The Patrician Page 9

  A cold chill engulfed her, her vision blurred. A flash of a ship, a bright sun beaming down on a marketplace, a cloud of dust mixed with unbearable heat. She was standing on an auction block as she’d done twice before only this time the potential buyers were not looking at her. Turning her head, she saw the man in chains beside her, glaring at the crowd. Black fury fueled by a desire so deep for revenge that it nearly sent her to her knees had Bryna struggling to breathe.

  As quickly as it had come, the vision dissipated, leaving her numb. Hands trembling, she brushed her hair away from her eyes. Her sight had returned with a ferocity she had never experienced. It bordered on the terrifying.

  Bryna took a steadying breath, stared down at him. Every emotion had been powerful and unforgiving. The strongest had been his thirst for vengeance. Scrambling to her feet, she headed out the door, pushing aside the certainty that she was the target of that vengeance.

  An hour later, she returned to the storeroom, noting with some concern that he had not moved while she was gone. She knelt beside him and dipped a scrap of cloth into a bowl of water. Hesitating for only a moment, she gently began to cleanse his wounds.

  He jerked violently as the coarse cloth made contact with his wounds, biting out what she knew must be curses in a strange language, but he did not open his eyes. Her hand shook, but she kept to her task.

  They were not as deep as she had feared and would not require stitching. But there was great danger of a life threatening fever. She reached for the jar of vinegar she’d stolen from the cook. She’d seen the old crone who tended the slave’s hurts use it to prevent festering. Drawing a deep breath, she poured it onto his back.

  He cried out writhing, the agony in his voice chilling her to the bone. His pain seemed to throb inside her and, frantic for him to be still, Bryna reached out for his arm. Like lightening, his hand shot out, catching her wrist in a vise-like grip.

  She tried to pry his fingers off, but they only tightened with the effort. Her hand was starting to tingle. Leaning close she softened her voice and spoke into his ear. “It’s all right. Everything is all right.” She stroked his hand crooning soft reassurances, lightly tracing a path over his bronzed skin. It took a few minutes but he finally relaxed. Bryna jerked free, completely unnerved.

  His breathing steadied and his skin remained cool to the touch. There was no fever. Yet. The next few hours would be crucial. If he awakened by morning then chances were good he would recover.

  But for what reason? To live his life in chains, bent under the lash, nothing more than a piece of chattel with no rights, no freedom? Would he thank her for saving his life? She sighed. Most likely not.

  Eventually, he quieted. With the creases of anger and pain eased from his face, he reminded her of a small boy. Gently, she touched the crescent shaped scar on his temple.

  Lean, bronze fingers snaked around her wrist, clamping down with such force that she cried out. Her gaze clashed with his. Hard. Golden. His lips twisted into a snarl.

  “You!”

  Chapter Six

  “Release me!”

  A demand. The little bitch was actually making a demand.

  Never, in all the scenarios he had conjured of this moment, had Jared pictured her having the audacity to make a demand. Cowering in fear, begging for his mercy—which no longer existed after grueling months in the quarry, chiseling and hammering at solid walls of marble till his hands bled, his muscles screaming for relief, his lungs choked with dust—pleading for her life, those images he had envisioned. Not staring down her nose at him like a royal princess and making a demand.

  Fuck her.

  Jared tightened his grip on her wrist, felt satisfaction at her sharp intake of breath. The bones were tiny and fragile beneath the calluses’ of his hand. It wouldn’t take much to crush the delicate joint. How much better it would be if he had her throat in his hands. His vision blurred. But that would require more strength than he could muster at the moment.

  “Release. Me.” She pushed at his shoulder with her free hand.

  He gritted his teeth against a sharp wave of pain that shuddered across his back. She lifted her hand again. Cursing, he let go of her arm.

  She pulled away, rubbed her wrist, those extraordinary green eyes wide with surprise and suspicion. A shock, no doubt, to see someone raised from the dead. Especially someone purposely sent to die.

