The Protector (9 page)

She remained leery, but her expression lightened, seeming to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Tell me what happened. Why react as you did when I told you I planned to send you back to Rome? If you’re worried about your freedom, you needn’t be—”

“My freedom isn’t what concerns me at the moment. I want it, don’t misunderstand, but the thought of you plotting to rid yourself of me is more than I can stomach.”

Her amber eyes clouded with confusion. “I know you’re convinced I need you—”

“No,” he interrupted, realizing she was the first person to matter to him since the death of his son. “
I
need
you.
I must know you’re safe before I can rest or have any peace.”

“I don’t understand. You barely tolerate me.”

A humorless laugh clogged his throat. She had no idea how he felt about her. How could she when he was so conflicted himself? He was far from inexperienced with women. He thought he’d met her kind before, but he was wrong. Never had he met a woman who called to his heart and soul the way she did. The longer he spent with Adiona the more he realized how unique she was; the more he wished to claim her for his own. But other than prayer, he had nothing to offer her.

He glanced skyward, noting the advance of more storm clouds as he searched for the right words to explain himself. Save Caros and Pelonia, he’d told no one about his son or wife’s death, and then only out of necessity. He rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed deep, determined to make Adiona see why he wanted to stay with her, to protect her.

“The day before my arrest,” he said, his voice roughened with grief even though he sought to sound emotionless, “I had business in a neighboring town. I was gone
overnight. When I returned home, I learned my only son was dead, trampled by a runaway chariot. In her grief, my wife had committed suicide a few hours later.”

Adiona gasped. “I’m
so
sorry,” she whispered.

He closed the space between them. “Don’t you see? I wasn’t there to protect my family—”

“Their deaths weren’t your fault,” she assured him. Her hesitant fingers cupped his cheek. “You’re
not
to blame, Quintus.”

Longing to believe her, he closed his eyes, absorbing the bittersweetness of her touch. Grateful for the comfort she offered when most of his friends and family had deserted him, he covered her hand with his larger one and brushed her fingertips with his lips. “What I’m trying to say—not very well, I admit—is that even though I failed to protect my family, I believe God has brought you into my life to give me a second chance. I refuse to disappoint Him…or you.”

She slipped her hand from his and bowed her head, fidgeting with the edge of her cloak. “I understand your concerns and I’m grateful you believe your God cares enough to send you to me, but time may be running out. If you mean to be my protector, so be it. I want no other. But be warned, if I have to walk to Neopolis, I will. I’m not going back to Rome until after I’ve seen Octavia.” Frustrated, irritated,
afraid
for Adiona, Quintus sought to change her mind one last time. “Why? I understand she’s your friend. It’s admirable you care for her, but with your own life at stake, why
must
you go?”

“Octavia needs me…if she’s still alive. And if she’s passed into the afterlife, she needs me even more.”

He threw the end of his cape over his shoulder to ward off the morning’s chill. “How so?”

She plucked an olive leaf off the tree next to her. Her
slender fingers quivered as she tore it apart and pitched the pieces aside. “I know my heir. Drusus is an ignorant miser who won’t do the right things to see that Octavia isn’t forced to wander unhappily throughout eternity.”

She picked and decimated another leaf before tossing the remains to the wind. “Drusus will skimp on hiring mourners, he’ll cut the number of visitation days to save having to feed the guests. He’s even crass enough to steal the coin from Octavia’s mouth without regard for how she’ll cross the River Styx with no gold to pay the ferryman.”

Her expression wilted into tragedy. “You have to understand. Octavia was a lovely hostess—she never gossiped or hurt anyone. She was the kindest mother, faithful, virtuous, always spoke well of even the most undeserving creature. She was ideal in every way. In life she was chained to Drusus, but in death she deserves a grand procession and a vaulted place in Elysium. If I leave matters in Drusus’s incapable hands, he’s liable to toss Octavia onto a pyre as if she were rubbish just so he can return to his wine and mistress.”

Quintus scanned the dwindling number of travelers in the open field. The inn looked empty and abandoned against the backdrop of the dark gray sky stretching out to eternity.

Adiona’s commitment to the mission she’d set for herself was admirable. Far from being self-centered as he’d once thought, she was as loyal and true a friend as he had ever come across. Her concern for the defenseless Octavia resounded through him like a flash of lightning. All the harsh uncertainty of not knowing if his own son had been properly buried rose up to choke him.

