The Patrician (21 page)

“And you do?” she challenged.

He held her gaze until she shifted beneath it. “Indeed, more than you can know.” He spun on his heel and sighted the path again. “You need to keep up and stay alert. If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it.”

Making for the sheltering shadows of a stretch of woodland, he wondered if she would defy him. He heard her frustrated growl followed closely by a curse muttered in her heathen language. If she kept this up, he’d soon be able to speak her barbarian tongue himself.

He frowned, adjusted the strap of the water skin so that it didn’t bang against his injured thigh. Maybe he was being too harsh, too controlling. Elizabeth had often chided him that he could not do it all, to let others bear some of the burden. But his cousin had never had to prove herself worthy. She was Hebrew, she knew her place in the world. No one ever questioned her value.

But this wasn’t like a business transaction. They were on the run and Bryna was the only link to the culprits behind his enslavement. It didn’t have anything to do with her headstrong ways, her sharp tongue and the worry that both would get her in trouble in a strange land. Why didn’t he let the little heathen loose, let her go her own way, allow her to be swallowed up by the corruption of Rome?

No, he did not have a choice. He had to take her with him to Alexandria because, despite her protests of ignorance, she still knew more than he did about the bastards behind his kidnapping. Once he found them, he would gladly let her go back to...wherever it was she was from.

Unless she continued this insane plan to find her brother, a brother who was dead or at least wished he was. He shook his head at the foolish plan.  No, he would put her on one of his ships, send her on her way. Away from the Romans she hated so much. Away from Alexandria.

Away from him.   

J
ared set a grueling pace after leaving Phoebus’ house. It was as if he were driven by some unseen force, some demon that would not let him rest—nor her in the process. But Bryna was determined not to lag behind. She didn’t want him accusing her of being a burden as well as a whore.

She supposed it was natural for him to make certain assumptions. Beside Baal’s bumbling effort, there had been other close encounters—a soldier on the journey from Eire, one of the slaver’s minions. Only Bran’s tale and the promise of gold had kept her safe. But she wasn’t like Silva, she wasn’t one of those females to lie with a man, master or not, to gain favor.

Still, the memory of his callused hand cradling her caused her breasts to go heavy. She had never experienced anything like the delicious warmth that had coursed through her body, curled in the pit of her belly. Could he do more? Could she do the same to him? She slapped an errant bush limb out of her path, ignored the sting as it hit the back of her leg. Gods, she needed to stay focused, instead of making up tales in her head. Staring at the ground, she did not see that he had stopped.

“Damn, woman! Are you blind?”

Bryna stumbled, glared at his sweat soaked back broad as a mountain before her. This was the third time he’d stopped in the short distance they’d traveled since eating. Bryna frowned as he placed a hand on a nearby tree and leaned heavily against it.

She stepped around him, spreading her fingers beneath the heat dampened hair plastered to her she lifted the damp tendrils into a knot. “Is the pain worse?”

He shot her an irritated look. “What you are talking about.”

“Your leg. Is the pain worse?”

“There is nothing wrong with my leg,” he snarled, wincing.

Bryna dropped the empty provisions sack on the ground and studied him. His skin was pale beneath the sun bronzed color. Fine lines around his mouth and dark circles beneath his eyes showed the strain he was under.

“You’ve been limping since yesterday and today it has worsened with each hour.” Her gaze slid to the edge of his tunic. She gasped at the angry red streak extending from the slice on his thigh down to his knee. “Your wound has festered.”

He waved her concern away. “It’s fine. I’ve suffered far worse pain under the lash than to worry about one minor cut.”

She sighed. Why did men always ignore their injuries? “You need to rest and prop your leg so that it may heal.”

“We cannot stop,” he answered, straightening.

“Surely we have put enough distance between Baal and his men? It’s been five days since we left the farmer’s. Besides, it is not good for you to be walking on the uneven ground of the forest.” She had stubbed her toes and lost her footing enough to know.

