Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4

by Anne Garboczi Evans

She shook her head, gaze downcast.

  “Were you the one playing that song before I interrupted?”

  She squirmed. She hadn’t exactly stolen the flute, just found it. “Yes, dominus.”

  “It was beautiful.” Wryn leaned back against the wall, his gaze on her.

  Libya’s cheeks heated. Did he really admire her musical talents?

  “Play him our favorite song, Mama.” Horus ran to her. “Please,

  Mama, please.”

  She moved to the shelves by Wryn. His big arm covered half the shelf. She squatted, and her fingers brushed across the hair of his forearm as she reached for the flute. As she twisted, her sandal slipped on a tile. The flute hit his shoulder. “Mea culpa.” She froze.

  He touched her arm, steadying her. The peace of his touch flowed through her.

  Women hated prostitutes, and she often felt their slaps and shoves. Men desired a prostitute’s body in a dirty way, but no one touched a prostitute like a person. She settled back against the shelf.

  Her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move away. She could feel the warmth of his humanity.

  She lifted the flute to her lips, moving her fingers up and down the holes in the bone instrument as she played the music.

  A stout hand grabbed the curtain and pulled back. The cook’s squat frame filled the doorway. “I told you, Libya, no noise after sunset. So, get that fiendish boy of yours —” The cook’s gaze lighted on Wryn. Her mouth slammed shut. “My apologies, dominus.” She dropped the curtain.

  Libya tittered.

  “What?” Wryn moved away from her. His left eye had a gold fleck in it.

  Color rose in Libya’s cheeks. “She hates me.” For being infamia. Same way Wryn’s betrothed felt about her.

  “You misunderstand her.” Wryn shook his head. “She’s worked for my familia for fifteen years. I’ve never seen her hate anyone.”

  Ecce, exactly what Wryn would say when Aulia became the mistress of this house. Aulia would accuse her of troublemaking, and Wryn would take Aulia’s side. Oh, to be free!

  Tonight, though, Aulia didn’t reside here. Tonight, she and Horus would revel in whatever small freedoms they could snatch.

  With a yawn, Horus laid his head in Libya’s lap.

  Wryn’s brown-eyed gaze caught hers. “I’d send him to school if you wished it.”

  She scarcely dared to breathe. “You would?” Many prosperous masters sent slave boys to school. An educated slave was worth more than an ignorant one.

  Wryn nodded.

  “I don’t want to go to school.” Horus rubbed his balled fists in his eyes.

  Libya tugged him closer. “Of course, you do. You’ll love school.” He’d learn things. Someday, pray heaven, Horus would be a freedman and use those lessons to make his way in the world.

  Yawning, Horus moved to her bed. His little eyelids drooped as he tugged a cover over himself.

  Stars shimmered in the sky. The shelf dug into Libya’s back as she looked out. “The evening star rose early tonight.”

  Wryn rested his head on the wall as he leaned back, his body shrouded in shadow. “Ever raise your sight to the skies and wonder how many stars there are?”

  “A thousand times.” Libya gestured up. “I wonder if they’re looking down at us. Wishing for our good.”

  Wryn laughed. “I don’t worship the stars. But Christus is up there looking down.”

  Christus, the God they spoke of in that secretive service in the tombs. What kind of religion had to meet in the burial chambers of the dead? “Why-” she bit her tongue.

  “What?”

  She touched her tongue to her lip.

  “Say it, Libya.”

  She moved to the window, and her palm scraped over the rough rock sill as she knelt, gazing up. “If there’s a good god up there, why do you think he lets all this evil go on? Don’t you think he’d wipe us all out, start over?” Not allow the birth of children like Horus, force them to suffer life as a slave with no hope and no future.

  The weight of movement shifted the tile. Wryn touched the sill as he knelt by her. “He doesn’t like it, but He allows His creation to make their own choices.”

  She twisted into him. “If I were this Christus, I’d rain down fiery vengeance on all who committed evil.” The master at that first brothel especially. He hadn’t just forced her into infamia that first day he bought her while she still wept for her mother, he’d done it with such viciousness.

