Barbarian's Soul (33 page)

Huge tears spilled from Linus’ eyes. “She followed me to the
Vipera.
”

“Who are these
Vipera
?” Bran asked, resisting the temptation to shake the boy.

“A gang, a band of brothers.” Linus gulped on a sob. “I wanted to prove that I was a man! They turned her over for the bounty.”

Gods, if only he had paid better attention to Linus as Adria had urged. But there was not time for self-recriminations. In the arena the stakes were merely his life. This time it was his very heart.

He sat Linus back on his feet and drew his sword. “Do not move.”

***

Adria’s shoulders screamed for release.

She grit her teeth against the pain as yet another one of Tiege’s men spun her around. The rod that Tiege had called for had not been the gruesome one the butcher’s wife still occupied but an iron bar that her arms had been forced over, her wrists securely bound to her waist and then hoisted on a chain suspending her from the ceiling.

She’d hung there for several hours now, the top of her
tunica
hanging about her waist from Tiege’s initial rage when he’d ripped it free, exposing her breasts and her back, which burned from the stripes of Tiege’s lash. She’d known the man was egotistical and brutal but she’d never guessed the extent of his insanity.

She knew now.

“Where is the bastard?”

Adria winced as a stone followed Tiege’s demand, striking her thigh. “There is no one else,” she hissed for the hundredth time. Another stone caught her in her back.

Tiege’s voice grew deadly calm. “Bring her down.”

In slow, jerky movements she was lowered to the ground, though her descent stopped just short of her feet touching the ground, maintaining her agony. Through slitted eyes she watched Tiege approach, reared away. He pushed his face into hers, his sour breath causing her to gag. He pulled her head up by her hair.

“You thought to take from me? Tiege, lord of the fourteenth?”

A hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. Back to that? Her whole interrogation had been focused on her impudence and Bran, who was as guilty as she for daring to take what belonged to Tiege, the mighty
lunatic
of the fourteenth district.

“Why?” he asked again in a shrill voice.

Adria met Tiege’s gaze straight on. “Because I knew you were a fool.”

Tiege’s eyes went wild and she squeezed her eyes shut, prepared for the blow. But it never came. Cautiously she opened them and saw the large man she’d noticed before staying Tiege’s arm.

“My lord,” his Latin was accented as Bran’s was, though not as pleasing to the ear. “Would you have the girl’s punishment end so soon? She is exhausted and many more blows now will cause her to go senseless and deny you her ultimate humiliation.”

Adria watched the play of dark emotions cross Tiege’s face as he considered the man’s words. She flicked her gaze to the butcher’s wife and knew in her gut her own humiliation would be much worse.

Survive
! The word thrummed through her head. She had to survive to save Linus, to save Bran and his family. She shifted her gaze to her rescuer. Would he be an ally? Could she convince him to aid her escape? As if in answer, the man turned cold hazel eyes on her, sinking any hope she held.

“You’re right Albion,” Tiege said, motioning for his men to release her.

Adria stifled a groan as the rod was slipped free. She fell to one knee but quickly struggled to stand. If it took the last bit of strength she possessed, she would not fall subservient to Tiege. Legs trembling, she raised her eyes to the gathering, noted Albion’s approving look and wished her hands free to show him what she thought of his approval.

Another leather collar tightened around Adria’s neck, this one with a small iron ring attached to a lead. Tiege took the other end and paraded her around the large room as proof of his supreme power. She noticed that more than a few men, while not disputing his proclamation, did not appear as impressed as the master thief.

Tiege tugged her toward his throne and the image of what she’d witnessed him forcing the butcher’s wife to do flashed through her mind and made her stomach retch. But he only forced her to her hands and knees like a dog at his feet and called for his slaves to bring out food.

***

Adria jerked her head away from the piece of sour, shriveled meat Tiege was attempting to feed her, hatred and fury blending with a knot of disgust in the pit of her stomach. She’d bent her pride long enough to drink water from a dish set on the ground but no matter that her stomach roiled with hunger she would not be fed like an animal.

