The Patrician Read online

  Jared slanted a glare at her. “And may very well betray us.” He stretched out on the pallet and burrowed deep into the fragrant grass, ignored her frustrated groan. She was a fine one to protest lies when it was her lies that had led to this mess. He closed his eyes, tried to block out how alluring she looked with her cheeks flush with indignation.

  “Do you not trust anyone?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered easily. “Trust entails having faith and hope, both of which I lost a long time ago.”

  He expected a retort, argumentative witch that she was, but she said nothing. From beneath half closed lashes he watched as she eased down beside him. Drawing her knees up to her chin, she tilted her head, fixing those leaf green eyes, not on him, but at some point beyond. He could not resist peeking over his shoulder to see what could possibly be holding her attention. There was nothing but a wall of weathered wood.

  “What ails you?” he asked gruffly.

  Bryna blinked once, focusing on him. “Nothing.” she answered, rubbing her hands across her eyes.

  There had been pity in her gaze. He recognized it, had seen it often enough in his youth. He propped his head up with one hand. “Tell me Bryna, do you trust the Romans?”

  Fire snapped behind her eyes, giving him his answer. He rolled onto his back and closed his own, fatigue seeping into every muscle. “You’d do well to remember that.” he murmured. “Now go to sleep, the dawn will be here soon and we have a great distance to travel.”

  ***

  He did not sleep deeply; he could not afford to, but still, Jared fought opening his eyes as the sounds of dawn played at his ears. Muted chirping of birds seeking juicy worms floated in the still air of a new morning. Never before had he appreciated the gift of another day as much as he did now, as a free man.

  Cracking a bleary eye open, he found Bryna, pressed against the length of his body again, a nocturnal habit she had developed that he could get used to. Her head was snuggled into the crook of his arm. Her trim legs were curled up to her chest, thrusting her firm bottom into a region of his that was beginning to generate some warmth of its own.

  She murmured in her sleep and Jared instinctively draped an arm over her waist, fingers brushing the soft mound of her breast, amazed at the generous size for a girl so slight. His hand moved of its own volition, seeking the tiny bud gracing the tip. It went hard beneath his fingers. The movement also brought Bryna to full wakefulness. She pushed up on one elbow, sent the other into his chest. It took great effort not to smile at the glower she sent him.

  He sat up, stretching his arms. Damn it felt good to move without the weight of heavy iron. “Good morning,” he said casually, brushing bits of straw from his tunic.

  “Do not ever do that again!” she spate through clenched teeth. A bright red stain was spreading slowing up her neck, its color as vibrant as her ire.

  “Do what? I did not seek out the company. I merely enjoyed what was being offered.”

  Her face flushed a deeper red. “There was nothing being offered!” she snarled.

  He stood and looked down into her bright green eyes. “Is that the same answer you gave your master?” he asked dryly.

  She stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh come, now. It is common practice for a master to taste the fruits of his female slaves, whether freely given or not. Gaius seemed robust and in good health. There were several pregnant slaves walking around as testament to fortitude. Are you above sharing your charms with a lowly slave?”

  “I am untouched,” she said. The offended tone of her voice almost sounded authentic.

  Jared reached out, traced the graceful line of her throat, a rush of desire heating his blood. Her skin felt smooth, like a piece of Egyptian linen. “You are telling me, that you have been a slave for over a year and have not been used for your master’s pleasure?”

  Her full lips trembled, from fury or deceit he could not tell. She batted his hand away. “I am.”

  He stared into her fiery gaze for another long moment then shook his head in disgust. He bent down and picked up his belt. He strapped it tightly around his waist, pulled on the ends a bit harder than was necessary, his anger growing at her blatant lie. He was all too familiar with the mores and ethics of the Roman world. Those that held the power held everything. Those who had little lost even that to the powerful. Their hopes, their dreams, even he thought darkly, their lives. The virtue of a slave would be as nothing.

