The Patrician Read online

  She needed water. The soft earth of the pond’s edge flattened beneath her knees as she leaned over and drank from her cupped hands. Another few handfuls of water she used to cool the warm flush of her cheeks. She had to think. In Eire, a man and woman could declare themselves joined in a hand fasting ceremony, their wrists tied together indicating their oneness. In a year’s time, the Brehon laws allowed their union to be dissolved if one or the other partner so wished it. She’d never given any real thought to the choosing of a mate but she was certain she did not want one that felt so obligated.

  Bryna sighed. They had already been bound to one another but she had never agreed to their union. In truth neither had Jared.

  Deep in her tumultuous thoughts she did not hear him approach. She jumped when he bent down on one knee and leaned into her. He whispered in her ear, “You say the laws of my God do not make you my wife.” He feathered kisses along the soft curve of her neck lingering to nuzzle and nip at her lobe. “Then tell me, Bryna, would a true wife not respond to this?”

  Tiny shivers of heat streaked through her body as he buried his mouth against the pulse throbbing at her throat. This was not helping her think at all. In fact, it was dissolving what little rational thought she had left.

  “Would a maiden, shy in her innocence, allow this?” he whispered huskily. He cupped her face in his hands and claimed her mouth, gently at first then demanding, insistent, searing her to her core.

  Her mind cried out to fight but the scent of him was wondrous, a tantalizing mixture of sweat and spice, of leather and male. It left her unable to breathe.

  Bryna knew nothing of this man. Nothing save he was a slave, a foreigner like herself despised by the Romans. A man filled with dark emotions of anger, vengeance, a deep unrelenting pain that haunted him, fueled his pride, fed his arrogance.

  Only her own unrelenting pride kept her from crying out against the emptiness when he pulled away. She tried to turn away, but he drew her up to stand beside him.

  He clasped both of her wrists in the span of one of his hands. “Bryna, look at me,” he murmured.

  She closed them tight instead, refused to do as he commanded. To look into those eyes might prove her undoing.

  “Bryna,” he said, shaking her hands.

  There was a note of something in his voice, an emotion that reverberated through her being. There was anger, yes, but shadowed by other, more intense feelings so interlocked that it was difficult to touch on them individually. There was no way round it. She opened her eyes.

  Gods, there was no mistaking one of his emotions. His topaz gaze was searing, filled with heat and dark with desire. He was male; of course she should have known that lust would be present. She could not discount the hard thump of her heart and the heat pooling in her belly as he raked his gaze over her. He wanted her and she wanted him.

  The lure of those other unnamed emotions held her still for a few moments longer. Bryna opened her senses, thankful when they responded. She reached out to the thin, tangled threads of pain, despair, guilt and, thank the gods, the smallest bit of hope. Her breath caught. And love?

  He has no room for such a tender emotion. He is damaged.

  Bryna refused to allow her own seed of hope to wither. She pressed her clasped hands against the short, crisp hairs of his chest and pushed without success. His scent filled her, spice and wood and man and made a mockery of her resistance. His hard and erect cock pressed against her stomach. Jared captured her gasp with his mouth, using one hand to cup her breast, his thumb massaging the nipple to a taut peak through the cloth of her dress.

  Bryna’s heart raced and melted all at once, a branding heat sliced through every fiber of her being. She had never felt so many different sensations spiraling through her at one time. He loosened his grasp of her wrists and did not object when her hands slid along his sides, exploring the hard edges of his torso. Gods, she loved the feel of those firm muscles beneath her fingers, the hard lines of his body. Shifting her hands around his waist she gripped his buttocks and urged him closer. Jared growled raggedly and with one fluid motion, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the shade of a tall oak where he laid her on a patch of soft grass.

  Bryna raised up on her elbows, her breath catching in her throat as Jared swept his short tunic over his shoulders. She drank in the sight of him. His torso was lean and bronzed, the scars that marked him adding to his already dangerous aura. The muscles of his chest and limbs were sculpted as if from years of rigorous training. Were the Hebrews a warrior people? Surely they must be, for a physique as well-honed as this was not gotten from a few short months laboring in the fields.

