Barbarian's Soul (11 page)

Tiege paused. “Property?”

“Jewelry, fashioned of silver with amethyst jewels.”

Tiege studied the grime of his fingernails. “I don’t know what you are speaking of.”

“You do. I know the girl stole them. I know the girl sold them to you.” He snatched the pouch of coins from Adria’s belt.

“That belongs to me!” she protested, making a useless lunge for the purse which he dangled just beyond her reach.

Her tormentor ignored her and continued to speak to the master thief. “Return the items and I will return your money.”

“Why should I do that,” replied Tiege, “when I can have the jewels—” His eyes shifted back to them. “—the coin
and
the girl?”

Adria shuddered. Terror rushed through her like a monstrous ocean wave, threatening to take her down and drown her. She scanned the periphery of the room. A dozen men had moved to stand at intervals along the wall with three taking a stance at the open doorway. Each held a sword, knife or club and self-assured grins that made her blood run cold. The madman—barbarian, heathen, foreigner, thorn in her side—surveyed the scene with a casualness that made Adria want to scream. “You may have a wish to die,” she hissed beneath her breath, “but I do not. Release me!”

“Do you not trust me, thief?”

She could only stare at him in disbelief. Trust him? He’d handled her like a sack of turnips, forced her into confronting her enemy and had the gall to call her a slave. Oh, she trusted him as much as she did the man glowering at them from the dais.

“My time is valuable,” continued the barbarian to Tiege. “I will return your coin. You will return my jewels.”

“A better proposition,” countered Tiege, “is that you return my coin and the girl and I allow you to live.”

One of Tiege’s men rushed them from a hidden spot behind a post. The attack took Adria by surprise but not the barbarian. He unsheathed his
gladius
in one fluid motion, spun on his heel and thrust her behind the solid wall of his body. He let loose a shattering battle cry and slashed the first attacker across the chest.

Stunned, the man lowered his weapon and stared, mouth agape at the slash in his tunic, at the torn edges of the filthy material turning dark with blood. Adria watched his eyes fill with confusion, made all the more stark as the color drained from his face. He stumbled backward, fainting into the arms of his companions.

Her captor stood still as a statue, but with her hand pressed against his back Adria felt his muscles quivering, not from fear, she sensed, but from restrained power.

Tiege’s reaction was less stoic. “A very impressive display,” he said between clenched teeth, “but you are only one man against many. I will give you one last chance to leave with your life and only a few broken bones.”

The barbarian uttered a foreign word beneath his breath. “And I will give you no more. Return my property.”

“Master,” said one of his men sidling up to the dais, “I know of this man.” He sent a fearful look in their direction and swallowed hard. “He’s a gladiator, I saw him fight in the provinces. It’s said he has killed hundreds.”

Adria’s attention shot back to her captor. A gladiator? While she’d never attended a match, she’d seen them paraded down the streets many times. Men trained to kill, men considered too dangerous to be free of chains. She slanted a look up at his implacable profile then down at the sword, stained with blood in his hand. Dear gods.

“I care not if he is Jupiter himself,” ground out Tiege, slashing his hand through the air.

Immediately, six men advanced on them. The barbarian fell into a crouched position, both hands on the hilt of his blade. Heart pounding in her chest, Adria managed to take cover beneath a three-legged table and watched as he met the onslaught.

Adria had never seen anyone fight as he did. It was as graceful as a dancer at a banquet, long, muscled legs balanced in a wide stance, strong arms sweeping out in a deadly arc as he buried his weapon first in one attacker’s gut before spinning with a single leg extended to send another sailing across the room. When a third attacker thought to take advantage, rushing him from behind, the gladiator sent his elbow flying into his throat. In a matter of minutes the ground was littered with four injured men. The other two, Adria knew, would never follow Tiege’s orders again.

The barbarian turned to Tiege, barely winded. “My property. Now,” he demanded in a regal and ominous tone.

Adria’s gaze darted to the master thief. He cast them both a dark look before snatching the sack from Parius’ wife and throwing it at the barbarian’s feet. “Get out,” he growled, “And take the whore with you!”

