardened, willed himself under control even as the thought passed through his mind how sweet and hot it would be to sheath himself deep in her woman’s flesh.

Idiot
! Squeezing his eyes shut, Jared pushed the thought away. True, it had been months before his enslavement since he’d slaked his needs with a woman, but he’d cut his own throat before he’d join with the barbarian girl.

In moments, the overseers would be rousing them for another day of labor but for now, he relished the respite, the time to study his adversary.

Bryna was her name. A woman of Eire she had said, his merchant’s mind recalling a vague reference to a black isle close to Britannia. The Romans, both military and trade alike, had been unable to breach the foreboding place. He’d spent months thinking of her only as the bitch but now she had a name. He started to rub his other hand over his face but it was the one she was attached too and he didn’t want her to wake yet.

In her repose, she seemed delicate, though her actions proved her headstrong and rash beyond sense. Her features were worthy of a goddess, skin the texture of fine, Persian silk. His lips pressed together at the dark bruise on her cheek from Gaius’ blow. Another reason to wish his hands around his master’s neck.

He turned his attention to her butchered hair, the chopped ends still long enough to curl around her ears, trail down the nape of her neck like an unruly vine. He brushed the edge gently. It was so soft against the rough callus of his hand. Something in his chest tightened, an emotion that felt foreign, possessive.

Mine.

Jared pulled his hand away as if the tresses had turned to flame, and blew out a ragged breath. Gods, he was going mad. He glanced around the desolate prison, his emotions in turmoil. Being fettered to anyone else was a problem. To this particular woman both problem and solution. It was going to make escape difficult. But she held the answers, the keys to his revenge.

And yet the singular thought that had kept him going, helped him endure the months of hardship had been what he would do when he found the traitorous oracle. And now she was only a hands breath away, impacting his life once more.

And she had a name.

Loud shouts accompanied the opening of the door as the overseers roused the slaves to begin another day. Bryna stirred, a frown creasing her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and Jared could tell the moment she remembered where she was and what had happened. Wariness filling her eyes she scrambled to her knees and sat as far away from him as the chain would allow, staring at him.

“What? No greeting to meet the new morn?” he asked bitingly. She pressed her lips into a tight line, but not before he saw the tremble in the bottom one. A quick glance found her eyes bright with moisture. Damn, there she went looking vulnerable again. Pulling on the chain harder than he intended, he led the way out into the cool dawn.

They joined the line of men, making their way to a distant acreage that Gauis had decided should be readied for another vineyard. It was rife with stones and trees and Baal decreed it would be cleared by sunset.

Bryna worked in silence, shooting him looks of pure annoyance whenever he reached to help her with a particularly heavy rock. It surprised him, this stoicism. Most females would have been wailing and bemoaning their fate. He motioned for her to stand aside and with the help of another slave began dragging a good sized log away from one of the felled trees.

Bryna wondered which would happen first—getting her toes crushed by the huge piece of wood or having her arm ripped from its socket as Jared strained to pull the heavy tree trunk. The resentful glares he shot her when she moved the wrong way, causing him to lose his grip didn’t help her growing irritation.

He hadn’t said a word the entire day, even when he was beaten and taunted and ridiculed by the guards. The Romans held nothing but contempt for all those they conquered, she knew well enough, but they seemed especially to hate him because he was a something called a Hebrew. 

His silence only caused the ridicule to escalate. They thought him weak and subdued. But she sensed the anger, the hatred churning within him. There was power in those gleaming gold eyes and those fools didn’t have the sense to recognize it.  Dark and deadly, they promised revenge so potent, that she found herself holding her breath several times from the sheer intensity of it. That she might well become the focus of that promise caused her to shudder.

Midday approached and the skies became overcast. It kept the heat down, providing some transient relief. The darkening clouds spit rain several times, but toward noon a deluge broke open, sending the overseers to cover, leaving the slaves to huddle in a miserable pile together beneath the torrential rain.