  Her gaze drifted to the loincloth draped around his hips. It was made of coarse linen, but his arousal was evident even beneath the thick folds of cloth. Her eyes widened as he slipped the covering off. By Danu, he was huge.

  Panic welled in her chest bringing her to her knees but he knelt quickly beside her blocking her escape. Catching her lips once more, he exerted gentle pressure that sent delicious tingles streaming down her spine. His hands followed the curve of her neck, slipping beneath the neckline of her dress, sliding the material off her shoulders until she was fully exposed. Though the day was hot, she shivered. His eyes darkened as he devoured her with his gaze.

  “No.” Her protest was weak and disappeared altogether as he ran his tongue over the sensitive pebbled skin of her nipples. She gripped his shoulders, felt the play of his muscles as he guided her to the ground, his mouth alternating between suckling and trailing hot kisses down the flat plane of her stomach to her soft woman’s folds.

  An enormous wave of shyness washed over her. She was the daughter of a chieftain but was acting the wanton. Bryna struggled through her daze. She was not ready for this. She was not ready to give herself to this man. It would cost her too much.

  Her mouth opened to refuse him, but the words were lost in a soft moan as his firm fingers massaged the nub buried in the soft triangle of curls between her legs. When his hand moved away, Bryna arched upward in an echo of her dream, seeking the tantalizing heat of his long, lean fingers. A dark chuckle came from Jared as he accommodated her, cupping his hand over her mound and stroking, increasing the pressure in slow, lazy circles.

  She would explode, was convinced of it. What was he doing to her? Through half closed eyes, Bryna saw his mouth curve upward into the same smug, self-assured smile of her vision. He positioned his knee between her thighs, the hard length of him probing for entry.

  He nipped at her lips with short, quick kisses. “Tell me Bryna,” he breathed harshly, “could your other lovers coax as much passion from you as your husband?”

  Bryna’s heart ached at the sharpness of his words. She shifted beneath him, gasping as the tip of his cock pressed against her. There would be no stopping him and, gods help her, she did not want him to.

  Jared braced his arms on either side of her head. Bryna held onto his shoulders, caught and held his gaze. A flash of surprise passed across his face before he entered her hot, slick sheath. Bryna’s breath caught as his thick cock stretched her, her fogged mind registering that he had paused when he met the barrier of her maidenhead. His eyes narrowed, shock mingled with the heat of desire

  He trembled from the effort it took to hold himself back. He rested his forehead against hers. “Choose, Bryna,” his voice strained, rough. “I will only ask once.”

  Bryna’s doubts melted with the warmth and need that simmered at the feel of him, hard inside her. He was giving her the option of saying no. He was giving her a choice. Her heart swelled with a different type of warmth. She stroked his temple, traced the curved scar and nodded her assent.

  Pleasure and relief lit his eyes. Jared kissed her with a tenderness she’d never thought to see and eased his shaft in slowly, though she could tell the effort cost him. Locking his gaze to hers once more, he breeched the barrier in one swift motion.

  Bryna cried out, convinced she was being rent asunder. She pushed at
his chest, slick with perspiration, determined to get him off, but Jared held her, allowing her body time to form to him. In increments, the pain melted away and Bryna released a small moan of pleasure at the sensation of his length within her woman’s sheath. It was not unpleasant.

  Jared began to move then, slowly at first then faster, each thrust building a heated pool deep in her core until Bryna felt certain she would die from the ache of it. Arching her hips, she instinctively followed his rhythm. More, more, more, it was like a chant in her head. The pain of her lost virginity succumbed to different, glorious sensations. Sensations of light. Sensations of color. Sensations so pure, so hot that she felt ready to burst into flames.

  Jared, his own breathing ragged, found her mouth, kissed her again, releasing a low growl when her tongue met his. She closed her eyes and breathed, “Jared, please.”

