The Patrician (18 page)

She fought to ignore the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. He talked to her as though she were a child. “No, my home is far away.”

When he spoke, his voice was less harsh, “Then where would you go?”

She lowered her aching body to the ground. “I will search for my brother, Bran. When I find him, we will return home. . . together.”

Jared crouched next to her. He tilted her chin with the tip of his finger until her gaze met his. “That is an impossible dream.”

Bryna shrugged away from him. “Do you not long to see your family?”

She caught a flash of pain behind his eyes, an image of a ebony haired boy sitting all alone in a stone courtyard bouncing a ball. Bryna blinked once and tilted her head to study Jared and knew. He had always been alone.

He scowled at her. “As a barbarian, he was likely bought to labor in the mines or quarries. Slaves do not fare well nor last long in those conditions.”

She pushed his hand away neither needing nor wanting his sympathy. “Bran is alive.”

He cast her a skeptical look. Bryna stroked the soles of her feet. How could she explain the connection she felt with her brother? It was definitely there thin as a thread but strong and alive. . .just like her brother. But then Jared didn’t believe in her gift any more than he believed her innocent of his betrayal.

“By the gods, woman! What have you done?”

She followed his narrowed gaze to the bleeding cuts and dark bruises covering her swollen feet. She shrugged. “I lost my sandals when you took me swimming.”

His head shot up and pinned her with a glare. “You should have said something.”

“Would it have done any good?” she asked tightly. Something indefinable flashed behind his eyes. She shifted her gaze away, stroked her sore foot, braced for another chastising. Instead, he lifted her into his arms and held her against his rock hard chest. In three long strides, they were at the stream. Settling her on the sandy bank, Jared eased her feet into the water.

She didn’t know what surprised her most, how good the cool water felt on her battered feet or the gentle way Jared was now bathing them.

“You should have said something,” he repeated.

“It’s not so bad,” she answered truthfully, wincing as his callused palm rubbed a raw blister on her toe. “I want to put Baal and his dogs far behind us.”

He gave her a long, measured look. “Are all barbarian’s this stubborn?”

She tilted her chin up. “Only those who have to deal with pigheaded men.”

The edges of his mouth quirked. “We’ll rest the day in that copse.” He lifted her again, his touch more gentle than before and walked into the concealing foliage.

Stretching out on the hard ground, he eased onto his side, urging her to do the same. She lay down with her back to him, positioning herself so that they did not touch. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she was so numb with fatigue, she couldn’t be sure. All of her efforts fell by the way as he draped the chain connecting his wrists over her chest. The metal was hard through the thin wool of her shift, reinforcing her limited options, her sense of being trapped.

More frightening was the way Jared’s muscled arms held her close to his powerful length. It troubled her how just touching him caused heat to flare within her core, her mind to lose focus.

She resented his arrogant ways and yet was drawn to him, sensed an emptiness in him that caused a hollow place within her heart. And that frightened her more than Baal finding them. Scooting as far away as she could, she closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

***

Damon drained the goblet in his hand and nodded at the slave girl’s offer for more wine. If he had been in any other mood he would have savored the view of cleavage she offered so willingly as she bent over to fill his cup from her jar. Instead, he wanted to throttle her for distracting him from the conversation in the room.

“Silva, to the kitchen.”

Instantly, the girl bowed her head but not before she graced Damon with a sultry invitation to sample her charms. With a very un-submissive twist of her hips, she left the room. Damon turned and looked at his host. Gaius Decimus Crescens scowled into his wine cup. He was not a happy man.

But then neither was he.

Damon had spent the better part of three months searching for Jared. If his friend had not been an annoyingly punctual man all his life, Damon would still be at the warehouse waiting while the trail of the abductors went cold.

Zeva, Jared’s old nurse, distraught, blaming herself, the cycle of the moon and assorted other portents, had pointed him in the direction of a disreputable
taverna
. Of the few patrons not into their cups, only one acknowledged that Jared had been there. But the best the well-used whore could offer in the way of information, was a wailing lament that his friend had not appreciated her charms. Damon had left empty handed.

