The Protector (4 page)

The fall dislodged her attacker. She lurched upright, kicking the scum in the stomach, the face. The faint voices of Caros’s men filled her with hope. She bolted toward the shelter in the distance.

With a rush of gratitude, she arrived at the gate. The party’s music drifted on the cool night air. Weak with
relief, she closed her eyes and sagged against the bars, pleading for help. Her labored breaths shook her whole body, clanking the scroll’s wooden ends against the cold metal bars in her grasp. “My lady!”

Her heart dropped.
No gods, please, not Quintus!
Her eyes widened with dread even as they roamed over his tall frame and broad shoulders to ascertain his wounds had healed as well as her steward reported.

“Guard, open the gate!” Quintus ordered. “You, there, fetch your master.”

Why did the Fates toy with her? Of all the men in the
ludus,
why did
he
have to be the one to find her scorned and disgraced?

In Rome, no decent woman of rank was attacked in the street. People would blame her, judge her, believe she’d done something to
deserve
the dishonor. Quintus would be no different. How could he be when her shame supported the abysmal opinion he already held of her?

Hot tears burned her eyes.

The gate rattled open. She crossed into the courtyard and flinched as the heavy metal bars slammed shut behind her. A torch’s flame reflected in Quintus’s intense, unreadable gaze. Raw and exposed beneath his stoic inspection, she lifted her chin.

Her lips quivered as she grappled to maintain the last shreds of her dignity. Like her torn garments, the careful facade she cultivated to protect herself hung in tatters.

“My lady, what happened?”

His deep voice washed over her with a gentleness that unraveled the last of her control. Stripped of her pride, the armor she hid behind, she wished her attackers had caught her and finished her off.

The tears she’d fought spilled down her cheeks in hot
rivulets, burning her with humiliation to the depths of her soul. She swiped at the moisture and swung away, furious with her weakness and that
he
should be the one to witness her shattered state.

She heard Quintus groan behind her. His footsteps crunched on the gravel. Assuming he’d gone to find someone else to deal with the embarrassment of her situation, she wrapped her arms around her middle, her right hand locked around the scroll.

Fear from the attack crowded around her. She heard the clash of weapons, saw the lifeless faces of her men. Eyes shut tight, she covered her mouth with her free palm, desperate to keep her sobs in check lest she fall apart at the seams.

“My lady.” Strong fingers curved around her shoulders. She jerked at the contact, unused to being touched.

Quintus gently turned her toward him and with a sigh of resignation gathered her close. Surrounded by his scent of citrus and leather, she stood there rigid at first, ignorant of how to react because no one had ever held her. Always alone, always
lonely,
she was used to being abandoned, never cared for or comforted.

He stroked her mangled hair, offering her the solace she was loathe to refuse. The murmur of his deep voice soothed her. Warmed by his tenderness, she melted against him, accepting the first genuine embrace she’d ever known.

Surrounded by the security of Quintus’s arms, she pressed closer against him and wept against his chest. Safety was foreign to her, but his quiet confidence made her believe he was the one man in existence meant to protect her from harm.

Voices drifted across the courtyard from the direction of the house. She stilled as reality invaded the haven
she’d found. Suddenly ashamed of the flaw in her that enjoyed the solace offered by a man who thought the worst of her, she stepped back from Quintus, wishing he would leave her to cope with her humiliation and despair on her own. Awash with embarrassment, she made haste to repair her appearance.

Quintus let go of Adiona with reluctance. Clearly she’d been attacked. Suspecting thieves, he struggled to control his anger toward the jackals who hurt her.

The night’s breeze ruffled her glossy black hair. He fisted his hand to control the urge to caress its softness once more. Both dazed and irritated by the sense of completeness he experienced while he held her, he despised the weakness that made it impossible for him to walk away as he ought to. He knew better than to court disaster, but her tears had chained him to the spot. His reason failed to quell his need to console and protect her.

Had he been wiser, he would never have touched her. Now, it was too late. Her scent and the feel of her in his arms were burned into his brain. Never again would he smell cinnamon or enjoy the texture of silk without thinking of Adiona Leonia.

