The Protector (13 page)

Dressed in fine black silk edged with silver fringe that matched the silver hair at her temples, Gaia motioned toward the garden’s exit. “Drusus asked me to have you meet him in his office. Apparently, the two of you have much to discuss. I’ll stay here and see to his other guests.”

Thinking the woman was a bit presumptuous, Adiona was too unhappy to be offended. She left the garden and found Drusus already in his office, sitting behind his desk. Tall floor candelabras were placed in each of the room’s corners. A seamless, brightly painted mural of Diana leading a hunt dominated all four walls, but instead of the goddess being the focal point of the piece, a large golden serpent coiled in a tree behind Drusus. Rubies had been imbedded in the wall to give the painted reptile the look of glowing red eyes. Used to her heir’s eccentricities, she shrugged off the eerie feeling that slithered down her spine.

Aware that Drusus meant to claim a position of power by placing himself behind the desk, Adiona took control of the conversation and spoke first. “Who is Gaia and what is she to you?”

He blinked several times as though trying to clear his head. “She’s a…a neighbor. A friend of Octavia. She helped me with the children during Octavia’s sickness and then with the funeral arrangements.”

For that she owed Gaia a favor. “Why don’t you allow the girls to live with me in Rome?” Eager to give
Octavia’s daughters a home filled with appreciation and love, she expected Drusus to give them to her for the right price. “With no family of my own I’d enjoy the company. You know I’d hire the best tutors for them when they’re old enough. They’ll want for nothing.”

He leaned forward in his chair, lacing his fingers atop the desk. “No, I couldn’t allow them to go with you.”

“Why ever not?” He had no appreciation for his off-spring. After an hour or two, she doubted he’d remember their names.

“No offense, my dear cous…cousin, but they’ll end up poisoned against men and marriage the same as you are. I’ll never get them wed and they’ll be stones around my neck for all eternity.”

Incensed, she arched a brow at his wine-induced bluntness. How was she
not
to take offense at being told she’d poison his children?

She lifted her chin and looked at him as though he were a bug she’d like to smash beneath her sandal. “I don’t hate
good
men, Drusus. Unfortunately, they’re just more difficult to come by than gold coins in a pauper’s hovel.”

His cheeks flushed, he glanced away, suitably chastised. He cleared his throat after a long, uncomfortable pause. “Speaking of gold coins. I’m wondering if you might pay me back for the one Octavia took to the pyre.”

“You’re a worm, Drusus.”

“Don’t be unkind, Adiona. You keep me on a tight leash.”

She gave a derisive snort. For the children’s sake, she paid him an allowance twice what he deserved. Although comfortable in his own right, her cousin was a spend
thrift who was rumored to make his slaves go hungry if it meant having a few extra
sestertii
to spend on himself.

“Not tight enough if I go by the rings you’re sporting.”

His glassy eyes grew wide. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m
not
complaining.”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. She stood and aimed for the door. “Let’s finish this tomorrow, shall we? I suspect we’ll accomplish more than running in circles once you’re sober.”

Her temper boiling just beneath the surface of her skin, she marched back to the garden. Music and a hearty dose of wine had erased all sadness from the guests. They danced and laughed as if they’d attended a wedding instead of a funeral.

Disgusted by the lack of respect for Octavia, she left the garden the way she’d come. Quintus was waiting for her.

“Are you well?” he asked. “You look exhausted.”

“Exhausted? No, I’m madder than a barbarian horde. I’d so hoped to arrive to a recovered Octavia. Instead, I’m cursed to deal with Drusus, that maggot. I wish he’d died instead!”

“What did he say to upset you?”

“I need a few moments. As of yet, I’m too angry to speak of it.” His steady presence had a soothing effect on her temper as they ascended the steps to the second floor. Servants had lit oil lamps to banish the night’s darkness. A chill swept through the stairwell.

“He said,” she began once they reached the threshold, “that I’m not fit to raise his daughters. That allowing
them to live with me would ruin them. That I’d
poison
them against men.”

“And?” Quintus prompted when she offered no more.

Furious, she demanded, “What do you mean,
and?
Isn’t that bad enough? Do you agree with him?”

“I have no opinion whatsoever.” He opened the chamber door for her. Slaves had been there to close the balcony doors and light candles. “From what I’ve seen, he’s a mockery of a man, but I don’t know how he is with his children or how he wants to raise them.”

“Then let me enlighten you.” She stormed into her room. “He thinks girls are worthless. Just like my
own
father did!”

