Surrender to the Roman (6 page)

One look at her miserable sister told her so.

Sparing a glance toward the kitchen, she forced herself to her duties, her knees unsteady, her hands trembling.

“Take her with you.” Tertullian’s command stopped Ademeni midstride. “I brought your sister to assist you, Princess.”

Vile words balanced on the tip of her tongue. Before she could hurl them, Marcus, stepped between her and his brother-in-law.

Face ashen, his brows drew together, as if he’d read the vengeance etched on her heart. But when he blinked, she glimpsed something more, a pain in his eyes she couldn’t decipher.

Erring on the side of caution, she withdrew her attack on his guest. For now.

“Come.” She motioned to Lilah and stalked to the kitchen without waiting to see if she followed.

Once removed from the gathering, Ademeni turned her wrath on Lilah, heedless of the others working around them. “Wipe your face. You look like a whore.”

Lilah’s kohl-lined eyes widened and filled with tears. Ademeni cringed at the strength of her disdain for her younger sister. Lilah had never been strong enough to stand on her own, had always bent to the will of others.

An easy target for Tertullian.

“I don’t mean the things I say.” Cursing her temper, Ademeni hurried to embrace Lilah. She had missed her sister only moments ago. “I’ve taken my frustration out on you.”

Lilah, who had once been the most haughty of the king’s daughters, clung to Ademeni as if to a piece of driftwood in the middle of a storm-lashed ocean.

“He’s awful,” she moaned. “He takes pleasure in my tears.”

Ademeni dried her sister’s cheeks, a swell of compassion overcoming anger. “Why did he bring you?”

“To taunt you,” she said. “They fought about it, he and his wife. She hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?”

Lilah’s face turned white, her whisper harsh. “Surely your master requires the same things of you that mine requires of me.”

Ademeni’s stomach turned, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She saw no reason to tell her sister that Marcus had not yet forced any such indignities upon her.

When she opened her eyes, Flora motioned to her, a scowl set across her broad face. The short time for reacquaintance had ended. Duty called.

Steering Lilah onto a stool beside the warm oven, she instructed her sister to wait until summoned. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. When no one was looking, she wrapped a skewer into the loose fabric of her dress.

Surely the gods would provide a convenient time to kill the man who had killed her brother and her father, and now tortured her sister.

She hoped they would be expedient.

Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes from Ademeni. She darted from shadow to shadow. Beneath a Roman-style dress, her form took on new life, doubtless enhanced by his first taste of wine in several days.

He resented having her visible to anyone else, sharing her with his company in this capacity. In any capacity.

Nonsense. He tried to clear his head. But those pins made out of seashells…where had they come from? Years ago, hadn’t he’d seen something similar on his wife? He blinked. They looked like they belonged on Ademeni. He should be upset, but curiosity prodded his mind instead.

Over the mundane conversation, he peered at Lucia, drowsing on the couch to his right, then at Flora, waiting near the kitchen. Which one of them had helped Ademeni dress tonight?

A gentle breeze swirled in the courtyard, running flickering fingers through blazing wall sconces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with either woman, yet one or the other had taken a risk by giving her Julia’s pins.

Lucia smiled, speaking to Drusilla about a textile vendor at the market. She didn’t look the least bit guilty, but Flora wouldn’t have dared to give Ademeni any of his wife’s belongings. She wouldn’t have thought her worthy. His deductions pointed a strong finger at Lucia.

“You’re a thousand
mille
away, Marcus,” Tertullian prodded him. “Have we overstayed our welcome?”

Drusilla turned and inspected her brother while cuddling a sleepy Callia. He smiled, enjoying her company. “I’m fine, I assure you. It feels strange to be home.”

“You’ve been away far too long,” she said.

“Your grounds could use some work.” Tertullian grinned, raising his cup in salute. “But I haven’t told you the latest, my friend. The bulk of the army is on its way home. They struck out from Dacia this morning.”

Distrusting the glint in his brother-in-law’s eye, Marcus hedged his answer. “This is good news.”

“Word came after you left that Trajan will reinstate the games.”

“Really?” Gladiatorial games had never captured Marcus’s attention the way combat had, yet the pull of spectacle was hard to deny and very popular with the masses.

“One hundred days, that’s the rumor.” Tertullian reached for more fruit. “And that’s not the best part.”

Dread coiled in Marcus’s gut. The way emperors celebrated often made his duties more difficult. Returning armies could be unruly. “What’s that?”

“He’s bringing one hundred thousand male slaves from Dacia.”

The huge number caught in his throat. It seemed excessive, even after such an important victory. “For what purpose?”

Even as Marcus asked the question, he understood the significance of a public display. Dacia had been an enemy across some time. To take so many men from the province meant that Trajan wanted immediate colonization and subservience.

