The Barbarian
Wanda Ann Thomas
Copyright © 2014 by Wanda Ann Thomas
Published by Wanda Ann Thomas of Maine. All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
~ Dedication ~
For Darcy, Katie, and Michael
My pride, my joy, my heart
CHAPTER 1
Alexandria, Egypt - 47 BC
Kadar the Northman grimaced as he wiped grit from his wind-chapped face. He stepped onto the first rung of a ladder he'd "borrowed" from a nearby construction site, touched his hand to the hammer-shaped amulet hanging around his neck, and stared up at Lydia Onias's bedchamber window.
Lydia Onias.
Six months ago he helped rescue the highborn Jewess from a band of religious zealots. He'd carried her out of the rebel camp, tended to her while they journeyed to her father's home, and lost a piece of his heart to her. He had assumed she’d quickly forget him, if she even remembered anything of those first days. If only he could have done the same. But thoughts of her had lingered, haunting his dreams and occupying too many of his waking hours.
Still, this breakneck journey from Egypt to Jerusalem to rescue her was pure foolishness. But it had been impossible to ignore her plea.
His hand went to the note tucked inside a worn leather pouch. She hadn’t forgotten after all.
I have need of you. The words were burned into his mind. And not just because he'd taken the letter to a scribe and paid the man a great deal to read and reread every word until Kadar could repeat them in his sleep.
Greetings and peace to you, kind and gentle guardian. Though I have no right to ask anything of you, I must. I have need of you. I am desperate to escape my uncle's house and go into hiding. I can offer you no reward for your help. Know, whether you come to Egypt or not, my thoughts toward you will always be kind. You have my grateful thanks for your goodness to me, Lydia Onias.
I have need of you. The declaration had sparked a glimmer of hope. Perhaps. Maybe. If the gods were merciful, Lydia would confess she wanted to be his woman, even though he was a pagan barbarian.
After arriving in the crowded, jostling city at midmorning, Kadar had first located Lydia’s uncle’s sprawling, two-story villa, guarded by a row of spindly palms. Then he scouted through the three large Jewish quarters, searching for escape routes and bribing a household slave to deliver a message to Lydia, telling her to expect him that night.
A loud crash came from nearby. He spun away from the ladder, pressed his back against the house's warm foundation stones, and peered down a long, narrow alley littered with empty crates, heaps of broken pottery, and other household refuse.
A gray and white striped cat emerged from the dark. Kadar stepped out of the shadows. The feral feline arched its back and hissed.
He chuckled, picked up a pebble, and tossed it onto the dirt at the cat's paws. "Off with you, feisty beast."
The tiger cat dashed for cover.
A cloud crossed in front of the moon. Sobering, Kadar scaled the rungs to a green-shuttered window. He knocked on the wood panel and held his breath. No response. Another rap, this one louder.
"Kadar?" a soft, steady voice asked. His heart thumped harder. Lydia’s composure heartened him. She'd been silent, passive, and unresponsive after he rescued her from the zealots.
"It's Kadar. Open the shutter and step back, and I'll come to you."
"Be careful. It's a long drop to the floor."
If someone caught him sneaking into her room he'd have more problems than a few broken bones. "Don't worry about me. I have experience getting in and out of tight spots." He crawled through the window and jumped down beside her.
Moonlight illuminated the sleek lines of her jaw and graceful neck. She leaned closer, sending her long, silky hair cascading over her shoulders. "You came. I hardly dared to hope."
"I'm glad you called on me."
She reached out and briefly touched his arm with a small, warm hand. "I'm sorry to ask so much of you."
She quickly stepped back and tucked the hair behind the delicate shell of her ear. She smelled of warm blankets and white jasmine. His chest tightened.
A baby's soft mew intruded, and Lydia hurried over to a narrow bed set against the opposite wall.
Kadar shook his head clear. Ah, yes, the baby. A child fathered by the insane leader of the rebel band, who had taken Lydia as his "wife" and subjected her to who knew what other evils. Kadar's hands fisted. He wished Judas the Zealot was alive so he could rip the fiend apart.
Lydia lit a small oil lamp. Light shimmered over her rose-dusted cheeks.
He’d feared she would never fully recover from the harsh ordeal, but everything about her spoke of health and strength. Her spirit wasn't broken—her brash bid to escape a distasteful arranged marriage proved her mettle.
Coins slipped into the hands of slaves from nearby homes had provided Kadar with the details. Lydia had given birth to a baby boy two months ago. Her heartless father planned to marry her to his brother, a potbellied father of eight, who already had a wife. Kadar hated the man, sight unseen.
Lydia picked up the child, still just a tiny bundle, cradled him against her chest, and crossed the room. Rocking the babe, she smiled. "Meet my son. I named him James, after my brother."
The baby calmed.
Kadar stroked his knuckle over the infant's soft cheek, and chuckled when its tiny mouth puckered. "I hope the little fellow proves better-natured than your brother." Lydia's eyes and face lit with the most beautiful smile Kadar had ever seen. "James is a good baby."