Jared eased himself down against a hollow etched out of a wall of limestone overlooking one of the three rivers that ran through Gauis property. The chain between them jangled as Bryna reached up to brush wet strands of hair from her eyes. She was exhausted but still did not complain. He tamped down the spark of admiration at her endurance.

The wind began to gust, blowing great sheets of water against them. The sky crackled with white blue streaks of lightening. Jared relished the soaking and found Bryna doing the same. She held her face up to the sky, eyes closed, water running in rivulets down her cheeks. She reminded him of one of the Greek’s wood nymphs, creatures with whom humans never fared well.

Beyond where they sat, the river swelled with the cloudburst, great roiling rapids capped in white foam churning downstream beyond their sight. Jared glanced over his shoulder to the handful of guards standing dry and secure beneath a large rock shelf. They were talking among themselves, paying no attention to their charges.

His gaze shifted down to the fetters around his ankles. The link he had been working to loosen, the one next to the cuff on his left ankle was cracked and orange with rust. There would be no better time. Stretching to his side, he found a stone of fair size and weight and began to pound the link with both hands.

“What are you doing?” Bryna asked, her voice near lost with the sound of the downpour.

He signaled for her to be quiet. The wet stone was difficult to hold, his hand trembled. Jared focused all his energy on his task, repeating in his head
freedom, freedom, freedom.
The mantra gave him the needed strength and in three solid blows, the chain broke free of the cuff at the same instant a sharp crack of thunder erupted above them. A good sign from the gods—he didn’t particularly care which one. The sky continued to rumble, the rain began to slack off. Soon, the storm would be over and all opportunity with it.

Gods, it felt good to stretch his legs apart. Bryna watched, her face filled with question, fear and excitement. Jared gave her no time to react. He gripped her hand and scrambled down the embankment, headed straight for the cliff overlooking the river.

“Are you mad?” she huffed out.

In more ways than she could know. Without breaking his new found stride, pushing his exhausted body, dragging air into his lungs, he leapt into the rushing water.

The force of the landing knocked the breath from his body and his head slipped beneath the white foam, before he kicked his legs and shot to the surface. He choked and sputtered, dragging air into his lungs while his right arm dragged below the water. Could the girl even swim? Grabbing the chain before her weight pulled him under, he tugged her to the surface. Bryna shot up like an arrow into the air, gasping for breath and fighting to stay afloat in the churning water.

He reached out, encircled her in his arms, treaded water and allowed the rain swollen currents to sweep them downstream.

The force of the water buffeted them against rocks and debris. A limestone ledge jutted out from the bank nearly blocking the narrow waterway. Jared just managed to roll his body as they grazed it, saving Bryna from the sharp edge even as it sliced deeply into his thigh. He did not care. He was free.

The waterway grew calmer, narrowed and split, spilling over a jumbled formation of rocks into smaller rivulets. The rain was tapering off and sunlight streamed through the dissipating clouds. The soft silt of the bank pulled at their feet. Sliding his hand over Bryna’s, Jared staggered onto the bank, released her, and fell flat on his back, dragging great gulps of air into his lungs.

Bryna knelt beside him, struggling to breathe. Her short hair was plastered to her head and the wet wool of her sheath outlined the contours of her body in delightful detail.

“Are. . . you. . . insane?” she choked out. Coughing, she spit out a mouthful of water from her clogged her throat.

“Probably,” he replied, panting. He couldn’t stop smiling, the muscles in his face protesting something he hadn’t done in so long. “But now I am also free.”

Bryna wiped dripping water from her eyes, glared at him “For how long? They will soon be hunting us.” She scanned the woods behind them. “Baal has these massive dogs...”

He rose on one elbow. “Did you not want your freedom?”

The look she gave him said very plainly that she thought he was a lunatic. “Of course I want my freedom. I have wanted it every single day since I was taken captive. But shackled together this way. . .” she shook her head. “We will be easy prey for the overseer.”