Fabius.
He closed his eyes, driving back the pain that welled in his chest until his ribs ached. How could he
condemn Adiona to even a tithe of his own suffering when the journey to Neopolis
was
possible?

“I’ll take you.” The approaching storm carried a sense of foreboding Quintus couldn’t quite shake despite his belief in God’s protection. “But if you’re going to ride in the open, for your own safety, you must promise to do as I say.”

Her face brightened with a smile that knocked the breath from his lungs. “I’m out of practice when it comes to obeying men. But for you, Quintus, I’m willing to negotiate.”

A
diona shifted on the driver’s bench next to Quintus. Several hours of bone-rattling road travel made her long for the ship they planned to board in Ostia. A cold rain had started within a mile of their departure from the
tabernae.
Dark clouds continued to lurk above them. The pelts Quintus gathered from the back of the coach and insisted she use for cover sheltered her from the constant drizzle.

“Tell me more about your heir,” Quintus said, flicking the reins. “He seems the most likely candidate to hire assassins. Caros and I agree he has the most to gain from your death.”

“I don’t think he’s guilty. He knows he’d be the first suspect.” She shrugged. “Besides, he’s aware he’ll be disinherited if I die under mysterious circumstances.”

Quintus cast her a sidelong glance. “How insightful of you.”

“Once you meet Drusus you’ll understand my caution. He has a small intellect, but he’s as poisonous as the vipers he collects.”

A silky black brow arched in question. “Your heir collects snakes?”

“Yes, repulsive, isn’t it?” She shivered, but not from the cold. “The more exotic and toxic the creature, the more he prizes it.”

“Why did you choose an heir you abhor?”

She watched the road ahead as she considered whether she’d have to divulge her past to give him an accurate answer.

Falco rode in the lead. Every so often the big gladiator ventured ahead to assess the route and look for any ambush. Otho and Rufus flanked each side of the coach, while Onesimus brought up the rear.

A rut in the road tossed her sideways into Quintus’s unyielding shoulder. His long fingers gripped her arm as he steadied her. He jerked his hand back, as though touching her caused him acute discomfort. Sadness settled over her. Why did he find her so repellent?

She cleared her throat. “Drusus is my cousin and last, although distantly related, relative. He is a drunk and as trustworthy as a thief in a gold mine. I didn’t choose him as my heir for his own merits. He has none. But as much as I loathe him, I love Octavia and their three daughters. I would have made Octavia or the girls my heirs, but Drusus had to do because he holds all legal rights over them.”

Quintus’s brows drew together as he considered the information. “If you were gone, who’s to say Drusus would honor your wishes and share your fortune with his children?”

“Before I made him my heir, he agreed to bestow a handsome portion on each of the girls. He signed contracts and my lawyers will see the matter is carried out as I desire.”

“Unless you perish by questionable means?”

She gripped the side of the bench as the carriage
swayed like a lumbering elephant. “Yes. In that case, Caros will inherit. He’s promised me each of the children will receive a third of my wealth once she marries and Drusus no longer controls her.”

“Why not cut out Drusus altogether and make Caros your heir in the first place?”

“Because of Octavia. There’s nothing I can do to see that she inherits directly, but it was…
is
my hope that if Drusus gained my fortune, she’d benefit in
some
way.”

“You’re a good friend, my lady.”

Warmed more by his compliment than the thick furs wrapped around her, she looked at him through the veil of her lashes. Her breath feathered in her throat and stopped altogether as she fell into a penetrating gaze the color of rare green glass.

“Quintus,” Falco called, drawing his horse alongside them. “This stretch of road seems quiet enough. I’m going on up ahead. I’ll return within half an hour.”

“Fine,” Quintus said, dragging his attention to the fierce gladiator. “Make note if you see a decent spot for us to rest.”

With a nod, Falco left. Rain splashed on the road’s stone pavers, nearly drowning out the clip-clop of horse’s hooves and the rattle of the coach.

Olive and cyprus trees lined both sides of the road. The sky stretched in an endless foreboding pattern of dark gray clouds and filtered light. Occasionally travelers headed in the opposite direction nodded or waved as they passed by, but the weather discouraged any verbal contact.

Quintus didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. Except for a few remarks to his men, he remained silent, his eyes focused on the course in front of them. His large hands deftly managed the reins.

