The Patrician (24 page)

The hair on the back of Jared’s neck raised. “Who is coming?”

“Soldiers. At least six of them along with two men who look like they’d kill just for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

Bounty hunters? Jared’s hands curled into fists. “They must be on a routine patrol.”

Cicero’s eyes filled with pain. “No, they are not. Lito is leading the way.”

Before the thought could register in his head, a shout sounded from the front of the building. Jared snatched up the sack. “Bryna! Is there a back way to the ovens?”

Cicero’s shoulders sagged. “Bryna is not here. She went with my daughter to make deliveries.”

There was no time to consider the terror and relief that washed through him knowing Bryna was safe—for the moment. He had to find her before she returned to the shop. As if reading his thoughts, Cicero said, “They should be nearly done by this time of day. Aea said the last delivery was to be at the magistrate’s house near the temple of Ceres.”

The clanking noise of scabbard against leg drifted from the shop. Cicero pushed at him, urging him down the corridor toward a storage room. He sprinted around the corner, finding only a window, one just large enough for him to squeeze through.

Behind him, he heard Cicero expressing surprise at the mere thought that he should be harboring runaway slaves. Through the muffle of voices he heard the excited, cracking voice of Lito, followed by the sound of a slap and a squall of pain. Wishing he could have had the pleasure of meting out the boy’s punishment, Jared hoisted himself through the opening and slid to the ground.

***

Bryna sighed, leaned her shoulder against the smooth marble of a column and raised her eyes to the blue sky. It wasn’t the rich sapphire blue of home but closer than she had seen in all these past months. Perhaps it had always been blue, but then as a slave she’d done well just to survive, never mind noticing the color of the sky.

The morning had passed by in a whirl of activity. Leaving Jared sleeping like a babe, she’d helped Aea finish baking the last of the order. Together, they loaded a handcart and after making several deliveries ended at the Roman official’s house with his order of fragrant honey cakes. Aea was with the man’s steward now, collecting payment.

Her thoughts drifted to Jared. He would be furious if he knew she had left the shop. She smiled at the image of his broad shoulders drawn back arrogantly, the muscle ticking along the firm line of his jaw, those incredible eyes hardening into points of glittering gold.

Oh, she had taken precautions, wearing that dreaded veil again, keeping her head tucked down whenever they interacted with the customers. Still, she reveled in the sense of accomplishment, in the working for her own purpose instead of a hated master. She appreciated the normalcy and allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to manage a business, to run a household, care for a family, a husband.

Her sense of contentment scattered like a flock of sheep stalked by a predator. A predator called Jared, she thought wryly. Oh, aye, he was that. At least that’s the argument she tried to convince herself with. Never mind that she had all but melted in his embrace. Oh, how she had enjoyed the taste of his lips, so rich, so smooth, like sweet wine. A delicious shiver went through her as she recalled the touch of his work—worn hands against her skin, his lips trailing a path of heat in their wake. Unconsciously, she raised a hand to her throat.

She snatched it back to her side. What was the matter with her? She was acting like a young girl with star—filled eyes. Circumstances, that was all it was. A moment of physical attraction dictated by months of tension and fear and worry.

Determined to push all thoughts of Jared from her mind, Bryna strolled over to a nearby jewelry vendor. She nodded shyly at the merchant’s greeting. The gold rings and necklaces were rough and of poor quality. Bran would have a fit to see such beautiful metal so abused. Shaking her head, she began perusing another stall’s selection of cooking pots.

“Are you positive you’ve not seen them?”

Bryna froze at the familiar, hated voice. She forced her hand to pick up a pot, pretended to study the workmanship.

“No, I’ve not seen any strangers,” replied the jeweler.

“Let me describe them again. One is a male, tall, with dark hair, the look of a rebel. Scars aplenty as proof to his stubborn ways. The other a female, about so high with cropped hair and unearthly green eyes.”

Bryna pulled her veil out to better conceal her face, then peeked cautiously over her shoulder and her mouth went dry. Baal stood at the front of the jeweler’s booth, his stocky form as intimidating as it had ever been, accentuated by the coiled leather whip secured to his belt.

