The Patrician Read online

  Striding to the door, he faced her and waited.

  Bryna glowered at him, furious to the point that a deep red flush covered her neck. A myriad of emotions danced across her face, rebellion and stubbornness finally succumbing to reason. With a low growl of frustration, she swept past him into the dark. He released a sigh as he followed, wondering if he hadn’t lost all sense in keeping the little hellion in his company.

  The deep, oval pool was just as Phoebus promised, its perimeter marked with tufted stands of grass. A deer popped its head up from slaking its thirst and leapt away at their approach, its white tail visible as it disappeared across the meadow.

  Tossing the bundle at the foot of a fir tree, he stripped off his tattered tunic. A startled gasp from Bryna brought him around. She simply stood there, stock still, staring at him.

  “What’s the matter now?” he asked.

  She turned away quickly. “Nothing,” she said “I just thought there would be more privacy.”

  Jared sighed. The fatigue and strain of the past few days was threatening to crash in on him. He did not have time for ill-placed shyness. “Go to the other side of those rushes, if you are so meek.” She did not argue but hurried to the other side of the pond. He watched until she stepped behind a stand of tall grass where she too would undress. The thought of her naked, of those breasts he’d been teased with in full view, sent a wave of heat rolling through him. Gods, he was in a bad way. Pushing the tempting images aside, he eased down into the cool depths of the pool.

  The water stung his wounded thigh, but brought welcome relief to his tired muscles and bruised flesh and his lust. Digging his feet into the thick mud of the bottom, he stretched his arms out and dove beneath the water. He swam the width of the pool, breaking the surface, flinging water from his hair and wiping it from his eyes.

  He laid on his back and floated, gazed up at the night sky. A plethora of stars sparkled like jewels and a familiar pang of longing stirred in his heart. He closed his eyes. The image of his mother’s face had dulled with the passing of the years, but he could still hear with amazing clarity, her declaration of love—More than the stars in the heavens.

  He glanced over to the grass. Bryna had lost someone too, this brother she believed still lived. Denial would be a poor defense when the harsh reality became known. He almost wished he’d be there to soften the blow.

  Jared frowned. She was taking a long time to return. Was she that shy? His temper simmered. He did not have patience for her games. Just as he started for the shore, she emerged from the thick stand of rushes and his mouth went dry.

  There was no wool cloth to tease his imagination. The moonlight seemed to focus all its light on her slim, pale body—the firm, round curves of her buttocks, the perfect globes of her breasts, her dark nipples. Even in the cold of the pond, his cock twitched when she stretched her arms above her head. Gods, why did she have to do that?

  Jared glided beneath an overhang of branches, watched from its cover as she scanned the pond, dipped a tentative toe in the water. The look on her face told him she thought the water too cold. In his opinion it was not cold enough, doing nothing to quell the heat pooling in his groin.

  With one smooth motion Bryna slipped into the water. She ducked beneath the surface and stayed submerged so long that he started to move toward the spot where she had disappeared. But before he got far, she sprang up like a nymph from a Greek myth, massaging her cropped hair then dunking again to cleanse the dirt from her scalp. She was beautiful and the desire to hold her unbearable, a desire he would never act on not even if a thousand years passed. Bryna washed her face, ran her tongue along the edge of her lips.

  A thousand years was a long time.

  ***

  Bryna kept her eyes averted from Jared’s hard muscled body as he splashed across the pond. Still, she managed a quick peek, admired his rock hard silhouette as he hoisted himself onto the bank. The raw masculinity of the man was overwhelming, much more potent in the flesh than the specter in her vision. The memory of what her desires had led her to do in her dream brought a heated flush to her cheeks.

  But she absolutely would not let him intimidate her. She was the daughter of a chieftain, had survived far worse as a slave. She should be able to handle one bad tempered man.

  Swimming to the opposite side of the pond, she left the water, teeth chattering as the night’s light breezes skimmed her wet skin. She hurried toward the spot where she had left her shift, rubbing at the chill bumps covering her arms as she searched for the garment. It was gone.

