The Protector (10 page)

“Wine tasting—?”

“Mathematics.” He frowned at her. “I also enjoyed learning the intricacies of trade.”

“I see,” she said.

“What?”

“You’ve always been a serious man. That makes me feel better.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because I feared I’m the only person you scowl at. Now I understand frowning is a natural talent in which you excel.”

His lips quirked with a smile.

He gripped her slim waist and lifted her into the saddle. Her tunic rode up above her knees as she swung her leg over the pummels and straddled the horse. Seeing the wealth of supple limbs, he stifled a groan and sought refuge from temptation in the mundane task of checking his own mount.

“Perhaps I ought to leave my legs uncovered—”

“No!” Quintus croaked. The brief glimpse of her shapely calves was etched indelibly in his mind.

“Why ever not?” she asked in an innocent tone. “Onlookers will think I’m a man.”

“No, they won’t.”

“A boy, then?”

He shook his head, desperate for a lifeline as though he were drowning. He massaged the bunched muscles at
the back of his neck. “You’ll fool no one. Nothing about you is remotely male. Now cover up.”

Snippets of the other guards’ conversation near the wagon filled the silence. The gray midday sky had darkened again with the promise of more rain. “You know, Quintus, you’re awfully dictatorial for a slave.”

The reminder of his lowered status should have rankled. Instead, her censure made him laugh. “My friends usually call me commanding.”

She gave an inelegant snort. Fabric rustled as she arranged her billowy cloak. “I’m ready,” she said.

He turned, relieved to find her covered from head to toe in ugly gray wool.

“Tell me the truth.” She readjusted the cowl. “What chance do we really have to slip past Falco and his cohorts?”

“We’ll be fine.” He glanced at the other gladiators a short distance away. “I’ve told no one of our change of plans, but there is a side road you and I will follow to Ostia.” He handed her her satchel. Intrigued by the sheen on the underside of her cloak, Quintus reached for the upturned edge of the garment. “What’s this?”

“Silk. I had all my wool clothing lined with it. Why should I have to mar my skin just because some hateful miscreant wants me dead?”

He shook his head, incredulous.

“I suppose this proves to you I’m spoiled and vain beyond redemption?”

“No one’s beyond redemption.” He rubbed the soft cloth between his thumb and fingers, its smooth texture the same as Adiona’s creamy skin. “Truthfully, I admire your foresight.”

A wry smile crossed her lips. “I don’t know if it was wise or not, but if I’m killed at least I’ll die comfortable.”

On the outskirts of Ostia the secondary road Quintus and Adiona travelled merged with the Ostian Way. Traffic began to thicken and slow as pedestrians, chariots, litters and oxcarts competed for the quickest entrance into the walled city. The clack of wheels, horses’ hooves and human chatter mixed with mooing cows and the distressed bleats of disgruntled sheep.

Food stalls lined both sides of the congested road, filling the air with the pungent aromas of spices, smoked meats and fish sauce.

Inside the city walls, Quintus took the reins of Adiona’s horse and led them through the lively grid of streets toward the port district.

“I have friends who own a
tabernae
down by the shore,” Quintus said. “They have a large family to help me keep watch over you and each room has a window with a view of the sea. I think you’ll like it.”

Darkness was descending by the time they stabled their horses and walked to the waterfront. The
Mare Internum
stretched to the horizon on their right. Waves crashed against the seawall, spewing foam high into the air. The sinking sun splashed bright flames of red and gold across the deep blue sky. Anchored sailing ships dotted the liquid expanse, their sails and oars put to rest for the night.

“There it is.” Quintus pointed to a stout, tile-roofed building of whitewashed cement. Long wooden tables and chairs had been brought out into the street in front of the two-story structure, creating a makeshift terrace. A young boy was busy lighting oil lamps on each table
where a crowd of jovial patrons shared huge bowls overflowing with prawns and fried squid.

Inside the main dining room someone strummed a
cithara.
The soft music drifted aimlessly toward the four windows evenly spaced along the second floor. A flower box dripping with bougainvillea and sweet-smelling jasmine hung beneath each of the open arches.

Another servant brought out two large platters of oysters. She set them on separate tables and wiped her hands on her apron. Petite and curvaceous with thick dark hair, the girl interacted easily with the guests. She balanced a stack of dirty platters on one arm and swatted overly familiar male hands even as she seemed to catalog customers’ requests in her head.