  “I’m...I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you,” she stammered.

  Her Latin had improved dramatically from their last meeting. Jared scowled, wincing at the pain of doing so. She’d probably been raised speaking the tongue and used the enchanting accent to lure unsuspecting victims to their doom.

  “Didn’t you?” he rasped, closing his eyes briefly against the shredded pain in his throat. He hadn’t heard his own voice in months. The overseer of the quarries believed slaves were more productive working in silence. “I’ve not had a day without pain since last we met.”

  Planting his palms on the ground, Jared struggled to push into a sitting position. Every muscle in his arms and legs trembled violently. He sent her a slicing glare when she reached to aid him, which sent her shrinking back. After what seemed like hours, he managed—barely—to accomplish the simple feat.

  Gods, he felt awful. He was weak as a newborn babe. A dull ache filled his brain and if he moved too quickly, the room spun. Every movement was stiff and painful. He closed his eyes as intense nausea gripped his stomach. He had never been so miserable. And that was saying a lot since he’d been a slave close to four months.

  He shot a look at the girl. Oh yes, he knew exactly to the day, the hour, the minute how long he’d been enslaved.

  He raised shaking hands to his head and froze, unable to take his eyes off of the thick cuffs of iron circling his wrists. The chain connecting them swung in front of his face, mocking him. You’re nothing but a fucking slave. The quarry overseer’s voice echoed in his head. He lowered his arms, fingers curling convulsively around the cold links as he shifted his gaze to the fetters on his ankles.

  “The blacksmith is very good at what he does.”

  He narrowed his eyes, pinned her with his fiercest glare—as fierce as he could manage with one eye swollen shut. “He was not the one to put me in chains.”

  The color drained from her face. She bowed her head. “I regret that such a thing happened.”

  “Regret!” The word caught like a burr in his parched throat, prompting a fit of coughing that sent his body into painful spasms.

  She poured water into a bowl and offered it to him.

  His arms quivered as he took the dish, sloshing half the contents on the floor before she steadied his hand with her own. Her fingers were long and graceful, the skin pale against the caked grime of his own. Her touch was soft, comforting and it infuriated him completely. He blocked it from his mind focusing instead on the coolness of the water as it sluiced down his dry throat. The ambrosia of the Greek gods could not possibly taste as good.

  When Jared finished, he pushed her hand away, watched her chin tilt up, saw a glint of that fire he remembered oh so well from their first meeting flash in those emerald eyes. “You could not possibly regret it more than I regret the day I laid eyes on you.” He bit his lip against the effort it taken to speak but savored the shock reflected in her expression. He scooted back against the wall, managed to find one small patch of skin on his back that didn’t burn like fire. He closed his eyes and tried to think past the throbbing in his head.

  His prayers had been answered in their usual fashion. He marked them off in his head like items on an inventory. He’d found the barbarian girl. He would force her to reveal the identity of his enemy. He would find that enemy, kill him and resume his life.

  A groan escaped him. None of it mattered since the odds of a successful escape from this hell had fallen to zero the minute they’d locked him in irons. Most would succumb to that hopelessness, but he would not. If three months quarrying marble hadn’t killed his determ
ination, neither would this new obstacle. He smiled grimly. But this time, he’d have the girl.

  A cramp gripped his stomach and he shivered against a cold sweat that covered his bruised skin.

  “Are you all right?”

  He cracked an eye open to find the girl crouched beside him again. Her whispered concern only fueled his anger. Hadn’t Delilah sealed Samson’s fate while he’d been incapacitated? “Don’t come any closer.”

  She leaned away from him, tilted that pert little chin. “I wish only to help.”

  He made a scoffing noise low in his throat. Gods, that hurt. “More like you wish to finish the job and slip a knife between my ribs, straight into my heart.”

  Her eyes flashed green fire. “Oh, but you’d have to possess a heart in order for the blade to do any damage.” She pushed to her feet, marched toward the door.