Silence fell. She whirled around to find Quintus in the doorway. Arms crossed over his muscular chest, he leaned against the jamb. His intense green eyes appraised her as though the final piece of a complicated puzzle had just been snapped into place.

“I see,” he said, his expression intent and filled with understanding. “You do know both of them are wrong, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then why have you let their ignorance distress you?”

“Because it’s hurtful and unfair.” She began to pace a circle around the desk. “It’s a horrible lie!”

“Yes, and look who’s perpetuating the falsehood. Drusus, a slug of no account who needs to feel important, and your father. I didn’t know him, but if he treated you as less than the treasure you are, then he is of no account, as well.”

She gaped at him.

“I hope you know your own worth by now, but if you need a man’s opinion, ask a real one.”

Fascinated, she walked toward him, her gaze locked with his. “All right, Quintus. What
do
you think of me?”

Q
uintus groaned inwardly. He’d known better than to throw Adiona a challenge if he didn’t want her to take him up on it. His fingers slashed through his hair. “I think you’re…exceptional.”

Her eyes brightened. She started to smile, then her lush mouth drooped into a frown. “Exceptional in what way? Spoiled? Difficult? Sharp-tongued? Unlovable?”

Unlovable?
Was she mad? “My, what a high opinion you have of yourself.”

“I know I’m those things. Everyone says so.”

“That doesn’t make them true. In fact, I—”

A shadow moved on the wall above the sleeping couch behind Adiona. Not the flicker of a candle’s flame, but an odd undulation. A warning crept up the back of his neck. The pelts covering the couch moved.

He pulled her behind him, shoving her through the open doorway and out into the hall. “Quintus, what—?”

“Be still.” The covers rustled. Something was
in
her bed.

He didn’t want to frighten her. Getting her to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings was difficult enough as it was.
“Don’t ask why, just trust me. Go fetch one of my men. Then go sit with David and Seth.”

“But—”

“No,” he said, firmly. “Do as I say.”

He expected an argument, but as usual, she surprised him and did as he asked. Her knock sounded on the door across the hall.

The door swung open instantly. “My lady?” Otho’s surprised voice filtered into the hall. “What is it?”

“
Emperor
Quintus commands your attention.”

Quintus’s lips twitched, but the covers rustled again, banishing all amusement.

Otho stepped up beside him. “What’s going on?”

“Where is the lady?” Quintus asked without taking his eyes off the bed.

The shadows shifted on the walls as Otho leaned back to see around the door frame and locate her whereabouts. “She’s almost to David and Seth’s door.”

“Good.” Quintus pulled the
gladius
from the sheath on his belt and stepped deeper into the room. Otho followed, picking up a candle on the way to the bed. The ridge beneath the covers rippled. “What
is
it?” Otho asked.

“I believe it’s one of the snakes our host collects.” Quintus raised his
gladius
and sank the blade through the pelt and into the creature’s thick flesh. The serpent thrashed and hissed. Quintus slashed again, hitting his mark a second time. Blood oozed into the covering. Finally, the reptile stopped twitching.

“The balcony doors are closed,” Otho pointed out. “The snake couldn’t have found its way in here by accident.”

A deadly calm came over Quintus. “No, I highly doubt it was an accident.”

“Another assassination attempt, then,” Otho surmised. “Do you think the serpent’s poisonous?”

“Drusus prizes no other kind according to widow Leonia.” He pulled the short sword free of the carcass and wiped the blade clean on the pillow.

“Are you going to tell her about this?”

“I’d rather not, but I must. She needs to know exactly what her heir is capable of.”

Otho eased back the pelt and lifted the candle.

Rage spread through Quintus like venom. Snakes weren’t his specialty, but as a boy he’d learned the most dangerous types. Judging by the ‘horn’ on the viper’s snout and the wavy pattern of light and dark scales, the adder was one of the most lethal in all of Italy.

“I’m going to get Drusus,” Quintus said through clenched teeth.

Otho stopped him. “I think Rufus and I need to find him. We want him to explain how this happened. In the mood you’re in, he might not live long enough to make it up here.”

Quintus agreed with a curt nod. Otho left. His breathing heavy, Quintus focused on the bloodied adder twisted across the sleeping couch. Its milky white belly glowed in the dim light. As long and thick as Quintus’s arm, the snake wasn’t yet full-grown, but that didn’t make it any less deadly. What if Adiona had returned to her room on her own and pulled back the cover? What if she’d climbed into bed without investigating beforehand? One strike from the serpent and he would have lost her.

