The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (32 page)

The nightmare had come on quick, fierce and potent. One moment, Damon had been floating in a sea of contentment—and if he thought to look harder at it, even happiness. Then the images had changed, become sharp, clear and frighteningly real.

His dream self had been looking up into a black, stormy sky. He’d tried to move but couldn’t, not with his arms and legs bound to a cross. Mocking laughter of what seemed like a thousand voices had surrounded him, feeding his growing panic. He’d known he was dreaming, in some unfathomable way he’d known that, though he’d felt the rough wood, could smell the blood and then—he shivered at the memory—the pain exploding in his wrists.

Dignity had fled and he’d screamed.

Damon swallowed hard. He’d never had such a vivid dream. Even awake his throat felt raw from the bellow of pain and anger he’d emitted as his ankles were skewered with spikes. His rage had been spurred on by the jeering of the disembodied crowd.
Slave,
they’d hissed.
Criminal, dog, pretender.

He remembered gritting his teeth against the insults, his breath whooshing out of his body as the cross was elevated, the ropes binding his arms sliced free so that the only thing supporting him were the spikes. He’d dangled there for long moments, consumed with pain and shock, before the mist cleared, revealing a lone figure standing at the base of his cross staring up at him—Julia. The disappointment and pity that had shone in her eyes was far more painful than nails in his limbs.

The object of his memory stirred beside him. Damon brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek, his heart clenching at the tiny smile that formed on her lips as she snuggled closer to him. What had happened last eve had been a mistake. His intent to scare her away had lashed back at him with a vengeance. Instead of driving her away, he feared it had filled her head with nonsense, some idea that he was a noble creature who could overcome the abject state of his life. That would never happen no matter how much he longed for it. He would not allow Julia to lay ruin to her life.

He loved her too much.

Through the open window he heard signs of the household stirring. In a few moments, the slaves set to care for the animals would begin their day’s work. Damon glanced down at Julia, swept his gaze from the love flushed rose of her cheeks, past the generous swell of her naked breasts, to her tight little ass which jutted out in tempting offering when she curled up her shapely legs. He committed it all to memory. A memory that he would hold onto for the rest of his life.

Because beginning today, he would be shaping his life to one without Julia.

“B
e careful!”

Julia glanced over her shoulder at Damon who was glaring at her from the bottom of the ladder. It was hardly her fault that in his rush to see her dressed he’d given her no time to don her sandals, necessitating her climb down from the loft in bare feet. Besides, she hadn’t slipped, just jumped, startled by another of his barked commands.

She’d expected to wake this morning in her lover’s arms, content, happy and reveling in the wonder of what had passed between them. Instead, Damon had shaken her awake without so much as a good morn or a kiss to greet the day. Thrusting her tunic at her, he’d urged her to get dressed even as he jerked on his own garments. Before her sleep-dazed thoughts had fully cleared he’d slipped off the edge of the loft, dropped wordlessly to the stable floor and positioned the ladder for her descent.

“Damon, I do not understand your rush,” she said, reaching the ground, brushing bits of straw from her tunic. “The dawn is barely broken.”

“We need to get back to your
domus,
” he said, steering her toward the open doorway where two lanky boys were trying their best to tend to their sweeping instead of gawking at the spectacle of two disheveled houseguests stumbling from their stable.

His tone was laced with anger which made no sense. Their coupling had been far beyond what she’d ever imagined and she’d sensed he’d been pleased. Beyond pleased, Julia thought as she recalled the way he had whispered her name while stroking her, preparing her body to accept him. A thoughtful act, she now realized, as Dorcas and the maids had also commented on more than one occasion of a man’s determination to gain his pleasure without thought to his partner’s needs.

How pathetic that her only knowledge about the relations between a man and woman should come from eavesdropping on unsuspecting servants. Suddenly she wished for a close friend, another female to whom she could confide and ask advice on the male perception of the world. A perception she was far from understanding, she thought as she gave a sideways glance at Damon’s dark expression.

As they approached the house, the young boy Lucus limped out of the rear entry. His arms were laden with a large, woven basket so filled with turnips that there was no way the lad could see over it. Damon roughly moved her aside before taking the basket from the boy.

