The Protector (6 page)

His muscles tightened into knots along his shoulders. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep to clear his head. The image of her flawless face invaded his mind’s eye. Clean of cosmetics, her skin shone like polished alabaster. Even now his fingers recalled the silken texture of the thick braid that spilled over her shoulder and past her slim waist.

She’s not for you, Quintus!

He dragged air into his lungs and forced open his eyes. As usual of late, Caros was studying him as the women drew closer. Annoyed to think Caros suspected the widow’s hold on him, he turned away only to fall into the amber flame of Adiona’s contemptuous gaze. Her stare burned with challenge as she silently dared him to break his word and refuse to go with her.

His blood boiled. He wasn’t afraid of any challenge she chose to throw his way. Since his son’s death and Quintus’s subsequent arrest for his faith, he’d walked through fire. His losses had left his heart broken and his soul scarred by grief, but his honor remained. It was all he possessed of his former self. He’d promised Caros to guard Adiona until her attackers were caught or until he drew his last breath. Nothing she said or did would detour him from his purpose.

“How kind of you to finally join us,” he said in a
wooden voice that left no doubt he found her tardiness rude and arrogant. “Say your farewells and let’s depart. The rest of us have been ready to leave for some time now.”

Miffed by Quintus’s commanding tone, Adiona arched her brow as she watched his proud back disappear around the opposite side of a tattered coach she wouldn’t expect her slaves to ride in. How dare he presume to order her about as if
she
were the servant and he the master. He had much to learn if he thought she’d follow him around like a lamb. She’d ceased obeying
anyone
the moment her husband had done her the favor of dying.

“Shall I help you up?” Caros motioned toward the battered vehicle.

“I’m to ride in
that?
” She couldn’t quite hide her disgust. The coach was so small.
So
closed in…

“I suspect Quintus will return rather quickly. You don’t want to start your journey on the wrong foot by provoking him this early on, do you?”

Her irritation with her new bodyguard swelled to include Caros, as well. “By the gods, no. Whatever would we do if
Quintus
were provoked?”

“Don’t be difficult,” he warned, his humor at her expense barely concealed. “It’s two days to Neopolis. Do you want to spend the journey fortifying his belief that you’re a spoiled harpy?”

“I don’t care about a slave’s opinion of me in the least.”

He burst out laughing. Cringing, she lifted her chin and studied the
raeda.
Like most coaches, it consisted of a flat bed, tall wooden sides and an arched oiled canvas cover. A small door at the back provided the only way of escape. She loathed enclosed spaces and the nightmarish
memories they released within her. “I’ll sit in the driver’s seat with Quintus.”

“That’s not safe. It’s best you stay hidden until you’re certain no one is following you.”

Her hands grew clammy at the reminder of how perilous the journey was. That someone wanted her dead. Pelonia placed an arm around her waist as though she suspected Adiona’s rising unease. Grateful for the younger woman’s friendship even though she’d done nothing to deserve it, Adiona promised herself to make amends if she managed to return to Rome alive.

She swallowed hard. “What if I’m locked in that…that
box
and my attackers decide to set it on fire with a few flaming arrows? I might be roasted alive. Or what if—”

Caros’s incredulous expression silenced her rambling fears. “I never realized how colorful your imagination is.”

Her head began to throb as the memories she fought to keep buried clamored for release. “Men are animals,” she whispered. “They’re capable of anything.”

“Quintus isn’t an animal, Adiona. Neither are these other men who’ve sworn to guard you with their lives.”

Panic began to claw up her throat. She bit her bottom lip and looked beseechingly at her friend. “I can’t get in that coach.”

His mouth curved into an impatient frown. “Why?”

She glanced toward Pelonia. Had she and Caros been alone she may have told him the truth. Her friend already knew more of her past than anyone else, although not the worst parts. He was the only person she’d ever known who disagreed with the common wisdom that blamed a woman for the abuse she received.

But his wife’s sympathetic expression filled her with
the familiar rush of shame she experienced when she recalled the vile acts her husband had subjected her to. Her pride smarted. She couldn’t abide the thought of a
good
woman like Pelonia knowing about the vile treatment she suffered or the indignities she’d endured. After years spent cultivating an image of strength and separating herself from the weak girl she’d been before and during her marriage, she’d rather die than be pitied.