She snapped her head back around, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Her hands, palms moist with anxiety, began to tremble. These past weeks of a warm bed and good food had lulled her into forgetting about the dangers that she and Jared faced. She swallowed past the closing of her throat. She was such a fool.

“There is a substantial reward for their return. Especially for the male,” Baal said impatiently. “My master wants his property returned.”

The jeweler’s interest perked at that and he began asking questions about the runaway slaves. Bryna strained to hear, but the two began to talk rapidly. She could not understand more than a word or two, and those words, branding and collars, sent a hard chill through her.

Jared would know what to do. Oh, gods, she needed him. She started to slide past the jeweler’s stall to find Aea. But Baal had positioned himself between the two stalls, his hands on his hips as he scanned the crowded marketplace. She would not be able to get past him without brushing against him, which was repulsive in its own right. The only option was to navigate along the narrow space separating the stalls from the brick walls of the more substantial dwellings of the forum.

Holding the ends of her veil tightly beneath her chin, she slipped behind the jeweler’s and headed to the end of the row, a mere six booths down. But at the fifth booth, her way was blocked by a sizeable pig who squealed loudly, protesting the interruption of what would probably be its last meal before landing on a platter. The owner of the nasty animal started shouting at her, gesturing for her to be gone. Bryna responded with a frown. Baal had surely moved on.

She retraced her steps and saw the overseer searching up and down the spaces on either side of the market. The sound of the frightened swine brought his attention fully in her direction. Wrapping the veil almost completely over her face, she walked in his direction then dashed between two stalls and out into the market.

The crowd swarmed around her as she tried to determine the quickest route back to Aea’s shop. Glancing toward the jeweler’s booth, she saw Baal emerge, squinting against the bright sun.

Bryna did not take time to think, but dashed across the marketplace, keeping her head low and weaving between irate shoppers. Reaching the temple side, she glanced over her shoulder. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she spotted Baal shouldering his way toward her.

In truth, she did not think he had recognized her, but her movements had certainly aroused his suspicions. If she headed across the temple, he was sure to spot her and he would find out her identity quick enough. Walking out into the crowd was out of the question. She squeezed her eyes shut, whispered a prayer to every one of her gods.

Opening her eyes, she spotted a gap between two buildings. Without a backward glance, she ducked into the narrow alleyway.

The walkway ended at a stone wall, Baal’s dark outline blocking the entry to the alley. Bryna’s heart sank. They could do what they may, but she would not betray Jared. The sound of an argument drifted into the alley. She tracked the source to a single doorway standing ajar. Keeping one eye on Baal, she slipped into the opening.

It took her a moment to adjust her vision to the smoky dimness of the room. It smelled strongly of sour wine. There was a long wooden shelf built along one wall, behind which stood an unkempt man with a puckered scar where one eye should be. Several crude tables with warped benches filled the central space. On these benches sat an assortment of ruffians, their faces pinched and pale with dark circles painted beneath red rimmed eyes accustomed to long days of drinking with too little sunlight.

Bryna clutched her veil like a shield, though it did little to dissuade the speculative leers sent her way. Behind her, the door she had entered was kicked closed by a small man no taller than her hip. He smiled lopsidedly at her, a large droplet of spittle hanging from the drooping side of his mouth.

“Well, look here fellows,” drawled a scrawny man from a corner table. He had no more than three wisps of gray hair poking out of his head and fewer teeth. “Look what has wandered into Milo’s fine establishment.”

“Perhaps it is a gift from the goddess Ceres in return for the reverence the good people of our noble town have shown today,” offered another miscreant across the room. The men broke into riotous laughter. A thin girl, locked in the scrawny man’s arms, sent her a look filled with pity.

“I was first to see her,” cried another, “So I shall open the gift.”

Bile rose in Bryna’s throat.

“This gift,” drawled a deep voice “belongs to me.”

Her eyes went round. How could it be? She turned to the entry and released a breath of relief at the sight of Jared standing in all of his arrogance, just inside the doorway. Three thoughts sprang into Bryna’s mind—Baal had not found him, he had not abandoned her and he was magnificent. Locking onto her gaze and holding it,  he strolled over to her, circled a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her into a protective hold against him.