  “He will eventually. There’s a judgment day coming. Though none of us will pass His righteous judgment except by pleading the blood of Christ.” Wryn shifted back against the wall.

  Exactly what that man had said in the catacombs. “How do you know that it’s true, though?”

  “I read the evidence, walked in Jerusalem, saw the tomb where they buried Christus before He rose again. My father spoke to men who’d seen the risen Lord before He ascended.” Wryn’s deep voice filled the room, so confident.

  Libya watched him. This man knew languages, had traveled the world, commanded armies. If he believed this religion true, it must be. “How does one worship this Christus?”

  “He merely desires you to talk to Him.”

  She twisted her hand over, palm up. “How?”

  “Same way Horus talks to you.”

  Touching her elbow to the window sill, she rested her chin on her hand, shoulder arching. “Prattling without end and rudely interrupting anyone else who wishes to speak?”

  Wryn laughed. “Exactly.” He looked more at ease when he laughed.

  “Does He talk to you too, when you speak to Him?”

  “Some have heard Him. I haven’t.”

  She tilted her head as she watched him. His very presence emanated strength. The moon made a shadow of his body against her wall. Many times a man’s shadow had fallen across the wall of her room, but tonight, instead of fear, she felt harmony.

  “I’m keeping you from going to bed, aren’t I?” The master stood.

  “Not as late as on that ride to Ostia.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder.

  “Ecce, you agreed to spy for me.” Though shadow covered his face, she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Perhaps I’d have changed my answer if I knew how lousy at flirting you were.” Her voice held a laugh. “Marcellus had to rescue me.”

  “Won’t happen again. Next week at that Ostia tavern, not a man in the place will dare harass you. Learned my flirting lessons from the best.”

  Her gaze dropped. Yes, she was the best, but not through any choice of hers. Oh, to possess the innocence she had at twelve. Better yet, to have been born free — like Aulia.

  Wryn’s footsteps faded into the night.

  Consul Julius paced his atrium. “Why haven’t you kidnapped the boy yet, Gnaeus?”

  Gnaeus hung his head. “I haven’t had the opportunity. The Paterculis possess too many guards.”

  Consul Julius groaned. “Keep trying.” Soon Felix Paterculi and Marcellus would discover this Ides of Junio plot, and he’d need the boy to force Victor Ocelli to let him join the Viri. Then he’d use the leverage he had against Marcellus to make him aid the Viri too.

  A footstep sounded at the front of the atrium. The porter bowed. “Felix Paterculi, here to see you, dominus.”

  Felix stepped around the porter and extended a parchment. “I go to Ostia tonight. Here’s what information I gathered from garrison reports. With any luck, we’ll know more after tonight.”

  Consul Julius smiled. “Gratias. Emperor Trajan will honor your service.”

  Drink sloshed against drink as coins and wagers shifted hands in this rowdy Ostia tavern. Libya dipped up one last bite of stew as she surveyed the place. Wryn stood half a pace from her.

  Her gaze traveled left. “What do you think of that man?”

  Wryn took a step closer, his breath brushing her ear, voice low enough that none could overhear. “He looks too clean-cut for a Viri captain.”

  She touched his s
houlder as she leaned closer so he could hear her over the noise. “I just saw him slip a parchment to that man.” She nodded right to a cluster of unshaven ship captains.

  Wryn dug his teeth into his lower lip. “If he is, he’s a higher up one. He’ll not talk to us.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Is that a wager?”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  “A pity.” She smirked at him. “Because I’d win.”

  “Pride comes before a fall.”

  “Homer?” She tilted her head.

  “Scripture.”

  “I spoke to some people at the catacombs service yesterday.” She traced her finger around the bowl’s edge. “It’s a slave religion. Promises freedom to the oppressed and equality to the downtrodden. Why would you follow it?”

  “Because Christus is real.”

  There was so much passion in his eyes as he spoke. Perhaps she’d try speaking to this Christus. “I’m going to talk to the captain. May I signal you if I need you to interfere?”

  Wryn nodded and leaned against a center post.

  Libya slid toward the table, her hips swaying with the movement, and his gaze was far from the only one following her.

