Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity (10 page)

Opening the small door into the bathing house, Brutus stopped.

Syra stood with her back toward him, brushing her hair. He could not find words. It was not the breathtaking beauty of her alabaster skin, or the perfect curve of her buttocks that stalled his tongue. It was the crisscrossing of scars both large and small. The reddish markings were an elaborate spider web across her perfectly proportioned back. Barely containing an urge to run a comforting finger down one especially purple scar, Brutus tried to step out of the room, but Syra turned.

The woman had draped a gauze over her body, but it did little to hide her full form. Syra’s gaze was steady and unashamed. She seemed to dare him to make an issue of her nearly naked presence. Brutus felt himself blush under her stare. It was as if he himself were the one unclothed.

Trying to salvage some of his dignity, Brutus made an effort to sound like he was the master, and she the servant. “This is my private area. The common bathhouse is down the hill.”

Syra shrugged as she wrapped a linen dress around her waist. Brutus should have told her that the item was one of his, but he liked the idea of having his fabric next to her bare skin.

“
Fiona said that you would not mind this evening if we used your bath. Obviously the cook was mistaken. The trespass will not occur again.”

Brutus felt like a pompous ass, but could hardly back down. At the same time, he needed her out of the room quickly, for he did not wish his growing arousal to be noticed. “I should hope not.”

The woman inclined her head ever so slightly, and Brutus felt sure this was Syra’s version of a bow. Then the Northerner turned to leave. As much as he wanted her to go, Brutus could not let the exchange end like this. “I will send my physician in the morning to look at those wounds.”

“
If it pleases you, sire,” Syra said, even though it was obvious that pronouncing those words pained her. “Navia needs the attention more so.”

“
He will tend to both of you.”

Did Syra think he would allow the injured to go untended? Brutus could only imagine what she thought of him, and for the most part he had proved her right this evening.

A look passed between them, and then she answered curtly, “Thank you.”

Her wet hair dripped down upon her dress, making the material nearly transparent against her skin. Before more of her luscious figure was revealed and Brutus completely lost control of his desires, he dismissed her. He could not help but turn and watch her retreat through the door. Once she was gone, it was as if a pile of hot coals had suddenly been extinguished. The air had a chill to it that Brutus had not noticed.

Walking over, he dipped a finger in the bathwater and was surprised to find that it was still quite warm. How hot had the woman had it before? Brutus added just a touch more hot water, then climbed in himself. The faintest scent of Syra wafted off the surface. Already he could recognize the Northerner’s aroma.

Sinking into the water, Brutus realized why he had purchased the red-haired beauty. It was for just this reason. His pulsed raced, and feelings surged through his veins that he had thought forever atrophied. For this one skill, Syra was worth her weight in rubies.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 6

Entering her room, Syra found a tray laden with food. Lamb was perhaps her least favorite meat, but she bolted down the first few pieces without even tasting it. Looking over, she found Navia curled up in a ball. The Spaniard snored lightly. It seemed that the young woman needed unmolested sleep more than nutrition right now. Fiona had supplied more than enough food for both, so Syra ate her fill and was still able to leave plenty for the girl when she awoke.

Restless and having no desire to sleep, Syra threw on a cloak and headed out into the gardens. She had not known a furnished home since before she could remember. Camps by firelight on a campaign. Stalls in a barn if she were lucky. Where she rested her head was her home. A new village, a new valley, a new country nearly every day. How could people anchor themselves to only one place, even if it were a palace? The oxcart had felt more homelike than this sprawling estate.

She climbed a slight hill and stumbled to a stop, as all of Rome lay beneath her. The lights from the city nearly outshone the stars themselves. Syra felt tears sting her eyes. Despite her acute distaste for everything Roman, the sight before her was untarnished beauty.

“
I come here to remind myself why I must strive so hard,” a voice stated behind her.

Syra did not bother to turn. She already knew Brutus’ voice. The timbre of his tone seemed just a bit deeper and richer than other men’s. Must he follow her everywhere? Syra forgot to blunt her words before they spilled from her lips. “Is this your private area also?”

Brutus walked up alongside her and gave a tight grin. “I deserved your rebuke. I was harsh earlier. For that, I am sorry.”

For a moment they stood in silence. Syra did not know what to say. She desperately wanted to cut him to the quick for all his faults and the flaws of his country, but no quips would come to her tongue.

Why did she feel so flustered? The man had no weapon, and there was no threat to her life. Yet blood surged in her ears, and she could feel her muscles ready for action. It was as if the dreams had now taken hold during her waking hours. But which of the dreams? Did she need to ready herself for battle, or a fight of another kind?

“
Have you ever visited Rome before?” Brutus asked, as if Syra were his most special guest rather than a freshly purchased slave.

“
Never,” she spat, angered more at herself for softening to the senator’s tone.

“
You are not a friend of Rome?” Brutus smiled sadly.

She did not answer. Instead, she held out her wrists that were still laced with fresh wounds from her slave bindings.

“
Nothing in the world is perfect,” Brutus replied.

“
That is not what the friends of Rome say.”

Brutus chuckled. “Perhaps I can help you understand us better?” Her master sat down upon a wooden bench and motioned for her to join him.

The thought of having him so near made her hands clammy. Syra did not understand why, but she knew it was a feeling she disliked greatly. “I had best get back inside.”

“
Please? A quick tour of the city so that you might understand our history a bit?”

Damn this man. Could he not be insufferable? Could he not be rude, or at the very least curt with her? Why was he extending her such courtesy?