Tiege snorted and popped the rancid bit into his own mouth. Adria could feel the weight of his regard on her but kept her chin raised and stared at the far wall, blocking without success the cries of the poor slave girl who was being raped in the corner.

She took a shuddering breath. It had been little more than a day since she’d left Bran’s bed but it seemed an eternity. The comfort of his arms, his heat pressed against her, inside her.

“You realize that your position here is lower than my slaves?”

She refused to respond. Despite his lunacy, Tiege was still a master at baiting and she would not rise to it.

“Yes,” he drawled. “You cannot expect the same level of generous care I bestow on them.”

Adria slid her gaze to the small group of slaves serving the room. Every one was dressed as a beggar, if they had clothes at all. Bruises and welts covered their exposed flesh, dark circles shadowed their eyes and they were so thin she could not imagine how they were sustaining themselves.

“I’ll kill him in front of you.”

The slave girl screamed.

“Do you not wonder why I have not raped you?”

Adria recoiled at Tiege’s sour breath as he forced her to face him. Yes, she’d wondered why that part of her torture had not occurred. Gods, she’d watched three others not counting the poor woman sobbing in the corner suffer violation. She darted a look at Parius’ wife. The poor woman had been taken off the rod and dumped in a corner. Adria had not seen her move since.

“Oh, yes,” hissed Tiege. “I’ll kill that bastard but not before I force him to watch me rip you apart with my cock.”

Adria swallowed against the sting of tears behind her eyes for she knew if she began to weep she would not be able to stop. She squeezed her eyes shut. Thank the gods, Bran did not know where she was. There would be no need for torture if he were hurt or killed, for she would cease to exist. No, he was home, safe with the children including, if the gods were merciful, Linus. “Do not threaten me with something as shriveled as that meat.”

Tiege snarled and squeezed her breast with his hands.

Chapter Twenty-Two

R
age clawed at Bran as he watched Adria being led around like an animal, her beautiful body marked and hurt, that filthy bastard daring to lay hands on her! Every violent urge he’d experienced as a gladiator roared to life and clamored to be free of the barriers he’d built to control those very tendencies that robbed him of honor.

But he would gut the son of a whore for touching and hurting his woman.

Some faraway reason stayed his impulse. This was not the arena. This was Adria held in the midst of criminals with skills just as deadly as any he had and he could not risk her life with rash actions.

Bran eased from the window, shivered at a tingle of warning skittering down his spine. He narrowed his eyes to study the tall man who had intervened. As if he knew he was being observed, the man faced the window. Bran stared in shock. Gair. His clansman!

Pleasure at the discovery of another survivor was buried beneath the urgency to get to Adria. But the warrior in him knew he had one sure ally. A clansman always stood with his own. Gripping the hilt of his
gladius
, he slipped through the shadows to the door.

“I hear, bastard Roman, that you seek me.”

Bran locked eyes with Adria, relief and fury mingling to find her alive yet so abused. He watched her lift her chin though her eyes brimmed with tears and, with a rush of relief, a spark of that temper he loved so well.

He braced his legs, arms at his side, his
gladius
held loosely in one hand. He sent a slow, leisurely look at the men who had fallen silent at his arrival, ending with Gair who acknowledged him with a subtle nod of his head. Bran tensed. There was something amiss. Gair did not look like the man he remembered. No time to consider that now. He turned his hard gaze back to Tiege. “Release my woman.”

Tiege twisted the leash in his hand forcing Adria to rise to her knees else be strangled. “Her life belongs to me.” He leaned forward. “As does yours.”

Bran took his time descending the three steps into the cavernous room, his scanning gaze warning away any who thought to attack. “Yours is already forfeit,” he drawled. “You have hurt my woman. I will kill you.”

“My lord,” interjected Gair, his gaze shifting from Bran to Tiege.

Bran narrowed his eyes at the flash of unease he felt at the sound of Gair’s voice.

“This man is known to me. He knows well how to use his weapon.”

Tiege made a dismissive gesture. “I know that already.” His voice rose in a falsetto. “A renowned gladiator, so skilled in combat that the Emperor himself granted him freedom.”

“One of the Emperor’s lackeys,” Bran corrected, taking another step forward. “Gair. It is good to see you well.”