  “Surely you did not expect to dress in those rags?”

  Bryna jumped, spun around toward the voice.

  Jared moved from the shadow into the full moonlight. Her breath caught in her throat. Wet, black hair curled around his neck, dressed only in a linen loincloth, gold eyes glittering like a predator looking for his next victim, he was all strength and power. And she was naked. With a small yelp, she sought refuge behind the narrow trunk of a tree.

  “Go away!” she croaked. Gods, could she sound any more nervous? He turned in her direction. She shivered again, though the wind had nothing to do with it.

  “Why are you hiding?” he asked, moving in her direction. His voice was deeper, husky. “For your sake, I hope you’re not planning on running away.”

  “Stop where you are!” she shouted, surprised when he did. She did not trust him. Worse, she did not trust herself or her traitorous body. “My decisions are my own now. You have no part in them.”

  Jared gave a short disbelieving laugh. “Believe what you will. But we will not part ways until I get what I want—my betrayers in my hands.”

  Bryna peeked around the tree just as he took another step in her direction. If only she could tell him what he wanted to know. Then every nerve wouldn’t be on fire. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Bryna,” he said, his tone clear with warning.

  She groaned inwardly. “I am not clothed.”

  A long moment of silence preceded his amused response. “This I know. Why does that matter?”

  She nearly choked on her indignation.

  When he spoke again, it sounded as though he was just on the opposite side of the tree. “I’ve always heard that garments are considered an inconvenience by most barbarians, even to the point of going into battle clothed in nothing more than blue dye to protect them from mortal blows. So again, I ask—why does it matter?”

  She leaned her head against the tree, released an exasperated breath. “Because I am no longer a slave and I will not be put on display.”

  Silence. Cautiously, she peered around the trunk of the tree, watched him drape a shift over a nearby rock before moving back into the foliage. “I cannot argue that.”

  Astonished at his kindness, she wasted no time. She sprinted from behind the tree, snatched the dress up and hurried back to the cover of the rushes.

  When Jared entered the clearing again, he was wearing a dark colored tunic. A leather belt cinched the material in at his narrow waist. He had pulled his hair, still damp from washing, away from his face. Fighting the urge to run, she remained rigidly in place, keeping a wary eye on him as he stopped next to her. He seemed taller, more powerful more confident.

  More dangerous.

  He swept her with an appraising eye, bringing another blush to her cheeks with his intent gaze. Nodding as if in approval, he smiled. Darkly handsome before, he was devastating when he smiled.

  He reached back and tied his hair into a queue. “The dress fits well enough, but,” One side of his mouth lifted. “I think the moonlight fits you better.”

  Heat rushed up Bryna’s neck but a deeper warmth fluttered in her stomach. He was so infuriating, yet she felt drawn to him which set her off balance and she did not like it.

  Caught in her thoughts, she did not notice that Jared had stepped closer until his thigh brushed against hers. Pride would not allow her to step away, but she thought her heart would thump out of her chest when he cu
pped the back of her head with one large hand. Anxiety filled her to her core, her instinct was to fight, She’d only ever been touched with violence since her enslavement. Jared’s hold, while firm, was also gentle. She gazed up into his eyes, gone burnished gold with desire. She released a breath. He was going to kiss her.

  He gave her that crooked smile as if he read her thoughts and dipped his head, slanting his mouth across hers. Her pride would say shock kept her from resisting but that would be a lie.

  His lips were warm, full and firm. A small moan escaped her when he nipped at the corners before taking possession of her mouth. Gods, how could a man taste so good? Bryna parted her lips, gasped as he thrust his tongue inside, going deeper.

  Eyes closed, she slid her hand up his bare arm, thrilled at the strength she felt beneath his skin. A spark of pleasure swept through her at his groan when she timidly met the bold strokes of his tongue with her own. Bryna could have stayed in this moment forever but too soon, Jared pulled away. He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive skin behind her ear and gave her a strange look.