But even his astounding skills of subterfuge proved futile. For every subtle inquiry he made, a wall was erected. A solid one blocking any information. And in his experience as a spy for the formidable Senator Tertius, that meant someone did not want Jared to be found.

A few well-placed bribes and some selective physical threats had finally led him to the ship carrying Jared away from Alexandria...four days after it sailed from port.

Jared’s uncle, Gideon, refused to provide him with a ship, convinced that a ransom would soon be demanded for his prominent nephew. Damon had thought seriously about throttling the old goat, but was talked out of it by Jared’s cousin Elizabeth who was taking the whole matter very calmly. He took another drink of wine. Too calmly.

Two more weeks passed before he’d found a ship’s captain willing to risk the seasonal storms and take him to
Brundisium,
where he discovered his friend had been sold as a slave. That unwelcome news sparked a renewed urgency to his mission.

He focused his attention back to the man on bended knee before Gaius. Gaius leaned forward, ice cold eyes locked with his farm manager. “I want my property back, Baal.”

Baal ventured a look at the Roman. “We have searched far beyond even your vast holdings, master.”

There was a collective tensing among the half-dozen remaining guests as Gaius drummed his fingers on the curved arms of the chair. “Have the wretches who witnessed the escape given any information?”

Baal shook his head. “None master, not even with strenuous questioning.”

Damon set his jaw to keep from scoffing. Questioning hell. Romans believed a slave would not tell the truth unless tortured first.

Baal began to sweat under Gaius’ perusal. “The dogs lost their scent. It is certain they drowned in the flooding river.”

“Did you find bodies?”

The question was asked so smoothly and without a hint of anger that the poor sot didn’t even realize he was about to be skewered. Damon took another sip of wine and waited for the blow.

Baal bowed his head. “No master, we did not.”

“Then get out of my sight you sorry piece of shit.” Baal ducked as Gaius’ goblet flew straight for his head. The
vilicus
scrambled to his feet, beating a hasty retreat out of the dining room.

Damon helped himself to a nearby plate of fruit, popped a grape in his mouth. “These slaves must be very valuable.”

Gaius ran his hand through his hair. “Only one of them has any real value. The male is one of my stronger investments as far as chattel goes.

This time he chose a ripe fig. “And the other slave, was he valuable also?” he asked nonchalantly.

Gaius relaxed. “No, the other one was a barbarian girl. Comely, but cheaply bought.”

Damon pretended great interest in selecting another fig. A barbarian girl?  Could it be the same barbarian oracle Jared had visited the night of his disappearance?

Gaius stood. “My deepest apologies to you all, and to you, my Lord Marcus, so newly arrived from Rome.”

Damon inclined his head in acknowledgement. Gaius spent so much time at his rural holdings that he was unaware there was no Lord Marcus, special envoy to the Senate.

Gaius continued. “I beg your pardon, but I must see to engaging bounty hunters in the quest for my property.”

Damon played out his role as Lord Marcus, complementing the ladies on their finery, feigning interest as the men discussed the latest crisis in the Senate. He lingered behind as the other guests filed out of the dining area to their respective rooms for the night, then slipped through the peristyle and out a side gate. It was unfortunate that he would not be able to enjoy Gaius’ hospitality. But if he left now, he just might be able to beat the bounty hunters to their quarry.

***

“This is a funny place to take a nap.”

Bryna roused slowly from her slumber. She sensed Jared’s tension before she came fully awake, felt his grip around her waist tighten imperceptibly. She opened her eyes to find a small boy, not more than five summers old, peering into the bush.

“What have you found, son? A man’s voice called out. “Your mother will not abide bringing another rabbit home.” A deep chuckle. “Lest it be for a stew.”

Bryna froze, heart racing, her breath all but closed off with fear. Glancing down, she saw Jared clench and unclench his fists. He would fight before being captured and she would too.

An older man joined the boy. His eyes widened in surprise. “Well, it certainly isn’t a rabbit,” he murmured. He raked an assessing gaze over them, lingering, Bryna thought, a bit too long on their chains.

