A Stray Drop of Blood (14 page)

Jason pulled away, victory in his eyes. “You see how I can please you? And I have more to offer than that.”

She drew a deep breath in through her nose, trying to regain her composure. Tears stung her eyes again. She knew not what he had taken from her, but deep in her heart she knew she was no longer the chaste woman she had been when she awoke an hour earlier.

Jason pulled her tunic back down to cover her legs. “You will come to me tonight, after my parents have retired. We will finish this.”

Turning her face away, she struggled to hold back the sobs begging release. “What have you done to me?”

He sat up, as if it hardly mattered. “I have been kind. I have chosen to ease you from your maidenhood instead of forcing it from you all at once. Had I done that, it would have been much more painful.” The stroke of his thumb over her cheek felt like a brand. “You are already mine. There is no sense in fighting me.”

The truth of that weighed heavily on her soul. She pushed herself up and stumbled off his bed. “Am I dismissed?”

“
Until tonight. I will be waiting.” She got a step away before his voice halted her again. “And Abigail? I think it would be wisest not to mention this to my mother.”

As if she would uncover her shame to the eyes she most revered? With barely a nod, she left the room.

~*~

“
You seem bothered.”

Andrew looked up quickly at the words, and if the familiar voice carried no reproval in itself, he inserted it in his own mind, as he was deserving of it. Even so, he knew his master did not make such observances unless he wished to know the cause of them. So he drew in a deep breath. “It is Abigail,” he confessed. “She seemed upset at the meal this morning.”

Cleopas nodded knowingly and handed his servant the waterskin to hold while he reached for his buckler. “Did you talk to her?”

“
I did not have the chance.”

Cleopas let out his breath, pausing to finish the conversation before heading onto the field. “She is most likely still adjusting to the changes, Andrew. Much of the burden of serving Jason has fallen to her. Combine that with her concern for Ester’s health this morning, and I think that would account for her behavior.”

Andrew nodded. “I was coming to the same conclusion myself.” He watched his master’s face gain its satisfied expression and gathered his courage before the elder could take the first step away. “Master. Have you spoken with Mistress about Abigail?”

Cleopas now nodded. “Directly after you asked me. I gave her a month to decide, but she has been distracted by her son’s arrival; I think she has probably not even had time to think about it. But I will remind her tonight, Andrew.” He smiled. “I do not wish to raise your hopes unduly, but I should think that soon Abigail will be your wife.”

Andrew could not hold back a smile at the news. “It would be a blessing, Lord. I love her deeply.”

“
I know.” Cleopas tapped his fingers against his belt. “Ester is just reticent to consign her to slavery forever, as you have chosen for yourself.”

Andrew hesitated but decided to speak. “Perhaps she should speak to Abigail about it, Master. I think she will find that our young friend is not only willing to remain in your house, but unwilling to do anything but. She expressed to me just last week her desire to continue to serve our lady.”

Cleopas appeared to give it thought for a moment, then nodded. “I will make the recommendation.” Pausing, he smiled and clapped a friendly hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “And I will stress your love. I think she will agree. It may, however, take her a while to come to that conclusion. I invite you to be patient.”

Andrew returned the smile wholeheartedly. “Knowing the reward that could await me, that is the easiest task you have ever assigned.”

Chapter Nine

Ester drew in a deep breath as her servant brushed through her hair in preparation for bed. She glanced into the polished metal surface of the mirror, more to see Abigail’s reflection than her own. And what met her eyes both pleased and troubled her. Her beauty became more undeniable every day. And when a lovely face combined with eyes luminous in intelligence and a bearing gracefully underscored by modesty and humility, the result was a lady worthy of the best.

But on this particular day, Abigail’s brows had been drawn more than not. Ester had to wonder if the girl had borrowed some of
her
distress. The decision on her mind weighed more heavily with each sun that dawned past the deadline her husband had set, and though she knew he assumed she had forgotten the question in the face of Jason’s return, she knew from the way he had nodded to his manservant just minutes ago that he would not tarry long in reminding her of it.

She had not forgotten. She had just not decided.

Abigail did not deserve to be a servant for the rest of her life. She deserved a husband who had made a place for himself in the world, who was respected and would share that esteem with her. She could be the crowning jewel of any household, and it would be selfish to hide her away here. As much as she loved the one she thought of as a daughter, her desire to maintain that companionship could not outweigh her need to do right by her.

A long sigh escaped her lips.

Abigail’s brows drew together for the countless time that day. “Are you quite certain you are not feeling ill, Mistress?”

Ester managed a smile bordering on sincere. “I am well, child. Though I am concerned that you are not. You have not seemed yourself today.”

Abigail moved behind her and separated her hair into three sections to be braided. “It is nothing. I have just been tired.”

“
You have gained more responsibilities since Jason returned.” Her displeasure crept out in her voice, she knew. “Cleopas insists that we will not provide him with another slave, that it is up to him to do so, but when it affects our own–”

“
It is not that.” Abigail accompanied the rare interruption with a reassuring hand on Ester’s arm. “The extra duties have been light and few. I simply did not sleep well last night.”

Not sure if she ought to be convinced, she sat quiet and still once more as Abigail braided her hair. She stood at the completion of the task and offered a smile. “Thank you, Abigail. Go ahead to bed.”

