The Patrician (32 page)

Bryna’s vision blurred with tears. She wiped them away and scanned the inner room, stopping at a thick wooden post. There, tied with his arms stretched over his head, was Jared. His tunic was smeared with dirt and blood. His head hung limp against his shoulder. He was so still. As still as death.

“Did he give you any trouble?”

Bryna’s heart lodged in her throat. Gods, what had they done to him in such a short time? Baal approached the post, tapping his whip against his thigh. With one beefy hand, he jerked Jared’s head up by his hair. A grimace contorted Jared’s face and he groaned when the overseer dropped his head.

“Quite a bit I’m afraid.” The jailer snorted with laughter. “This is one runaway who does not relish being returned to his Master.”

Baal rammed a fist into Jared’s stomach, smiling at his grunt of pain. “There was no sign of the female?”

“No.” The jailer studied Jared’s inert form, drummed his fingers along his crossed arms. “Are the coals still hot, Primo?”

The other guard grinned crookedly. “They are.”

“Good. Bring me the brand.”

Baal did not protest, but leaned against a stone block, watching with anticipation.

They were going to burn Jared, brand him a runaway. Bryna had seen it done once; a red hot iron searing the forehead into a mass of puckered flesh marking the unfortunate victim a runaway slave. She pressed her forehead against the bottom of the window at the same time a hand clamped over her mouth.

***

Damon cursed beneath his breath, but held on as the she-cat with the fire lit hair bit the palm of his hand. He encircled her tiny waist and drew her away from the window, giving her a firm shake when she tried to kick him in the balls. This had to be the barbarian slave said to have been shackled to Jared on his escape.

Lucky bastard.

“Be still,” he hissed into the girl’s ear. “We’re on the same side. I’m here to help that hard headed Roman.”

She ceased struggling, slanted him a suspicious sideways look, the tension in her body telling him she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

“I’m going to remove my hand,” he whispered in her ear, “If you want to help Jared, you will not move, you will not scream. Understood?”

She nodded slowly. Keeping his right arm firmly around her waist, he eased his left hand away from her mouth. “That’s better. Now, tell me how the good merchant got himself arrested?”

She shifted nervously within his hold. “Who are you to ask?” she demanded.

The corner of Damon’s mouth lifted with amusement and not a little admiration at her boldness. “I am Damon, and I’ve known that hard-headed fool in there since we were youths.”

She nodded her head thoughtfully. “His head is hard enough but—” Her eyes narrowed. “--He is no fool.”

Damon raised a brow at her quick defense of Jared. Interesting. And here he thought his friend had been suffering all along. “That’s a matter of opinion, but we can argue that another day.” Another roll of harsh laughter from inside the prison reminded him that time was running short. “Come, we haven’t much time.”

***

A bucket of cold, slimy water thrown into his face roused Jared just in time to hear his jailors plans. He twisted as a length of cord was looped around his forehead binding his head to the post. They were going to disfigure him, take him back to Gaius. Kill him.

His gut tightened. There was no one to blame but himself. The anticipation of being with Bryna, of knowing that she wanted freely to be with him, had caused him to toss care and caution to the wind. Absorbed in thought, he never sensed the bastards closing in. A sound blow to the jaw as he exited the baths had sent him reeling before he realized what was happening. His only consolation was that Bryna hadn’t been with him at the time. She was safe.

A movement at the window, just beyond where the jailor stood rotating a long iron rod in the heart of a brazier of hot coals drew his attention. Two of the iron bars from the window were missing and a third gave way with a twist of a fisted hand. His heart dropped when Bryna popped through the opening, jumping soundlessly to the floor.

The jailor turned, blocking his view, twirling the glowing red brand deeper into the fire. “Anyone who looks upon that pretty face of yours from now on will know you as a slave.”

Beads of sweat popped out on Jared’s forehead. He wasn’t afraid for himself—he didn’t have room. He was too terrified for Bryna. He forced his eyes from her lest Baal and guards notice. When he got free, he was going to throttle her pretty little neck.

Baal straightened away from the block, rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The jailor moved in. The brand was so close Jared could feel the heat prickling his skin. He tensed, strained at the bindings on his wrists. But the ropes held tight, he couldn’t move. Pain, sharp and full of sting, skirted his skin as the edge of the hot metal touched him.