“That young lady is Josephina.” Quintus quickened the pace, his excitement over a reunion with his friends obvious. “Her parents, Joseph and Sapphira, own the
tabernae.
”

“What is everyone looking at?” Adiona clutched his arm. The majority of customers seemed focused on something out to sea. She glanced over her shoulder, interested to learn what held their attention. A dark moonless sky stretched into oblivion.

All of a sudden the group clapped and cheered as one. Some of the patrons whistled, a few others rattled tambourines. She looked to Quintus, confused. “What happened? What’s the clamor about?”

“It’s a long-standing tradition. Every night people gather to celebrate the exact moment the sun goes down.”

“Ah, they must be followers of Apollo. Do they come out each morning to see his chariot rise, as well?”

“Some,” he said evasively. “Not all.”

“Do you suppose a few of them are
Christians?
” she
asked just to see his reaction. Ever since Caros told her Quintus belonged to the illegal sect, she’d been intrigued by his choice of religion. “Possibly.”

She could tell by the way he stiffened she’d surprised him with the question, but he kept up his pace without missing a step.

Josephina recognized Quintus the moment he stepped into the circle of light surrounding the front of the building. Her expression filled with wonder and she squealed his name. The dirty dishes she held clattered as she dumped them on a nearby table. She flew across the space between them and launched herself into Quintus’s arms, pushing Adiona out of the way.

Josephina promptly burst into tears. “Lucius told us you were dead! I cried and cried for you,” she said between muffled sobs. “Praise Jesus you’ve returned to us!”

Praise Jesus?
Adiona’s interest perked. More Christians? Who was Lucius?

“It’s all right, little one.” Quintus stroked the girl’s hair. “The Lord saw fit to keep me alive. It was only a matter of time before I came back for a visit.”

Adiona noticed the bemused glances some of the customers cast toward Quintus and the girl. She turned her back on them and angled her body as best she could to provide Quintus with a modicum of privacy.

Josephina finally stopped crying and stepped back, wiping her eyes with the edge of her tunic. She clasped Quintus’s hand and tugged him toward the
tabernae’
s front door. “Come, we have to let Mother and Father know you’re here. They’re going to be so happy.”

“Wait.” He untangled his fingers from the girl’s. “Josephina, this is Adiona Leonia.”

Josephina’s smile dimmed. She perused Adiona from head to foot, taking in the dusty, road-weary garb. Her mouth tightened into a straight line. “Are you Quintus’s new servant?”

Adiona gasped. “No! He’s my—”

“Friend,” Quintus interrupted swiftly. He frowned at Josephina. “And you’ll be nice if you know what’s good for you, brat.”

Adiona recognized the competitive light in Josephina’s dark eyes. Other females perpetually saw Adiona as a rival in spite of her well-earned reputation as a man-hater. Until that moment, she’d never understood a woman’s need to fight for her man, but the girl’s silent challenge set Adiona’s teeth on edge. She clutched Quintus’s arm and, as she’d seen other women do when declaring battle, staked her own claim.

Half an hour later a steady stream of Josephina’s family had come to see for themselves that Quintus was alive and well. Much sympathy was offered for his wife’s death and tears were shed for his son.

Adiona watched events from the sidelines. The women wept all over Quintus, while the men thumped him on the back until his entire torso must be bruised. Joseph, the family’s patriarch, was a short, curly haired Jew from Palestine. He helpfully sent servants to find Otho and Adiona’s other guards. Joy reigned and the entire
tabernae
seemed to sigh with contentment.

Having never enjoyed the warmth of a familial bond, Adiona found the commotion made over Quintus sweetly amusing. The news of his arrest had been tragic for his friends, his safe return a cause for celebration and prayers of thanksgiving. It occurred to her that if her enemies succeeded in their plans, no one would care if she were gone, but Quintus’s friends genuinely loved him. She
understood why. He was a good man, the very
best
man she’d ever met. Steadfast, kind, gentle and true to his word, he personified honor.

His tolerant expression as yet-another female fussed over him released a wellspring of tender emotions she hadn’t known was buried inside her. Raw and overpowered by the ferocity of her ill-timed epiphany, she blinked back the sting of tears. She sought out a quiet corner as far away from the reunion as possible without drawing undue attention.

