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, companionship 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.”
“Y
ou 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...”
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.”