Barbarian's Soul (20 page)

Impossible. He was always in control.

She was just a woman—a Roman woman, he amended with anger. One of his enemies.
Fool,
a voice in the back of his mind chided.
She intrigues you. Her bravado reminds you of Beatrix.

Bran rubbed his hands over his face. He had grown close to the gladiatrix, it was true. Drawn by her strength, her courage and a common need for something, someone to keep the balance in the brutality of their world. A rock to hold onto in the sea of despair that had threatened him every time he fought. The day she’d died he’d thought he would too.

But the two women were not alike. Beatrix had accepted the ever-present threat of death as part of her existence. Adria seemed oblivious to the reality of it, else she would not have rushed into the midst of that master thief’s lair nor been foolish enough to steal from Bran. But she’d shown no fear when facing Tiege and his gang, even challenged Bran when he’d caught up with her. Courage, even misplaced, was something he admired.

“Good morn.”

Bran stiffened at Adria’s soft greeting and scowled at Menw’s questioning look.

“And to you, my lady,” replied Menw, looking over Bran’s shoulder. “Would you care to break your fast?”

“A bit of bread would be welcome.”

Bran kept his gaze on his bowl though he sensed her every step as she walked to the far end of the table.

Menw tore a flat loaf in two and handed her half. “Did you sleep well, Adria?”

Adria’s voice was even. “No, I’m afraid I did not.”

Bran readied himself for the accusations, the temper, the declaration of his barbarism.

“The floor makes a hard bed and the room...was quite, um, warm.”

Menw’s brows drew together. “Perhaps we could find a frame to put your pallet on.”

She should sleep in my bed
. Bran grabbed the other half of the bread, shot to his feet and growled. “She’s fortunate to have a place to sleep at all.”

He felt their startled reactions as he stalked out the rear

doorway and headed for the stable. Perhaps solitude and the feel of metal in his hands would clear his mind.

***

“Adria, did I do this right?”

Adria dragged her gaze away from Bran’s workshop, a spot her attention had been drawn to dozens of times this morning. She turned and looked at the wax tablet Cyma held up. Two mornings after Bran had found them scratching in the mud, a half dozen wax tablets and
stylus
’ had been presented to her by Menw. The servant had only given her his enigmatic smile when she pressed for answers to who had sent them. Foolish of her, she knew. Only one person could have. Bran.

In her shaky child’s marking she had miscalculated two plus another three to equate to six. “Close, little one,” she answered. “Julian, show your sister your tablet.”

Julian’s head shot up from the jagged rock that was serving poorly as a whetstone for his ever present weapon. He scowled as he picked up his tablet with precise numbers written in neat rows. Adria suppressed a smile as Julian watched with a look of pure superiority at Cyma’s wrinkled brow as she struggled to understand. Adria took her finger and pointed out each step until the little girl’s face lit with understanding. “Julian is very good with sums.”

“And my sword!”

Adria shook her head. For all of the young boy’s supposed disinterest in lessons, he excelled at the pitiful amount of knowledge she could impart to him. He would do well with a proper tutor, but those cost coin. She sighed as Cyma, who’d caught the gist of her brother’s opinion of himself, stuck her tongue out.

“Pill-istine,” taunted Julian.

The two children fell to bickering. Breaking fast with grouchy countenance, applying themselves to lessons by varying degrees dependent on their mood, interspersed with verbal and oftentimes physical altercations. She’d been here ten days and the pattern never wavered.

Ten days.

Adria gave the two children a sharp look that—gods be praised—was starting to have an impact, halting their quarrel in mid-sentence. “That’s enough for today. Go. Have Menw give you a piece of fruit, as reward for your hard work.”

With shrieks and whoops, they ran into the house. Adria closed her eyes, leaned against the small stone bench at her back and bent her legs before her. Peace. At last.

Ten days
.

Adria chafed beneath the weight of her captivity, confined within the walls of the
domus
, teased and tormented by the sounds of the streets beyond the bolted door. The sounds of freedom and her life. But Bran and Menw were vigilant as to her location, one or the other of them always within her awareness, Bran in particular. Gods, she was ever aware of him.