Eventually, Sapphira shooed away the last few relatives and drew Adiona back toward Quintus. “Now you two must eat.” The tiny Greek lady bustled each of them into a chair in a quiet alcove of the main dining room. Candles flickered on well-scrubbed tabletops. Adiona’s mouth watered from the scents of roast fish and fresh herbs.

“I realize my family can be a bit much.” Sapphira smiled proudly. “I’ve told everyone to leave you alone and let you breathe. Of course, Josephina won’t listen because Quintus is hers, but the others will heed my warning.”

Adiona watched Sapphira scurry away to fetch a loaf of bread, a flurry of orders to the servants flying in her wake. The musician strummed his
cithara
and the melodious notes drifted through the dining room like the sea breeze, blending with the low murmur of conversation.

Curious and more disturbed by Sapphira’s claim than she cared to admit, Adiona leaned back in the chair. “So, Quintus, what did she mean you
belong
to Josephina?”

Q
uintus leaned forward, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his long fingers clasped loosely between his body and the table. Here among Christian brothers and sisters who knew him as more than a slave, he felt rejuvenated.

Through the front window he glimpsed a group of merry diners outside on the street beneath the star-filled sky. He returned his attention to Adiona’s expectant face, the loveliest sight in the room—no, the entire city. “Why do you want to know about Josephina? Are you jealous?”

“Of that…that hussy?” she scoffed, glancing away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s good to know.” His tone took on a sharp edge. “But I’d appreciate a little respect for that ‘hussy’ because I happen to love her dearly.”

Her gaze swung back to his. “Love?” she whispered.

“Of course,” he said, unable to credit her stricken expression. “She’s lively, charming, lovely—”

“And a Christian?” Adiona injected with a sour twist of her lips.

Quintus hesitated. He didn’t care who knew about his own beliefs. It was no secret he’d been condemned to die because of them. But he wasn’t prepared to give Adiona, a pagan woman with vast civic connections in Rome, any information about his loved ones.

“You needn’t go all silent and brooding,” she said, regaining some of her color. “I won’t expose your friends. Caros told me months ago you’re one of those deviants and your secret has been safe with me ever since.”

He relaxed and leaned back in his chair. “A deviant, huh?”

“Yes, and I can’t believe you corrupted
Caros,
of all people, to your odd little sect.”

He laughed. “Caros is a contented man since he found his way to the Lord.”

“It would seem so,” she said, mystified. “But some of that is due to Pelonia’s influence, I’m sure. I didn’t like Pelonia at first,” she mused. “I thought she seemed rather weak and insipid. I still don’t know her well, but after the way she handled me…following the attack Friday night, I realize she has the spine of iron she’ll need to keep Caros in order.”

Sapphira returned with a basket of bread, a shallow dish of olive oil and a short stack of colorful ceramic plates. Her easy laughter and sparkling eyes proclaimed her happiness over Quintus’s return from the grave. “Watch your fingers, the loaf is fresh from the oven. Don’t burn yourself,” she added as she hastened to the next table.

Quintus reached for the bread. He tore one of the crusty loaves in two. Steam rose from the soft center. He offered the first half to Adiona. A subtle shock of sensation danced across his skin when their fingers
touched, tempting him to drop the bread and simply hold her hand.

“I agree about Pelonia’s effect on Caros,” he said, steering their conversation back on course. “She’s an excellent woman and an intelligent man values a good wife above all the riches in the world.”

Her expression went blank. Her thick lashes fluttered down. Her slender fingers absently shredded the bread. “Did you love your wife that much, Quintus?”

Soft music filled the lull. He was grateful for the distraction when Josephina brought mugs of water and a chalice of new wine for each of them. She lingered by their table, sharing bits of news, until another customer called her away. He noticed Josephina’s cold manner toward Adiona and he didn’t care for it. He’d have a talk with the younger girl later.

Quintus lifted the chalice to his lips, stalling for more time. Given a choice, he never spoke of Faustina. A husband was always supposed to honor his wife with praise, especially after her death. Not given to lying, he considered it for the first time in years, then quickly rejected the notion. There was enough darkness and ambiguity between him and Adiona. At least in this he could offer some light.

He swallowed a mouthful of sweet nectar and cleared his throat. “I’m ashamed to say I never loved her, although I did try. Faustina and I were wed as part of a business agreement. We were supposed to bring peace to our rival families, but we were ill suited from the start.”

