Barbarian's Soul (30 page)

Adria resisted the urge to run her finger across the stubble of his beard for fear of waking him. She snuggled her face against his shoulder, inhaled his scent, noted the different hints of forest and musk and spice so uniquely Bran. Fear shuddered through her that this memory might be lost to her when she returned to the acrid stench of the streets.

It wouldn’t. She would never forget this man.

If she delayed one moment longer, she might lose her resolve. Gingerly, she eased from his hold, paused when he mumbled and grasped her waist. The ache in her chest grew at his protective gesture.

Bit by bit Adria slipped free until she stood by the bed sparing one more look. Flat on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other still curved as if holding her. His face was tilted in her direction, the harsh lines of his handsome features all but erased with the relaxation of his slumber. Her eyes devoured him, searing every nuance of this magnificent man into her memory.

Adria put a hand over her mouth and took several deep breaths to quell the tears threatening to spill out. She would not cry. This was for the children, for Menw, for Bran.

A wry smile tugged at her lips as she wiped tears from her eyes. She could just envision Bran scowling at the notion that he needed protection. But he did. Not so much from the master thief, but from her and her ties to Rome. She would never ask him to stay, not when he’d endured so much tragedy at the hands of her people. Suffered so much betrayal.

She ruthlessly suppressed the thought that he would see this as another betrayal, a wave of guilt that it was, in part, true. She’d coaxed him from his protective walls, earned his trust, only to do exactly what he’d expect, run from him. His pride would stand the blow. But it would hurt her beyond measure that he would count her among the heartless Romans.

How could she be heartless when that very thing was breaking?

She glanced at the skylight above and could just make out a lightening of the night’s darkness. She moved quietly, her thief’s stealth enabling her to dress without making a sound. She slipped an older, rough woolen tunic she’d found at the bottom of Bran’s chest over head and tied it with a length of woven cord. She sliced off a bit with her own knife which she’d also discovered in Bran’s possession, and tied her hair in a braid. Glancing once more at the man who’d come to fill her heart, she left the room.

Adria stopped at the children’s room, her heart seizing with love as she looked at Cyma, one thumb stuck in her mouth, her curls tousled like a bag of gold across her pillow. She ran a gentle hand over her head. The little girl sighed and snuggled into her pallet.

Julian lay sprawled on his back, covers kicked free, his sword arm restless. She smiled. No doubt even in his dreams he fought invaders. With just as much care, she covered him over, kissed her fingers and placed them on his forehead in silent farewell.

Her gaze moved to the far pallet and at the form covered in blankets. Moving carefully, she lifted the corner of the covers and was unsurprised to find sacks of grain. She’d heard Linus leave hours ago, when Bran and she were still awake.

Forcing herself to walk unhurried, alert to any noise, she made her way down the stairs. She paused to glance around the kitchen at the herbs hanging to dry, the cooking vessels stacked and ready to use, the
amphorae
of wine that had not dwindled in the past weeks, Bran having less need for it. An overwhelming sadness gripped her again.

She was leaving home.

She had to go now, before she changed her mind. She hurried across the rear yard, found the wall gate loosely fastened with a length of cord. Careful not to loosen the knot, Adria managed to squeeze through the opening. Behind her, she heard Cyclops bleat. Without a backward glance, she sped down the alley.

***

Bran’s eyes snapped open when he felt the cool breeze from the skylight brush across his chest. He knew in an instant that Adria was not where she should be.

How could he not have known she’d left his side? He’d not slept that soundly since—he raked a hand over his face—he couldn’t remember. Perhaps since being dragged from his land in chains, but even then there had never been such a peace and contentment in his soul to dull his awareness of his surroundings. Bran smiled ruefully. Never until Adria.

He swung his legs over and sat up, by habit surveying his surroundings. The
tunica
she had worn yesterday lay neatly folded where she had left it. He smiled, remembering her insistence that it was too fine a garment to be ripped off her body as he had wanted to do on their return from the Forum. His disappointment had been rewarded when she’d slowly undressed before him like an exotic Persian dancer, teasing his senses to the point of madness. He would allow her any number of dresses and finery if she would vow to remove them all in such a manner.

