Surrender to the Roman (10 page)

She counted the garment as a loss and plunged headlong into the crowd, choking on fear. The bodies slowed her frenzied pace, and Tertullian dogged her steps. When he grabbed her shoulder, she danced away, caged now by the good citizens of Rome.

“This one is from Dacia,” he shouted to the milling crowd. “Don’t let her get away.”

His accusation silenced those in the vicinity, and their attention turned on her as one. She had to think quickly, think like her enemy.

“He lies,” she cried, denying her heritage to save her life. She yanked the household purse from her belt and threw the gold against his chest. “Take my money, you drunken thief!”

When the coins clattered against his armor, the crowd fell upon them, and she darted through the circle of onlookers. Without looking back, she sprinted around the pens that held her people, into the avenue and toward the only recognizable safe haven.

The Temple of Venus.

Taking the steps two at a time, she fell against the closed doors. When she heard Tertullian’s shout from below, she gasped for breath and rapped her knuckles against the cedar. “Let me in.”

The doors gave way as Tertullian reached the bottom of the temple steps. She slid inside, insisting, “Bar the door. He’s a madman.”

An older woman, head covered and wrinkled face drawn, studied her then nodded. With the door barred, she hustled a hysterical Ademeni toward the rear of the temple, past the likeness of the goddess and two primed altars.

Inside a secluded chamber, she offered Ademeni cold water and a clean towel. No questions were asked, and Ademeni volunteered nothing.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she stammered. “I have nothing to offer your goddess.”

“Nothing is necessary, child. Wait here.”

The old woman left the room, closing the door behind her. Ademeni jumped to her feet when she heard a bolt slide into place. She threw herself against the door. Locked.

Panic clutched her heart. Why would they let her inside only to lock her away? Did they plan to give her over to Tertullian once he told them his lies?

Worse yet, did they plan to sacrifice her? Perhaps they needed her for some ritual to appease their goddess.

She paced the room, alternately beating the door with bruised fists and sobbing for mercy. Near exhaustion, she knelt and prayed to any deity that might hear to deliver her from Tertullian, even if such a request meant certain death. She would rather be sacrificed than given over to that lecherous mongrel.

When she’d exhausted herself and it seemed they’d forgotten about her, the bolt retreated, and the door swung wide.

Ademeni scurried to the corner and crouched in the shadow, waiting to see what end awaited her.

An all-too-familiar voice sliced through the tension. “There you are.”

Marcus distrusted his eyes. He braced himself against the doorway, his shadow stretching across the floor. In the far corner of the room, a woman huddled beside a wooden bench. Ademeni turned fear-filled eyes on him.

Relief surged through his mind, chased by anger. The blend of conflicting emotions immobilized him, and the stifling aroma of incense made him waver. He didn’t know whether to gather her in his arms or berate her for causing so much trouble.

He hadn’t felt so confused since he’d courted Julia.

Ademeni’s gaze slid away, signaling her defeat. He felt no triumph in the moment, tasted no joyous victory. Dread darkened her face, shaded her eyes and turned his hands to ice.

She still feared him. After the way he’d cared for her in his bed, she still believed he would harm her.

He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He wanted to tell her how he’d lain awake, watching her as she slept. How he’d hated the sunrise because it meant he had to leave her.

Instead, he stepped inside the room and eased toward her. She jumped from his extended hand like a scared rabbit.

Her rebuff soured his stomach. Biting back his ire, he offered his red cape to warm her, but she looked at the garment as if it alone had started a thousand wars. Regardless, he wrapped it around her hunched shoulders.

“It’s late. We must go home.”

At the word
home,
her jaw tightened. Another mistake. Not her home. Stubborn woman. His home was her home.

Through clenched teeth, he offered a piece of advice. “Perhaps you ought to think of my house in such terms.”

Pursing his lips, he took her by the arm and led her from the room. The curious eyes of the temple priestesses followed their every move. This story would rip through the streets with the force of lethal Greek fire.
The great general cannot control his slave.

The closer they moved to the entrance, the more Ademeni dragged her steps. When he pressed his hand against the door, she resisted, her flesh twisting beneath his tightening grip as she tried to break free.

Her whimper of pain stopped him cold. He didn’t want to hurt her, but neither did he need a scene in the street. At this rate, the sun would rise before they reached his gate.

He softened his approach and his grasp. “What troubles you?”

She swung her gaze from him to the door, then backed up another step. “Is he outside?”

“Who?” he demanded, short on time and patience. His clipped words sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Her jaw snapped shut, and he mentally cursed himself. No telling what personalities she might have run across in her journey. Later, he would find out exactly where she’d been and who she’d seen during those missing hours.