  She sensed his smile. He increased the tempo and with one last stroke took her over the edge. Vaguely she realized the loud cry she heard through the daze was her own. Jared, finding his own release, collapsed against her, easing his heavier weight to the side. His body was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration that matched her own. It took long moments more before either of them could move.

  Jared smoothed away a moist tendril of hair from her forehead. Bryna reached out and traced the scar circling his wrist. The scar of the chain that had bound them together.

  Now, they were bound in a different and irreversible way.

  He put his arm around her shoulder, pulled her close, until her head lay against his chest. She sighed, enjoyed the rich, musky scent of him, the beat of his heart against her cheek. She felt safe, secure. Those feeling shattered with his next words.

  “You spoke the truth,” he murmured.

  Her contentment retracted into sharp pain. She curled her hand against his shoulder and fought the hot tears burning her eyes. What a fool she had been, what a fool! These past weeks of relying on each other for survival, nursing him back to health, discovering a man with a heart, albeit a wounded one, beneath the arrogant Roman, she had lowered her guard. Allowed herself to believe he cared for her, for being Bryna, instead of his betrayer. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. He’d given her a choice!

  Choices. How they had argued about choices. She would make another. As soon as they returned to Alexandria, she would not wait for Jared’s help. She would leave him and all illusion that the two of them might have a future and find Bran.

  A gentle kiss brushed against her forehead and in that simple gesture, Bryna’s gift flared, reached out to Jared and grasped an obstacle to her plan—a thin, fragile thread of love.

  For her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jared splashed ice cold water from the pond over his face wishing he could clear his mind as easily as the water cleared the sleep from his eyes. But it would take more than water to sort out the jumble of thoughts and feelings plaguing him this morning.

  Last night had been a colossal mess. He’d wanted Bryna to understand the fear that had consumed him at the thought of her being captured. He’d expected her to reject his advance and had been thrilled when she’d responded with a fiery passion of her own. It had heated his blood until nothing mattered save his having her. And even when the hurt had crossed her eyes when he’d discovered the truth of her virtue, the only thought he’d had was Mine.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Bryna, lying curled up on a bed of moss, one naked shoulder visible from beneath the cloak he had covered her with after their lovemaking. He shook his head, and doused his face again. He had a wife...a barbarian wife. Strong of will, twice as stubborn with a quick temper, sharp tongue and a defiant streak wide enough to try the angels of heaven.

  But she was also full of strength, courage and passion. All packaged with a kind and gentle heart and an endearing naiveté. A very complicated female who only complicated his life.

  And all Jared could think was Mine.

  A wife had never figured into the grand design of his life. He’d sworn an oath as his tears mixed with the blood of his mother that he would never bring the curse of mixed heritage on a child of his own. He glanced in her direction as Bryna stirred, sighed softly and nestled deeper beneath the covering. Even now his seed could be growing within her womb. What trials would a child suffer who claimed barbarian, Hebrew and Roman blood lines?

  He dried his face with the sleeve of his tunic. It pleased him to know he was the first, and scared the life out of him that he intended to be the last. He’d never experienced anything like it. Being with Bryna had felt intoxicating and he was already craving being with her again.

  Jared shook his head. She had spoken the truth about being untouched. That had been a surprise—a welcome surprise—but it also provided a dilemma—if she wasn’t lying about that, could it be possible she wasn’t lying about knowing who was behind his kidnapping?

  He blew out a breath. Time enough to worry on such things once they were safe. He walked over and crouched near her head.

  “Bryna,” he called quietly. “Bryna, it’s time to awaken.”

  She mumbled incoherently and her mouth, swollen from his kisses, formed a rebellious moue.

  He tried again, gently stroking a stray curl off her forehead. Her soft hair was beginning to gain length again. “Bryna, the sun will soon be full up. We must be gone.”

  In answer, she rolled away from him, wrapping the cloak close around her shoulders.

  “Wake up, wife.”

  He smiled as she sat straight up and tried to focus sleep dazed eyes on him.

  “What did you say?” she asked groggily.

  He reached over and snagged the cloak away, his blood warming at the view of her luscious body. “I said it is time to rise. We have a long way to travel.”

