Читать книгу The Roman’s Revenge - Caroline Storer - Страница 10

Dawn couldn’t come soon enough, Livia thought, as she lay there watching the black night turn to a dusty pink, bringing with it another day.

A new day in which they would head out, and try and survive the unknown perils inflicted on them by this remote island. She turned, and bit back a small groan as her muscles protested in anger at the hardness of the sand beneath her thin cloak.

She’d hardly slept at all last night, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, lying there, hour after hour listening to the alien sound of another person sleeping next to her. It had guaranteed a sleepless night. Metellus, on the other hand had slept the whole night through if his deep, even breathing was any indication!

“Are you awake?”

His words startled her, and her eyes swivelled to where he lay on his makeshift bed. She couldn’t see his features, because he still lay on his back. How on earth did he know she was awake? Was the man cursed with some sort of magical powers? She was tempted to ignore him, but she remembered his orders yesterday, about their survival, and how she had to obey his commands, so she thought better of it. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Good. Let’s get started. I want to break camp and head off as soon as possible.”

And with those brief words, he rose, and started packing their meagre possessions away. Livia sighed. Today was going to be a long day. A very long day indeed.

Several hours later, Livia was wishing she had stayed abed as she took one more agonising step forward. Every muscle in her body screamed out in protest and she lifted a shaking hand to wipe the sweat off her face. They had been walking for the best part of the morning, and she didn’t know if she could take another step. Her head pounded, as she desperately fought back a wave of nausea.

“Metellus! Could…could I beg a little water please?” Those were the first words which had been spoken between them since they had arisen and broken camp. Metellus had been remarkable tight lipped since they had set off. No doubt he was still regretting kissing her yesterday…

Thankfully he stopped walking, and glanced across at her. His countenance was stiff and unyielding and Livia couldn’t help but notice that he looked more like a soldier than someone who toiled aboard a ship. He was wearing one of the red cloaks, obviously to protect his skin against the blistering sun. Strapped to his waist was one of the soldiers’ swords, and his bare muscled arms glinted with sweat from his exertions. Livia shivered at the masculine image he portrayed, as he stood watching her. He looked ready for battle rather than walking across endless miles of sand…

But when he saw her face he frowned, and dropped the makeshift sleigh he’d been dragging behind him, and walked over to her. With gentle fingers he lifted her chin. Something shifted in his eyes as he frowned down at her. “Are you ill?” he asked, his voice uncharacte‌ristically soft.

“No not ill, just-” The words ended abruptly, when she fell forward, dropping the cloaks and some utensils she had been carrying, before everything went blank.

With lightning reflexes Metellus lunged forward, reaching for Livia just in time, so she fell into his arms and not onto the hot sand. He wrapped his arms around her. She felt so slight, so fragile, her bones as delicate as a bird he’d once held in the palm of his hand. Her arms flopped down by the side of her body, and Metellus lifted her higher so he now held her against the hard wall of his chest.

With an unconscious movement he dropped his chin until it rested on the top of her head, the gesture one of protection as he tried to ignore the press of breasts against the hardness of his muscles. But their fullness tempted him, so soft, like a plump cushion that he wanted to lay his head on and savour the sweetness of them with his mouth and tongue-

“Hades!” He cursed, annoyed with himself for once again falling under the spell of attraction he felt for this woman.

He lowered her to the ground, his movements gentle, and once he was certain she was a comfortable as possible he looked up at the sky. The sun was at its zenith, and they had been walking during the hottest part of day. What had possessed him to allow her to walk for so long in the heat? It was obvious she wasn’t strong enough to cope with the gruelling pace he had set since early that morning.

He had to get her out of the sun; so once again he lifted her into his arms, and walked back up the shoreline so she could at least benefit from the shade of the trees. Once he had lowered her onto the sparse grass which grew there, he ran back down to where he had left their supplies.