  She was a beauty, all silky skin, smooth cheeks tinged pink, an upturned nose, full lips and eyes sparkling with energy not of this world. Likely Coeus, with his eunuch’s body, had not had the interest, but there was no way Gaius had not tasted her charms.

  The stormy direction of his thoughts was interrupted by the stable door opening. Phoebus stuck his head inside, anxiety etched on his face when he saw them standing there. Jared snatched up the cloak given to him by the farmer and stood aside for Bryna to lead the way. He inclined his head toward the farmer. “My apologies. I fear our fatigue outweighed the rising of the sun.”

  Phoebus nodded, swallowing hard. He stood aside allowing them to pass into the fog shrouded morning. Brilliant fingers of orange and red painted the distant horizon, promising sunshine to dispel the cool morning mists. Jared breathed deeply, savoring the pure, sweet air. Bryna had closed her eyes and stood very still. A slight smile played around her lips, causing Jared to wonder how beautiful she would be with a smile inspired by mirth. He wondered what her laugh would sound like.

  “Sybyl has prepared provisions for you.” Phoebus thrust a cloth sack and a leather water skin into his hands. Jared nodded his thanks and handed Bryna the sack of food. He shouldered the heavier water skin. “You have our deepest gratitude,” he said.

  Phoebus smiled wanly. “It is too little but—” He eyed the two fugitives. “If the slave hunters come, I will tell them you stole it all from us. I must protect my family.”

  Jared gave a curt nod. He did not blame the man. The penalty for aiding runaway slaves was severe. He grasped Bryna’s hand and headed for the edge of the meadow, intent on finding the easiest path through the forest. Bryna wrenched her arm away. “Stop dragging me about as if I were some addle minded child!”

  “We don’t have time for this, Bryna. Baal and his minions may well have figured out that Gaius’ property did not drown. Even now they could be closing in on our trail.”

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. “I understand the danger we are in,” she said. “But I am fully capable and do not need to be ordered about, told what to do and when to do it.”

  “Do you understand that we must proceed with care? Soon, we will be forced to come out of the cover of the woods. We will need to melt into the peoples of towns. Their curiosity will already be aroused by the presence of strangers.” He lifted a short curl from her neck, noted the shiver that passed through her at his touch. “And with your unique coloring, we might as well announce that we are fugitives.”

  “All the more reason to let me go my own way,” she countered.

  Jared’s lips twisted into a half smile.“I think not. You would not last two days in the hated world of the Romans. You speak the language passably, but your accent marks you a foreigner. Not to mention this hair of yours although Gaius’ crony wearing a wig of it might throw them off for a bit.” A shadow of hurt touched her eyes. He ignored the twinge of guilt that plucked at his chest. “You do not understand the laws. You do not understand the ways of Rome.”

  “And you do?” she challenged.

  He held her gaze until she shifted beneath it. “Indeed, more than you can know.” He spun on his heel and sighted the path again. “You need to keep up and stay alert. If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it.”

  Making for the sheltering shadows of a stretch of woodland, he wondered if she would defy him. He heard her frustrated growl followed closely by a curse muttered in her heathen language. If she kept this up, he’d soon be able
to speak her barbarian tongue himself.

  He frowned, adjusted the strap of the water skin so that it didn’t bang against his injured thigh. Maybe he was being too harsh, too controlling. Elizabeth had often chided him that he could not do it all, to let others bear some of the burden. But his cousin had never had to prove herself worthy. She was Hebrew, she knew her place in the world. No one ever questioned her value.

  But this wasn’t like a business transaction. They were on the run and Bryna was the only link to the culprits behind his enslavement. It didn’t have anything to do with her headstrong ways, her sharp tongue and the worry that both would get her in trouble in a strange land. Why didn’t he let the little heathen loose, let her go her own way, allow her to be swallowed up by the corruption of Rome?

  No, he did not have a choice. He had to take her with him to Alexandria because, despite her protests of ignorance, she still knew more than he did about the bastards behind his kidnapping. Once he found them, he would gladly let her go back to...wherever it was she was from.

