“At last.” Aulius Corneli coughed. “The gods and omens all look splendid for five days from now.”
“Five days?” Sweat poured from Wryn’s palms. “What about next week? You can’t make ready a wedding feast in five days, can you, Aulia?” He looked at her, hope in his eyes.
Aulius Corneli’s thin lips turned down. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll be ready if I tell her to be ready.”
Moving to the couch, Aulia took up her distaff, silent, as if not even outraged by the harsh words.
Hateful old man. Was that how he treated her with other betrotheds as well? The ones who’d given her every cause to curse her wedding day?
“The question is you.” Aulia’s father stabbed his finger at Wryn. “Do you accept the date? The omens were especially fortuitous.”
“I’m not much of one for omens.” He had to go to Ostia tonight. Marrying next week was quite soon enough.
The man furrowed his gray eyebrows. “Three months have already passed. Aulia’s not getting any younger, or more likely to bear you sons. Will you set the wedding date for five days’ time?”
Crude man, and five days?
The sooner he got this wedding over with, the sooner he could abandon Legate Aemilli’s inane tasks and become Prefect of Rome.
Wryn forced himself to draw a breath. “If it pleases Aulia.” Please, dear God, don’t let it please Aulia.
“It’ll please Aulia.” With a snort, the old man left the room.
From the smile on Aulia’s face, the wedding date did seem to please her. That, or she was simply delighted to be parted from the company of her father.
Revolting man. Wryn glared at the tile floor.
Aulia tilted her chin. “What is it?”
“You’d hate me if I said it.”
“I could never hate you.” Reaching out, Aulia clasped his hand. Her skin felt cold against his.
“I was thinking that your father’s a self-serving lout who’s never devoted a single moment of his life wondering what his daughter wants.”
Aulia shrugged, not even a hint of color rising to her pale cheeks. “He’s my father. ‘Tis my duty to obey him.”
“Then maybe you should start breaking your duty.” Wryn bit his tongue. Had he just said that aloud? One shouldn’t insult a girl’s father to her face.
“Why, Tribune Paterculi, you’re beginning to sound like your sister.” Aulia blushed as she smiled, the color lighting her face.
“I am, aren’t I? Terrifying thought.” He smiled back at her.
“In truth, for Gwen says the most improper things.” The faintest tinge of mischief shone in Aulia’s eyes. She traced the couch arm as she held his gaze, that spark still glimmering.
Perhaps after they wed, they’d discover an affinity they hadn’t tasted during this brief betrothal. He grinned at Aulia. “Has Gwen given you lots of advice on how to cross me after we wed?”
Aulia drew back, consternation on her pale face. “I’d never listen to any of that sort of talk.”
His heart sank. No, Aulia wouldn’t. She’d be the faultless Roman wife, model Roman mother.
So why did he dread five days from now?
Libya looked at Wryn.
“Ostia tonight with Marcellus. You needn’t come.” A hardness lingered in Wryn’s voice, and he failed to look at her. The gap at Wryn’s tunic neck revealed a glimpse of metal. The key to his locked chest connected to that chain.
“I wish to come.”
“Very well. I’m leaving now.” Turning on his heel, Wryn strode to the stables. He hadn’t smiled at her once since yesterday’s poetry.
Libya chafed her hand against her skirt. She needed Victor’s parchment.
“Wryn!” Horus pounded down the path. “I’m turning six next week, and I want to go to a lake.”
Libya caught his hand, dragging him to a halt. “Don’t bother him now, Horus.”
Horus’ lower lip drooped. “When we went to the rich lady’s house this afternoon, she said she was marrying Wryn in five days. Does that mean she’ll live here? I don’t like her.”
Aulia. Wryn had set a marriage date. Libya’s heart dropped. “Yes, it does Horus.”
Cold sweat beaded under her tunica. Once Aulia entered this villa as domina, she’d have every opportunity to carry out the threat to sell Horus and her off. The shrubs blurred before Libya’s eyes. She clenched the tree branch before her. Once sold at a slave auction, she’d never see Horus again. Five days. If Wryn’s coldness to her today was a portent of his wedded future, she’d have no protection from Aulia’s wrath.