“Branding the son of a prominent Roman wouldn’t be the wisest course.”

The jailer twirled around at the voice. Damon ambled into the room as if he had all the time in the world. Relief flooded Jared. He had never been more appreciative of Damon’s sense of timing. Bryna stood by the open door.

“What nonsense is this?” sputtered Baal, pushing away from his seat to stand defensively in front of Jared. “He is a slave, the property of Gaius Decimus Crescens. You have no right to interfere.”

Damon smiled lazily, a dangerous glint turning his eyes to stone. He drew a short sword from his belt. “Care to discuss it?”

Baal growled then charged Damon like a bull gone amok. Jared felt the cold bite of metal against his wrists. Within moments, his bonds were cut loose. Bryna stepped around the post. “Are all trips to your Roman baths so relaxing?” she asked, her voice shaky.

He smiled and in one fluid motion took the knife from her hand. The one called Primo, the iron bar still clenched in his fist, started in their direction. Jared feinted with the knife as the man swung the brand in a wild arc. The momentum caused him to stumble and Jared took advantage. He caught him by the shoulders, slammed his fist into his jaw, relished the sound of cracking bone. Primo crumpled to the ground without a sound.

“Well done,” Damon panted, his own fist connecting with the other jailer’s chin. It took a couple of more blows to the head before that one dropped flat on his face next to Baal’s inert form. Damon rubbed at his scraped knuckles. “You were late for our meeting.”

Jared laughed, slapped his friend on the back. “I had some pressing matters.” Slipping his fingers through Bryna’s, he pressed her against his side. Jealously pricked at him as Damon inclined his head at Bryna, his gray eyes dark with male interest.

“I would not have gotten in so quickly to save your pretty face from ruin if not for her. She is an able assistant.”

Jared didn’t answer but his gaze bore into Damon’s, silent declaration of possession. Damon’s answering smile was small but smug, and Jared wanted to growl at him like a wild dog.

“We should go,” Bryna said quickly. Before these cretins rouse.”

“You are very wise—as well as beautiful,” agreed Damon

still wearing that infuriating smile. He reached down to snatch the ring of keys off the jailer’s belt. He selected one and opened in succession each of the cells. The occupants spilled out, some limping, some holding broken arms, all of them proclaiming their gratitude.

Jared and Bryna went to release the boy on the rack. Bryna gasped in dismay while bile rose in Jared’s throat There would be no thanks from the unfortunate slave. Eyes brimming with tears, Bryna gently closed his sightless eyes.

“Ready?” asked Damon, meeting them at the entry.

Jared caught Bryna’s mouth, the pain wracking his body eased by her return of it. “More than ready.”

“E
nough, woman.” Jared pushed her away. Undaunted Bryna sent him a stern look and continued to tend the blister on his forehead.

Damon clucked his tongue. “There will be no living with him now that his pretty face is less than perfect.”

“Go to hell.” Jared winced as Bryna blotted, a bit harder than necessary to his mind, at the dried blood along his mouth. She met his glare with a sweet smile, drawing a hoot of laughter from his friend.

“This is not the time for levity,” said Flavian, who stood by the divan, chin in hand. “If not for Damon and Bryna, you could well be dead.”

Jared studied the serious expression on his father’s face. He looked decisive, determined and frightened.

He rose from the couch, done with Bryna’s ministrations. “We cannot stay here. It would be too simple a matter for Baal to inquire at the baths as to my identity.”

Flavian nodded. “I agree. I have already sent a courier to a friend who owns a ship used for pleasure sailing.”

“A ship? What type of ship?”

“One that sails,” Flavian answered dryly.

Jared ignored Damon’s bark of laughter. “Is it seaworthy enough to reach Alexandria?”

Amusement lit his father’s eyes. “That, son, will be up to you. My friend agreed to lend me the boat, but not the crew.”

***

If beauty had a scent, then it would surely be comprised of the salty tang of the Mediterranean breeze mixed with the heady fragrance of exotic flowers and sun drenched sand. Legs braced apart Jared reveled in the familiar pitch and roll of the ship beneath his feet. He raised his face to the sun and inhaled.