Twin knives of panic and pain sliced through him. His stomach swirled sickly. The prospect of losing Adiona filled him with a white-hot terror that threatened his reason.

He focused on the serpent, but Drusus’s face loomed
in his mind’s eye. A bonfire of fury ignited inside him. He’d never yearned to kill anyone until that moment. Quintus yanked the pelts over the snake. Now fully convinced Drusus was behind a plot to harm Adiona, he closed his eyes and prayed for restraint. Without the Lord’s intervention Drusus’s hours were numbered.

Drusus’s protests rang from the hallway long before Otho and Rufus shoved the squirming drunk across the threshold. Glassy inebriated eyes struggled to focus on Quintus. “What’s the meaning of this, slave?” Drusus demanded thickly. “How dare you snatch me from my wife’s fu…funeral.”

Anger vibrated through Quintus in waves. Drusus’s miserable life hung by an unraveling thread. “How dare
you?
” he asked with deceptive calm. He ripped back the pelts, exposing the dead serpent.

Drusus blanched and moaned, “What have you done to my
baby?
” He sank to his knees by the bed, grasping the viper and clutching the scaly tail to his chest.

Disgusted by a man who wept over a dead reptile, yet shed not a tear for his late wife, Quintus grabbed Drusus by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. He caught him up by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the wall. “You miserable cur!” he growled. “You’d best thank my God I don’t end your useless existence.”

“My baby, my precious baby!” Drusus continued to sob. His eyes closed, his head rocked back and forth like a rattle.

Vaguely aware of David’s voice calling Adiona in the hallway, Quintus drew back his fist. “Cease your sniveling!”

Drusus continued to whine inconsolably.

“Why are you yowling like a cat with its tail on fire,
Drusus?” Adiona breezed into the chamber, David close on her heels. Seeing the byplay, she stopped in the center of the room, a quizzical expression pleating her elegant features. “Quintus? What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“You!” Drusus squealed through the chokehold Quintus held on his throat. His bug-eyed gaze settled on Adiona, vivid with accusation. “You’re responsible for this tragedy! Have you seen what your minions did to my little one?”

“What are you talking about?” she snapped, offended by his censure. “What
tragedy?
”

Otho stepped forward. “My lady—”

“What
is
that?” Adiona interrupted as she peered through the half-light toward her bed. She took a curious step forward.

“Don’t!” Quintus groaned. He shoved Drusus over to Otho and reached for Adiona, but it was too late. She’d seen the snake. She looked to Quintus with dawning horror, her lovely face pale as moonlight. “Is that—?”

“My
baby,
” Drusus wailed. “They’ve murdered her.”

She shrank back, her eyes bright with appalled disgust. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her quivering mouth.

Quintus moved forward, compelled to comfort her. “My lady—”

“Wait!” She stretched out her palm to warn him off. “Come no closer. I fear I’m going to retch.”

“What are you going to do about this?” Drusus complained. “Your slaves have murder—”

“Silence!”
She pressed trembling fingers to her temples. The ring she wore glistened like black fire in the
candles’ glow. She eased her hands back to her sides and looked to Quintus with troubled eyes. “Tell me what happened.”

He related the details in a flat voice as he fought to contain his fury toward Drusus. “
Noooo!
He’s a vicious liar. I’m not guilty!” Her heir fell to the floor before her, his arms around her legs, his head bent and pressed to her knees. “I’m innocent, my lady! I swear I’d never harm you! Never, never!”

Quintus lunged forward. He grabbed Drusus by the hair and slid his knife along the swine’s throat. “Release her or you’re dead.”

“Quintus, stop!” Adiona gasped.

He ignored her and pressed the blade tighter. A fine line of blood trickled down Drusus’s fleshy neck.

Drusus let her go. Quintus removed the knife and Drusus fell forward, facedown on the tiled floor by her feet. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t!” he sobbed in a pathetic crescendo.

“That’s enough!” Quintus ordered his men to take Drusus to his own chamber. “Don’t let him out of your sight. We have yet to learn his accomplices.”

Trapped in appalled stasis, Adiona wasn’t sure if the room was shaking or if she was trembling so hard it just seemed to be. Drusus’s cries for mercy came to her as though she were under water. From the moment Quintus explained the situation, she’d been unable to take her eyes off the adder on her bed or form a coherent sentence.

Questions rolled through her mind in malignant waves. What if Quintus hadn’t been there to see the creature? What if she’d blown out the candles and crawled into bed…?