He untied the barrel of water from the makeshift sleigh of branches he’d made, his fingers fumbling with the leather strips which had been used to secure it; strips he’d taken from the sandals of the dead soldiers he’d had to bury. As he worked at the knots he cursed himself once more. He had been so preoccupied with trying to find out whether or not there was any life on the island, he had dismissed Livia out of hand.

And if he was honest with himself, he had deliberately blocked her out of his subconscious, trying to forget how good she had felt in his arms last night when he had kissed her. It was a kiss he had wanted to forget, and he had to some extent, but it had been at her expense!

Once he had the barrel upright, he opened the lid and reached for the small wooden bowl floating inside. Scooping out some of the precious water, ignoring the fact they had so little left, he walked back up to where Livia lay. She was still unconscious, her breathing rapid and shallow and he dropped to his knees. With shaking hands, he once again trickled water into her mouth, like he had done on the five days previous when she had lain unconscious.

The coolness of the water trickling down her throat was like ambrosia from the Gods and Livia flicked out her tongue, tasting the sweetness of it, desperate for more.

“Not too much, or you will make yourself ill.”

At Metellus’s whispered words, Livia opened her eyes and saw him kneeling over her. Concern was etched on his face, reflected in the darkened grey of his eyes.

“What…what happened?” She asked, aware of the huskiness of her voice as it rasped past her dry throat.

“You fainted.”

“Oh.”

“It was my fault. I should have realised you were still too weak to walk so far.”

“Oh.”

Metellus lips quirked, “Is that all you can say?”

Livia watched in fascination as a small dimple appeared on the right hand side of his face, and she was aware her mouth had opened in shock. Had he really just smiled down at her? She must indeed be ill! But before she could say anything to his last question, Metellus stood up and went over to where a small sapling grew. She watched as he stripped off several long branches, aware of his muscles rippling and bunching with the effort it took, until he came back to her, holding the branches up above his head like a slave carrying an ostrich feather parasol.

She realised what he was intending, and a warm glow flowed through her. His kindness was rather surprising, considering all that had happened between them so far.

“Thank you. The shade will help. You are most kind.”

Her words were met with a bark of harsh laughter and she saw his face close. Once again she’d managed to say the wrong thing.

“’Kind’ is not a word often used when describing me, Livia Drusus. You had best remember that.”

Livia stiffened at the sarcastic tone, and turned away from him. There was no reasoning with the man, “Yes. How stupid of me to forget,” she snapped, and made to stand up, not wanting to give him any excuse for her delaying them.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, “We will stay here for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, when you are rested, we will set off and try to make a full day of it.” Then he turned, and walked back down to where he had left their supplies.

Livia leaned back down on the grass and closed her eyes, willing the gods to send a ship to rescue her. Now!

Once again, Livia woke up early, and this time, before Metellus could ask whether she was awake or not, she got up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Metellus was still asleep. She saw with a start, that the woollen cloak he was using as a blanket had slipped down to his waist, revealing the broadness of his naked chest, and his naked body.

Totally naked body she realised, her eyes widening, when she spotted his thin woollen tunic lying next to him. Her mouth went dry at the sheer beauty of his body as her eyes tracked the vast expanse of his chest, the hard muscles bronzed to a dark golden brown; muscles so well delineated, Livia had the urge to run her hands over them to see if they were as warm, and as hard to the touch as they appeared.

Once again she couldn’t help but acknowledge how handsome he was. It was a shame his tongue wasn’t as pleasing as his body. And as she thought of his tongue, and remembered the kiss they had shared, her eyes lifted to his face…and met his inscrutable gaze once more.

Hades he was awake! Awake and watching her, his face expressionless, closed. Livia’s stomach dropped as if someone had just punched her – hard – and she pulled in her lower lip in consternation, annoyed with herself for having been caught staring at him again. She looked away and walked over to where the water barrel stood. Taking a small cup of water she sipped from it slowly, ignoring the trembling of her hands.

