Читать книгу The Protector - Carla Capshaw - Страница 12

“Have you lost your mind, Caros?” Incredulous, Adiona stared at her friend as though he’d grown two heads. The very idea of Quintus acting as her bodyguard made her tremble.

“No, I’m sane enough.” Caros crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned against the marble desktop. Morning sunlight streamed through the office’s east-facing windows and glinted off the jewel-toned tiles in the mosaic floor. “You need a strong, trustworthy leader for your guard if you mean to leave for Neopolis anytime soon.”

“Quintus is capable for certain, but he despises me. What makes you think he’ll agree to your plan?”

“He doesn’t despise you.” He ignored her snort of disbelief. “He’s already agreed.”

Her heart skipped a hopeful beat. “He has?”

“He wants to earn funds to buy his freedom. Your situation provides a perfect solution to that end.”

“Yes, perfect,” she said tightly, wounded by the painful knowledge that Quintus had to be bought to spend time with her. She tugged the leaf off a potted plant, grateful Caros hadn’t noticed the root of melancholy growing inside her. “Why force him to buy his freedom? You’ve released your other slaves and kept only volunteers since you became one of those Christians. Why not simply release him? You have no need of money.”

“I’ve tried. He calls it charity and won’t accept my offer. The two of you need each other.”

She cringed at the idea of needing anyone. Unlike most men, Caros wasn’t stupid. He possessed hawklike powers of observation. He was aware of how attracted she was to Quintus and just how much Quintus chafed at being within a mile of her. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think her long-time friend was making a cruel joke at her expense. “I thought when you wed Pelonia you’d grow tired of meddling in my affairs.”

His smirk slid into a full grin. She gritted her teeth, vexed she seemed incapable of sparking the tiniest flame of irritation in him when his plans had left her capsized and floundering.

She moved to the window, in need of air and something to focus on beside the conflicting mix of excitement, longing and fear that threatened to drive her mad.

Gladiators trained in the field below. She winced when she caught herself searching greedily for the tall Christian who tormented her thoughts by day and her dreams by night.

She twisted the end of her long braid around her finger. The clack of wooden practice swords and the glint of sunlight on shields reminded her of the attack the previous evening. She closed her eyes, absorbing the loss of her men, men she barely knew and shared no bond with beyond that of master and slave. What if Quintus were her protector and she was attacked again? What if Quintus suffered the same deadly fate as Titus and her other guards?

She clutched her chest as a sudden rush of anguish robbed her of breath. She must keep him safe. How would she ever be able to live with herself if any harm came to him because of her?

“Adiona?” Caros asked.

“What?” Embarrassed by her overwrought reaction, she wrenched her eyes open and pretended interest in the gladiator practice.

“Are you well?”

“Of course,” she whispered just as she spotted Quintus training with another gladiator in the center of the field.

Her traitorous heart leaped at the sight of him and his powerful movements mesmerized her. A voice of reason clamored in the back of her mind to leave the window before he saw her, but her feet seemed buried in the concrete floor.

Without warning, Quintus broke from the fight and glanced her way as though her presence called to him from across the sand. He turned slowly toward the house. The sharp, angular cut of his jaw was locked tight, his full lips unsmiling. Sweat poured down his temples and the bronze column of his throat, soaking the front of his dark tunic. His muscled arms and legs seemed relaxed in their stillness, but the intensity in his gaze exposed the turbulent inner man that both frightened and fascinated her.

As their eyes locked, tender feelings unfurled within her chest. Despite her best efforts to remember his disdain for her, she found her thoughts focused on the gentleness and security she’d found in his embrace the previous night.

Confused and aggravated by her reaction when she’d vowed to feel nothing but hate for the slave, she shivered, uncertain if it was the chill in the air or the coldness of Quintus’s wintry gaze that spread ice through her veins.

Never had she felt more powerless to protect herself. Not when her father sold her off, not even when her husband locked her away in a damp cellar for days or when he ordered his minions to torment her for his amusement.