Drowsy from lack of sleep the previous night, Adiona held on to the driver’s bench and fought to stay awake. The temptation to lean against Quintus beckoned her like a fire on a cold night. She resisted, certain he’d resent the task of holding her even if he didn’t push her away.

“What?” Her head jerked up and her eyes snapped open as strong fingers gripped her upper arm.

“You fell asleep,” Quintus told her. “You almost toppled off the bench.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyelids as heavy as stones.

“You didn’t sleep enough last night.”

“More than you.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t slept well in months. Are you sure you don’t prefer to rest in the back of the coach? You’ll be more comfortable.”

“No,” she said with a vigorous shake of her head.

He sighed. “Then come here.” Somehow he managed to hold her steady as he adjusted his right arm around her shoulders. The pelt he’d wrapped around himself encircled her, creating a warm, protective bubble.

Snuggled against him, she ignored the scratch of his tunic beneath her cheek and breathed in his spicy scent. The sway of the coach lulled her into a peaceful half-dream state where Quintus brushed a kiss across her temple and whispered gentle words like, “Sleep, my lioness, I’ll keep you safe.”

The reins in his left hand, Quintus held Adiona close with his right arm. He understood she wasn’t a woman who relied easily on others. The unintentional glimpses she’d given of her past revealed she had good reason to be wary. That she placed her confidence in him at a
time when he trusted himself least of all, both honored and hum bled him.

The rain had lessened to a sprinkle. The damp wool of his garb had rubbed him raw along the neckline. Not for the first time, he promised himself he’d buy a trunkful of soft linen tunics the same day he regained his freedom.

He consulted the mile marker as they passed by. A mere eight miles—about four hours if all went well—until they reached Ostia.

Falco should have returned long ago. A mix of concern and apprehension crawled up the back of his neck. The possibility that something nefarious had happened to the gladiator on his latest circuit couldn’t be discounted. But after their conversation this morning, Quintus realized Falco was far from sympathetic to Adiona’s plight—an opinion he’d taken great pains to hide before they’d left Rome.

As he always did, Quintus prayed for wisdom and for the truth to come to light. He clung to his faith, striving to believe God held them in His capable hands. Yet an insidious voice in the back of his mind refused to let him forget the Lord had ignored his prayers for his son’s safety and good health.

Now Fabius was dead.

What if God took Adiona, as well? His arm tightened around her slim form. He broke out in a cold sweat as rising fear warred with his faith. Endless torment-filled moments passed before his belief in God’s mercy won out.

Guilt snaked through him. Empty and wary, Quintus knew the Lord deserved more trust than he had to give. Fabius’s death had marooned him on an island of despair. He knew in his head the facts of faith—God had a plan
for everyone who gave their life to Him, but that knowledge wouldn’t bring his son back to life or keep Adiona with him if He chose to take her down a different path.

“Quintus.” Otho drew up alongside the coach. “Falco seems gone overlong, no?”

Snapped out of his bleak thoughts, Quintus nodded. “The same occurred to me.”

The younger man looked away, shamefaced. “I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t believe he was serious…now I have to reconsider.”

“What is it?” Quintus demanded. He drew back on the reins, slowing the horses to a stop. Otho followed suit while Onesimus and Rufus allowed their horses to drink from the ditch beside the road.

“Is the lady asleep?”

Quintus angled a glance at Adiona. She raised her hand to rest in the center of his chest. Her delicate fingertips stuck out from under the pelt covering the rest of her hand and arm. A slight smile curved her lips as she sighed and snuggled closer. Protective instincts surged through him. His heart thundered with tender emotions and yearnings so powerful it was as though Adiona was the reason his heart beat at all.

“Quintus? Is she sleeping?”

Stunned by the depths of his feelings for her, he tore his gaze away from Adiona and pinned Otho with a glare. “Yes, she is. What can you tell me?”

Otho’s eyes shifted nervously. “Falco went drinking after you relieved him from guard duty last night. I guess he’d had a few mugs too many when he approached me and Rufus at our post on the steps.”

“And?” Quintus prompted when the younger man hesitated. “What did he say?”

“He said we ought to kidnap the lady ourselves and
demand a king’s ransom because she’s worth a fortune. He said she deserved to be shaken up a bit after what she did to her husband.”