“For the games,” Tertullian said. “He’s granting land to soldiers already, and he’s looking for an architect to build a monument in the middle of Rome.”

“Of course.” Marcus lay back against a pillow. This shouldn’t bother him. Trajan wouldn’t be the first Roman emperor to host games, capture slaves or immortalize himself with stone. He brushed his annoyance aside. “It’s a great accomplishment.”

“He’s shown his opponents that he belongs on the imperial throne,” Drusilla interjected, her voice full of excitement. “And they said that installing a military man wouldn’t be in the best interests of Rome, that Nerva was one of a kind.”

True enough, maneuvering the empire away from imperial bloodlines had been a calculated risk. As Emperor, Nerva had produced no heir and adopted Trajan to become his successor.

“When will they arrive?” Marcus asked.

“Before the next new moon. But forget all this political nonsense.” Tertullian leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Would you enjoy some entertainment? The girl dances beautifully.”

The young Dacian woman appeared as if by divination, head bowed, too much of her body visible even in the shadows. Beside her husband, Drusilla tightened her posture and looked into the water as if something more interesting might happen there.

“She’s quite good.” Tertullian sneered, running his hand over her hip. “Very flexible.”

“No doubt,” Marcus mumbled. And far too young for the purpose. This could not happen tonight, should not happen ever. “Not tonight. I’m going to rest while I can afford to. I’m afraid I must call an end to the evening.”

Tertullian’s face reddened, but he held his tongue. A mask of calm understanding slid over his rage. “You work too hard, even here.”

While Tertullian’s hand never left the girl’s thigh, his eyes targeted Ademeni, on the other side of the room. They glared at each other as if about to meet in combat.

A silver object flashed in her hand. Marcus edged to his feet.

Her fingers curled into a fist, holding something in the swaying folds of her dress. Marcus blinked away the haze of wine. She’d moved close enough to Tertullian to make a solid attempt on his life.

“Perhaps you should stay home for a few days and refresh yourself,” Tertullian continued, unaware of the danger that approached.

Marcus rose to defend his guest, but could not let the subtle insult slide by. “Drusilla seems tired as well. See to your duty and take your wife home.”

“Yes,” Drusilla agreed with a nervous laugh. “It has been a busy day, and we have taxed you too long already.”

“There will be other occasions,” he muttered, his attention split between getting his guests out of the house and thwarting an attack on an unsuspecting, if deserving, soldier.

Marcus stepped into Ademeni’s line of sight as she drifted ever nearer. She sidestepped him, but he reacted with just as much speed. He captured her hand on the upswing and wrenched a sharp kitchen implement from her fist. Her eyes flashed with surprise then darkened to fury.

He tightened his grip on her arm, not surprised at the strength her hatred gave her. He dared not let her loose.

Tertullian leaped to his feet and shouldered up behind him. “What’s going on?”

Unable to break from Ademeni’s gaze, Marcus hid the makeshift weapon against his body. “Nothing.”

Drusilla stared, eyes wide, and he wondered if she understood how close her husband had come to serious injury. Understood that Tertullian might have deserved this servant’s wrath.

Taking a deep breath, Marcus turned to them with as much of a smile as he could muster. “The night has ended, and we will not be strangers—we are family, after all.”

Lucia hurried the last of the guests from the house, barring and locking the door under his watchful eye. He breathed a sigh of relief and released Ademeni, no tangible damage done.

She whirled, snatched up Callia and excused herself. “The child is exhausted.”

Gone with Tertullian were the feelings of hostility that had filled the space moments ago. Family or not, Marcus needed to rethink their relationship. The man seemed more menacing with each encounter, and now inside Rome, much of his behavior fell outside Marcus’s control.

The metal weapon warmed in his hand and he laid it aside without comment. No need to involve everyone in this business.

He watched Flora clear the courtyard of food and drink under Lucia’s gentle guidance while Ademeni paced the shadows after putting Callia to bed. He narrowed his eyes, studying the passionate Dacian woman. His pulse rose as she moved with fluid steps, graceful even under such pressure.

Surely, even in her anger, she expected he would punish her. And he should. The safety of his family came first, and she’d gone far beyond threatening only him.

The intricacies of life wrapped their many arms around him. He’d become entwined in subtle games with his second. No longer a simple soldier, Marcus had become embroiled in personal hostilities and intrigues under his own roof.

When had he started to sympathize with his enemy?

The surprise of that realization lodged in his throat. He’d suspected Tertullian’s sinister side, but his brother-in-law’s behavior tonight provided additional fodder that said he was not an honorable man.

Marcus glanced again at Ademeni, recalling the haunted look on her face in the Dacian cellar and the deep hatred moments ago. His life had become complex the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

Pity that to keep peace in his home, he’d have to punish her. There could be no question as to the order of things, even if he didn’t like it.