She shivered as a smoke-tinged draft from the hall
brushed across her skin. Only vaguely aware of Drusus being dragged from the chamber, she marveled at her own gullibility. How had she misjudged her heir to such an extent? She believed him witless, not murderous. Now, it seemed,
she
was the fool.

“Adiona.” Quintus placed himself between her and the adder. The bronzed column of his throat, the width of his broad shoulders and muscled chest filled her line of vision like a mountain of reliability and strength. He took her hands in his, banishing the insidious chill overtaking her with the warmth of his touch. “Come with me, my lady.”

Still in shock, she allowed him to lead her to a sitting room downstairs. He closed the door, muffling the music and laughter of the funeral guests.

“I wish someone would send them on their way,” she murmured. “It’s the middle of the night. Their behavior is a mockery of Octavia’s sedate nature.”

“I’ll see to it.” He turned to do her bidding.

“No.” She grabbed his hand. “Please…don’t leave me.”

Without question, he guided her to a cushioned seat near the window. He knelt before her on the tiled floor, his long fingers grasping the armrests on either side of her chair. “I’m taking you from here at first light.”

“No—”

“Yes.” He placed his index finger over her lips. “Listen to me. We’re leaving at first light. I’d take you from here sooner, but the roads at night are as dangerous as this house. At least here, I know who some of our enemies are.”

Her thoughts were becoming clearer due to Quintus’s calming influence. “I’m not yet convinced Drusus is part of the plot.”

His intense green eyes flared with disbelief, but he didn’t belittle her. “Why not?”

“Instinct.”

“Adiona—”

“He prizes his serpents. I don’t think he’d risk the adder’s life.”

“Unless he reasons he can purchase a new one with the fortune your death will drop in his lap.”

“My will—”

“Magistrates and lawyers are more easily bought than snakes,” he said flatly. “Once you’re dead, your will can be rewritten and forged for the right amount of coin.”

She nodded in resignation.

“Tell me this,” he said, dragging an impatient hand through his hair. “Do the terms of your will change if you wed and have children of your own?”

“Yes, but…that won’t happen.”

His jaw clenched. “You can’t know that for certain.”

“Yes, I do.”

“How old are you?”

“None of your business.”

He seemed to do a quick summation in his head. “Based on what you told me of your life, I’ll say you’re three and twenty.”

She nodded begrudgingly. “Yes, I’m twenty-three. Old enough to decide for myself that I’ll
never
marry again.”

“
Never
is a word that carries the weight of eternity with it and few things last that long.”

“Perhaps not, but my decision will stand.” For her, marriage was too frightening to contemplate. Her husband had condemned her as a waste of a woman. He’d abused her for her failure to tempt him to the marriage
bed, let alone give him the son he’d purchased her to bear.

As a child bride, she’d believed him because she had no one to teach her differently. Now, a woman full-grown, she understood Crassus was the animal who deserved to be caged, not her. But that knowledge did not erase the scars she carried inside or silence the constant voice that whispered she was worthless and intrinsically undesirable.

“Stubborn,” Quintus said under his breath. “But consider Drusus
believed
you were betrothed. You won’t convince me a man of his ilk would simply let his inheritance slip through his fingers.”

He had a point and it was sharp as a knife. “What do you propose we do?”

“I’m sending David and Seth to Rome with a message for Caros informing him what’s happened here. On swift horses they can be there by tomorrow night to request reinforcements. Otho and Rufus will stay here to guard Drusus.”

“And you and I?” she asked.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Home? How will I be safer in Rome?”

“We’re not going to Rome,” he clarified. “I told you I have a villa farther down the coast. We can be there in a matter of hours. No one will know you’re there or be able to guess your whereabouts. I’m certain you’ll be safe while we learn the depths of Drusus’s treachery.”

“Your brother will be there?”

He nodded. “I’m hopeful.”

She bit her lower lip as she mulled over his plan. If he found his brother, he’d have the chance to lay hold of his fortune. With his wealth restored, he’d purchase his freedom and her value to him would end.

He’ll leave me for certain.

The thought stung like acid on thin skin. “Do you promise you’ll see me safely back to Rome…even if you find your brother?”

“Of course,” he said, eyeing her closely. “I told you I’ll stay with you until you no longer need me.”

She forced herself to smile. She didn’t doubt his sincerity at the moment, but she had no illusions, either. Life had taught her vows were easily made and even more easily broken. Intentions shifted like the breeze blowing through the open window. People did what they wanted.