  Unless she continued this insane plan to find her brother, a brother who was dead or at least wished he was. He shook his head at the foolish plan. No, he would put her on one of his ships, send her on her way. Away from the Romans she hated so much. Away from Alexandria.

  Away from him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jared set a grueling pace after leaving Phoebus’ house. It was as if he were driven by some unseen force, some demon that would not let him rest—nor her in the process. But Bryna was determined not to lag behind. She didn’t want him accusing her of being a burden as well as a whore.

  She supposed it was natural for him to make certain assumptions. Beside Baal’s bumbling effort, there had been other close encounters—a soldier on the journey from Eire, one of the slaver’s minions. Only Bran’s tale and the promise of gold had kept her safe. But she wasn’t like Silva, she wasn’t one of those females to lie with a man, master or not, to gain favor.

  Still, the memory of his callused hand cradling her caused her breasts to go heavy. She had never experienced anything like the delicious warmth that had coursed through her body, curled in the pit of her belly. Could he do more? Could she do the same to him? She slapped an errant bush limb out of her path, ignored the sting as it hit the back of her leg. Gods, she needed to stay focused, instead of making up tales in her head. Staring at the ground, she did not see that he had stopped.

  “Damn, woman! Are you blind?”

  Bryna stumbled, glared at his sweat soaked back broad as a mountain before her. This was the third time he’d stopped in the short distance they’d traveled since eating. Bryna frowned as he placed a hand on a nearby tree and leaned heavily against it.

  She stepped around him, spreading her fingers beneath the heat dampened hair plastered to her she lifted the damp tendrils into a knot. “Is the pain worse?”

  He shot her an irritated look. “What you are talking about.”

  “Your leg. Is the pain worse?”

  “There is nothing wrong with my leg,” he snarled, wincing.

  Bryna dropped the empty provisions sack on the ground and studied him. His skin was pale beneath the sun bronzed color. Fine lines around his mouth and dark circles beneath his eyes showed the strain he was under.

  “You’ve been limping since yesterday and today it has worsened with each hour.” Her gaze slid to the edge of his tunic. She gasped at the angry red streak extending from the slice on his thigh down to his knee. “Your wound has festered.”

  He waved her concern away. “It’s fine. I’ve suffered far worse pain under the lash than to worry about one minor cut.”

  She sighed. Why did men always ignore their injuries? “You need to rest and prop your leg so that it may heal.”

  “We cannot stop,” he answered, straightening.

  “Surely we have put enough distance between Baal and his men? It’s been five days since we left the farmer’s. Besides, it is not good for you to be walking on the uneven ground of the forest.” She had stubbed her toes and lost her footing enough to know.

  He tested his weight on the leg and grimaced, sending her a dark look that clearly warned her not to say a word. “I will not be walking on uneven ground.”

  She snorted. “Don’t expect me to carry you. The weight of your arrogance alone is more burden than I can manage.”

  A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You won’t have to. Look ahead, there beyond the clearing.”

  She looked in the direction he indicated. The forest ended at a meadow, which spread out to meet a road—a road filled with people walking to and from a collection of buildings. Bryna’s stomach flared with anxiety. “A town? Can we not go around it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “It would add a full day to try and circumvent it.” He nodded toward the line of hills that fanned out on either side of the settlement forming a valley. “We have no choice but to go through.”

  Bryna chewed her bottom lip.

  “Are you afraid?”

  She met his steady gaze, forced her voice not tremble. “Yes,” she answered truthfully, glancing back at the town. “You are certain there is no way to avoid that route?”

  Jared nodded, a flash of appreciation crossing his face. “You are right to be frightened. Word of our escape could have reached this far north.” Using the tree as a support he leaned back, beckoning her to him.

  What did he want? Did he wish to kiss her again? In truth, the memory of it still lingered in Bryna’s mind. Cautiously, she complied, cursed when she jumped like a frightened rabbit as he pulled a woolen veil of light blue Sybyl had included among their clothes.