Lucus’ eyes went wide with surprise and Julia’s heart clenched at the fear that quickly followed. “Your pardon, master. I...I did not see you and the mistress.”

Damon leveled him with a look. “Boy, do not ever ask forgiveness for what is not your fault. Whoever set you to this task has pottage for brains.”

“It’s pottage I have for brains?”

Julia followed Damon’s brooding glare to where Esther stood in the doorway, hands on her ample hips, a disapproving look replacing her normally cheerful countenance.

“I told Lucus it was too much for him, but he insisted,” she continued, stepping out of the house and laying a reassuring hand on the trembling boy’s shoulder. “He does ten times as much work as any of the others, out of gratitude I suppose. Mistress Bryna had the Master purchase him from her own former owner.” She shook her head. “So determined to prove his worth.” added beneath her breath, “so afraid he has none.”

Julia noted the way Damon’s jaw tightened when Esther’s gaze lingered for a moment too long on him.

“My wife and I must return to our house.”

Esther nodded slowly. “You’ll want to refresh yourselves.”

“No, we need to leave...”

“You’ll refresh yourselves,” Esther repeated firmly. “I’ll  have food brought to break your fast and then you may give your respects to the Master and Mistress before departing.”

Damon’s expression darkened. He gave a curt nod and took firm hold of Julia’s arm.

Julia’s bewilderment vanished in a flash of irritation. Only hours ago he’d held her with tenderness, passion, now he was back to acting like a barbarian, grabbing her like a sack of cabbages, dragging her about as if she didn’t have the sense of a stone. She wrenched free from his grip and pierced him with a hard look. “I am perfectly able to find my way to
my
rooms without your assistance.” To an amused Esther she said, “May I avail myself of the house baths?”

“Of course, mistress. I’ll send a girl to prepare it for you.”

Julia nodded her thanks. She sent a glare to Damon who stood with arms crossed and an implacable expression on his handsome face. She gathered her pride and walked into the house with his growled demand to hurry ringing in her ears.

It took that bit of pride to help her endure the journey through the house. Every servant she passed bowed in respect before raising a brow or whispering behind their hands. She discovered why when she reached her rooms and found Judith awaiting her. The beautiful servant was less restrained, smothering a giggle as she held a mirror up for Julia to see the wrinkled dress and wild disarray of her hair. She ran a hand down the loose braid, coming away with more straw than the loft held, and blew out an exasperated breath. And Damon had been concerned about her reputation?

“My lady,” said Judith gently, “come.”

Miserable, Julia followed the girl down a short corridor to a small, but opulent bath. Wisps of steam rose from the white marble pool. She accepted Judith’s help disrobing and sighed as she sank down to her shoulders in the hot water.

Every muscle in her body began to relax and the new soreness between her legs eased. She glanced at Judith, who busied herself with soaps and oils. The girl was very discreet but it would have been impossible for her to have missed the blood that stained Julia’s thighs.

She leaned her head against the rim and closed her eyes.  A Roman woman was expected to protect her virtue until the time of her marriage and then to do devote herself to her husband and sustain hearth and home. It was an ideal that her father believed in, though he had granted his only daughter the rare favor of allowing her to choose her own husband. A decision her mother had wholeheartedly agreed with until Julia’s sixteenth birthday had come and gone and there had been no groom on the horizon.

She’d tried to find someone, had considered all the eligible young men paraded before her by her anxious parents. Most had been perfectly suitable—intelligent, polite, proud Roman patricians from good families and adequate wealth. But not one among them called to her heart enough to win her devotion let alone a deeper emotion. Now she knew the reason for her indecision—none of them had been Damon.

You love him
. Bryna’s softly accented voice whispered in her mind. Julia swallowed. She cared for Damon, she would admit to that, but she did not love him. Even if the law did not prohibit marriage between a patrician lady and a freedman, society would spurn them, make their life unbearable. That would not be such a hardship were it only herself, but she had a responsibility to her family.