As she drank the water, taking an inordinate amount of time in doing so, she heard him get up, and the slight sounds of fabric rustling as he put on his tunic caused her to shiver in longing. Breathing in deep, she tried to shake away the mental image she had at the thought of the fabric of his tunic sliding over his naked body. She had just about managed to do so when she felt his presence behind her. She stiffened, battling the urge to turn to face him, to bury her head in the strength of his chest. He was so close, tension radiated between them as she felt the warmth of his breath on the exposed part of her neck.

“Could you pour me some as well?”

“Yes.” Her voice, she noticed sourly, sounded like a squeaking mouse, and she felt heat crawl up her body. Why did this man make her feel so self-conscious? She was a woman of Rome, a widow even, not some simpering girl in the first flush of youth! With shaking fingers she poured out some water before thrusting out her hand, waiting for him to take the wooden cup. She quivered when his fingers touched hers, and she pulled away, her movements abrupt before she stepped away from him, breaking the tension which seemed to be there every time he came within touching distance. She walked back to where she had slept, picked up her red cloak and folded it with jerky movements before doing the same with Metellus’s.

She really had to control her emotions more when she was around him. She was fast becoming a liability to herself. Hadn’t Metellus made his feelings plain enough yesterday? She would do well to heed his warning…

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without mishap. She was able to keep pace with Metellus this time, partly due to the shade provided by the branches of the tree he’d cut down for her, and which he’d tied to the makeshift sleigh so it draped over her as she walked; and partly due to the fact he’d slowed the pace down considerably.

Livia didn’t know how much ground they covered that day, but it must have been many miles. She noticed that the terrain up ahead had changed, the sandy beach coming to an end in about another half a mile or so to be replaced by a rocky coast line.

“Does the change in terrain mean anything?” She asked, when they had stopped for the day, and made camp.

Metellus frowned, staring at the rocky outcrop ahead of them. “I don’t know. But I pray to the gods it will mean we can soon find some food and water.”

“Do you know where we are? The island, I mean…”

Metellus shook his head. “Not really. The storm was so fierce, the ship could have been blown anywhere. But, if I were to hazard a guess, I think we may be on one of the Greek islands. But like I said, I’m not sure.”

“Have you been to any of the Greek islands before?”

Metellus grunted, and shook his head, “No. I’m just a humble merchant that’s all. This would have been my first trip. I recently took over the family business from my uncle. We sell wine to Africa and then import papyrus paper back to Rome. This was my inaugural voyage. Not a good start was it?”

Livia lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t thought him to be a merchant. Rather, when she had seen him on the deck that first time, she had convinced herself he was just one of the sailors.

“Looks can be deceiving, Livia.”

She blushed, when she realised he had read her thoughts – again. She shrugged, a small smile playing on her mouth. “Yes, I realise that. But like you say, looks can be deceiving.”

That evening a companionable silence fell between them, as they ate their small ration of dried beef. As Livia chewed on a small piece of meat, she couldn’t help but remember the food back home at her father’s villa, and for the first time in days she felt real hunger, and her stomach growled out in protest. Loudly.

So loudly, that Metellus looked across from her and smiled, “Me too. I’m so hungry I could eat anything.”

Livia laughed and smiled across at him. “I must remember to recommend this to my father’s cook when I get back home,” she said, lifting up the piece of dried meat.

Her words had the effect of a splash of cold water, when she saw the smile leave Metellus’s face.

“Ah, yes. Your father. The great Senator Drusus. How could I forget?”

Livia’s face drained of all colour at the harshness of his words, and she watched him get up and walk away from her, breaking the easy companionship which had been there moments ago.

What on earth had her father done to cause his displeasure? It was obvious there was bad feeling between the two of them, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what. She was desperate to find out, but she knew with a certainty Metellus wouldn’t tell her what it was. It was best to keep her thoughts to herself. For a while at least. Now was not the time to challenge him about the past. She was wise enough to know that.