Quintus moved back into view as he checked the horses’ bridles. She resented the way her heart quickened in response to a man who held her in contempt. At least she’d come up with a plan to keep him safe
and
release her from his company. Once they reached the port, she’d order Quintus to return to Rome, while she and the other guards sailed south to Neopolis.

Another sidelong glance in his direction showed his rapid progress toward her and the determined scowl creasing his dark features. By the look of him he just might toss her into the coach and slam the door.

“What will it be, Adiona?” Caros asked. “The way to the inn is a few hours, no more. Surely you can cope with a shabby
raeda
if the disguise will keep you safe? Or do you prefer to delay your trip longer by arguing with Quintus here in the yard?”

She wasn’t afraid of an argument, but in this case, one seemed futile, not to mention detrimental to her ultimate goal of reaching Octavia before it was too late. She’d spent years taming the specters in her head and she refused to let them conquer her now. “I’ll ride in the back. Help me up, will you?”

Pelonia walked with them to the covered wagon. Caros opened the back door and extracted a short ladder. Reminding herself that her husband was dead and no torture awaited her, she ascended into the shadowed
interior. Inside, she was surprised to find the floorboards in front of the supplies had been padded with cushions and blankets. A hint of smoked meat and the salty tang of fish sauce scented the air.

“Are you comfortable?” Pelonia stood in the doorway, a gentle smile curving her mouth. “Quintus worried he might not have gathered enough pillows. I can have someone fetch more of them if you’d like.”

“No, I’m fine.” She leaned up against a basket full of bread, feeling as though she’d conquered a mountain peak.

“Caros sent a trusted servant to prepare for your arrival at the inn. A warm meal and comfortable room awaits you,” Pelonia said. “I’ll be praying for you and a safe journey. I hope we’ll have more time to become better acquainted once you return.”

Adiona tried to smile back. Caros’s wife truly was a kind woman, a rarity in her world. “Thank you.” She didn’t want to hurt Pelonia’s feelings, but she doubted the Christians’ God could be bothered to help her. “I believe we’ll need any assistance your God is willing to give.”

Quintus’s orders to his men filtered through the wagon walls before he appeared in the open doorway. “If you’re having second thoughts about this venture, now is the time to voice them, my lady. You can always send a messenger with your regrets if you’d prefer to stay here at the
ludus
where your safety is certain.”

The flatness of his tone belied any concern the words might have implied. Angry and unreasonably hurt by his indifference, she was even more determined to put the plans she’d devised into action. “No, let’s be off,” she said, defying her rising anxiety of being trapped in the small coach. “We’ve waited long enough as it is.”

T
he setting sun shone like a fiery, red orb in the western sky. Quintus tugged on the reins, slowing the coach to a halt in front of a roadside
tabernae
a few miles outside of Rome’s city gates. Smoke rose from the inn’s cook fires and the smell of roasted pork tempted his empty stomach.

He rubbed a hand across his chin and worked the tightness from his jaw. After hours of bone-jarring travel along the Via Ostiense, every muscle in his body ached. He could only imagine Adiona’s discomfort from being cramped in the back of the coach. At least they’d escaped the city unscathed.

He jumped down from the driver’s bench and tossed the reins to Falco, a somber giant who said little, but was quick to follow orders. The other guards, Onesimus, Rufus and Otho, remained on horseback, surrounding the vehicle. “Have Rufus see the horses are watered and properly stabled before dinner,” he told Falco. “Tell Otho and Onesimus to prepare for first watch. I’ll see Lady Leonia settled while you bring in our supplies.”

As Falco relayed his orders and the men dismounted to carry out their tasks, Quintus rounded the back of the
coach and knocked quietly. “My lady? May I open the door?”

Silence greeted his request. He waited a few moments and rapped louder. “My lady? How do you fare?”

She continued to ignore him and his impatience spiked.
So the battle of wills has begun.