  She forced herself to stand still while he draped the thin covering over her head, tucking several stray curls beneath the fabric. The brush of his blunt tipped fingers against her skin sent a shiver of excitement through her.

  “Keep the veil on at all times and stay close to my side.” Jared rubbed his hand over his leather belt, absently stroked the hilt of a worn and dull knife given to him by Phoebus. She seriously doubted it could slice more than stale bread. He took a step forward and nearly fell as his injured leg buckled beneath him.

  “Here,” she said, slipping beside him. “Wrap your arm about my shoulder.”

  “I’ll crush you,” he argued.

  “I am from Eire. We do not crush with any ease.” He snorted at that, but did as she asked, draping his arm around her, thank the gods for her nerves were strung tight enough without adding an argument to it.

  There were other travelers on the road—a man shepherding three shaggy sheep from the fields, a farmer driving a two wheeled cart, his wife perched rigidly beside him while a handful of grubby children ran alongside. The cart was overflowing with baskets of eggs, vegetables and a disgruntled hen whose clucking drowned out the creaking of the wheels.

  Bryna pushed against Jared’s weight, trying her best to appear at ease while clutching the end of the veil all while trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. A spotted mongrel trotted up to them, pressed his moist nose against her ankle. She yelped in surprise, causing several women carrying baskets full of raw wool to glance at them. The dog skittered away, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  Jared brought his other arm around and stroked her cheek. He shrugged his shoulders in mock exasperation and smiled at the women. They giggled and ducked their heads.

  “Why don’t you announce to the whole countryside that we are strangers!” He hissed into her ear, causing a tingle to run down her spine. “Are you so eager for the authorities to be notified?”

  The wretch. She tried to disengage herself from his vise-like grip, but it was futile. He pressed her closer to his side, all but dragging her along as he found some renewed strength to lengthen his stride.

  They entered the town through an arched gateway and found themselves absorbed into a milling crowd of people. Citizens of all types, young and old, rich and poor, slave and free bustled abo
ut intent on their business.

  For once Jared did not have to worry about her straying. The press of bodies was overwhelming. She saw Baal in every face. She gripped Jared’s waist tighter and held fast to the hand on her shoulder.

  A large woman bumped against her, snagging the edge of her veil with the basket she carried on her arm. Bryna saved the head covering, tugging at it and the basket before it ripped free. The woman muttered something angrily, making a gesture that Bryna knew to be an insult. She stuck her tongue out at the woman, then found herself propelled into a shadowed doorway.

  Jared swore beneath his breath, snatched the veil back into place. Uneven stones bit into her shoulders as he pressed her against the lintel of the door. Standing with hands braced on either side of her head, he skewered her with those tawny eyes that for all their coldness warmed her deep inside.

  “For God’s sake, Bryna, you act as though you’ve never been in a town before.” His breath fanned out warm against her cheek.

  She turned her head trying to distance herself from those eyes, hating the rush of heat to her cheeks. Her spirit was being seared by his closeness, a closeness she did not seek, a closeness that both angered her and enticed her every sense.

  “Look at me, you little barbarian!”

  She snapped her attention back to him, refused to let her gaze waver, though the burning moisture behind her eyes blurred her vision. “The only time I have ever been in one of your grand Roman towns, I was led through the streets, bound in chains, while the good citizens threw rotten garbage in my face and called me all manner of vile names, not the least of which was barbarian!”

  She expected anger, mockery, at the very least impatience. Instead, the hard lines around his mouth and eyes softened.

  He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his own, his tongue seeking the softness of her mouth. She gasped, giving him the opportunity to plunge into her mouth, filling it with the taste of male.

  Her mind ordered her to resist, but her body leaned into his. He responded in kind, kneading the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. He smelled of spice and musk, a scent that stirred her deep in the pit of her belly. It scattered her common sense into a thousand directions. Gods.