She had to get those parchments to Victor and have him adopt Horus and free her before the next five days expired.
The drone of the taverns rose, same as every other night. A ship captain here, a sailor there, perhaps a Viri man at that table to the right. What did it even matter? Only five days remained until Aulia married Wryn. Libya clenched the table lip. The hateful woman didn’t
even deserve Wryn.
Her gaze touched Wryn’s. He stood like a patrician, self-assured, master of the world. Yet he called her body a temple, pure and holy like those marble artifices that filled Rome. Uncried tears shook her chest.
His arm touched her waist as he circled it around her the same way they’d done a thousand times before in taverns such as this one. His breath brushed her ear, his voice eager. “Any news on the assassination plot? If we can identify the target, we can wrap up seven years of work tonight and arrest Victor Ocelli.”
Arrest? Libya yanked her mind back from senseless repining. Wryn would marry a patrician virgin, she’d always known that. Rather than indulging in this senseless jealousy, she needed to earn her and Horus’ freedom before Aulia separated her from her son forever. The chain at Wryn’s neck glinted in the fire’s glow. She needed a way to unhook that chain without him noticing.
Feasting and gambling men filled the room. A brutish-looking man sat to the left. Libya turned her gaze to Wryn’s. “See there? I think he’s a Viri man. Rescue me if things get bad.”
Her heart throbbed as she approached the sailor. If she failed to get that key for Victor, Aulia would ensure she never saw Horus again.
“Won much at the gambling table tonight?” Bending, Libya touched the sailor’s burly arm. Wryn stood too far away to hear her actual words.
The man turned drink-tinged eyes toward her. With any luck, he’d soon get rough enough that Wryn would intervene. Libya touched the sailor on the chest and spoke the suggestive words that the first tavern keeper had forced her to learn.
The sailor caught her at the waist, his other hand exploring further.
Wryn’s fist slammed into the man’s shoulder. “Get off her.”
She threw her arms around Wryn’s neck. Oftentimes, he kissed her after such a confrontation as part of the farce. She could only pray he didn’t suspect her this time.
Stretching up, she brushed her lips against Wryn’s, ran one hand through his beautiful hair. She twisted at the metal chain. It held fast.
The sailor turned, and Wryn shifted. If he walked away now, she’d never get that key. She clung to his lips, her body tight against his as her bare arms wrapped around his neck.
His acting had improved considerably in the last months. His gaze fixed on her as if her kisses absorbed him, his hands pressing her up against his chest, same as Victor would do. Wryn even gave a realistic-sounding moan like a man hot in the flames of desire.
Wryn was no Victor and, with the threat passed, within moments his hands would drop from her. She yanked at the metal chain on his neck.
The chain gave way to her fingers. She dropped the key into the pouch at her waist and let her arms fall from his neck. She let forth a sigh. “A dangerous situation. The man acted suspicious of me.” She looked at Wryn’s face. Did he suspect her?
He dropped his hands from her too, yet his gaze lingered on her. If he reached up to his neck and discovered that missing key, he’d know what she’d done.
“Yes, we will.” His deep voice held not a hint of suspicion.
She released her breath.
Fading moonlight streamed through the broad window as Libya glided across the tiles.
Wryn’s chest rose and fell as he slept in the bed by the wall.
Moonlight illuminated an iron-bound box underneath a low table. Her tunica caught around her legs as she knelt. The key grated in the lock. She froze.
Wryn’s even breathing continued.
The lid let forth a low creak. Two scrolls lay on top, the red wax of the Ocelli seal blazing across each. The parchments crinkled as she stuffed them in her tunica.
Straightening, she crossed to the bed. Her fingers brushed Wryn’s hair as she slipped the chain around his neck. She fastened the metal.
“Libya,” Wryn said.
Her breathing stopped.