Irritated by her childishness, he undid the latch and cracked open the door. The gray shades of early evening offered little light. He couldn’t see her in the coach’s dark interior and a bolt of panic jolted him not unlike the one time he’d lost his son in a busy marketplace.

“My lady?” He yanked the door open wider to allow more light. Finally he found her curled against the left wall, her forehead lowered to her raised knees and her arms wrapped tightly around her shins.

“Adi…my lady, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She flinched from his touch and jerked upright, cringing flat against the carriage wall as though she feared he meant to strike her. Her wild, yet strangely empty eyes reminded him of a terrified colt’s and filled him with deep concern.

“It’s all right,” he said, careful to keep his voice both firm and soothing. He hated the idea of her being frightened of him, but after the attack she’d suffered last night and assassins on her heels, it was little wonder she feared another assault.

It’s not her fault. How can she trust anyone when she doesn’t know who her friends are?

He eased closer, frowning at the bruise marring her reddened cheek. She’d been crying and the crescent of teeth marks in her swollen lower lip told him she’d done her best to stifle the sounds of her misery.

Until that moment, he hadn’t considered Adiona capable of keeping anything that displeased her a secret. Used
to women like his wife, Faustina, who never checked her need to pout, scream or throw a tantrum no matter how trivial the reason, he began to wonder if he’d compared and judged the widow unfairly.

“Let me help you, my lady.”

She shook her head in adamant denial. “Go away! Leave me be.”

The glow of early evening had given way to night, but the moon illuminated the inside of the coach enough for him to see Adiona’s bloodless face and tortured eyes. The piteous way she slid down the wall and sat back in a crouch tugged at his heart. He’d done his best to be indifferent to her, but the sinking sensation in his belly forced him to acknowledge indifference was the one emotion he never experienced in her company.

An ox cart joined the other vehicles in front of the
tabernae,
offering him a momentary distraction from the confusion he suffered only around this particular woman. The cart’s wizened driver and his hefty wife paid a boy to see to their animals before waddling up the torch-lit path toward the inn’s arched front door. Laughter and music spilled from the main room as the couple made their way inside the large, three-storied building.

Quintus nodded to Falco who was guarding his back a few paces away. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to his charge. Refusing to examine his need to comfort her, he curved his fingers around her slim shoulder. “My lady, listen to me.”

“Don’t touch me!” She raised her head and flung off his hand as though his fingers burned her. “I told you to leave. I don’t want you here.”

“I can’t leave you.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I
won’t.
”

“Why can’t you understand? You mustn’t see me like this!”

“What do you mean?” he asked tightly. “Is all of this…this ridiculous misery thanks to your
vanity?
”

Adiona winced at the edge of anger in his voice. A mere moment before, he’d sounded ardent when he declared he wouldn’t leave her. Most likely she’d imagined his concern. Her mind had been playing tricks since the moment the
raeda’
s door closed, trapping her in the darkness with nightmares that refused to be suppressed. Of course it made more sense for him to be angry. She wished it were otherwise, but no matter what she said or did, she always seemed to affect his temper for the worse.

She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees in an effort to calm the tremors shaking her body. She’d done her best to concentrate, to convince herself she had nothing to fear. But after what seemed like an eternity in the cramped darkness, she’d lost the battle until every sway of the vehicle and bump in the road became a tormented reminder of the beatings, insults and incessant cruelty her husband had subjected her to in the dark, moldy bowels of his palace.

Without warning, Quintus hoisted her into the air. A startled shriek burst from her throat as he slung her over his right shoulder. The wind knocked out of her, she gasped for air as she stared at his muscled claves and his sandaled feet, too stunned by his quick action to offer a protest.

“Put me down this instant!” she demanded once she got her breath back.

“When we’re inside it will be my pleasure, believe me.” His forearm tightened across the back of her knees to stop her kicking. “But if you think I’ll stand out here
in the dark and miss my meal while you cry over your mussed hair and loss of silk gowns you’re mistaken.”

The censure in his voice made her cringe. Dangling over his shoulder like a sack of wheat, she yanked up her braid to keep it from dragging on the dusty path. She cursed him under her breath, but stopped pounding on his back or twisting to get free. It hurt that he always assumed the worst about her, but given the choice, she preferred he think her vain instead of fear-ridden and weak.