Escape
! The thought merged with the ball of fear roiling in her stomach and spurred Adria to act. She crawled backward, her foot catching on Tiege’s bag of coins, dropped by the gladiator when pressed to defend himself. She snatched it up with one hand and scrambled for the open door. She was fast and nimble; none could catch her-especially her captor, who was busy retrieving the sack of jewelry even as his attention remained focused on the thieves.

But the barbarian had other ideas. With one hand, he caught her by the ankle and dragged her to a standing position. Adria pushed and shoved at him using her fists and outraged curses to no avail. He grasped her by the hair and pulled her to his chest, forced her head up.

“Waste no more time,” he growled into her ear. “That bastard still thinks he can best me and get everything including you. Is that what you would wish?”

Adria shot a look at Tiege and his smug expression then back to the scowling man beside her. A choice between death and death. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door.

They’d taken no more than two steps outside, when he bent at his knees and scooped her up over his shoulder. Adria’s protest was lost in a muffled grunt of surprise as her stomach connected with his rock-hard shoulder. He banded one arm around her knees and planted the other hand on her bottom. Before another thought could form, he sprinted toward the street.

By the gods, the man could run. He kept a steady pace, dodged through alleys as if born to Rome’s streets. Tiege and his men did not follow, which frightened her more than a pursuit. Adria grasped handfuls of his tunic in an effort to keep her head from bouncing off her neck. “Put me down!”

He did not answer though he slowed his pace down to a brisk walk. At least now she was able to catch a breath. Adria twisted around. “I can walk,” she snarled to the back of his head.

He gave a harsh laugh. “I am no fool, woman. If I set you down you will attempt to run.”

She rolled her eyes. Yes, that was her plan and it was working, she thought miserably, about as well as the one to trade the jewelry for Tiege’s money. She curled her hands in the cloth of his tunic. There had to be some way to persuade her captor to release her, cause him to lower his guard.

“Got ya a good piece for the night, eh barbarian?”

Adria peered in the direction of the slurred voice. Three filthy men, well past drunk, leaned against each other outside of a
taverna.
While one of them roared with laughter at his friend’s wine-induced observation, the third glared malevolently at them.

“Damn foreignurrr,” he slurred, spitting in the ground as they passed. “Think your cock is worthy enough for our women.”

The barbarian paused but kept his grip firm as he swung and stared at the men. Adria braced herself against his back. She could not see his expression from her vantage point but beneath her, she felt tension beneath the muscles of his broad back. Adria readied herself. He’d have to put her down to fight the troublemaker, and he would fight. That’s what barbarians and gladiators did. Wasn’t it?

That hope plummeted to lie with the pieces of her other grand schemes when instead, he spun on his heel and resumed walking. Adria dropped her head and tried to ignore the scent of leather and spicy musk that assailed her nose. A curling heat flared low in her belly.

A new fear engulfed her as he made a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill. Her orientation was shaky given she was hanging upside down like a bat beneath an eave but there was no mistaking they were leaving the district. Her district. Her home. She renewed her struggle, desperation giving her a new strength. “Put me down!”

His only response was a firm swat on her bottom.

Adria shrieked her outrage, beat her fists against his back, slapped at his arms but none of it slowed his pace. Her stomach ached, her head throbbed. Every step was taking her farther away from the life she knew to—where? Would he turn her in to the authorities? See her scourged—or worse—sentenced to die? A chill went through her. Seek his own punishment? Gods.

She gasped when he came to an abrupt halt, leaving her teetering for a long moment. Loosening his grip he leaned forward, shifted her weight, and allowed her to slide down his length to the ground. It seemed to take forever for her feet to reach pavement. Every curve of her body seemed to touch every hard plane of his; his chest, his thigh—gods even his neck when she wrapped her arms around the strong column to ease her descent. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment when the friction caused her nipples to tighten into aching buds.

Adria shot a look to his face and saw with horror that he was staring at her chest where those tips strained against the thin cloth of her tunic. She tried to pull free, determined not to give into panic when he would not allow it, keeping his arms locked tight round her. “Release me.” It came out as a whispered plea rather than the curt demand she’d intended.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a mocking half-smile that grated her temper. “And where would you go, thief?”