She swallowed the sharp lump in her throat and shoved the nightmares back into the dark recesses of her mind where the pain was more manageable.

Quintus’s beautiful mouth compressed. He seemed irritated. As though he, too, had been caught unaware by the sight of her and was unable to sever the ever-tightening bonds that drew the two of them together.

Don’t be an idiota. Scoffing at the fanciful idea of Quintus bearing her any emotion beyond dislike, she blamed the morning sun for the sudden flare of heat in her cheeks.

Caros gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You know I’ll concern myself with your affairs until I’m satisfied you’re safe and no longer need me,” he said, bringing her back to their conversation. “I’ve acted as your defender too long to leave you to the wolves now.”

“I know.” Every nerve in her body begged her to turn back to Quintus and she was grateful Caros was there to keep her from acting on the foolish impulse. “I’m truly thankful for your friendship.”

He waved away her gratitude. “Will you trust me then? Quintus is the best man to keep you in one piece. If I weren’t convinced of his abilities, I wouldn’t suggest him.”

She eased from his grasp. With a fleeting glance out the window, she saw Quintus was gone. Her heart heavy with disappointment, she knew it wasn’t Caros she didn’t trust.

I don’t trust myself.

She made her way to the couch across the room. Aware that she was being a coward, she found it infinitely safer for her peace of mind to indulge her fascination for Quintus from a distance.

“I’d prefer someone else.”

“You’re just being stubborn.” He ran his scarred fingers through his hair. “You won’t leave here without Quintus in command of your guards.”

“You can’t make my decisions for me.”

“No, but I can lock you in a room upstairs until I discover your attackers and have them arrested.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Furious he threatened her freedom, the one thing she valued most, she began to pace as though looking for a way of escape. “I’d never speak to you again.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the office and glared at him. “Fine. Have the slave packed and ready to leave within the hour.”

Caros’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she managed not to flinch. He knew her too well. It wasn’t like her to capitulate with ease. But why waste time arguing with the stubborn ox when she could simply agree, then order Quintus back to the ludus once they’d safely left the city? She had the other members of her guard to protect her if the need arose, while Quintus’s absence assured he wouldn’t come to harm because of his association with her.

“It wouldn’t be wise of you to leave until late in the afternoon.”

“You know I must reach Neopolis as soon as possible. If there’s a chance to see Octavia before the end, I’d like to.”

“I understand.” He spoke gently as though she were one of his skittish Spanish mares. “But think, you may not reach her at all if you don’t proceed with caution. Preparations must be made and new guards chosen if you’re to be kept safe. Leaving later will provide the time we need to find the right men and ensure enough light for you to make the first tavern outside the city before nightfall.”

“Fine,” she snapped, rife with frustration, but unable to argue with the truth. “We’ll wait. However, I will leave for Neopolis today, and gods protect you if you try to stop me.”

When the sun began to wane and the afternoon turned cooler, Quintus made his way to the courtyard behind the main house. Most of the day had been spent in unbroken activity. After praying for wisdom, he and Caros had weighed various plans of escape and worked out the quickest, safest route to Neopolis. Quintus had overseen every detail of the trip’s preparations himself. His own life meant little to him, but the thought of Adiona coming to harm chilled him to the marrow.

The pair of geldings he’d chosen for the road portion of the journey to the port town of Ostia waited to be hitched to the raeda, a small covered coach in the center of the courtyard.

Alexius hailed Quintus from where he sat on a bench under an olive tree. The Greek joined him by the horses. He broke his half-eaten apple in two and fed a piece to each animal. “These scruffy beasts have certainly seen better days, no? With Caros’s stable flung wide for you, why not choose horses with more…appeal?”

Eager to get the journey under way, Quintus cast a glance around the walled space until he located the assembly of formidable guards he’d selected based on their swordsmanship, speed and, most importantly, intelligence.

“These mounts are perfect for my purpose,” he said, turning back to Alexius. “I picked them for strength, not beauty. If Lady Leonia’s assassins are watching the compound, they’ll expect her to leave in luxury, not cramped in the back of a shabby covered wagon.”