~*~

Abigail stood outside her mistress’s chamber, stalling and trying desperately to think of a way out of the situation that had been chasing her thoughts all day. Panic clawed at her throat. There had to be an escape. The answer had to be there, just beyond her sight, just past her reach. All she had to do was stretch her fingers out a bit farther and there it would be.

But habit was a strong force, and even as her mind ricocheted about the possibilities, her feet carried her out into the hall, around the corner, and did not stop until they had put her in front of the closed door behind which lay her imminent destruction.

She could not go in. That was a simple answer. She could ask Andrew to see to Jason’s needs from now on–but claiming what? That she could not handle it? He would know it was untrue, that she was hiding something, and she could not admit to him what. He would wonder if she had invited the attention, had done or said something to Jason to make him think her the sort to agree to such a tryst.

She could ignore it altogether, mention nothing. She could go to her room, to bed, and hope fervently that the young master would have forgotten his desires by morning.

Only he would not. She knew that. If she did not go into his chamber now, he would seek her out in her own. The look in his eyes that morning, the things he had done to her, had spoken strongly of his determination. He would come, and Andrew and Dinah and Simon would all hear him knock, would hear the angry voice he would undoubtedly raise at her audacity, would hear any protest she might make. And if one of them decided to intervene–something she could well imagine Andrew doing if it became clear that a man was forcing himself upon her–it would not be good.

A slave did not raise a hand against his master. If he did, he seldom lived long enough to see the results of his bravery. And though Cleopas would surely not
want
to punish him, he would have no choice when it came to his son or his servant.

No, if there would be shame, she would bear it alone. If there would be dishonor, better that it be on one than the whole house. And with luck, the young master would take her tonight and then be satisfied. She could work to forget the incident, salvage her innocence, and think up a way to explain to Ester why she could
not
be given in marriage. A man would not want a soiled woman as his wife. But the thought of confiding to her mistress what was about to take place–

She had to stop thinking about it. She raised her fist, her knuckles rapped against the wood, and her body was as rigid as granite as she waited with dreadful expectancy.

“
Enter.”

She opened the door enough to slip in, then closed it behind her. It was her usual way, always returning things to the way they had been before her arrival, but this time it carried significance. It was she who stepped into this, she who closed the portal on escape. Her nostrils flared as emotion surged through her again. She struggled against the tears and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep the shaking under control.

Jason lounged on the couch, a manuscript in his lap, and looked up only briefly at her entrance. “‘Crito,’” he said in introduction to the papers in his hands. “The story of Socrates’ last hours before his execution. Are you familiar with it?”

Her “Yes” was barely more than a movement of lips.

“
I always liked this dialogue. It is one of the few times we see what Socrates actually believes, when he is not just repeating someone else’s theories in his own rhetoric.” He paused, crooked his head a bit, and glanced at her again. “Did you know that Cato read this through three times on the night he committed suicide? When Caesar’s armies were approaching?”

She could only open her mouth this time without any sound coming forth. No, she did not know, and she did not care. She tried to swallow but found her throat suddenly parched and swollen.

Jason put the dialogue down carefully and sat up, his focus fully on her now. His gaze was surprisingly soft, as was his voice when next he spoke. “I am trying to help you relax, Abigail. To draw you out with conversation of things we share a common interest in.” He smiled, his brows arching companionably. “I have never been able to discuss Plato with a woman before. I find myself intrigued by what it could result in.”

Abigail focused upon not looking as terrified as she felt, but suspected she failed miserably.

Jason fought a grin. “Come here, Abigail.”

Disobedience would have required thought. Her feet acted on their own yet again and took her to stand directly in front of him. He stood, closing the distance between them even more. Then he reached out and brushed a few stray hairs off her cheek. She did not flinch at the touch, though she would have liked to.

“
Kiss me,” he demanded in a whisper, his hand at the back of her head.

Her eyes flew to his in surprise, her hands flying up protectively at the suggestion and landing on his chest when he drew her against him rather suddenly. “Master,” she breathed in a voice near a squeak, “I cannot. Please, I do not know how–”

“
Did I not teach you this morning?” Humor deepened both his tone and his eyes.

She flushed at the memory. “But Master–”

“
I think,” he interrupted thoughtfully, “that you should call me Jason when we are alone. Otherwise it will seem as though you are here only out of duty. And that is not the case, is it, Abigail? You are not here simply because I took the choice from you, are you?”

She had no response to such digs, such jests. She was uneducated in the proper way to dance around one’s lover, had never heard nor experienced the right kind of wit to employ. So she did the only thing she could think to do to get him to stop such a conversation. She stood up on her toes and brushed her lips against his.

Once she made contact, he took over, eating through her mouth and running his hands over her until her tremors apparently grew too great for him to ignore. He drew away a bit, moved his hand to cup her face.

“
Do you know how beautiful you are?” He gave her no time to answer. “I have never seen one so fair. There are many women in Rome, Abigail. Many women who vied for my attentions. But in spite of their stained lips and arranged hair, none of them can compare to what I see in you. You have really what they create in a facade. You are the paradigm that they all aspire to.”

He ran a thumb across her cheek, the hand on her waist growing restless. His fingers clenched in a fist around a stretch of the fabric. “Take this off,” his muttered hoarsely.

She stared at his chin. Did he really expected her to do such a thing herself? The haze she saw in a glance at his eyes told her he did indeed. Her breath caught in her throat and held; she reached down with unsteady hands and clasped at the cloth. She closed her eyes, forced air into her lungs. And moved her arms up.