She refocused the energy of desire into agitation, scooped up a handful of pebbles from the ground and tossed one stone after another into the yard. Damn them, where did they think she could go? Foolish to waste their energy. She was
choosing
to stay, biding her time till she was certain Tiege and his crew had lost interest. Her only worry was for Miriam.

She’d never been out of contact with her friend and her family for such a long period. How were they faring? Was there enough food? Miriam made a pitiful amount of coin as a laundress and had come to rely on Adria’s contributions to feed her children. The rent increase would go into effect soon and she’d promised her a miracle. Gods, she did need a miracle, if only to keep her sanity.

She’d kept busy, the days filled with wrestling Cyma and Julian, saving the Pill-istine from the invading horde of the day. Gods, she had not realized the energy children possessed. She could have been chased by half the merchants in the market all at the same time and still not feel as exhausted. Yet a part of her enjoyed the challenge and the domestic normalcy.

And then, there was Linus.

Adria studied the pebbles in her hand. Linus was a puzzle, one she really had no energy to solve, yet she felt herself drawn to him. He tolerated her presence, had stopped calling her whore out loud. Her lips pulled into a wry smile. But his glare spoke volumes. Beneath the defensiveness she sensed confusion, longing, even fear all bundled up in the rebellious nature of the youth. It made her want to embrace and strangle him all at once. Oh yes, her days were filled.

And her nights? Adria opened her eyes and looked again at the hut tucked into the corner of the garden. Her nights were spent lying upon that infuriating man’s floor, her awareness of him robbing her of slumber, bringing dreams from which she woke hungry and needing. She could live with the fatigue such sleepless nights brought, had done so often in her life, but then last night? She sighed against the ache in her chest, remembering the band of his arms around her, strong arms that made her feel protected, less alone somehow.

And the kiss.

Adria frowned. That was a different sort of feeling, one that even now stirred the ache into a ball of heat low in her belly. Gods, his lips were commanding, firm, unyielding, much as the man himself, yet he had not been harsh. She’d wanted more, had wanted to fall into the searing kiss, explore the heat of his mouth, find an outlet for the desire it ignited.

The fact that he could stir her in such a manner was a mystery Adria’s muddled mind fought to understand. She had no great experience with men, not of the physical sort past the inept efforts of the fuller’s son and the occasional appreciation of a well-formed male. Bran’s hands had held purpose, been sure as if he knew where she needed to be touched and when. She closed her eyes at the memory of his palm cradling her head, of the warmth of his hands on her arms.

Oh, she was not ignorant. Almost every man she’d ever encountered was driven by their base needs, supported by other attributes—greed, ego, power—she manipulated to her purpose. She matched wits with them every day in the Forum. But Bran? Bran had stirred a desire deep in her core for more knowledge. For her own type of
lessons
.

From the kitchen, Adria heard Menw sending the children off for naps. Again, part of the routine she very much appreciated. Most days she spent planning how to evade Tiege and Bran. She glanced again at his workshop, took an unsteady breath. Perhaps today she would confront one of them.

Adria pushed up from the grass and walked toward the building. A movement in the doorway caught her eye. She bit back a smile. Had her fierce captor been spying on her?

She approached with caution, eased along the wall until she stood just outside the opening. She could hear Bran muttering in his native tongue only to curse in Latin when a loud crash sounded.

Cyclops gave an irritated bleat.

“Silence, you mangy beast!” Bran snarled, “Like the thief, you’re fortunate to have a place to sleep!”

***

“A goat? You would compare me to a goat?”

Bran braced his hands on the table. Adria chewed on her lip as the muscles glided beneath the skin of his shoulders. She saw the sideways glare he gave her, intimidating despite its lack of directness.

“Woman, do not mock me.”

“Mock you?” Adria tsked. “I am the one you called a goat.”

“I did not...” he bit his tongue and inhaled and blew the breath out. “Be done with your censure so that I may get to my work.”