Moonlight bathed her smooth skin with an ethereal glow. Moisture sparkled on the tips of her long lashes like diamond dust. Her beauty tormented him and pushed him to the edge of his endurance. If not for the bruises and scrapes, she might be mistaken for one of the sirens the Greeks believed tempted a man from his senses until he crashed against the rocks.

Lord, please help me keep my wits around this temptress.

“You ought to go inside,” he said in a voice rough and hardly recognizable even to himself. His apology would
have to wait. Besides the fact she was in no state to hear him, he was determined to see her safe before his control splintered and he lost his inner battle to return her to his arms. “You’ve been hurt. Your cuts need tending.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Go back to the party without me.”

He’d forgotten about the celebration the moment he saw her clinging to the gate. A quick glance showed the courtyard empty except for a few guards high on the watchtower. “No. I won’t leave you.”

“I want you to go.” She had yet to look at him. “The gossips will roast me alive if I’m caught out here alone with a…a slave.”

A wave of cynicism crashed over him. Here he was, reeling from the ferocity of his need to care for her, while she was embarrassed to be seen with him.

Let that be a lesson to you, fool.

His mouth twisted with self-mockery. He’d thought his pride had suffered every indignity imaginable since his enslavement. Leave it to this haughty,
haunting
beauty to prove him wrong again.

Although he supposed he should be grateful for the reminder of the chasm that spanned between them, bitterness hardened in his belly like a weight of lead. He was a slave because of his faith, not because of birth or low rank. Before his arrest, he and the widow would have been considered more than a worthy match. “You weren’t embarrassed to be caught with a slave when you clung to me moments ago. Perhaps Alexius is right and you wealthy widows are just selective in how you spend time with slaves.”

Her eyes flared, then narrowed at the veiled insult. Cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged, she transformed from weeping victim to an iron-spined matron of Rome.
She thrust her shoulders back and pinned him with a glare so hot that he felt singed. “I’ve had enough of your insults, you ignorant, contemptible…
man!
”

His chest throbbed where she’d punctuated each word with a solid thump of the scroll she carried. He took hold of the rolled parchment and pried it from her death grip. “Don’t hit me, mistress.”

Her lip curled as she struggled to find a worse name to call him. He almost laughed when he realized she thought labeling him a man was the vilest of slurs. He was far from offended. After months of feeling caged like an animal, it was just what he needed to hear.

“Adiona!” Caros and Pelonia burst into the courtyard. The guard Quintus sent to fetch them trailed in their wake.

Caros pushed past him, his concern for the widow evident in his brusque manner. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

As Adiona explained how she was attacked, Pelonia wrapped her in a fur-lined cloak. Caros snapped orders to his guards to find the widow’s men.

“I’ll go,” Quintus volunteered, eager to put distance between himself and Adiona.

“No, come with us,” Caros said as he ushered the women back toward the main house.

A cheerful melody mingled with the aroma of lemons and smoked oysters, roasted lamb and fresh bread. The laughter and conversation of the guests in the
domus’
s inner courtyard contrasted sharply with the solemn air surrounding their hosts.

Inside the house, Quintus leaned against the back wall of Caros’s office. The mosaic-tiled floor and expensive dark wood furniture reminded him of his own office before his imprisonment.

Cool evening air blew in through the large arched windows behind the
lanista’
s formidable desk. A mural of a setting sun dominated one wall. Ornate lanterns lit the space, providing Quintus with a clear view of Adiona on one of the blue cushioned couches across the room.

Pelonia sat down beside her and held the widow’s hand. To Quintus’s surprise, Adiona clutched her hostess’s fingers like a lifeline. As far as he knew the two women were less than friends. The men in his barracks suggested a rivalry existed between them, that Adiona had been jealous when Caros wed the young woman who’d once been his slave.

He looked up to find Caros studying him with a frown. The
lanista’
s sharp blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully, before he turned his attention back to Adiona. “Why do you suppose someone wants to harm you? Was it simply thieves? Or did one of your enemies aim to dishonor you?”

“Dishonor wasn’t their intention.” She clenched her fist. “Some wretch means to murder me.”