“And you.”

The hair on the back of Bran’s neck rose in warning and a flash of red crossed his vision. He studied Gair for a moment, his stony expression lacking any hint of pleasure at finding his clansman alive.

“So,” Gair said. “You were trained as a gladiator after our enslavement?”

Bran frowned. This was not the time to renew acquaintance. Not when his woman was in danger, not when he had a master thief to kill. He gave a curt nod, his attention hard on Adria.

“I was not so fortunate,” Gair said in a flat voice. “I spent three months laboring in a salt mine.”

“It grieves me to know it, brother.” Bran scanned the men surrounding them. They had not moved, seemed mesmerized by this inane exchange.

He sent Adria a look of reassurance. He was rewarded with a small smile and a look so filled with love he thought his chest would burst. He would not lose her. He hardened his gaze and turned back to Tiege. “Release. My. Woman.”

“No!” he shrilled. “She’s mine!”

Gair stood then, his hands outstretched in a placating manner. “Surely an understanding can be reached.” He slid his own sword from the sheath at his side.

Bran tightened his grip on his own weapon, watched Gair. The certainty that he would stand with a fellow clansman faded at the calculating expression on Gair’s face.

“I propose a match.” Gair indicated the large room lined with Tiege’s men. “Does this not remind you of the arena?”

In truth it did, and the tension in Bran’s body was strung tight.

Gair continued. “Winner takes the girl.”

“No! She is...”

Tiege never finished his sentence, Gair’s sword having sliced across his throat. Adria paled and scrambled away tugging at the leash still caught in the dead thief’s hand, unable to avoid the blood spurting from the gaping wound in his neck.

“You have no say in it.” Gair kicked Tiege’s lifeless body off the chair.

Cold fury replaced the relief Bran felt as Gair snatched Adria’s lead and pulled her against him. He looked at the assembly. “I am your new master now! Do any challenge me?”

There was a hushed silence. Then one by one the men shouted out their allegiance. Bran had seen the same look on Gair’s face before. Masters, overseers, opponents in the arena, men intoxicated with power. There was no way to predict what they would do and Gair’s next words proved him right.

“We will have a match,
brother,
” he said on a sneer. “A gladiatorial match. And you will lose.”

“He’s undefeated,” called out one of the thieves. “My brother lost fifty
denarii
wagering against him in Antioch.”

The match he’d almost lost. The one where he
had
lost Beatrix.

The realization hit him like a pail of cold water, the guilt that he’d carried for so long unraveling. Beatrix had been his lover but she had never asked nor demanded any commitment or promises from Bran. She’d spent years fighting as a gladiatrix and had recognized what he had not; to live each moment for its worth. She had fought for her children. As he now fought for Adria.

Bran gave Gair a measured look. “Why must we fight? We are clansmen. We were betrayed together.”

Gair’s bitter laugh held a sharp edge. “No,
you
were betrayed. I’m the one who arranged for the
Ileni
to kill you!”

Anger surged up, displaced his surprise. Bran stared at Gair. “You?”

“Yes, I could not bear living another moment in the shadow of Fynbar’s golden son! A fine warrior,” he said in a mocking voice. “A wise man, the one who would follow his father and rule the clan. Look at his success! His talent! He will make a fine chieftain.” Gair spit in the dirt. “It was my place to be chieftain.”

Bran fought to school his face into one of indifference, a difficult task as the truth sank in. Jealousy? That was what had led to his life being torn to pieces? Gair and he had been friends. They were clansmen, a bond as strong as brothers, but as he watched the play of madness and hunger for power consume the man’s face all the pieces fell into place.

It was Gair who had fostered trade with the tribe from across the sea. Gair who had urged Bran to do more with his gold work, to look beyond the fields and the
tuath
and, fool that he was, had thought his friend supportive and listened. Never suspecting the knife poised at his back. Bran leveled a look at him. “The salt mines are a long way from the chieftain’s place of honor.”

Gair’s face went scarlet.

Anger or pride, Bran had no care which, he’d use both to his advantage. “Were the chains you wore worth the treachery? Did you feel like a chieftain when the lash sliced your flesh?”