“Is she your slave?” growled Milos. “She don’t appear to be from these parts.” The group of men glared menacingly at them.

Jared caressed her shoulder lightly. Bryna tensed and the pressure from his hand increased imperceptibly. “Slave?” he repeated, pausing as if to ponder the implication. “No, kind sirs, rather I am a slave to her heart. You see, this is my betrothed.” He ignored her sharp intake of breath. “Our families do not approve of our union and so we have run away to marry. My lovely bride became lost from me in the midst of the busy market. I am grateful you have kept her safe.”

The
taverna
owner edged out from behind the shelf, suspicion glittering within his blood shot eyes. “On your way to be wed, eh?” he said rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He studied the both of them, lingering on Bryna’s unadorned head.

“We beg your pardon, but we must be on our way,” said Jared amiably, steering her by the elbow toward the door.

“And where might you be going?” asked the scrawny man. He had slipped from his bench and stood blocking the exit, a wicked looking knife in his hand. The dwarf joined him, his mouth contorted into a grotesque smile. Bryna stared at the damp trail on the front of his tunic.

She dared a look at Jared. His smile was tight.

“Why, to find a rabbi to perform the marriage ceremony. You see, we are of the Hebrew faith.” He nudged her toward the door. The dwarf shuffled in front of it.

“No need for that,” replied the proprietor, a feral grin skewing his thick lips. “Jacob here is a Jewish holy man. He can marry you. Now.” All eyes fell to a lump of dusty black robes, draped over the center table. The lump grumbled as one of the patrons kicked him awake, his bleary eyes widening at the whispered explanation for his arousing.

There was a collective undertone of snickering accompanying Milos proclamation. Bryna’s eyes darted up to the hard planes of Jared’s face. His expression was bland, but his eyes were alert and on guard.

“We would be most grateful if the good rabbi could join us in marriage,” he answered pleasantly.

Bryna’s mouth fell open. This was not her idea of escaping. Pretending to be married was one thing, but to let someone actually perform a ceremony. . .

She tried to jerk free but Jared tightened his grip. “I will not marry you!” she hissed beneath her breath.

Instead, he drew her closer, bending down as though to nuzzle her ear. “Be quiet! There is no other way out without bringing unwanted attention to our identities. They have their doubts already and if any of them can read, they may put it together that we are the two runaway slaves described on the notices posted all over town!”

Bryna lowered her eyes to the piece of crumpled parchment he pulled from his belt. She could not read the words, but she knew he spoke the truth.

Terror filled her heart. She didn’t know what scared her more, being found out or being bound by vows to the most arrogant man on earth. Jared pulled her veil over her head and with a firm hand, guided her over to stand in front of the drunken priest.

She stood numbly next to him, watched the rabbi wobble as he intoned strange words binding them together. Jared answered in the same tongue, his voice calm and even, yet tinted with a hard edge of anger. He whispered her answers to the rabbi’s prayers in her ear, and she found herself repeating them, oblivious to the raised eyebrows of the witnesses.

“May the God of our fathers bless you with long life, wealth and the blessing of many children,” the rabbi slurred in Latin. Satisfied that he had remembered the entire ceremony, he trudged back to his table and promptly fell asleep.

Jared turned her toward him. His gaze softened for the briefest moment. Drawing her to him, he pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips parted hesitantly at the first, then opened up to welcome the taste of him. She was vaguely aware of the raucous  cry of approval rising from the group.

Jared stepped back, though his hand lingered on her arm. It unnerved her how safe she felt in his embrace.

“Our thanks,” said Jared, lacing his fingers through hers. Bryna followed him to the entryway that was now clear. He eased the warped door open and peered into the alley.

“Baal is out there,” she whispered.

“I know,” he muttered, “I nearly ran into him looking for you.”

“What is this?” Everyone gave their attention to the timid serving girl. She held the crumpled piece of parchment notice in her hand, studied them, studied the parchment. “This notice offers a fat reward for the return of two runaway slaves. One a Hebrew male, the other—” She gaped at Bryna. “—a barbarian girl.”