  When her eyes could focus again, Bryna jutted her chin out and said, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Jared’s voice was rough. “Have no fear. I’ve no desire to become a eunuch.”

  Puzzled by his response, she did not protest as he laced his fingers with hers. “Come, witch. The good farmer has promised us food.”

  The food may well fill her belly, but another type of hunger gnawed at her. A hunger for this man. Gods. She snatched her hand away. “I have a name too.”

  His expression sobered and he stared at her intently. “So you have,” he said, taking her hand again. “Come, Bryna.”

  ***

  Phoebus’ house was small, but well kept. It had a hard packed dirt floor covered with a woven mat that prevented dust from settling on the simple furnishings. A pallet stuffed with wool lay against one wall, providing a fine bed for the farmer and his wife. A smaller mattress was placed near the foot for their young son and baby daughter. Both were covered with blankets embroidered with dark blue geometric designs.

  Bryna sat beside Jared on the opposite side of a small brazier lit to ward off the chill of the night. The bowl in her hand was now empty, wiped clean by the piece of bread she had used to eat the stew. It was simple fare, but to her the rich meat broth thick with vegetables and bits of rabbit had seemed like a feast.

  The baby in Sybyl’s lap gurgled and laughed reaching for Jared’s bowl. Bryna watched his gaze soften when a chubby finger clamped around his finger. He shook the baby’s hand, eliciting a giggle before he gently pulled away.

  He avoided her gaze and took the empty bowl from her, set them aside “We thank you for the food and for the clothes,” he told the couple. “We were sorely in need of both.”

  “No doubt,” replied Phoebus, stretching his legs out and pulling his son, Tulio onto his lap. “How many days since your escape?”

  “Seven,” Jared lied, slanting her a warning look.

  Phoebus did not seem to notice. “A good start. But,” He paused, his brows knitting into a frown. “It is very unusual for a male and female slave to be chained together.”

  “Our master was very cruel. He was intent on selling...” Jared quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “. . .my woman and I at auction. We could not bear the idea of being separated. On the way to the marketplace, we escaped.”

  Bryna’s mouth fell open at his lie. Reaching over as if in a loving, familiar gesture, he snapped her mouth shut with one finger, ignoring the look she sent him as he caressed her cheek with his thumb, though in truth, it was difficult to ignore the shivers of pleasure that rippled through her.

  Phoebus smiled at his wife with great tenderness. “It is the way of things for many slaves. Though some may be fortunate enough to be granted their freedom when their master passes to the nether world.” Rising to his feet, he motioned to Jared. “Come outside and I will draw you a map to help you find your way. Then you and your woman are welcome to spend the night in the stable.”

  Jared nodded and followed Phoebus. As he reached the doorway, he sent her another silent warning. Bristling at his imperious attitude she turned to find Sybyl staring coldly at her. Suddenly, she felt very alone and very uncertain.

  “Would you like to see my sword?” Tulio asked, holding out a small wooden sword for her inspection.

  She smiled at him. “It is a good...” she searched for the proper Latin word. “...weapon.”

  Tulio squared his shoulders proudly at her praise. “My papa made it for me.” He leaned toward her and whispered loudly, “I use it to kill barbarians.”

  Her smile faltered as she stared into his earnest face.

  “Tulio! Go to your bed!” said Sybyl sharply. Prompted by the urgent tone of his mother’s command, the little boy scrambled across the room to sit on his pallet and stare at them with wide eyes.

  The two women sat in awkward silence until the weight of Sybyl’s distrust became more than Bryna could bear. Murmuring her excuses, she stood and walked outside.

  The moon had sought refuge behind a bank of clouds, pitching the world into deep darkness. She took a deep breath, relishing the rich blend of freshly turned soil from Phoebus’ tillage, the sharp tang of the pine trees just beyond the house. It reminded her of her brother.

  Bran loved the lush woodlands of Eire as much as she. Whenever the duties of warrior and heir allowed, her brother could be found wandering the hills, content in the solitude they offered. A deep ache settled in her heart. What was Bran facing? Would he ever see his beloved forests again?