He tossed, moving his arm in sleep. Merely a dream. Why did he dream of her?
Sweat collected on her palms as Libya squeezed the two parchments tight underneath her tunica. The gray sky had yet to show dawn’s light.
There was no porter in sight at this hour. Guards, off-duty legionaries by the look of their short swords, marched the perimeter of the walls. Unknown faces, nameless soldiers who took this post when they needed extra pay.
Libya touched the heavy bars of the locked gate. “Sir, will you open this?”
The guard rested his thick hands on his belt. “Do you have permission from your master?”
Her heart slammed against her chest. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
“I’m not losing my post allowing a slave to run away.” The keys clinked against his scabbard as the guard walked on.
The cold metal in front of her barred all exit, the stone walls surrounding this house imprisoning her. She had to get these parchments to Victor before Wryn woke and discovered them missing.
Would he suspect her? Her pulse raced. Where could she hide these? If Wryn discovered the parchments’ absence, he’d search the entire house. Only four days until Aulia sold her and Horus off. Libya pressed trembling fingers against the cold wall.
“Let her go.” A red-haired guard she’d seen before motioned to his comrade. “Everyone in this household knows she’s the master’s mistress. You’ll get in more trouble refusing her.”
Untrue.
The guard frowned but dug the key into the gate and swung it open. “See that you’re back soon.”
“Yes, sir.” Her breath came in pants.
Three side streets down behind the dark shadow of a tree trunk, she spied Victor. She ran to him. “Here.” She shoved the parchments into his hands.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Victor heaved a sigh of relief. Unrolling the scrolls, he glanced over them. A third piece of parchment slipped between his fingers. His eyes lit. “Excellent work. You truly have some magic about you.” His pleased gaze fixed on her.
“Will you adopt Horus and free me today?” Four days, Victor had to do it in four days.
“And you said the Paterculis no longer followed this outlawed religion.” The corners of Victor’s mouth curved up.
What? Libya crossed one arm over the other. “Today?”
“No, after the Ides of Junio. Meet me in four days’ time, though, to discuss more details.”
“No, you must free Horus and me before that.”
“Must I?” Victor raised dark eyebrows. She’d just saved his life, yet he still did not wish to take orders from a slave.
“Please, Victor.” Libya held out both hands. “Wryn marries in four days’ time, and the woman hates Horus and me.” Also, she wanted Horus and her out of the Paterculi villa long before Wryn discovered his scrolls missing.
“The Lady Aulia hates you, does she?” Amusement parted Victor’s mouth. “Now I’m intrigued. I’ve never even heard her raise her voice to a slave, and I often sell wares to her father.”
Amusement? Anger flamed Libya’s soul. “Aulia said she’d sell Horus and me to the slave auction. Even you couldn’t free us then.”
Victor ran his gaze over her. “Wryn loves you.”
“What?” Libya stared at him.
“No other reason to set the ever-meek Aulia into such a rage.” Victor smiled. “As pleasureful as seeing your nakedness was this week, I would have taken infinitely greater pleasure in it if I’d known this. No wonder his face filled with such rage when he walked in on you and me.”
She pressed her elbows against her sides. “That’s not why he raged.” Wryn never looked at her that way. He valued her soul, had called her body a temple that no man should defile. What she’d give to enjoy the rest of her days like that, observing the beauty of starlit skies and poetry like some spotless temple far removed from the world’s dirtiness.
“You have an opinion on your master’s motivations? Do you love him too?”
Love Wryn? Her breath caught. What was love?
“Love’s a fleeting emotion for fools. You’re nothing to Wryn Paterculi, a soiled woman of infamia.”
False. Wryn didn’t see her as a prostitute. He saw her as a spotless temple. She folded her arms. “Just as I was nothing to you?”
Victor laughed. “I, at least, never lied to you.” He flicked her loose hair. “The Paterculis pretend such stoic purity, yet he looked at you the same way I did.”
Blood pounded in her veins. “That’s not true.”