“Nothing will harm you, I swear it.” By the gods, this had to stop. Staying in the temple was not an option. “We must go.”

She nodded, her soft lips pulling into a frown. He ached to soothe her fears, to kiss away her worries, but time would not obey his command to stand still.

Once exposed to the chilled night air, she attached herself to his side, so close their steps came in unison. She hid her face under his cloak and burrowed against his shoulder. He indulged his urge to protect her and held her tightly.

Leaving the temple area, he battled the distraction of Ademeni’s intoxicating scent and the warmth of her body. She’d divided his attention enough for one night. Once in the street, he had only enough energy to focus on getting them home.

The crowd had thinned, so foot travel became easier. Only criminals lurked in the shadows now. With one hand secured around Ademeni’s waist, he gripped the hilt of his sword with the other, keeping watch for any sudden movements.

Fear kept him alert, and anger kept him moving. What a damnable woman! Trajan would return to Rome at noon next, and Marcus had chased her around the city all night. When he needed to be sharp, she waylaid his attention.

As they drew near the house, her body stiffened, and she slowed her steps again. He ground his teeth. She could throw a tantrum once inside, but she would go—one way or another.

Marcus stopped short of the entrance and gave her one opportunity to cooperate. “What now?”

She dug her heels into the ground and continued her stubborn refusal to speak.

If he weren’t so worn, he might admire her dogged determination. “You always leave me so little choice.”

“You have little choice?” Her face reddened as she unleashed her venom. “You have all the choice in the world.”

He grasped her by the shoulders to force her to look at him. “I did not make this world.”

His words took their toll. Her amber eyes filled with tears, and she shoved away from him with a sudden force he hadn’t reckoned.

She retreated. Darting forward, he caught her wrist as she started to turn. He reeled her in, circled her waist and lifted her over his shoulder with ease.

She screamed loud enough to wake the Ferryman. Up and down the lane, dogs responded to her high-pitched wails. For all the noise, her flying blows did no damage to the armor strapped to his back.

Did she never run out of energy? He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and kicked the gate, intent on getting both of them inside without further damage to anything but his ears.

And his pride.

* * *

The front door crashed open then shut, the din distant to Ademeni as blood rushed to her head. How dare he take her over his shoulder like some common fishwife?

Surely she had pushed him far enough this time. He would finally become the terrible monster she’d envisioned on the day he’d taken her from the cellar.

She hardened her heart. From the moment he’d walked into the temple chamber she’d rejected the joy that had accompanied his presence. Each blow she landed now denied the idea that she needed any part of him.

Hot tears scalded her cheeks, and she choked on her rage. No curse she hurled slowed his pace toward the back of the house. Not even the curious faces that appeared and disappeared with each bounding step affected him.

No one came to her aid.

Stopping short, Marcus flipped her off his shoulder and set her feet on the cold stone floor of the kitchen. She reeled backward, dizzy.

Darkness ate away the edges of her vision, and her knees buckled. Marcus grabbed her by the shoulders and lowered her onto the bench as she sputtered. His hands on her snatched the curses from her tongue.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed. “Now another.”

Hitching a shaky breath, Ademeni closed her eyes and soon heard the clank of metal against stone. She opened her eyes to find Marcus removing his armor, piece by piece, while she recovered.

Her mouth went dry. How could two men be so vastly different, Marcus and Tertullian? Fascinating how the man before her never wasted motion, how every movement had a purpose. His efficient disrobing left him standing before her in his belted tunic, his arms and legs cut and glistening with the exertion of the chase.

Marcus stood as if waiting for her to make one last, mad dash toward freedom. Devoid of military accoutrement, only deep lines framed his mouth and ran across his forehead. His fingers twitched, and his gaze narrowed.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

She glared, trying to straighten her tongue. Nothing she could say would explain the weight in her heart. “Do what you must to me. It seems you will do nothing to him.”

“Of whom do you speak?” He raised his eyebrows then turned his head. Over his shoulder, Flora loitered in the hallway shadows. She wilted at his fierce look, but when he turned such tools on Ademeni, she felt only emptiness.

“Flora wishes to see my punishment,” she muttered.

“Go,” Marcus barked at Flora, who took her time in retreat. He rubbed his hands over his face, curled his fingers through his short hair. “I ask again, of whom do you speak?”

“No one in particular,” Ademeni lied. The truth held no use, no hope. Marcus only saw Tertullian through blinders, such as one might place on a horse. “What is my punishment,
dominus?
”

His voice lowered to a growl when he addressed her again, for she hadn’t used that title for him since lying in his bed. “You smell like a kennel.”

“You have made me a dog,” she countered, rubbing her arms for warmth. She could not stop pushing him toward the unseemly end.