He tested his weight on the leg and grimaced, sending her a dark look that clearly warned her not to say a word. “I will not be walking on uneven ground.”

She snorted. “Don’t expect me to carry you. The weight of your arrogance alone is more burden than I can manage.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You won’t have to. Look ahead, there beyond the clearing.”

She looked in the direction he indicated. The forest ended at a meadow, which spread out to meet a road—a road filled with people walking to and from a collection of buildings. Bryna’s stomach flared with anxiety. “A town? Can we not go around it?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It would add a full day to try and circumvent it.” He nodded toward the line of hills that fanned out on either side of the settlement forming a valley. “We have no choice but to go through.”

Bryna chewed her bottom lip.

“Are you afraid?”

She met his steady gaze, forced her voice not tremble. “Yes,” she answered truthfully, glancing back at the town. “You are certain there is no way to avoid that route?”

Jared nodded, a flash of appreciation crossing his face. “You are right to be frightened. Word of our escape could have reached this far north.” Using the tree as a support he leaned back, beckoning her to him.

What did he want? Did he wish to kiss her again? In truth, the memory of it still lingered in Bryna’s mind. Cautiously, she complied, cursed when she jumped like a frightened rabbit as he pulled a woolen veil of light blue Sybyl had included among their clothes.

She forced herself to stand still while he draped the thin covering over her head, tucking several stray curls beneath the fabric. The brush of his blunt tipped fingers against her skin sent a shiver of excitement through her.

“Keep the veil on at all times and stay close to my side.” Jared rubbed his hand over his leather belt, absently stroked the hilt of a worn and dull knife given to him by Phoebus. She seriously doubted it could slice more than stale bread. He took a step forward and nearly fell as his injured leg buckled beneath him.

“Here,” she said, slipping beside him. “Wrap your arm about my shoulder.”

“I’ll crush you,” he argued.

“I am from Eire. We do not crush with any ease.” He snorted at that, but did as she asked, draping his arm around her, thank the gods for her nerves were strung tight enough without adding an argument to it.

There were other travelers on the road—a man shepherding three shaggy sheep from the fields, a farmer driving a two wheeled cart, his wife perched rigidly beside him while a handful of grubby children ran alongside. The cart was overflowing with baskets of eggs, vegetables and a disgruntled hen whose clucking drowned out the creaking of the wheels.

Bryna pushed against Jared’s weight, trying her best to appear at ease while clutching the end of the veil all while trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. A spotted mongrel trotted up to them, pressed his moist nose against her ankle. She yelped in surprise, causing several women carrying baskets full of raw wool to glance at them. The dog skittered away, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Jared brought his other arm around and stroked her cheek. He shrugged his shoulders in mock exasperation and smiled at the women. They giggled and ducked their heads.

“Why don’t you announce to the whole countryside that we are strangers!” He hissed into her ear, causing a tingle to run down her spine. “Are you so eager for the authorities to be notified?”

The wretch. She tried to disengage herself from his vise-like grip, but it was futile. He pressed her closer to his side, all but dragging her along as he found some renewed strength to lengthen his stride.

They entered the town through an arched gateway and found themselves absorbed into a milling crowd of people. Citizens of all types, young and old, rich and poor, slave and free bustled about intent on their business.

For once Jared did not have to worry about her straying. The press of bodies was overwhelming. She saw Baal in every face. She gripped Jared’s waist tighter and held fast to the hand on her shoulder.

A large woman bumped against her, snagging the edge of her veil with the basket she carried on her arm. Bryna saved the head covering, tugging at it and the basket before it ripped free. The woman muttered something angrily, making a gesture that Bryna knew to be an insult. She stuck her tongue out at the woman, then found herself propelled into a shadowed doorway.

Jared swore beneath his breath, snatched the veil back into place. Uneven stones bit into her shoulders as he pressed her against the lintel of the door. Standing with hands braced on either side of her head, he skewered her with those tawny eyes that for all their coldness warmed her deep inside.

