Читать книгу The Protector - Carla Capshaw - Страница 10

He despises me.

Savaged by Quintus’s brutal assessment, Adiona swallowed the hard lump of rejection in her throat. Determined he would never know how deep his derision cut, she refused to march off in a display of wounded pride.

“My lady—” Quintus said, his voice reed thin.

“Why are you here?” Alexius jumped to his feet, his expression sheepish.

Careful to avoid the slightest glance at Quintus, she masked her humiliation behind the haughty facade she’d perfected long ago to protect herself. “Have you called a physician, Alexius? Or did you think a long chat would dislodge the arrow from his thigh?”

“I asked for help when I came in,” the Greek giant said defensively. “Quintus hasn’t been here long and he’s not the worst of the wounded.”

“Then I’ll fetch someone myself.” Grabbing the excuse to leave, she rushed down the busy corridor. She’d arrived to hear Alexius prompting Quintus to seek her out for coin and Quintus’s quick rejection of the idea. That he preferred to risk his life in the arena rather than spend time with her pierced like a gladius to the heart.

Angry with Quintus, and furious with her own naïveté, she berated herself for the foolish compulsion to see about his welfare. She should have guessed he was no better than all the other men who forever misjudged her, yet she couldn’t deny she had desperately wished he might be.

…Whose morals mimic a she-cat in heat.

The accusation went through her like a poisoned dart. If only he knew the truth. Every day was a struggle for her survival. All her life she’d fought off men who sought to use her, claim her, abuse her. Never had one looked past her outward appearance, fortune or social position to want her for herself.

Men are swine. She hated them. They could all rot for all she cared. Why did she think Quintus would be any different? What was it about him that made her forget she wanted nothing to do with any man?

She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her stola, blaming the torch smoke for the sudden sheen that blurred her vision. Idiota. Why did you let yourself hope?

In the main surgery, dust motes danced in the light pouring through a series of arched windows along the concrete walls. Herbal scents mixed with the harsh odors of vinegar and blood. Several physicians bent over drugged patients who’d been laid out on flat couches. Except for the murmur of voiced instructions, soft moans and the occasional ping of metal surgical instruments, the room was surprisingly quiet, the opposite of the chaos in the halls.

She stepped deeper into the light. “You, there.” She pointed to a balding man she’d seen several times at Caros’s compound. “Your name is Petronius, is it not?”

Petronius looked up from bandaging his unconscious patient. His eyes widened with recognition. “My lady Leonia, what are you doing here?”

“One of the gladiators from the Ludus Maximus needs your attention. He’s been shot by arrows and continues to bleed. Finish quickly with your work here and I’ll take you to him.”

The physician wiped his hands on a bloodied towel and surveyed his patient with an air of uncertainty. “I’ve done all I can for this one. Fate will do the rest.”

An assistant took over bandaging the unconscious gladiator while Petronius gathered a needle, stitching, a roll of clean linen and an arrow extractor. “I’m ready, my lady. Please lead the way.”

Adiona relieved him of the linen and wasted no time taking the physician to the alcove. Alexius met them in the shadowed corridor.

“How is he?” Petronius asked.

“He lost consciousness moments after Lady Leonia left to fetch you.”

The Greek’s announcement sent a chill straight down Adiona’s spine. Reason urged her toward the exit, but her feet refused to budge.

“How long has he been here?” Petronius knelt on the floor, his fingers testing the angry red wound on Quintus’s thigh.

“Less than half an hour is my guess.” Alexius took a torch off the wall and angled it to give the physician better light.

Adiona clutched the bundle of soft linen she held and bit her lip as every nerve in her body focused on Quintus and his treatment.

I should leave. I’m not wanted here. Quintus doesn’t want me here.

She handed the bandages to Alexius. Once again she turned to go. A moan from Quintus tugged her back. Despite her resolve to cling to her anger and put him out of her mind, she found herself by his side before she realized she’d taken a single step forward.

Being this close to Quintus was rare. He was a slave, a gladiator. Always a battlefield stood between them.

Unbidden emotions filled her heart. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch him. Torchlight danced across the lean angles of his face, the smudge of dark bristles that shadowed the sharp cut of his jaw. Her gaze roamed over the thick muscles that roped his arms and broad chest, the bloody arrow wound in his shoulder.

Wishing she could ease his pain, she noted how he’d changed since she’d first seen him. Five months ago, he’d been little more than skin and bones. Caros’s new slave with no more than a will to live and brooding green eyes. Green eyes that clashed with hers across a sea of golden sand and left her breathless.