But where was she this morning? From below, he heard the ceaseless chattering of Cyma and Julian. A warmth stole over him. She’d be with the children, seeing to their morning meal, perhaps teaching them more of her Roman letters. He rose, stretched the kinks from his back and padded over to the basin. He poured water into it and began to wash. Soon he’d be bathing in the bracing waters of the crystal-clear lake nestled in the forests of his clan’s land. The warmth in his chest bloomed into searing heat at the image of Adria in his arms on the soft, grassy bank, claiming that delicious mouth, teasing her woman’s mound before burying himself within her welcoming sheath, just as they had done last eve—three times. Laughing, she’d called him a barbarian for his insatiable demands while eagerly meeting them with her own. Bran glanced up into the polished metal disc positioned over the bowl. The reflection of the smiling man caused him to suck in a sharp breath.

Bran was not a vain man, but he’d seen his likeness before, and while the image was hazy there was no mistaking the change in his visage. Gone were the shadows, the grim lines of self-recrimination, the haunted darkness in his eyes. Instead he saw something he’d thought never to see—or feel—again. He saw hope.

The truth came together in a jumble of realizations—he no longer felt weight on his soul, his chest was not tight with guilt, he no longer turned to wine to ease his burden.

He turned to Adria.

He could not set a time when his feelings for Adria changed, though if he were to wager, there had been a bond from the moment he’d looked down from Paulin’s wall into those beautiful, violet eyes. Even then, some part of him had seen the light within her, the answer to the darkness in his heart.

He dried his face and arms with a linen cloth and snatched his rumpled tunic up from the floor—he had not been so conscientious as his woman—and dressed. She would heal from her grief once he got her away from Rome. The verdant hills and valleys of Eire would soothe her troubled mind, show her that life was more than survival. Yes, he would take his
agara
, his love, home.

Lacing his boots, he slipped his knife into the side of his right one, grabbed his sheath and sword and very near to whistling, bounded down the steps.

“But Adria always puts honey on my porridge,” Cyma said in a plaintive voice.

Menw raked his hand through his hair. “I know, but there is no more honey.”

Bran smiled at the pointed look Menw gave him and scooped up a piece of bread. He tore off a piece and popped it in his mouth, his gaze skimming the kitchen. “Where is Adria?”

“She’s not here,” answered Julian, marching his spoon to his bowl of gruel.

Bran’s gaze shot to Menw who was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

“I...I thought her to be with you.”

Bran shook his head.

“Perhaps she went to bathe,” suggested Menw.

Perhaps. It had become a favorite of Adria’s, a favorite of them both. Images of their foreplay in the sweet heat of the pool mocked him as Bran approached the door. Things did not
feel
right. It took only a quick glance to find what he expected—steam rising undisturbed from the sunken pool.

Cold dread sank into his gut. She’d been angry and upset after their journey to her old home. Riddled with guilt about the attack on her foster mother, he’d sensed her utter helplessness. Those were emotions with which he was well acquainted and had credited her quiet reserve on the way home to grieving the loss of her world.

She was not passive, his woman. No Adria, this woman of Rome, was full of fire and passion, not just of the type that filled his bed, his body—Bran swallowed hard—his heart, but of the attributes one applied to all of life. Forged with compassion and fierce defense of those less able to fend for themselves, she was a warrior. A warrior who might allow outrage and guilt to make bad decisions.

“Menw,” he bit out as he entered the kitchen. “Keep the children safe. Take them to Bryna’s. Take the coffer with you.”

“What’s happened?” asked Menw, banking the hearth fire even as he spoke.

“Nothing that I cannot right.” He hoped. A pain gripped his heart. What if his suspicions were unfounded? What if Adria had taken advantage of his lowered guard and simply escaped as she always stated she would? Would the pleasure they found in each other’s arms stand as nothing?

“What of Adria and Linus?”

Do you have visions like Bryna? Did you see Linus?

Why had she asked that? Linus was a problem, one that challenged Bran at every turn. He was handling the boy.