Hatred was a much more familiar emotion. Uncertainty felt awkward, and let the dream’s haze settle over her vision. For she very much wished to know all about this Rome. Syra found herself sitting down as she justified her desire that if one day she wished to run, it was best to have a good lay of the land, and who better to give it to her than the master she was running away from?

* * *

Brutus had no idea what had gotten hold of his tongue. To sit here and explain Rome to a new slave? Perhaps his mother was right. He had been dropped on his head as a babe. No matter the cause, here he was, sharing a beautiful evening with this most intoxicating woman.

Too many seconds must have passed as he basked in her elixir, for Syra looked at him with anticipation.

“
Yes. Let’s see…” Brutus scanned the horizon. They could not have picked a better evening for such a task. There was not a cloud in the sky, and one could see past even the city gates clearly. Now that the dust had settled from the day’s commotion, Rome was once again the crown jewel of civilization.

Syra cleared her throat. “Where are we now?”

“
Ah, this is Palatine Hill.”

“
This is where the gentry live?”

For some reason, Brutus felt strangely ashamed to answer yes to such a question. “These estates hold most of the senators and a few of the richer merchants.”

Down the hill, a few homes still had their garden torches lit. “There. That is Marc Antony’s. That one is Longius, my brother-in-law—’ ” Brutus abruptly stopped his narrative. He wanted no reference to his wife this eve.

Syra pointed to the northern hill that housed the Forum and state temples. “What hill is that?”

“
Capitoline Hill. See the bright fire?”

Syra nodded, causing a lock of hair to fall from its tie and play against her neck. Once again, Brutus’ tongue was silent as he watched the breath enter and leave her chest.

“
The fire?” Syra asked with that husky voice of hers.

“
Yes, sorry. The fire. It is the sacred Fire of Vesta.”

“
Goddess of the Hearth?”

“
Exactly. It is attended night or day by at least one Virgin.” Normally he would have said a single virgin, but with the events of the day, Brutus was certain many stood in attendance this eve. To have the fire extinguished would truly throw Rome into turmoil.

“
These Virgins, are they slaves?”

Brutus shook his head. While this woman spoke Latin, it was obvious that she was very naïve to the workings of Rome.

“
Nay. By constitutional order, the Virgins must be of free birth.”

Brutus did not mention that in the not-so-distant past, the Virgins had been required to be of noble, senatorial birth. But in these times, finding a virtuous, affluent virgin who did not hunger for a wealthy husband was nearly impossible, so the constitution had been modified to allow any of free birth. Brutus was certain that within his lifetime, even that restriction might be lifted. That is, if they wished true virgins to attend the fire.

Unaware of Brutus’ inner dialogue, the woman simply nodded. Tiny beads of water ran down her damp hair. Syra must have noticed his gaze, for she quickly wiped the offending strand away, exposing her deeply sunburnt neck. Brutus’ own skin stung in sympathy. Sitting here, it was so easy to forget the two very different worlds they came from. Nothing could change the fact that he was a senator, and she a slave.

Despite his body’s reluctance to move from Syra’s side, Brutus rose. “I have much work to attend to this eve.”

Syra got to her feet as well and seemed only too willing to leave his company. “I should retire as well.”

Even though his intention had been to leave her hypnotic presence, Brutus found himself asking, “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“
Nay. I have already eaten.”

Watching Syra leave, Brutus knew his heart was in danger of the most acute nature, for this woman was always one step ahead.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 7

Syra bolted upright. Even though she knew herself to be awake, a dream still held her within its clutches. The image was more vivid than most events she had seen in bright sunlight. Only a dark foreboding tainted this dream. A subterranean temple hewn of granite. A dark rite performed.

With each blink, the more the image receded. Without the constant rumbling of the oxcart that had become almost soothing, Syra felt unhinged. Nor was she lying on a rough wool cloak, her back hard against the rocky ground, as it had been for years on campaigns.

Her hands felt the smooth linen sheets, but it took her mind a few moments to realize that the soft cushion was a bed. Not just any bed, but one within a senator’s mansion. She was a slave.

Panic rose as she realized that Navia was nowhere to be found. The tray of food had been removed, and her friend’s bed was made as if the girl had never slept there. Had they taken Navia in the night? Had Brutus recanted and sold the Spaniard to the whorehouse?

Jumping from the bed, not caring what state of disarray she was in, Syra searched the hallways for someone, anyone, to ask. How her hands missed the weight of metal. She would give anything for a solid sword.

The house was unnervingly quiet. After months on the road with snorting oxen and shouting men, the silence disturbed her. The sudden noise of pans clanging caught Syra’s attention, and she turned back the way she’d come.

This mansion was maddening. It was so large that sounds bounced off the thick walls. You could not stalk a noise as you would in the open field.

Tense, Syra turned another corner and found a warm kitchen. Fiona bustled about, her dark hair flecked with flour. The woman did not stop her cooking as Syra stepped into the room.

“
So you decided to return from Hades, eh?” Fiona chuckled at her own joke as she continued to knead the thick dough.

The cook’s joviality did not impress Syra. Fiona had been birthed by Roman loins after all. No matter her smile or warm words, the woman was suspect.

“
Where is Navia?”

“
The girl you came with? She is down at the laundry with Heffan.”

“
Where is this laundry?”

Fiona stopped working the dough and looked up at her. “If you are going to range about the property, you might want to put a comb through that tangle of hair. Or is that how you Northerners prefer it?”