As he opened the front door, a wave of music and jovial voices flowed over her. The glow from a fire in the hearth illuminated the simple concrete floor and what she could see of the ocher-painted walls.

Quintus leaned forward and dropped her on her feet. Now that she was free of the darkness, she felt foolish. She dusted off her tunic as she gathered the remnants of her pride.

“Behave,” he warned for her ears only. He swept off his cloak and handed it to her. “Put this on, keep your head down and try not to draw attention to yourself.”

Her glare made it clear she didn’t appreciate taking orders from a minion. She snatched the cloak from his hand and wrapped herself in the warm folds of wool. His delicious scent filled her head, making it twice as hard to calm her nerves.

“Having trouble with your wench, sir?” the innkeeper asked Quintus.

Quintus glanced at her and she smirked back. “She’s spirited,” he told the innkeeper without breaking eye contact with Adiona. “And more trouble than she’s worth, but I’m too fond of her to entrust her to someone else’s care.”

“She’s a beauty.” The innkeeper eyed her suggestively
and chuckled when she tugged the hood of the cape up over her head. “She must be a handful if she deserved that bruise. If you think she’ll try to escape, I have shackles in the stable.”

Adiona didn’t hear any more than the rush of blood in her ears. The bravado she’d been slowly gaining back evaporated. She broke eye contact with Quintus and stared blindly at the floor, absently rubbing the faint scars on her wrists as she remembered the burn of restraints chaining her to the cellar wall.

The clink of coins exchanging hands broke through her private torment. She looked up to find Quintus frowning at her.

“Come this way.” Quintus gently grasped her elbow as he led her up a flight of stairs and down an arched corridor. Hanging oil lamps brightened the vaulted space but did little to tame the draft. Simple frescoes of fruit and vines lent bright color to the pale plaster walls.

He opened a door at the end of the hall and checked the space before waving her inside. “It’s safe to leave the door open. Falco will be here soon with your satchel.”

As Pelonia promised, the room was comfortable and well prepared. Someone from the inn had lit several lamps. A sleeping couch formed of concrete and covered with pillows and furs took up one corner. A rough wooden chair, small table, basin and pitcher made up the rest of the furniture.

“There’s no window,” she murmured, trying to keep her dread hidden.

“I asked for a room without one,” Quintus told her. “If we don’t have to worry about intruders entering from the street, it will take fewer of us to guard you at one time. My men will get more rest and be better prepared for the journey tomorrow.”

“Then I suppose it’s adequate,” she said, her throat tightening with renewed panic. She’d traded the coach for another airless box. With all the hours until sunrise how was she to keep her sanity?

“I’m glad you approve.” His dry tone made it clear he didn’t care if she was pleased with the accommodations.

She bristled. “Order a bath for me. Also, see if the inn has a maid I can hire for the night. I’ll need help with my hair.”

“I’ll have Otho and Rufus bring you a bath.” He gripped the back of the chair. “But there will be no maid. For your safety we need as few people as possible to know you’re here. You’ll have to manage on your own.”

She’d never dealt with her own hair before. Unbound, the thick mass hung to her knees. It was already coming loose from the braid Nidia had woven before they left Rome. If the braid wasn’t repaired, it would degrade into a tangled mess. Her ignorance over what should be a simple, personal task made her feel useless, but she’d rather bite off her tongue than admit she was helpless. “You
are
able to see to your own hair, aren’t you?” he asked, studying her.

She lifted her chin. “Of course.”

Falco’s massive frame filled the doorway, her satchel hanging from one hand. The gladiator always gave her pause. Not only was Falco as big as a titan, his pockmarked face, chipped teeth and scarred, tattooed arms made him look like a monster.

Quintus retrieved the leather satchel and placed it on the table. “I’m going to fetch your meal, my lady. Falco will be right outside your door if you encounter any trouble.”

His assurance did little to soothe her. Falco’s narrowed gaze and disturbing disposition brought her more anxiety. “Close the door,” she told the frightening gladiator. Alone, she had to face down her nightmares, but that was better than having to stare one in the face.