“
The streets are a dangerous place for boys filled with rebellion.”

Gods.

He met Menw’s gaze. “I will bring them to Bryna’s.”

“Papa?”

Bran’s heart clenched as he looked down into Cyma’s anxious face. He kissed her on the head. “It will be all right little one.” To Julian he said, “Keep Menw and your sister safe until my return.”

He headed across the courtyard, not surprised to see the garden gate pried open. With one slash of his sword he cut the rope and threw it open. The alley branched in two directions. The left branch was little more than a narrow space between buildings. It ended at another street filled with too many people. To the right was a proper path lined with back entrances to a few other small houses and twice as many tenements. Adria could have chosen either one.

Of course her path would be determined by her reason to leave. If she sought revenge against Tiege, she would head toward the district where she lived. He knew the general direction they’d traveled, tried to retrace the route in his mind. The warren of streets and alleyways of the cursed city was like a maze. Gods, he didn’t have time to navigate Rome’s infernal layout.

Bran clenched his jaw against the pain that gripped his chest.

And if Adria sought to leave him? Then the beginning point would not matter, for he would take Rome apart, stone by stone, until he found her.

“You waste time,” he muttered out loud, against the urgency plucking at his nerves.

There was another way, if the gods took mercy on him. He’d never sought connection with the familial gift, had in fact wished it gone from his life. Inhaling deeply, Bran closed his eyes, filled his mind with thoughts of Adria. Imaged the soft velvet of her skin, the thick, black curls moist from the efforts of their lovemaking. Her mouth on his, her eyes sparking purple fire in temper. In passion.

For long, agonizing moments, nothing happened. Then a gray maelstrom began to swirl in his mind. Bran stayed focused, forced his breathing to remain calm. Colors bled into the mass, first orange, then blues and greens, forms and images shimmering into view before being obliterated with the color of blood.

Bran snapped his eyes open, the last image bathed in the color of Adria’s violet eyes seared into his mind. Fear twisted his gut, threatened to turn to full-blown terror. Adria—and Linus—were in danger and if he did not find them, Adria would die.

***

Adria bit into a pear she’d taken from the monkey. Adria’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. She hadn’t actually taken this fruit—instead, she’d picked it up from the ground after the crazed beast started attacking his owner with his own merchandise.

Chewing slowly, her gaze never left the shadowed entry across the street from her hiding spot. It appeared no more than a large crack in the side of an abandoned building. People strolling past were completely unaware that this was the doorway to the hideout of the most notorious gang in Rome.

She hadn’t been completely certain of the gang’s whereabouts. During her years on the street she’d encountered a
Vipera
now and again but had always steered clear of actually engaging one. There had been rumors, speculation and hints to their base of operation but no one would say for certain. The
Vipera
kept themselves shrouded in mystery and the price of knowledge often resulted in death.

This building, an old tenement long abandoned by its owner, was the most often mentioned in the gossip. That was why she’d spent the past few hours observing the crumbling building and it seemed her instincts were right. Every now and again, a boy would loiter by the opening and when he deemed it safe, slip inside. Each of them carried a sack over their shoulders. Adria snorted. Filled with much more than foodstuffs, she’d wager.

She leaned forward in anticipation as three more boys arrived at the same time. One had wheaten hair and even from this distance it was not difficult to discern Linus’ mulish expression.

They stood apart from each other, biding their time. Adria rose to her feet and waited, hoped that her fortune would hold. It did when first one, then the other of the boys slipped inside leaving Linus alone.

Adria stole from her hiding place, dodged the pedestrians in the street, arriving at the door just as Linus was turning to enter. “Linus!”

“Hades!” he exclaimed. His hazel eyes went wide then wild as he saw Adria standing behind him.

“Bran is not with me,” she replied to his silent question. It took a bit of tension from his body but his expression was still one of shock. “But he would not like what it is you are doing.”

Linus glared at her, scanned the crowd nervously. “He doesn’t give two figs for what I do! I’m a burden, nothing more to the bastard. Now get out of here, while you can!”