She swallowed hard. “Will he recover?”

The physician shrugged. “It’s a clean wound, but only the gods can say.”

The pallor beneath Quintus’s sun-bronzed skin scared her. Hesitant to touch him in case she caused him further pain, she brushed a thick lock of black hair from his brow and murmured his name.

“Don’t bother, my lady. He can’t hear you,” Petronius said. “Until I get him stitched up, you don’t want him to, either.” He tossed the bloody arrow aside and it clacked against the cement floor. He set down the extractor, stemming the fresh spurts of blood with a piece of the linen bandage. “Hand me that bottle.”

Adiona did as commanded, forgetting she took orders from no one. The physician poured the foul-smelling liquid over the wound, then began sewing together the hole’s ragged edges.

Quintus’s face contorted with pain. He groaned through his delirium. She spoke softly to him and soothed his brow until he calmed, deciding she would just have to wait and hate him tomorrow.

Caros Viriathos studied the training field below his bedchamber’s second-story window. A bright winter sun had reached its zenith, flashing off his men’s metal helmets and various pieces of weaponry. His pet, Cat, sat quietly beside him. The tiger’s long tail swished on the mosaic-tiled floor as he sniffed the cool breeze carrying the scent of lamb meant for the noonday meal.

After a month away from the Ludus Maximus, it felt good to return, but since his marriage he acknowledged the gladiator school he owned and built no longer seemed like home.

His new wife, Pelonia, claimed that distinction in his heart. Wherever she was, he wanted to be. Together, they’d decided to start their lives afresh on the Umbrian hill estate once stolen from her father. Eager to leave for the villa and fertile lands he’d been able to return to her as a wedding gift, he had much to do to settle his affairs here in Rome.

He heard his wife’s voice calling for him from out in the corridor. Assuming she had questions about the wedding feast they planned for Friday evening, he turned, a smile curving his lips. It quickly faded as she hurried through the door, her doe-brown eyes filled with distress. He and Cat both moved toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Did you know Quintus was injured while we were away? Alexius entered him in the games!”

He sighed. Home less than an hour and she’d already heard the bad news. He folded her in his embrace, enjoying how she fit against him, her floral scent, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I know. Alexius tried to help him—”

“By tossing him into the arena?” She pulled back and looked up at him with a dubious frown. “Quintus is a brother in the Lord. He’s a slave because of his faith in Christ. You should free him, Caros. Not allow him to be maimed or worse in that horrid ring of torture.”

He felt her shudder and knew she remembered the day she’d been cast into the arena for her faith. He kissed her brow, grateful the Lord has spared them both, yet wishing he could erase the nightmare for her. “I tried to free Quintus before we left for Umbria. I know he wants his liberty and I had no intention of sending him to fight.”

“Then why—?”

“Because he declined my offer. If he accepted, he’d be indebted to me or so he claimed. He’s a merchant, Pelonia, and a proud man with self-respect. He knows the value of a denarius and he’s determined to pay his full debt himself.”

“But how can he if he has no coin? Why not loan—?”

He shook his head. “I offered. Again, he declined. He won’t take anything that isn’t earned. When he leaves here, he intends to be free in every sense of the word.”

“So Alexius entered him in the arena for the prize winnings.” She searched his face. “But Quintus has only trained five months. How can he be ready?”

He tucked a soft tendril of black hair behind her ear. “Under normal conditions, I’d say he couldn’t be, but Quintus is keenly intelligent and surprisingly agile for one of his class. After he’d been here only a matter of weeks he was already making progress with some of the more advanced battle stances. Alexius told me he fought well.”

“What does that matter now that our friend is injured? His life is worth more than silver. He could have died.”

He lifted her chin with his index finger and looked deeply into her eyes. “Isn’t it you who always reminds me God has a plan for everyone’s life?”

She nodded, but her mouth drooped into a playful pout. “It isn’t nice to throw my words back in my face.”

“And it’s such a beautiful face.” He chuckled and kissed away her frown. “You should be thankful you have a husband who listens.”

She hugged him tight and laughed. “Oh, I am, believe me.”

“Then listen to me,” he said, pleased to see her smile again. “All will be well with Quintus. I’ve denied his request to reenter the ring—”

“What? He asked for another fight? Does he have no care at all for his life?”

“I admit his spirits seem much lower than when we left a month ago. He has the hardened look of a man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies. That’s to be expected after all he’s suffered, but for the moment at least, I’ll ensure he stays breathing. I’m confident the Lord will reveal a way for me to help him earn his freedom without the aid of the arena.”