Julia took a sponge and squeezed water over her arms. She did not regret lying with Damon. It had felt right, gifting her virginity to him, a gift a woman only gave once in her lifetime. But now that she had, what was she going to do?

Some Roman ladies took lovers but even as she thought it, she dismissed it. His pride could not stand such an arrangement anymore than she could conceive of doing it.

Judith knelt beside the bath. “Would you like me to massage your scalp, my lady? I have a special oil brought from the eastern lands by Master Jared. It has a most pleasant scent.”

Damon would likely have an apoplectic fit if she lingered. “Yes, Judith. That would be lovely.” She tilted her head over the pool allowing Judith to pour warm water from a basin over her head, soaking her hair. The girl then laid a small cushion on the rim for Julia to rest her neck on. Pouring a small amount of oil in her palm, she began to weave her hands through her hair in a soothing pattern. Julia’s tension drifted away with each stroke of her skillful fingers.

“Judith,” she murmured, nearly sighing as the girl rubbed circles at her temples. “Were you here when Damon first came to Flavian’s service?”

The girl’s hands faltered.

“It is all right. I know of his past as a slave.” Julia reassured her.

“I was very small,” answered Judith cautiously. “I only remember how proud he was and that he did not adjust well to his new circumstances.”

Being wrenched from your family would be difficult at any age. For someone with Damon’s stubbornness, impossible. “He was rebellious?”

Judith laughed now. “Well, that would be a mild word for it. He ranted and raved for days, demanding to be taken back to the slave market to find his sisters.”

Julia could just imagine the small boy with nutmeg hair, defiance glinting in narrowed gray eyes, standing, young arms crossed, just as he had been at the door earlier. A shiver of unease went through her. “How did his master receive these demands?”

Judith’s hands slowed. “Mistress Shifra was quite patient but when he began to refuse to do the tasks set for him, Master Flavian had him caned.”

Julia schooled her features to hide the shock that went through her, although she should not be surprised. Owners had free authority to discipline their slaves in whatever manner they deemed. While Julia could not recall her own parents ever meting out punishment past a stern word, she knew it was commonplace.

Judith urged her forward so that she might rinse Julia’s hair. “My father and mother would speak of it at night, after we’d been put to bed. Mother guessed he had too much pride what with having come from an
equestrian
family.”

Julia pulled her head up, swiping water droplets from her eyes and stared at Judith. “Equestrian?”

Judith nodded, completely oblivious to Julia’s rapt attention. “Yes, from what I’d overheard both then and when Master Jared granted him his freedom, he was born the son of a very prominent
equite
family.”

Julia stepped slowly from the bath, allowed Judith to wrap her in a large linen cloth. Her mind was racing. If Damon were a citizen by birth, could his rights not be restored? Gaining his citizenship would grant him the privileges to live as his birthright demanded. To live as a noble of Rome.

*****

“Praise Jupiter, the child looks like his mother.”

“Then all will be well,” Jared replied, “for his mother is more beautiful than Venus.”

Damon blew out a breath and shook his head ruefully. If the birth of a child could turn his otherwise-driven friend into an amiable sort, than Damon’s enjoyment at prodding him into a temper was finished. He followed Jared’s proud gaze to the tiny infant cradled in Bryna’s arms. He suspected the babe would look more like Jared if the tuft of coal-black hair were any indication. It had to be a heady feeling to see a part of yourself brought into life. How could a man not be proud of such an achievement?

You may yet discover for yourself
. Damon gritted his teeth against that infernal inner voice. He’d been berating himself all morning. Every sound argument he’d ever formed to keep his distance from Julia had dissolved the instant she’d returned his kiss. He’d given into his passion, let his emotions rule his thinking. Plato would have been appalled at his lack of reason.

While he’d been very careful in the past to withdraw from a woman before sowing his seed, he’d lost all restraint with his goddess. But she had been so hot and sweet and perfect beneath him and he’d buried himself so deep within her that when his climax hit, there had not been time to react. Before he could gather his wits, he’d spilled his seed deep within her womb. Even now she could be carrying his child. Bryna raised her gaze to his at that very moment, giving him a knowing look that sent waves of anxiety crashing through him.