Sapphira appeared with a huge tray of fragrant fish roasted with lemons and capers. “This is Quintus’s favorite.” Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, she winked at Quintus, then whispered in an aside to Adiona.
“I once watched in amazement while he ate a whole swordfish by himself.”

Adiona laughed politely at the jest, but there was no real humor in her eyes. Sapphira left, pulled along by the needs of her other customers. Adiona busied herself cutting the tender fish. He suspected he’d shocked her with his honesty. “Did I offend you, my lady?”

“Offend me?” She set down the knife. “How? By telling me the truth?” He nodded.

“No,” she said. “I always prefer the truth, but it’s rare to hear and often more difficult to address than lies.”

The music shifted tempo to become a whisper in the background. Using her fingers, Adiona raised a bite of the fish to her lips. She closed her eyes, savoring the earthy flavors of herbs and citrus.

Watching her, Quintus stopped breathing. With every moment and action, she became somehow more fascinating. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her amber gaze bright with satisfaction. “The fish is delicious. No wonder it’s your favorite.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat and drank deeply from his chalice. “Joseph’s men went to find Otho and the others,” he said, hungry for a change of topic. “God willing, we’ll all leave at first sail tomorrow. You’ll arrive in Neopolis by noon.”

“Just as you planned,” she said woodenly. “I still think it’s a good idea for you to see me to the ship tomorrow and then return to Rome.”

“No. I won’t discuss that nonsense again.” He almost laughed at her reaction to his decree. If she were a child, she would have stuck her tongue out at him. As it was, she took another bite of fish and glanced away, her nose stuck in the air.

He studied her. She wasn’t the Roman matron he’d first seen at the
ludus.
Gone was the gilded peacock. Travel-worn, she looked embattled and exhausted, but still beautiful enough to make him ache for her.

She reached for her mug of water. “Who is Lucius?”

“My younger twin brother.” He reached for his own bite of fish.

“I overheard you discussing him with Joseph.”

“Yes, I’m pleased to learn he passed by here on his way down the coast.”

“Do you plan to look for him?”

“I’d like to.”

“What are we going to do if the men don’t return or can’t be found tonight?”

“Joseph’s two older sons will guard your door upstairs. I’ll stay down here beneath your window.”

“When will you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Tomorrow. We’re going to hire a private boat. There’s no way your enemies will be on board. I’ll nap on deck.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m going to stay awake tonight down here with you.”

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

She frowned. “I see.”

“What?”

“You want privacy with Josephina.”

He laughed. “She’s just a child.”

“How old is she?”

Still chuckling, he shrugged. “Fifteen.”

“I was twelve when my father married me off to a man twice your age.”

The news sobered him instantly. Wedding a child to a man in his fifties wasn’t unheard of, but that didn’t make
the practice any less repellant. “It’s not like that between Josephina and me.”

“Then how is it? Even her mother says you
belong
to the girl. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided my question when I asked about the
child
earlier.”

He released a deep breath. “I’m a merchant by trade, Adiona. A successful one…at least I was until my arrest. My business brought me to the port here in Ostia at least four times a year. Seven years ago, when I was twenty, I found this
tabernae.
Joseph and Sapphira’s kindness drew me back again and again. They shared their faith in Christ with me and led me to the Lord.”

“I thought Joseph was a Jew,” she said.

“He is. He believes Jesus is the Messiah foretold by the Hebrew Prophets.”

She picked at her bread, thoughtful. “You were arrested for your religion, were you not? Did you know what it would cost you to believe in your Jesus?”

“At the time…I suppose not.”

“And now that you’re a condemned man?”

He combed his fingers through his hair. “I’d do it all the same.”

“I don’t understand, Quintus. Why can’t you believe in a god that won’t see you thrown into the arena?”

He tried not to smile. “I believe my God is the one true and living God. He isn’t interchangeable.”

“But I don’t want you to die,” she whispered.

Something deep inside him shifted, like a broken bone set back into place. For months he’d been too despondent to care if he was alive or dead, but Adiona’s concern breathed new life into his veins. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to die anytime soon.”

Adiona’s attention turned to Sapphira who was laughing with a patron at a table nearby. “She and Joseph are
lovely. Sapphira reminds me of Octavia. She’s open and kind. It’s plain to see why you love them—even Josephina,” she added grudgingly.