The four seamen Damon had hired—and how Damon knew seamen Jared could not fathom—were busy at various tasks, leaving him to steer. He set his jaw. Unlike his last voyage, he was in control of this one and his destiny.

“The gods have favored us with good weather,” Damon commented, joining him at the rudder.

Jared raised a brow. “Since when did you start believing in the gods?”

Leaning against the rail, Damon bit into a pear he had pilfered from the provisions. “About the time you started believing in marriage.” He glanced toward Bryna, who sat under a silk canopy stroking Cuini—the beast from hell. “She is beautiful.”

Jared nodded in agreement. “She is that.”

“And smart,” continued Damon solemnly.

“And mine.”

Damon chuckled, looked out over the gentle swells toward the Pharos lighthouse just coming into view along the horizon. “She’s good for you, Jared. I see it in the way you look at her when you think no one is watching.”

He blew out a breath. “I’ve never needed anyone before.” He met Damon’s gaze. “It scares me to hell and back.”

“It’s never good to be alone, Jared. That’s the reason your mother bought me, a scrawny eleven—year—old boy, to be your companion.” Damon went quiet, worked a piece of peel off the pear with his thumb and tossed it into the water. He lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “A wise investment, I might add.”

Jared adjusted the steering oar. Living as a slave had put everything in a new perspective, even the past. “I hope I was a tolerable master,” he said quietly.

Damon rolled his eyes. “Tolerable, yes. A bit surly at times, but not unbearable.”

A companionable silence fell between them. He’d given Damon his freedom years before and, he realized, he’d have to do the same for Bryna when she found her brother. Pushing that unpleasant thought away he said, “I was never surly.”

“You are always surly.”

His heart swelled as Bryna slipped an arm around his waist. Innocently, she laid her hand on the low plane of his abdomen causing something else to swell. “And argumentative, as well.” She glanced between the two men. “Why were you surly with Damon?”

He dipped his head down and caught her mouth. A coward’s way to avoid answering the question. There would be time later for such revelations. Now he savored the taste of her and wished they could find a secluded spot where he could bury himself in her, watch those incredible green eyes go opaque, lose themselves in passion. He glanced up. Damon watched with unabashed glee. “Go somewhere else,” Jared growled.

“But I’m so enjoying the view.”

Bryna laughed. “See? You’re being surly.”

Jared kissed her temple. Bryna smiled and laughed often now and he found he enjoyed it. “Are you feeling better?”

“What? Oh yes, I’m fine,” she averted her gaze. “This sea travel does not agree with me.”

Jared exchanged looks with Damon, who shrugged his shoulder. “We will arrive in Alexandria soon. I’d best go see that the cargo is secured.”

Bryna watched Damon leave, chewed her lip in thought. “Damon is a very lonely man.”

He brushed off her concern. “Damon? Nonsense. Damon has always been solitary. He likes it that way.” But even as he chided her concern away, Jared considered Damon’s profile as he paused to speak to one of the sailors. There was a melancholy about him he’d never noted before.

A strong gust of wind billowed out the sail, sending the ship gliding through the harbor entrance. Jared’s anticipation sharpened. There was relief in being far from Rome and its laws, returning to his own home. His jaw set. Tracking down the bastards who attacked him and seeing to their justice. He handed the rudder to one of the more experienced men and, keeping Bryna tucked close, joined Damon at the prow. Double rows of landing docks came into view. It took only moments for him to spot the wharves of his merchant house.

He frowned. Something was not right. There were ships anchored in the slips, ships that he recognized as his property for he had commissioned each one personally. But his standards did not fly from the masts. Instead, Gideon’s red flag, emblazoned with twin flames rising from a single lamp, fluttered in the breeze. Staring, he sought out Bryna’s hand.

Bryna slipped her fingers through Jared’s and gave a reassuring squeeze. Jared had spoken little of his uncle and what she had sensed from his emotions was a mixture of gratitude and resentment. What she sensed now from him was confusion and a smattering of suspicion. Her own gut tightened with emotion.

She was no more safe here, in Alexandria, than she had been in Rome. She was still a barbarian in the eyes of these
civilized people
, a slave. The cost was high should anyone discover the truth of her situation. Her mere presence endangered Jared.