“I have done no such thing.” His spine straightened, and he drew up to his full height. “My house is filled with contentious women—you more than any other. What should your punishment be for running away, for putting us both in danger?”

She bit her tongue. He had been too lenient from the first day, but she would never tell him such a thing. To do so would be to ask why and risk an honest answer she was ill prepared to accept.

He raised his hands to her in mock supplication. “You tell me—from your vast royal experience—what should your punishment be?”

Despite his sarcastic tone, Ademeni knew that if she looked at him, if she met his eyes, she would see the hint of agony that underpinned his words.

He didn’t want to punish her. He never had. Marcus had not asked for her to be his slave and had treated her better than some Roman wives. He did not run to prostitutes or cavort with married women. He was a loyal man who needed a loyal woman. Like her.

She accepted this truth, but her spirit could not abide such kind treatment any longer. Her heart broke under the strain.

Refusing to raise her eyes, she sat still under his scrutiny. Maybe he would see what she saw.

Or let his anger take control before she admitted any feeling for him. Whether gratitude or attraction, she’d rather choke on her own tongue before the admissions passed her lips.

“Ademeni…” Marcus knelt before her, a not so subtle change in tactics.

She turned her head, but her heart thundered. She had sworn to bring him to his knees. If they looked into each other’s eyes, she feared they would both see too much. Her body flared with the possibilities even as she avoided him.

Her attraction to Marcus posed a risk she must not take. As a daughter of Dacia, she could not justify such an attachment. Her father would curse her from the afterlife.

She understood a few things about Marcus. This particular man was a loyal soldier of Rome whose emperor would return within the day. He would never forsake his position for a slave woman, no matter who she’d been in a previous life. She doubted that telling him of her terrible encounter with Tertullian could change that.

She sorted her few options as long moments slid by in silence.

Her former life had been decimated. She’d seen the fate of her people firsthand. To go back to Dacia now would be difficult at best. If she could not take her sister, such a journey would be pointless.

To continue to live here in a state of slavery was also unacceptable. Marcus would leave with his next appointment, and she would be in the hands of a hateful woman like Flora or at the mercy of a brute like Tertullian, no matter the buffer of Lucia.

Only one option remained.

“Sell me.” The two words escaped in a rough whisper as she thought them. She glanced at the general on his knees, then stared into the garden and back again.

Marcus’s face paled. “What did you say?”

“Sell me, I beg you,” she repeated, choking on her misery. “I cannot tolerate your kindness. You patronize me. It means nothing to you and everything to me.”

A jolt shot through her as he reached up and tilted her chin toward him. She shielded her thoughts behind a cold stare.

“You don’t know what you ask.”

Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down to quiet her nerves. His earnest eyes held dismay, care and concern. All the things she didn’t want to see.

The sentiments meant nothing. She pulled in a shaky breath. “You say I cannot go home, and you did not ask for me. No matter how I provoke you, you refuse to make me what I am—your slave. One day, your duty will take you from Rome, and where will that leave me?”

Marcus stood and backed away, his face an unreadable mask. “This is truly what you want?”

As though she had any other choice. As though, over time, this would not be the best solution to everyone’s problems. Besides, she could not say what she truly wanted because she could not have it.

Setting those thoughts loose would be like unleashing the Furies. Once uttered, they could not be undone.

“You are as hard of hearing as your deaf gods.” She rose to challenge him one last time. “If you will not make me a slave in your house, perhaps someone else will make me a slave in theirs.”

“Your life will be brutal and short.”

“All the better.” She stepped forward, close enough to touch him. “Tertullian was right. You are too weak a man to own a woman like me.”

Marcus tightened his jaw, and Ademeni smiled at the flicker of anger that tensed his entire body. She pushed him toward the conclusion. “Break me, or sell me.”

As a final insult, she raised her arm and reached back to slap him across the face.

* * *

Marcus grabbed Ademeni’s wrist on the upswing, halting her hand inches from his face. Had she lost her senses? Why anger him yet again?

He glowered into her anxious face. If he didn’t care what happened to her, he would have left her fate lying in the muck of the streets.

His fingers tightened around her slender arm. Her skin felt cold to the touch. He should release her, yet he resisted the thought of letting her go.

“Come.” He tugged her forward, sliding his hand down her arm to take her by the hand.

Tears sparkled in her eyes. Frustration rolled from her in waves, starting with her frown. “Where are we going?”

Where indeed? He should throw her into the water and let her sink or swim as the gods saw fit. One turn after another she’d defied, tested and made his pulse race.

But her ploy to provoke him had failed again. He remained well in control of his impulses—and hers. “I can’t sell you if you smell like the street.”

Her brows furrowed, and she resisted.

“Shall I throw you over my shoulder once more?”