“Yes, I consider them as much a part of my family as my blood kin, perhaps more so. Josephina came along to them late in life, the only daughter after half a dozen sons. She’s young and well-loved. I’ll even concede she
may
be a little bit spoiled.”

Adiona snorted. “More than a little.”

He grinned. “When she was eight years old, I stopped here on the way to my villa farther down the coast. She crawled in my lap and proclaimed I was hers. The family finds it amusing and it’s a running joke. But believe me, regardless of how she feels, I think of her as a little sister, nothing else.”

“Then why can’t I stay with you?”

“You need to sleep.”

“Shall I remind you, that
you
are my protector? I don’t like being surrounded by strange men.”

“I’ll be right here. If you need me just call out your window.” He didn’t consider Joseph’s sons “strange men.” Obviously, Adiona did. Then again, she was known for her hatred of the opposite sex. When had that loathing begun? “After all your questions of me tonight, do you mind if I ask you one of my own?”

She shifted on her chair uncomfortably. “That depends.”

“How long were you married?”

Her mouth tightened. “Six years.”

“Were you content?”

“That’s two questions, Quintus.”

He waited. The hour was growing late and the throng of diners began to thin. She pushed a piece of bread
around her plate with the tip of her index finger. “No, I was far from content.”

Just as he’d thought. How much of her fears stemmed from her marriage? When she finally met his gaze, he knew he should seek a different topic, but when his mouth opened he found himself asking, “Was your husband the brute who hurt you?”

She gasped as though he’d stabbed her. Her color high, she closed her eyes, then nodded once. Her chair scraped on the cement floor as she stood and fled.

Taken aback by her sudden flight, he followed her outside, past the few empty tables left to be stored away for the night. Her swift steps carried her across the street and the short distance to the seawall.

He stopped a few paces behind her and scraped his hand through his hair. He should change the subject, he realized, but a rampant need to know every facet of her being drove him on. “Adiona, what happened? I have an idea, but I’d like you to tell me for certain.”

“Why are you doing this?” She swung around to face him. Bitterness flowed off her in waves. The shadows hid all but her strained eyes, the tip of her nose and the curve of her stubborn chin. “You’ve no great affection for me. No reason to care.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. He’d spent months fighting her hold on him, desperately trying to convince himself his attraction was no more than a carnal reaction to a beautiful woman. But every day, every hour he spent in her company wore away his resistance until his mind was forced to accept what his heart already knew.

He loved her.

Restive tension sparked between them. He had no more fight in him where his feelings for her were concerned. She burned like a fever in his blood—a fever that
his prayers, his reason and the lessons of his past had all failed to cure.

Pulse racing, he stepped closer until they almost touched. Every nerve in his body begged him to take her in his arms, to kiss and hold her until he’d convinced her she loved him, too.

Instead, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She trembled. The pad of his thumb brushed the soft silken skin below her ear, the one concession he made to his craving to touch her. “I care, Adiona. I want to help you.”

“I don’t
need
help,” she said with stony insistence.

“Then you’re the only soul in Creation who doesn’t.”

Between the starlight and the faint lamplight from the
tabernae
behind them, he saw her eyes close. “What’s to tell?” she whispered. “I was married to a beast who tortured me almost every day for six years.”

Even worse than he’d suspected.

“He kept you in a small room.”

“A cage.”

Pain knifed him through the heart. Taking him by surprise, she folded into him, unaware she inflicted her own brand of torture when she pressed innocently against him. His heart hammering, his breathing constricted, he wrapped his arms around her, not from a selfish desire to hold her, but because she needed his comfort. “I
hated
him,” she murmured against his chest. A tremor rippled through her slender body.

“Understandable.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Did you poison him?”

“What?” she gasped, leaning back.

“That is the rumor, the reason Falco used to justify his plan to ransom you.”

“I didn’t poison Crassus.” She pulled away. Arms wrapped protectively about her waist, she leaned back against the seawall, her tall, slender body as taut as an oar. Wrapped in the darkness, it was as if they were the only two people on some long-deserted island. “By the gods, I wish I
had
had the mettle to murder him. Believe me, I’d have chosen something more painful than poison. And I wouldn’t have waited six long years to finish him off.”