“For God’s sake, Bryna, you act as though you’ve never been in a town before.” His breath fanned out warm against her cheek.

She turned her head trying to distance herself from those eyes, hating the rush of heat to her cheeks. Her spirit was being seared by his closeness, a closeness she did not seek, a closeness that both angered her and enticed her every sense.

“Look at me, you little barbarian!”

She snapped her attention back to him, refused to let her gaze waver, though the burning moisture behind her eyes blurred her vision. “The only time I have ever been in one of your grand Roman towns, I was led through the streets, bound in chains, while the good citizens threw rotten garbage in my face and called me all manner of vile names, not the least of which was barbarian!”

She expected anger, mockery, at the very least impatience. Instead, the hard lines around his mouth and eyes softened.

He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his own, his tongue seeking the softness of her mouth. She gasped, giving him the opportunity to plunge into her mouth, filling it with the taste of male.

Her mind ordered her to resist, but her body leaned into his. He responded in kind, kneading the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. He smelled of spice and musk, a scent that stirred her deep in the pit of her belly. It scattered her common sense into a thousand directions. Gods.

All too soon he released her and glanced out into the crowded street. Bryna ran her tongue over her swollen lips already missing the heat of his touch. A few young warriors, barely into their adolescence had stolen kisses from her before, but they had been tentative and filled with naiveté.

Jared’s kiss was searing.

“It’s safe now,” he said, pushing away from the wall.

Bryna blinked. “What?”

“The Roman soldiers, they’re gone.” He adjusted the veil back into place. “We were attracting a little too much attention. When they started over here, all they saw were two lovers making up after a quarrel.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or to just satisfy both feelings and slap him. Of course he wouldn’t kiss her of his own accord. She was nothing more than a barbarian, a slave—a foolish, stupid slave.

Well, she’d not make that mistake again. Oblivious to her dark mood, Jared picked up the discarded provisions sack. He swayed and stumbled reaching out to steady himself against the wall.

She crossed her arms and stared out into the street setting her jaw against her anger. It was nothing less than what he deserved. He would just have to walk on his injured leg unassisted, there’d be no more help from her. Behind her, Jared groaned. Bryna rolled her eyes, prepared to meet his next directive with a curt refusal.

Silence.

She turned in time to see him slump to the ground. Bryna crouched beside him and touched his arm. It was like touching an ember. How had she not noticed his fever when they’d kissed? A fine sheen of perspiration coated his upper lip and his color had gone ashen. She wiped his face with the edge of her veil. “Jared, can you hear me?”

He mumbled incoherent words, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and bright with fever. He didn’t seem to recognize her.

Gods, the infection had festered and was coursing through his blood. She had to find help. But from where? They were strangers. No worse, they were fugitives. Did this town have healers? She studied Jared’s drawn features. One thing was certain, if he did not receive attention soon, the poison spreading through his body would kill him. Her heart stuttered.

“Is your friend drunk?”

Bryna jumped. A stooped, balding man stood across the alley at the entrance to the marketplace. He studied them through small, black eyes that were nearly lost in a sea of wrinkles.

“No, he is ill,” she answered. She turned away praying he would leave. Instead he walked up beside them.

The old man raised one bushy gray brow. “That’s what my daughter used to say about her no-good husband.” He spit into the dirt. “Denied it up till the day the sot ran off with a dancing girl—and all their coin. Told her from the minute she brought him home he was scum. Worked myself near to death giving her a dowry like I was a rich patrician or something.”

Bryna did not care to hear about his daughter and her problems. She had plenty of her own. “My—f” She cringed inwardly. “—husband is ill. He has a wound that has festered and I fear poison is spreading in his blood.”

She shifted protectively over Jared as the old man shuffled closer, squinted at the angry gash on Jared’s thigh. “Yea, I’d say it was festered. You need a physician.”

Bryna dabbed at Jared’s brow with her veil. “We have no coin for a healer.”

The old man scratched his head. “You’re not from this town?”