  She leaned over the table where the clean-cut man sat surrounded by half a dozen greasier ship captains.

  The clean-cut man’s gaze rose to her. He smiled. They made conversation, her dark lips moving as every man at that table ogled her.

  She touched the man’s hand and gestured to the dark yard outside. Taking another swig of his drink, the man stood. He touched Libya’s waist as he moved with her.

  Wryn took a step forward.

  She shook her head. The clean-cut man and Libya walked into the yard.

  Wryn gripped the window frame as he stayed back. She laughed with the man, and they spoke more. The man ran his hand through her hair, brushed her cheek. How dare he?

  With the clap of his sandal against the floor, Wryn strode forward.

  For one moment, Libya’s gaze touched his. Again, she shook her head. What? How much of this did he have to tolerate?

  Time passed, and Libya’s conversation lulled. The clean-cut man circled both arms around her waist. He yanked her tightly against his front. His mouth moved toward her.

  Libya’s gaze flashed to Wryn.

  Finally. Wryn strode into the yard. He shoved the man’s shoulder. “Let go of her.”

  She said to do this. Someone had to stop the Viri. He only did this for the good of Rome. That made this moral.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist. He tightened his hand against the curve there as he pulled her away from the man.

  The clean-cut man balled his fists as he looked to Libya. “Is he bothering you?”

  “No, you are.” Wryn tugged her in front of him. His mouth brushed hers. Tingles ran through him. She tasted like sweet red wine with the smoothness of freshly-squeezed milk. The scent of her surrounded him, her skin as soft as some water nymph.

  The man backed away.

  Libya’s gaze flicked up to him. “Gratias.” She stepped out of the circle of his arms toward the men.

  How could she keep breathing after that? His own breath came unsteadily, a heady sensation stronger than any wine clouding his senses. “You should have let me interfere sooner. He had his hands all over you.”

  “What?” Her amber eyes widened. “Oh, that was nothing. Wait until you hear what I learned.” Her lips parted in an eager smile.

  Nothing because she was a woman of infamia, accustomed to spreading her favors freely. He watched it himself this evening. He steeled his voice. “What did you learn?”

  “He kept talking about the Ides of Junio and Rome.”

  “You think the plot will occur in Rome, not at the harbors?”

  She nodded.

  “Good work. I’m thoroughly impressed,” Wryn said. Marcellus had spoken the truth. Libya could significantly aid their spying. That was the purpose of this spending hours with her in taverns, protecting her, even kissing her — bringing down Victor Ocelli.

  Her hair brushed his arm as she turned among crowded tables. His breath stopped. Her gaze touched his, that same laughing glow in her eyes as when he sat in her room and spoke of stars and garrisons. Her dark lips turned up.

  He would kiss those lips again before this evening slipped away.

  He and Marcellus regrouped in the last tavern’s stables a watch of the night later.

  Marcellus groaned. “An entire evening wasted. I discovered nothing. You?”

  “I’ll tell you on the ride back.” Swinging up on his horse, Wryn reached for Libya. The amber skin of her arms shimmered in the moonlight as she stepped closer. Both hands on her waist, he lifted her in front of him.

  Libya settled on the saddle, her leg hooked around the pommel as she sat sideways, her falling hair brushing against him. “I’m sorry I can’t ride, slowing down your horse, inconveniencing you.”

  “No inconvenience.” He took the horse’s reins. He wrapped his other arm around her waist. Only to keep her from falling. Horses terrified Libya.

  She touched her head to his shoulder. His horse galloped on, outpacing Marcellus’ steed in the darkness.

  Turning in his arms, she gestured up to the stars, her lips parted as she pointed out the constellations.

  He’d kissed those lips twice more this night. With a nicker, his horse spooked. He tightened his hand around Libya’s waist as she pressed against him.

  Her skin felt warm beneath his fingers, the thin linen separating his hand from her body like the clouds of summer that could blow away with a puff of breeze. He wouldn’t even admit to himself how much he wished to move his hand further up.

  Chapter 12

  “Stretch your arms farther for the strokes.” The water came past Wryn’s belt as he held Horus.