* * *

How foolish could she be? Had she not decided to step back, watch and learn?

One glimpse of that monster and she’d seen nothing but his blood on the floor. Lucia had hurried the guests from the house so quickly that Ademeni and her sister had been given no chance for farewell.

And now, she would be punished for raising her hand against the family of Marcus Cordovis. Her father had killed men for lesser offences. Still, given the same opportunity, she would make the same attempt over again.

She pushed her hands through her hair and took in Marcus from the corner of her eye. He prowled the front of the house like a lion, her weapon more powerful in his trained hands.

A stab of fear stole her breath. Patience was his ally. When the house had been put to order and the others had gone to bed, he would dole out her discipline.

And yet, he had not allowed Tertullian to shame Lilah.

Compared to his vile brother-in-law, Marcus had displayed some small amount of compassion. Not enough for her to let down her guard, but enough to make her unsteady.

Flora pushed by with a rude grunt, the bulk of the cleaning done. Lucia paused in front of her, glancing at Marcus, then back to Ademeni with a smile. “Time to rest.”

“Surely—” she started, then stopped. He would beat her.

“Go to bed,” Lucia advised. “If he cannot see you, his anger will lose its heat.”

Her parting words did little to calm Ademeni. His every move set her nerves on fire. Even behind the curtain of her small room, she would be able to hear his footfalls. She could not escape him.

One by one, Marcus extinguished the sconces, making a circle from one side of the house toward her. He made no sound, but his rigid spine and efficient movements made clear his mood.

Rather than wait for him to reach her, she escaped to the cool darkness of her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and held her breath as his footsteps approached.

Under the curtain in her doorway, reddish firelight died, replaced by the silver sheen of the moon against the flagstones. Marcus’s shadow lingered. Ademeni’s pulse thundered in her ears, and she pushed herself to her feet, ready to meet whatever demands he might place upon her.

His anger washed over her from the other side of the curtain. She’d lost her head and deserved his rage. Yet how could he not see the nature of his second in command and do nothing about the man’s craven nature?

She ached for Lilah, an aloof girl born with an airy, artistic bent that did not serve her here. Ademeni would have been able to bear Tertullian’s advances. She would have been more than a match.

That’s why he’d taken Lilah and given her to Marcus.

Her thoughts rounded to the general again. She rubbed her throbbing temples. Would he never make a move?

Stepping to the doorway, she flinched as he pulled back the curtain. When he pushed his way inside the tiny room, she gave ground, then gathered herself.

He filled the chamber with his presence. Even his scent and shadow took up tangible space, creating heat where before a cold wind blew. Her pulse increased to thrum against her ribs.

Thunder rolled through his eyes, but she dared not look away. Then, something in his expression flickered. For a moment she saw beyond his anger.

“You go too far.” His simple statement chilled her blood.

He had, even by her own royal standards, been gracious thus far. Still, someone needed to tell him the truth about his sister’s husband.

“You will not threaten anyone in my house,” he growled, jaw working between words. His gaze speared her. “I have been too lenient with you.”

Words escaped before she could check them. “My sister cannot stand up for herself. You see how he treats her.”

“You need not concern yourself with my family.”

“I am not concerned with your family,” she argued. “I am concerned with mine.”

Marcus pulled his hand back. She tensed, eyes closed, waiting for the blow to land. When it did not come, she peeked through her lashes and saw his confusion.

“You will not humiliate me in my own house.” His harsh tone stung, while his incredible restraint gave her relief. “You make judgments without all the knowledge required.”

She bit her tongue to keep from inflaming him further, as she’d never meant to call his manhood into question.

Shaking his head, Marcus stepped back, his hand massaging the back of his neck. “Tertullian was right about one thing.”

Ademeni could not imagine what that might be.

“My gardens look terrible,” he mused, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “You will bring them back to life.”

She blinked. He wanted her to get her hands dirty—dirtier than they already were? He’d lost his senses if he thought so.

The pitch of his voice fell, as if he told a secret. “You will not see the outside of this house until the work is done. Nor will you sit or play with my daughter until green things grow under your hand.”

She opened her mouth to protest, surprised by how deeply this hurt her heart. He’d taken the things that brought her some joy and intended to keep them from her. Without Callia’s company, the days would become endless. And if she couldn’t leave the house, she would never learn the streets.

Before she could speak, a rush of tears scalded her eyes, and she turned her head.

“You can start in the morning.”

When she next looked, he’d gone, and the room without him seemed larger than her father’s entire palace. Her skin prickled with cold, and she retreated to her straw bed to lick her wounds.

Marcus Cordovis puzzled her. His lack of physical punishment meant nothing when emotional torment hurt just as much. Maybe he was simply a different kind of brute, one who played on the heart and mind rather than the body.