He held out his hands, palm up to show his lack of weapon. “I am Phoebus. This is my son Tulio. You are in no danger from us.” The little boy smiled shyly, completely oblivious to the tension charging the air.  Phoebus scanned the surrounding copse. “Have you come far?”

Jared rose slowly to a sitting position, bringing her along with him. He squeezed her arm in warning and answered. “We have traveled five days distance.”

Phoebus shook his head thoughtfully. “A good start, but your master will be searching for you.” He straightened, staring at the ground seemingly uncertain about his next move. Bryna held her breath.

Finally, after a long moment, he took his son by the hand, saying, “You need food, clothes, a proper night’s rest and I well imagine you’d travel faster without those shackles. My house is across the meadow.”

Phoebus’ honest concern glowed from inside of him, filled Bryna with its sincerity. She looked over her shoulder, her chin nearly colliding with Jared’s. Her mouth was a breath away from the dark stubble of his clenched jaw. “He can be trusted,” she whispered.

Jared’s face was a mask of stone. “No one can be trusted. His coffers would overflow with the reward for our capture.”

“He will not harm us.” Her stomach rumbled. To have real food would be heaven. Most of all, she wanted to be free of the chain—and Jared’s constant presence.

“More of your magical talents?”  he countered, his breath warm against her ear. “We both know how reliable that is.”

“I do not blame you for your indecision,” interrupted Phoebus. “It is not easy to trust a stranger in. . .ah. . . your circumstances. But you will travel much quicker with free movement and a full belly.”

Jared’s brows drew together as he considered the man’s words. Finally, he nudged her in the back. Biting back a retort, she crawled from beneath the hedge.

“Why are they chained, Father?” the little boy asked. “Are they bad people?”

Phoebus smiled warmly. “No son, they are only lost.”

“Do not betray us, old man,” growled Jared, “or I will kill you.”

Phoebus nodded in understanding. “Of course you will. Come, the night is soon upon us.”

Clunk.

T
he iron cuff fell to the ground, just missing Jared’s toe as it landed between his feet. He rubbed the tender skin around his wrist. The pain didn’t matter, he was free.

He cast a sidelong glance at Bryna. She was seated on the ground swinging her own arm to and fro in every direction, her expression one of sheer relief. Phoebus murmured something to her causing her to smile. A warm, generous, shy smile. Jared could only stare at the transformation. Gods, she was beautiful.

The smile faded when she caught him observing her and it seemed the tiny stable went dimmer. Wariness shadowed her eyes. She didn’t know what to expect from him. Well, that could be to his advantage. She thought to put him off by schooling her features into a mask of indifference but those sparkling eyes filled with defiance gave her away.

Stubborn girl. Too stubborn to admit the absurdity of leaving and traveling on her own. A beautiful woman with hair the color of fire traveling through a foreign land would attract all manner of unwanted attention.

Jared clamped his jaw against the fierce wave of protectiveness that gripped him. He gave himself a mental shake. It was an irrelevant matter. He was taking her to Alexandria to identify his assailants. Then she could fall off the edge of the earth as far as he was concerned.

She’d also be alone. Unprotected. Easy prey. He kicked the chain away from his foot. Gods why did that bother him so?

The door of the tiny barn swung open with a creak. Instinctively, Jared stepped in front of Bryna. A dark haired woman entered carrying a bundle in her arms. She paused, a mixture of fear and annoyance creasing her features. The woman’s gaze darted between them, disapproval written plainly on her broad face.

“Ah, Sybyl, good, you found them,” said Phoebus, taking the bundle from the woman.

“We may need these clothes in the future,” she whispered beneath her breath. “They should not be wasted on slaves!”

Phoebus gave Sybyl an indulgent smile, cupped her cheek with his hand and held her gaze. “Have you forgotten so soon, wife?”

Sybyl’s eyes gentled and she shook her head.

Phoebus passed Jared the bundle. “It’s dark now. It should be safe. There is a small pond about fifty paces into the woods. You and the girl can wash there. These. . .” the old man reached down and picked up the discarded fetters, “these I will bury. Come to the house when you are done.”