The horses nickered and stomped their feet as though they sensed Quintus’s fury.

“Of course we told him we weren’t interested,” Otho assured him in a rush. “Falco tried to laugh it off like he was joking, but…”

“Now he’s disappeared,” Quintus said, his rage brewing. “For all we know he joined the lady’s enemies and the lot of them are lying in wait up ahead.”

Otho nodded gravely.

A million thoughts vied for precedence in Quintus’s mind. He swiftly shifted through the mire, deciding the best course to keep Adiona safe. “You and Rufus switch places with the lady and me. She and I will ride the rest of the way and meet up with the three of you in Ostia. Give us an hour’s lead. If anyone
is
waiting to attack us they’ll be expecting the coach, not looking for their prey to be on horseback.”

Otho nodded and went to explain the situation to the other pair of guards. Quintus tied off the reins.

“My lady, wake up.” He shook her gently. The cloak fell back, revealing her mussed hair and unraveling braid. The thick black curve of her eyelashes rested against a soft ivory cheek. He ran his fingertip along her delicate jawbone and across the pout of her full bottom lip. “Quintus.”

The way she whispered his name in her sleep made his pulse speed. He resented having to give up the pleasure of holding her. “Adiona, we must leave.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked several times as she took in the wooded area to the left of the road and the lemon grove on the right. “Where are we?”

“Less than eight miles to Ostia.”

She clutched his arm beneath the pelt and pushed herself into a full sitting position. “What’s happened? Why have we stopped?”

Quintus rapidly apprised her of the situation. “It’s unconventional, I know, but can you ride?”

Pale and distraught, she nodded and swallowed hard. “What did I do to make Falco wish to harm me?”

“You did nothing.” He jumped down from the coach and raised his hands to help her down from the driver’s bench.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. Her brow creased with disbelief. “I must have done something.”

“He wants money.” He placed her on the ground beside him. “You’re not responsible for his greed.”

Otho cleared his throat nearby. “My lady, Quintus is right. You’re not to blame. Falco’s excuse to ransom you is based on rumors and—”

“Enough, Otho,” Quintus warned. “We’ve no more time to waste on speculation.”

“I want to hear the rest,” Adiona said stubbornly.

Quintus clenched his jaw. “I’ll tell you later. Otho, bring me your horse.”

Irritated by Quintus’s high-handed behavior, Adiona swore to learn the truth. All her life people had blamed her for the pain they caused her until sometimes she believed she
deserved
to be hurt. But Falco was different. Until they’d left Rome yesterday, she’d never even spoken to the monster.

Otho brought his mount forward, then returned to help Rufus gather a few supplies from the back of the coach. Adiona patted the horse’s sleek brown neck and introduced herself.

Quintus chuckled. “Don’t expect Spiro to understand
you. He’s one of Caros’s Spanish geldings. I doubt he speaks much Latin.”

She grinned and repeated herself in the Iberian tongue.

“Impressive, my lady. Are there other languages you speak?”

“Yes, two German dialects and Greek, but don’t tell Alexius.” Mischief sparkled in her amber eyes. “I find it humorous when he rattles on in his native tongue thinking no one understands him.”

Quintus laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I knew I could trust you the first moment I saw you.”

The admission caught him off guard, and judging by the rising color in her cheeks, she’d surprised herself, as well.

Of course, he remembered their first meeting—if indeed it could be called a meeting. He’d been at the
ludus
only a matter of weeks. Still weak and skeletal after his arrest and time in prison, he’d seen her enter the stands overlooking the practice field. She’d worn blue, her hair piled on her head and anchored with gold clips. To a man desperate for release from bondage in the hot dry sands of a gladiator school, she’d reminded him of the sky, fresh air and life-sustaining water.

He cleared his throat. “Your father must have prized you to make certain you were well educated.”

She turned her attention back to Spiro and straightened the pelt beneath the four-horned saddle. “I had my share of tutors. One taught me Greek, in fact. The other languages I learned from the slaves.”

“Then I’m doubly impressed by your intelligence. I had tutors and foreigners in my house, yet I learned only passable Greek.”

“I’m not surprised. You seem like you’d be a lazy student.”

Seeing she teased him, he arched his eyebrow in mock seriousness. “I preferred other subjects.”

“Such as? Chasing women—?”

“Philosophy and—”