“Well, then,” she said, resigned, “we shall just have to wait and see.”

Cat bumped Pelonia, jolting her sideways, his patience for attention at an end. Laughing in surprise, she bent over the tiger and nuzzled the top of his striped head. She rubbed Cat’s ears and grinned at Caros. “I think he missed me.”

“I know I would if we were separated a month.”

“A month?” She grimaced. “Don’t think you’ll ever be free of me that long.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Watching her affectionate play with Cat, he marveled at how important she’d become to his happiness, his peace of mind. He tugged her back to him and kissed her tenderly. “A month would be an eternity I couldn’t endure. I miss you the moment you leave my arms.”

Quintus finished the letter he’d written to his brother and rolled up the scroll once it dried. Since his arrest, he’d lost track of the number of messages he’d sent Lucius. None of the correspondence had been answered and he despaired of hearing back from his good-natured but irresponsible twin.

For all he knew, Lucius had taken the gold Quintus entrusted to him after his arrest and traveled to Capri to waste it on dancing girls and honeyed wine. That Lucius had been the sole person Quintus had to rely upon from his prison cell testified to the bleakness of his situation at the time.

Praying Lucius wouldn’t let him down again, he dressed and left the gladiator barracks. Caros’s visit earlier in the morning had been a blessing. It pleased him to know his friends were content and encouraged his faith to see God’s hand at work in their lives.

Drawing in a deep breath of cool, winter air, he crossed the training field, eager to get back to sword practice and regain his full strength. After four days, his wounds were healing. The twinge in his shoulder bothered him less and less, while the ache in his thigh caused no more than a slight limp. It was his dreams of Adiona’s glorious amber eyes and flowing dark hair that conspired to torture him.

He searched the stands until he realized he was looking for those same amber eyes in person. Had he really believed she might be there just because Caros had returned to Rome? Disgusted by his disappointment in her absence, he despised the flaw in him that continued to crave a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

“Why are you out here?” Alexius called from a short distance down field. “Go back to the barracks. You’re supposed to rest at least another two days.”

Quintus waited for Alexius to work his way through the maze of gladiators and other training apparatus. “I’d rather bleed to death out here than die of boredom inside that sweltering jail.”

Alexius laughed and clapped him on his good shoulder. “Normally, I’d take pity on you, but Caros and Pelonia are hosting a wedding celebration Friday eve. I have strict instructions to make certain you’re well enough to attend.”

“I’m well enough now.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the main house. A sense of peace radiated from the domus. The open shutters welcomed the sunlight and laughter carried on the breeze from the second-story window.

A shaft of unexpected envy lanced through him. He didn’t begrudge Caros and Pelonia’s happiness, but he couldn’t stop wondering why God had denied all his prayers for a loving wife and a joyful home. He’d spent years praying for Faustina to come to Christ. He’d done his best to be a good and godly husband, but she’d shunned him and his beliefs. Now it was too late. Faustina had taken her own life after the tragic death of their son.

Quintus shrank away from thoughts of Fabius. His son had been his reason to wake each morning. Every detail from his mischievous smile to his boundless energy had been a wonder. Now all Quintus had left was an eternally broken heart.

“Quintus? Did you hear me?”

He blinked and focused on Alexius who watched him with intense silver eyes. “No. What did you say?”

“I said you might be interested to know the widow Leonia will be a guest at the master’s fete Friday.”

Quintus’s heart kicked against his chest and his pulse quickened. He clawed his fingers through his hair, schooling his features to hide his reaction. “What does she have to do with me?”

“After what she overheard in the hospital, I’d wager you’re not her favorite person.”

“Most likely not. If I’m able to speak with her at the party, I’ll apologize.”

“I’ve known her a number of years,” the Greek continued. “So take this as a friendly warning. Say nothing to her and stay clear of her presence. When she’s riled, Adiona Leonia resembles one of the lions her family is named for.”

Quintus ignored his sudden impatience for the party’s arrival. Adiona may be a lioness, but he’d meet her at the gate when she arrived, before she had time to join the festivities and he, as a slave, lost the chance to speak with her. Despite the countless rumors among the men in his barracks, Quintus didn’t believe the widow’s heart was made of marble. He had no excuse for the cruel things he’d said about her and after all the mistakes he’d made in his own life, who was he to criticize her manner or her morals?

Alexius laughed suddenly. “But then, given the odd connection between you two, perhaps you’re just the man to tame her.”