  The boy kicked with his feet and took off in a respectable swimming stroke.

  Pulling himself onto the edge of the pool, Wryn leaned back on his hands as the Italian sun and spring breeze dried his tunic.

  Abandoning proper form, Horus initiated a flurry of kicks and arm flailings as he happily splashed through the water.

  “You’ll drown swimming that way in Mediterranean waters. Take longer strokes.”

  Horus flailed again as he paddled across the pool. “I like drowning.”

  Chin in his hands, Wryn watched in glum silence as Horus splashed water high in the worst swimming form he’d ever seen, even counting drunk legionaries. “You’ll never win a triathlon that way.”

  “I want to lose.” Reaching the edge, Horus pulled himself on the tile bank, legs dangling in the water still. Water dripped from his black hair. It had the same wave to it as Libya’s.

  “You know you’re impossible.”

  “That’s why you love me.” With one vigorous kick that sent water splashing, Horus launched himself out of the pool. Slipping out of his drenched tunic, he plopped across from Wryn, chin in his hands too. “You do love me, don’t you?”

  Wryn threw a towel at the boy. “Um….”

  “You can tell me if you don’t. I just want to know.”

  “Don’t ask him that. It’s not appropriate.” A voice he’d recognize anywhere said.

  Wryn turned and met Libya’s dark-eyed gaze. Her lips parted as she smiled at him. He’d felt the touch of those lips before and, at this moment, he’d gladly surrender all he owned to touch his lips to hers again. Hold her against him.

  “Do you? Do you?” Horus slid his dripping hand into Wryn’s.

  Love? Is this what love felt like? The whole situation surpassed impossible. If only he weren’t a patrician. If only she weren’t a woman of infamia. Of course, she’d been a dancing girl, not a prostitute, yet still far from a virginal bride. Horus proved that.

  “Thank you for teaching him to swim.” Libya slipped down on his other side. She paddled one bare foot through the water. Even her foot arched delicately, grace in the way she trailed it through the depths.

&nbs
p; He looked at her. “Did you ever swim? Explore the beaches of the Mediterranean?”

  “I’ve only ever seen the sea that time on the boat with you when Horus retched all night. Is sunset over the ocean waves as lovely as the poets say?” Libya’s palms touched the tile as she leaned back, her hair rippling over her shoulders, her bare arms so slender. The soft fabric of her tunica slid around her lovely body as a smile lit her dark eyes.

  He’d agree to take her there in less time than it took a smile to light her face. Watch the ocean breeze blow through her hair as the moon rose over the sandy shores and they looked up at the stars.

  The hem of her sleeve just brushed his arm as she leaned farther back, her gaze tilted up to him. “Tell me truly, Tribune Paterculi, have you ever visited a beach for pleasure not just marched your soldiers through the sand?” Her laughter sparkled in the sunshine.

  “I could envision enjoying such a scene.” Stretched out by her.

  “Which means you never have yet.” Her eyes teased him as she curved her beautiful lips. She flicked her fingers against the left side of his chest. “Perhaps your sister’s correct about you having no heart.”

  Oh, he had a heart. He could prove that to her right now. In one movement, he could circle his hand around her waist and have his mouth over hers. That thin linen would feel as nothing when his hands pressed against her back. Though he’d much rather touch what lay in front.

  His blood pounded. The way her eyes glistened, that idea hovered in her thoughts also.

  “Play with me.” Horus plopped his dripping hand on Wryn’s knee.

  Probably a good thing. Wryn stood. “I have to write plans for governing Rome.”

  Horus jutted out his lip. “I wanted to play knucklebones.”

  “No reason why you can’t.” Wryn gestured to the villa where the game no doubt lay, still strewn on some floor thanks to Horus’ wrecking hands.

  “With you.” Horus jumped on him, towel dropping. Water splattered across Wryn’s tunic as the five-year-old’s naked body hit him.

  “Horus!” Libya grabbed the boy and wrapped the towel around him. “Don’t bother Wryn.” Her dark eyes tilted up to him, an apology in them. Her ebony hair whipped around her face, her tunic wet now where it had touched Horus’ body.