  “Come back, you...” A sharp pain gripped his side and spots circled in front of his eyes. She was getting away—again. He pushed away from the wall. “Stop...” The words died in his throat as blackness washed over him.

  When he came to, the room had gone dark. The girl was gone and every muscle in his body was stiff. He tried to reposition himself, but was hindered by his shackles. Gods, he hated being chained. The weight of the iron impeded his every movement, every rattle a stark reminder of the freedom he no longer enjoyed. Thanks to one devious barbarian.

  A shuffling noise drew his attention to the door. A light from a clay lamp flickered along the wall, illuminating the girl as she returned. Jared watched from beneath half closed lids as she unloaded a tattered basket, setting out a crude wooden bowl and a large round of bread. Grateful that she was back within his reach, he made a mental note to control his emotions. He didn’t want her bolting again like some skittish colt.

  She seemed to know he was not asleep. Tearing the loaf in two, she placed one half on top of the gray porridge in the bowl and held it out to him, her lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze focused on something behind his shoulder. She was still in a temper. He almost laughed out loud. Accepting the food, he purposely brushed his fingers across hers, barely catching the vessel as she snatched her hand back.

  Enjoying her discomfort, he dipped his fingers into the thick paste. The gruel was palatable though there was no seasoning of any type. No herbs or oil, not even a bit of vegetables to improve the taste, but it didn’t matter to him. To a quarry slave, it was a feast. All Jared cared about was filling his belly. He ate as if he were a wild animal, ignoring the pain of his bruised jaw, scooping up large handfuls and stuffing them in his mouth. Eagerly, he licked away the last bits that clung to his fingers.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, paused at the pity clouding the girl’s eyes.

  Was he turning into the very type of animal his owners thought him to be? Disgusted with himself for acting the savage, he picked up his half of the loaf and began to chew at a more civilized pace.

  His stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence. She glanced at him, her brows drawn in thought. She looked exhausted, her skin pale which made the dark shadows beneath her eyes all the more prominent. In another lifetime, he might have drawn her into his arms, comforted her, protected her, kissed that vulnerability from her mouth.

  Buried himself deep inside her.

  Jared tossed the bowl down in disgust. He was in worse shape than he’d first believed.

  She was staring at him as though he’d grown a pair of horns and he cringed when his stomach gurgled again. She gave him a long measuring look then tossed her portion of bread into the dirt at his feet.

  Jared narrowed his eyes. It was probably tainted in some manner, undercooked or filled with vermin. Never mind that it was the other half of the piece he had just devoured and found to be fresh and still warm from the oven. He wanted nothing from the witch. She could not be trusted. He’d learned that lesson all too well.

  A sharp cramp gripped his belly, making its demand for food unmistakable in another loud rumble. He sent her a glower, snatched up the bread. He savored each bite and patently ignored the smug look she sent him. “Why did you do it?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched when she jumped at the sudden question, but she did not pretend ignorance. She did, however, edge farther away from him. “I was instructed to give you false information.”

  His eyes locked onto hers, his tone deadly calm which belied the spike of rage he felt. “Who instructed you to do so? The innkeeper?”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Yes, he was the one who told me you were coming, gave me the message directing you to go to the warehouse.”

  His brows snapped together. “Where I was to be set upon and enslaved.”

  “Oh no,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I believe you were led there to be killed.”

  Jared stared at her, slack jawed. “You knew I was to be murdered yet told me to go?”

  She squared her shoulders, jutted her chin out. “I told you to be careful, that there were dangers.”

  Oh, he really wanted to strangle her now. If only he had the strength. “You could have told me the truth!”

  Her gaze fluttered to the floor and she shifted uneasily “No, I could not. There was no choice.”

  “There is always a choice!” he ground out.

  Her eyes went hard, like two pieces of glittering jade. “Slaves have no choice.” She shifted her gaze to his fetters then back to his face. “Have you not learned that by now?”