Murder her?
Every nerve in Quintus’s body went on alert.

“Why?” Caros asked. “What have you done this time?”

Adiona blanched. “Nothing!”

Quintus stepped forward. His grip tightened on the scroll as protective instincts surged through him.

“Caros.” Pelonia stood and moved between her husband and Adiona before Quintus could reach them. Her calm presence defused the escalating tension. “Adiona is the one who’s been hurt. Let’s not add to her pain. No matter what she may or may not have done, it doesn’t warrant murder.”

Caros grunted in agreement, even though he seemed unconvinced.

Quintus stepped back to his place beside a potted palm. Rife with irritation, he watched Adiona, disturbed by the sway of his emotions and intentions toward a woman whose reputation was so sour that even her closest confidant wasn’t surprised someone wished to harm her.

Never in his life had he been as irrational or distracted from his own goals. It was as though he rode a pendulum in a tempest. One moment his anger burned against the widow, her insults, and worse, her effect on him. The next he’d willingly vow to protect her. He was becoming a stranger to himself.

Eager to leave Adiona and the confusion she churned in him, he remembered the scroll he held and offered its return.

She waved the message away. “You open it. It’s from my heir.”

“Drusus?” Caros sneered.

She nodded and cupped her forehead in her palm. “Read it…if you’re able, Quintus.”

He grinned at her second failed attempt to insult him. He noted the serpent pressed into the wax seal as he broke it and scanned the script. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“More?” Caros said, rounding his desk.

Adiona stood. “What? Is he whining for more silver?”

Quintus noticed the disdain in her tone and wondered why she’d chosen an heir she held in contempt. “The message was drafted three days ago. It seems your heir’s wife has taken ill. The physician fears she’ll pass on
before the week is out. Drusus requests you attend her funeral.”

Adiona paled. “Oh, gods, not Octavia.” She sat heavily as though her knees were too weak to hold her slight weight.

Seeing her grief, Quintus’s heart twisted with compassion. Again he wanted to comfort her, but he crushed the urge, determined not to lose himself in her pain-filled eyes. “For your own safety, you mustn’t leave these walls.”

“I agree,” said Caros. “You’ll have to send your condolences.”

“No, I must go.”

Pelonia crouched before the widow and cast a silencing glance over her shoulder to quiet both men. “Don’t trouble yourself further tonight,” she told Adiona in a gentle voice. “There’s nothing more you can do. Come, let’s tend your wounds and see you’re made comfortable. Tomorrow, once you’re rested, you can decide the best course.”

Quintus watched Adiona’s narrow back until Pelonia led her down a long torch-lit corridor and out of sight. A helpless yearning to soothe her warred with his need to guard his own interests. Only a fool would allow himself to be drawn to the temperamental shrew or embroiled in her many problems. Yet he’d known since the first time he’d seen her months ago that she was dangerous to his peace of mind. Tonight proved just how susceptible he was, both to her beauty and to her vulnerability. How could he continue to resist his attraction, as he must, if he didn’t keep his distance?

He handed the scroll to Caros, disturbed to realize the
lanista
had been studying him again. “What do you plan to do?” he asked.

Caros shook his head. “I haven’t decided.”

“Do you really think someone means to kill her?”

“I don’t know. Adiona can be…difficult. She doesn’t act or hold her tongue like a proper woman should. I’ve seen her flay senators to the bone with a few well-aimed barbs. I can believe she’s done something to make the wrong person angry enough to seek vengeance.”

“Do you suspect anyone in particular? What about her heir? Neither of you seemed to think well of him.”

“Drusus is the logical choice, but I have my doubts,” Caros said. “It’s true her cousin is a leech, but he’s also a coward. If he wanted Adiona dead, he’d ply her with poison, not warn her of his intentions by having her attacked in the streets. He’d fear her dishonor might rub off on him. He’s too fastidious for that.”

“Unless his inheritance is more valuable to him than his self-respect or reputation.”

“True.”

Pelonia returned, her soft features marred by concern. Caros stood and met her in the middle of the room. “How is Adiona?”