“Good thinking, but I’m surprised Adiona agreed.”

“I didn’t ask her.”

“I see.” Amused disbelief crossed the Greek’s dark features. “Do you mind if I stay until you do ask her? That ought to prove entertaining.”

“She’s an intelligent woman. She’ll see reason.”

“Usually I’d agree with you,” Alexius said, trying not to laugh, “but the lady seems most unreasonable where you’re concerned, my friend. In truth, I’ve considered lending you my armor for this venture.”

Quintus offered a halfhearted smile. Alexius had a knack for turning every situation into a farce, but in this case he was too close to the truth for comfort. The next two weeks promised little but inevitable arguments and power plays. He didn’t delude himself into thinking Adiona would be placid or agreeable, but he was determined to fulfill his duty and keep her safe no matter how often she tempted him to wring her slender neck.

Whatever it takes to earn my freedom.

Disgusted with himself to realize a part of him looked forward to being with her no matter how badly she behaved, he crawled under the raeda to ascertain the underpinnings were sound enough to hold the bounty of possessions a peacock like the widow was sure to require. Satisfied all was well, he slid out from under the vehicle, dusted off his tunic and went to check the supplies.

He opened the coach’s back door, expecting the covered space to be stuffed with Adiona’s frivolous trinkets and overabundance of clothing. To his surprise, no new chests had been added to the foodstuffs and amphorae filled with water he’d placed there earlier.

What is she waiting for?

He bristled, recalling the orders she’d sent for him and his men to be ready to leave when she commanded. The curt note still rankled. He should have ignored the missive like he’d intended. As he’d expected, she was the last to arrive.

Alexius said farewell and wished him a safe journey. Another hour passed and Adiona had yet to make an appearance. His temper rising, Quintus began to pace. He’d gone over his orders with his men and the horses were restless. He’d hoped to leave while there was enough light to see them safely beyond the city gates and installed in a tabernae before darkness made them prey for thieves and other riffraff. Not for the first time that day, he wondered if Adiona had any concept of the lengths he and her friends had gone to to ascertain her welfare.

A servant girl with a leather satchel approached from the direction of the main house. Quintus recognized her as the maid Adiona had sent for earlier in the afternoon. Tall and slim, the girl’s wool tunic matched her dark brown hair and eyes. She seemed as timid as her mistress was untamed.

“I’m called Nidia,” she said shyly, her eyes downcast. “My lady said she’ll be along in a moment. These are her belongings.”

Quintus took the satchel she held out to him. It was lighter than he expected. There must be some mistake.

“There’s no more,” Nidia said as though she guessed his thoughts. “My lady realizes you mustn’t be weighted down if you mean to travel quickly.”

Mystified but pleased by Adiona’s good sense, he placed the satchel in the back of the covered cart and latched the wooden door just as Caros made his way through the gate that separated the courtyard from the private gardens of the main house.

“Are you ready to leave?” the lanista asked.

“Only for the last two hours.”

Caros grinned. “No one claimed punctuality is one of Adiona’s virtues.” Quintus snorted.

“She does have virtues, you know. She strives to keep them hidden, but I’m confident you’ll see the truth once you’ve spent some time with her.” Caros grinned at Quintus’s dubious frown. “To be fair, I think she’s tardy now because of a late delivery of tunics she ordered.”

“That’s understandable,” Quintus said drily. “Wouldn’t want to be unfashionable when we slink away in the dark.” The lanista chuckled. “There’s plenty of light. You’ll make it to the inn before night falls, just as you planned.”

“Not if we don’t leave soon.”

Just then, Pelonia and Adiona came into view. Their quiet conversation failed to carry across the courtyard, but their serious expressions warned of their concerns.

Quintus focused on Adiona, an unsettling yet unbreakable habit he’d developed over the last several months. The surprise of seeing her dressed in a slave’s tunic and worn leather sandals left him momentarily speechless. She should have looked ordinary, drab, but the harsh, shapeless wool and rope belt failed to disguise her willowy frame or delicate bone structure.

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.