Adria took a tentative step through the door. The air smelled of smoke but the brazier on the table had gone cold. She scanned the interior of the building. It was larger than the exterior implied. There were two good sized stalls that once might have held horses or cattle. A trio of ropes made a barrier to one of them where a brown-and-white goat chewed her cud, regarding her with bored indifference.

The remainder of the stable had been transformed into a work area. Baskets of raw ore lined the walls along with a small pile of coal for three different-sized braziers. Tools of various types were scattered over a stone-topped table. A golden necklace studded with amber was draped over a small, marble block set on the table.

She stared at Bran’s back . Why was she here? What in Zeus’ name had possessed her to seek him out?

Reason certainly had played no role in her impulsive decision. Uncertainty, tension and scheming to escape had kept her on edge before, but last eve? Last eve
he
had been dangerous, setting her body afire, awakening a curious hunger that would not be diminished.

It had been so much easier viewing Bran as a ruthless, overbearing cretin. She knew how to handle those. The streets of Rome were filled to overflowing with self-serving, manipulative, and rotten people. Those people cared only for themselves and their interests and used others in any way they needed to achieve their goals.

Bran had been just like them. Or so she’d thought. But then she’d taken a step into his life with her questions and found a different man. The anger buried in his words as he talked about his training. The thread of anguish in his voice when he’d spoken of the
gladiatrix
. The want, the need, the passion beneath his kiss.

She closed her eyes against a wave of pure need. “Censure? I don’t understand.”

Bran turned and glowered. Adria swallowed. He was still an imposing figure, a barbarian, a gladiator, an ex-slave. He was also a man caring for three orphaned children, who had built a home for them, worked to provide them with food. A man whose kiss had kindled within her a need so strong she thought she might die if she did not taste him again.

How that was possible in a matter of only a few days?

What in the name of the gods was she doing? A mistake. It surely was a mistake to risk the fates. What would he think of her timid advance, when he’d been with so many more experienced women?

“Did you not come here to gloat and point out that I broke my vow?”

“Vow?” Gods, she sounded like a simpleton.

Bran’s eyes glittered like green fire. “What game do you play, Adria?”

Her temper sparked, displacing her trepidation. “You accuse me again? What manner of crime this time?” Adria blew out a breath, the pressure in her chest lessening a degree. This was good. She understood confrontation. She could take the crazed impulses that had led her here and put them to more useful purpose.

Bran rolled his eyes. “You know well of what I speak. I laid hands on you when I told you I would not.”

Adria crossed her arms against the jittering in her stomach. “Your words, as I recall—and my memory is quite clear—were that you bestow your virile charms only to those who are willing.” Adria grit her teeth against the urge to call him an imbecile. She forced herself instead to hold his gaze and took another step into the room. How arrogant of him to think she was so weak minded as to be lured by some charm he thought he possessed. “Did it appear I was unwilling?”

Instead of quenching the simmering heat in her blood, the verbal sparring only heightened it.

A stunned look crossed his face before a smirk replaced it.

“Ah, I understand now.”

Adria frowned. “What do you understand?”

Bran walked to the largest brazier and piled coal on it. “You think to use my baser needs to soften my resolve.” He struck a flint to some kindling, made a tsking sound. “I’ve already told you, thief, that a woman who comes to my bed, comes by her own choice. Offering me your body now, after all your misplaced protestations of your virtue, will not change your situation. You will remain as nursemaid until I say otherwise.”

It was Adria’s turn to be stunned. It did not take her long to find her tongue. “You arrogant ass!” Adria circled the table so that she could face him, no thought given that her only escape route was now blocked. “How dare you! I did not ask to be kissed!”

“Nor did you refuse,” he answered, just as hotly.

No, she had not. Her response to his kiss had shaken her. She’d felt a connection so deep, so filled with rightness at his touch that she could have done nothing else. It made no sense and it both scared and intrigued her enough to seek him out. Now he would make her feel like a wanton? She was such a fool.

“Do you think you are the only man I’ve ever kissed?” Adria reached down into a basket and picked up a lump of coal and threw it at him. Her temper soared as he dipped his shoulder, the coal sailing past him.