“What? Has he not even lain with you yet?” Victor laughed. “Ah, what frustration he must have felt seeing me over you. Almost makes up for the fact that I can’t touch you again, thanks to Wryn’s lawsuit.”
“There’s no yet.” She might never enjoy Wryn’s friendship again, thanks to the hateful Aulia, but she’d always have the memory of it. Wryn would never see her like all other men did. He called that morally repugnant.
Diversion swam in Victor’s dark eyes as if he didn’t believe her. “I can’t adopt your son until after the Ides of Junio. So, if you wish to spare him and yourself from the ire of this fearsome wife, I’d suggest you make use of your master’s desire for you.”
The Ides of Junio? A month yet until then. In a month, Aulia would certainly sell Horus and her off to the slave market. “No, Victor, you can’t —”
He turned on his heel.
She had to reenter the villa before Wryn woke and found his parchments missing.
Libya’s heart pounded as she moved back to the gate.
Evening shadows lengthened as Wryn buckled on his cuirass
in the darkened tablinum. Night duty at the garrison again. Resting one foot on the stool, he cinched the greaves against his calves.
Libya had kissed him last night. Her body had fit against his. He felt every curve as she pressed up against him. Her lips had tasted of figs, and he could have kept kissing them forever. His self-control had almost failed, and his hand on her waist moved down further when she stepped back.
Outside the tablinum, bare feet slapped softly against the tile. Libya walked through the atrium, a pail of water on one hip, jutting out every curve. He didn’t just notice the way her tunica swished around her body, he remembered the way each of those curves had pressed against him, and he could imagine how they looked underneath. She said it didn’t matter one way or the other and offered herself to him more casually than any woman should.
The latest scroll detailing garrison expenditures and supplies pressed against his palm beneath his fingers. He should yank his gaze away from her and fill his head so full with these numbers that he had no room to picture how she looked right now, or how she felt last night. Think of grain budgets, sword tallies, and how to make that blasted sewage ditch cease crumbling.
He was so sick of thinking.
Chapter 26
Consul Julius leaned back on the couch. Cursed leg troubled him more and more these days.
With a bow, the porter showed Felix Paterculi and Marcel
lus in.
Felix strode forward. Always eager that one. “Have to get to the garrison in a half-hour, sorry. In sum, the Ides of Junio involves an assassination plot. Unnamed target. Also, I found two Ocelli parchments. One names the leader of the Viri as former legate Aetius Soranus. The other gives enough information to prosecute both him and Victor Ocelli.”
Consul Julius’ bad leg hit the tile as he flung himself upright.
Marcellus coughed. “I’ve convinced him that it is in our best interest not to pursue prosecution until after the Ides of Junio.”
Good. Consul Julius slid back on the couch. Time enough to deal with that threat then.
“Salve, Consul.” Felix raised his hand. “I have to go, but let Marcellus know if you’ve found anything of importance to share with us.”
Once the sound of Felix’s sandals died away, Consul Julius turned to Marcellus. “Now that he’s gone, what have you discovered?”
“Nothing more.” Marcellus dug his thumbs into his belt. “I want to see my mother.”
“Nothing!” Same pitiful report as Gnaeus had brought. At this rate, he’d never ingratiate himself with Victor Ocelli and earn all the wealth
Emperor Trajan had denied him for years now, despite his faithful service.
Marcellus rolled his eyes. “Hunting down the secrets of an empire-wide smuggling ring isn’t quite as effortless as it looks reclining on your couch. I want to see my mother.”
“We have less than a month left. Find me that plan. And no more allowing Felix to discover such critical evidence as these Ocelli parchments.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I can’t shake him from the pursuit. He’s more than likely to discover the plot before I.” Marcellus slammed his hand against the table. “Now when can I see my mother?”
The freed slave was a trickster. Perhaps he didn’t have enough motivation yet to discover this Ides of Junio plot. Consul Julius ran his thick tongue over his lips. “Find me what I need, or perhaps I’ll kill her.”
Without Love: Love and Warfare series book 4 Page 26