It didn’t matter as long as it was far away from him. Adria pushed against his chest. “That is no concern of yours. I am a freewoman and answer to no one. You have no right to hold me.”

“No?” he drawled, ignoring her gasp as he snatched the bag of coins from her grasp. “I could summon the authorities or perhaps that citizen, Tiege, you named him? He seemed eager for your company.” He canted his head, the unspoken speculation in those emerald eyes setting her teeth on edge. “Perhaps you would rather return to him?”

Adria glared at him. He was toying with her, taking pleasure in the fear that prospect elicited. And as much as she loathed it, it elicited a great deal of fear. “You have your jewels,” she countered in a clipped tone. “Return my money and I’ll trouble you no more.”

“Ah, there is the problem, is it not?” he answered with a tight smile. “You have already caused me much trouble. Stolen from me. Blackened my reputation. Wasted
my
time.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that as a barbarian his reputation was fully intact. He was behaving like an arrogant brute with the manners of a pig. But the meager light from the
taverna’s
torch enhanced his implacable features, lending them a sinister edge. Anger still simmered in his eyes and that muscle still ticked in his jaw. She clamped her mouth shut.

Beg his forgiveness
.

Adria was aghast at the thought. She’d never groveled for anything in her life. Even if reason would have shown her it was key to survival, her pride would have refused. “You have your property back,” she repeated flatly. “I am of no further use to you.”

He raised one brow and the tight smile he gave her sent the anxiety in her gut spiraling back into raw fear.

The soft tone of his voice belied the iron beneath it. “You think not? Menw?”

She tore her gaze from his and watched as a shadow separated from the side of the building. A lean man with one arm and tousled brown hair looked first at her then at her captor with a disapproving expression.

“Bran, what is this?” the shadow asked in the same strange accent.

Bran. The barbarian had a name.

“This is the thief who has been the thorn in my side since yester eve.”

The man Menw cast her a skeptical look. “Thief? She is nothing more than a child.”

“I am no child,” Adria protested, “I am a freewoman who is being held prisoner by this...this heathen.” Neither man flinched at the barb but she caught a flash of disappointment in Menw’s expression.

“She is a thief,” repeated Bran, his glare so intense Adria wondered if the word had been branded on her forehead. He glanced at Menw. “Have you spoken with the Roman?”

Menw nodded slowly, shifting his gaze between them. “Yes, though he is of a mind to abandon the agreement and take the loss.”

“You convinced him otherwise?”

“Yes,” Menw sighed. “I used his own greed against him. He covets the client and her deep coffers more than teaching an upstart foreigner a lesson. But he gives us only until the morning to return with the pieces. If we do not, he says he will alert the authorities and see us pay for our deception.”

“We have them,” answered Bran. Keeping his gaze locked on Adria’s, he handed the sack with the jewelry to his servant.

Menw peered into it. “One of the earrings is missing.”

Bran muttered beneath his breath in the language Adria did not understand, but it took no knowledge of it to know it was a curse. It took everything in her not to shrink beneath his heated gaze.
Beg his forgiveness,
that wretched inner voice pleaded again. Her temper squelched it. By the gods, she would not. Because of him, she’d lost her sack of coins. This lone earring would bring some small recompense for the night’s misery. Enough to aid Miriam and her children, perhaps enough, she thought ruefully, for her to find refuge from Tiege. She lifted her chin in silent challenge as his eyes narrowed.

Adria gasped when he began to pat her waist with his large hands, gliding along her hips to the hem of her tunic where his calloused fingers brushed against her calves.

The weight of the pouch against her chest felt like a boulder against the rapid beat of her heart. What would she do if he found the earring? What would
he
do? An image of the way he’d fought, the men he’d killed flashed through her mind. Gods.

Her breath caught in her throat as he skimmed his hands up her torso, his palms lingering along the swell of her breasts, which tightened in anticipation. Adria gave herself a mental shake. She bristled at the intimacy of the search, tried without success to slap his hands away.