  Jared gripped the chain between his hands. The scars on his body bore the proof of how well he had learned. He narrowed his eyes. “Did your subservience earn you that wound on your arm?”

  She reached up self-consciously and touched the abrasion. Another thin, white scar circled her upper arm and a prickle of anger surfaced that anyone would dare mar her tender skin. Just as quickly Jared pushed the thought from his head. He had to keep his wits intact and not become distracted by her enchantress ways.

  “I’ll allow that your choices were limited.” He held up a hand when she would have argued the point. “Just tell me why the innkeeper wanted me dead.”

  She threw him a look that indicated she considered him dim witted. “Coeus did not wish you dead. He wanted the coin that was paid to send you to your death.”

  Jared blew out his breath to control the irritation her cryptic answers were stirring within him. She knew more than she was telling. Much more. “Who then?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  She shrugged. “I do not know.”

  He growled low in his throat, lunged forward, ignoring the rawness of his wounds, grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me who stole my freedom!”

  She tried to twist free, but the food and water had given him some measure of strength back and he held on tight. She finally stopped struggling when it became evident he wasn’t going to release her. Maybe she wasn’t as foolish as he’d thought.

  Glaring at him she said, “There was a veiled man, his face hidden by a strange wrapping, dressed in robes of rich cloth. The evil in him. . .” She shifted her gaze into the shadows and shivered. “. . .was black in his soul. I felt unclean after he came to the taverna.” She turned back, her expression solemn. “I know nothing else.”

  Jared weighed her words. There was no reason not to believe her.

  Except that he’d ended up in chains the last time he’d taken her at her word.

  He grunted and released her. His quick movement had stretched his wounds and he could feel warm blood trickling down his back. The room began to spin and he faltered, falling down on one elbow. His moan of pain was lost in the grayness.

  As if from a distance, he heard the girl muttering to herself in a language he didn’t understand. An incantation meant to heal or curse? Yahweh or Jupiter help him. He didn’t much care at this point who would answer the prayer.

  A cool, wet cloth brushed against his forehead, trailed down the side of his face. It was soothing, but not as soothing as the soft palm that stroked his
other cheek. A bowl pressed against his mouth and a dribble of water wet his lips. He drank deeply, too weak to worry about the girl tainting the liquid. He opened his eyes to find her face only inches from his own.

  Gone was the unhealthy pallor brought on by Coeus’ prison. Her naturally fair complexion was now tinted golden from the sun. Freckles danced across the bridge of a small nose that tilted up just a bit at the end. Golden tendrils of hair escaped from the braid flipped over her shoulder, framing the heart shape of her face to perfection.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, so soft and pink. The lower lip fuller than the upper, perfect for pouting. Honey, the thought crossed his mind. He was sure they would taste like honey.

  “Do you still thirst?

  Jared lifted his gaze to hers. He had nearly drowned in those treacherous green eyes of hers before. Angry for nearly falling under her siren’s spell again, he pulled away, knocking the bowl from her hands and soaking the front of her dress in the process. The wet material molded enticingly across her small, rounded breasts. Breasts that would fit to perfection in his hands. The blood rushed to his groin making him as hard as the marble he’d quarried. At least part of you still lives.

  Jared snarled at the voice in his head. “Take your witch’s spells and be gone,” he ordered, twisting away.

  She pulled away, a flicker of hurt shadowing her eyes before being replaced with that bright gleam of temper. “I would like nothing better. But I was ordered to care for you. To make sure you did not die.” She pinned him with a hard glare. “I have no choice.”

  He watched her storm around the room, collecting the fallen baskets, ignoring him and muttering more heathen nonsense under her breath. She had an incredible amount of arrogance for a slave.

  A dangerous amount.

  Who better than he would understand just how dangerous? Look at the condition he was in, harsher for his refusal to bow to those claiming him as property.