  A rosy blush blossomed as she glanced at her nakedness. She reached down and wiped at the blood on her thighs. She raised her head and looked at him. There was no accusation or reprimand in her eyes, only hurt and disappointment. Guilt stabbed at him. He handed her the cloak. “Go, wash yourself. There is a bit of bread left.”

  For once she didn’t argue. Snatching the cloak from him and hurried to the pond. He busied himself with checking the horse, trying to block the sound of water splashing and the images it invoked.

  In a matter of minutes she was finished, completely dressed and nibbling on the leftover bread, watching him as he looped the frayed rope around the nag’s neck. He braced for the tongue lashing he deserved.

  “He likes you.”

  Taken aback, he cocked a brow at her. “Who likes me?”

  She gestured with the piece of bread. “The horse. He thinks you are gentle.”

  Did Bryna think him gentle? How could she, after the brutish way he had treated her? He had refused to believe her innocent, had ridiculed her claim. But what else was he to think? She had been the one to lie, send him to the hell of slavery. Little wonder he did not trust her.

  Where, a small voice in the back of his mind prodded, is Jared ben Gideon the merchant prince, the man renown through the markets of the Empire for his fairness? He pushed the voice away. “So, you can read the minds of animals as well as people?” he asked. Her silence caused him to turn to where she stood quietly contemplating the bread in her hand.

  “If only it were that simple.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “We are near the coast?”

  “Less than a day’s ride,” he answered slowly. He slanted a look in her direction. This was not Bryna. Where was the spirited girl who knew no fear, ready to challenge him at every turn? He had been prepared for recriminations, not this cool distance.

  “Will there be a ship there? One that can take us back to Alexandria?”

  “Probably.” He looped the straps over the animal’s neck. “But we’re not going to the coast.”

  She narrowed her eyes, tried to catch his gaze as he seated her on the horse. “Well then, where might we be going?”

  He swung up behind her and gather
ed the reins in his hands resisting the urge to bury himself in the forest scent of her hair. He set his jaw. “To Rome.”

  ***

  The signs of civilization were scattered at first—a cluster of farm buildings, a tinker and his wagon, rolling along on uneven wheels, each wheel with its own distinctive creak. A group of municipal slaves labored on a large stone structure Jared called an aqueduct. Imagine, water being brought far distances into the city itself. Bryna shook her head at the wonder of it.

  The rigors of the trip had taken their toll on their horse. The poor animal had nickered and whinnied in protest but the farmer they had left him with assured them he would be safe, well cared for and Bryna knew from the gratitude radiating from the man it would be so. If only her gift could guarantee the same for her heart.

  She had been determined to stay angry at him, but Jared had made that nearly impossible. The man had no respect for someone in a foul temper, pointing out a cluster of beautiful flowers, making a fool of himself trying to catch a rabbit for their dinner. He had no patience and less knowledge on how to trap the poor creature, muttering that olives would fill his belly just fine. But when she caught him speaking in confidential tones to the horse about his lopsided gait and its effect on Jared’s posterior, she could do nothing less than laugh.

  He had joined in her laughter, his gaze gentling as he leaned down, capturing her mouth with his. All anger melted under the taste of him. He’d guided her to the ground, made love to her and afterward, lying in his embrace, she could almost forgive him.

  Almost.

  She adjusted the veil over her hair.

  Beside her, she felt him tense and followed his gaze to the road ahead. A contingent of Roman soldiers marched toward them sharp flashes of light glinting off their upraised spears. They stepped as a unit, each man in perfect alignment with his comrade, with singular purpose, scattering unfortunate pedestrians from their path. People scrambled to keep from being trampled. The harsh cry of a farmer’s donkey was barely audible over the clattering. The beast bucked his stocky body, pitching the dilapidated wagon of his master onto its side, spilling baskets of wilted lettuce and shriveled tubers into the dirt. The soldiers marched on, grinding the vegetables beneath their hobnail sandals. The farmer fell to his knees, covered his face with his hands.