  Enough. She could not allow doubts to plague her mind. Bran would be found and they would go home. She turned her head toward the low murmuring voices coming from the side of the house. And a certain stubborn ex-slave was going to help her accomplish that feat. She rounded the corner of the house.

  Phoebus sat on a tree stump, using a stick to draw in the dirt next to a low burning fire. Across from him, Jared knelt on one knee, studying the markings and nodding his head.

  “It should take no longer than another fortnight to reach the port. A short cut could be taken here.” Phoebus dug the stick on one spot. “But the mountain passes are difficult to travel this time of year. No matter which way you go, it will never be safe. You and the girl will be hunted. Stolen property in the eyes if the law.”

  “Stolen property.” Jared rubbed his chin. “We are thieves of our own persons.”

  “Yes,” answered Phoebus, his tone grave. “The Romans are relentless when defied. Your master will not rest until he has regained possession of you and the girl. Perhaps to be sold, to be punished or...” He cleared his throat.

  “To be put to death,” Jared finished for him.

  Bryna hadn’t realized she’d made a sound until the men’s heads shot up, their posture immediately tensing. Phoebus relaxed when he spotted her, but Jared’s expression remained implacable.

  “If you wish to join us, Bryna, then do so. There is no need to skulk about.”

  Squaring her shoulders she strode toward the fire, dropping to the ground and hugged her legs, keeping a careful distance from Jared.

  Phoebus glanced back and forth between, his brow wrinkled in thought. “How long have you been lovers?”

  Her eyes went round in disbelief. Incensed, she searched for the right Latin words to explain to this man how ludicrous such an assumption was, when Jared reached out and grasped her hand. The steady pressure of his grip kept her silent.

  “Not long.” Jared answered, unperturbed. “It is nearly impossible for slaves to find ways to be together, to steal moments of privacy.” He sent a tight smile her way. “My heart was captured the first moment I laid eyes on Bryna.”

  She pressed her lips together. Jared’s goad at her part in his enslavement only fueled her indignation. The pressure from his fingers increased, prompting her to smile weakly in agreement.

  “I understand well enough how finding love, companion
ship is often denied slaves.” The farmer’s gaze drifted out into the shadows cast by the flickering fire. “So it was with Sybyl and myself. She was owned by a Roman Senator and I. . . I was the property of a modest landowner. We never intended to fall in love, but fall in love we did. We were prepared to choose the same path you have, anything to be together. But before we had to choose, my master died and in his will freed all of his slaves. I worked three years to earn enough money to buy Sybyl’s freedom.” He cast a grizzled eye at them. “Those clothes you wear were bequeathed to me by my old master.”

  Then, as if Phoebus had just realized the implications of his hospitality, he said, “You cannot stay here. Bounty hunters are notorious for their persistence and violence.”

  Jared nodded in understanding. “We will be gone at first light.”

  “Sybyl will prepare food and water to help you on your way.” Phoebus stood, started toward the house then turned, studying them with a critical eye. “You are in grave danger. I hope your love is strong enough to see you through.”

  “I have no doubt,” Jared replied, facing Bryna so that only she could see the mocking look in those tawny eyes. “No doubt at all.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You did not have to lie to him.”

  Jared dropped the straw in his hands to the mound he was arranging for a bed. Bryna sat cross-legged on her own makeshift pallet. The yellow light from the chipped oil lamp Sybyl had grudgingly offered lent a soft luminescence to her jade eyes that he felt sure could mesmerize a lesser man into forgetting his next thought. “What did you say?”

  The exasperated look she sent him shattered the softness. “I said you did not have to lie to this man and his family.”

  He shrugged, nudging the straw into place with his foot. “I did what I had to do.”

  “You told him we had been escaped seven days when barely three have passed. And then that wild tale about why we were shackled together.” She crossed her arms, leveled him with a hard stare. “That man has been nothing but kind to us. Fed us, clothed us, sheltered us...”