His blood heated. He wanted to taste her mouth and run his hands over her luminous skin. Pregnant, mother, betrothed—it didn't matter—this woman turned him inside out.
But it wasn’t why she had called him here. He backed away. "We need to leave."
"Take James while I change clothes."
He nearly choked. "I've never held a baby."
Lydia set the child in his arms. "Hold him as carefully as you would your woman."
He eyed the child warily, but it remained calm. "I don't have a woman."
"Why not? You are a strong, able man."
A heaviness filled him. The same dark weight that pulled at him every time he thought of his family, his people, and the Northland. He had cheated the gods, and escaped death, but at a painful cost. An outcast for close to two years now, he could never go home. "Soldiers who make their living as mercenaries don't marry."
"Why don't you take up another trade?"
"Me? I was born with a sword in my hand."
She laughed. "You'd think I'd asked you to kiss a crocodile."
Her lively openness came as a surprise. The few days he'd spent in her company, she had been so quiet, so reserved. Her fragile state had called out to him, impelled him to act as her protector. He understood at a soul-deep level how devastating and disorienting it was to be torn away from all you'd known. The strain
could have easily have broken her. But the courage and determination in her eyes reminded him of the Northland maidens who rode to battle beside their men, fiercely and gloriously wielding their swords on behalf of their loved ones and their people. Here was a young goddess of a woman, one to make the gods and men beg. The heavens knew he'd kneel at her feet right now if she asked.
"Turn around while I change," Lydia said. Though not the request he'd hoped to hear, he obeyed.
The whisper of silk slipping over skin told him she'd slipped out of her gown. He glanced over his shoulder. Her straight brown hair danced over slim hips and skimmed her bare bottom. Her olive skin glowed invitingly. His loins tightened. She turned her head. Her large doe eyes widened. He arched a brow. She'd get no apology from him. He was a scoundrel. If she hadn’t realized it before, she certainly did now.
The baby fussed. "Finish dressing," Kadar said, returning his attention to the small bundle in his arms. "Why are you desperate to escape the marriage your father arranged? Is your uncle as horrible and disagreeable as your father? "
A soft sigh accompanied the sound of rustling fabric. "No, Uncle is kind and gentle. It's my father. He plans to take baby James away from me, and send..." her voice quavered, "...and send him to Galilee."
Ah. Here was the reason a good Jewish girl was ready to throw in her lot with a godforsaken barbarian. Kadar swallowed his disappointment. "What does your father have against your son?"
Lydia returned to his side. Her dark eyes were sad. "Father doesn't want a bastard to bear the name Onias."
Born a bastard himself, Kadar understood the cruelty of such a fate. He patted the child's swaddling clothes. "Don't you worry, little fellow, I will care for you as if you were my firstborn." Outcasts needed to watch out for one another. The gods knew no one else cared about them. Except James had a mother willing to risk a multitude of dangers to keep him and care for him.
Lydia laid her hand lightly on his arm. "I talked myself out of seeking your help several times before sending the letter. I kept telling myself it was unfair to burden you with my problems. I considered many other possibilities, but my mind always came back to you."
The confession pleased him. "You honor me with your trust."
A burst of noise turned his blood cold. Feet pounded up the hallway, closing in on the bedchamber.
Kadar reached for his sword and almost dropped the baby. "Thundering Thor!"
Lydia grabbed James.
The bedchamber door slammed open.
Kadar drew his sword and stationed himself between Lydia and the child.
CHAPTER 2
Members of Father's bodyguard stormed into Lydia's bedchamber. Her heart beat double-time, and she couldn’t hear anything past the roaring in her ears. "Go," she cried, pushing against Kadar, heartsick over drawing him into trouble.
All muscle and menace, Kadar raised his sword and widened his stance. "I'm not going anywhere."
Vicious oaths peppered the air as grim-faced soldiers fanned out in a wide circle around them, careful to keep their distance from Kadar’s long, gleaming blade.
"Stay behind me," he said, his voice deep and heavily accented.
The room brightened. She took a deep breath and peeked around Kadar's broad back. Slaves stood on either side of the door, holding up torches. Father strolled over the threshold, his rich robe swirling about him. Haughty disdain showed on his pinched face. Her insides turned to ice.
She tightened her hold on baby James and tugged on Kadar's tunic. "Go," she begged, desperate to spare him her father’s wrath. "There's nothing you can do for me now."
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving. Even if I was coward enough to attempt an escape, I wouldn't get far. I'd bet my last coin your father has men posted at the bottom of the ladder."
"But that would mean—" Father must have seen her letter before it was sent to Kadar or learned of the message saying he had arrived. Nausea threatened to choke her.
Father directed a smug smile at Kadar. "You aren't the halfwit you appear to be, Barbarian." He shook a finger at Kadar. "I gave you fair warning. I promised I'd repay you for your rough treatment of me."
Lydia's mind whirled. The two men had clashed? But when? And over what?
Kadar shrugged a shoulder. "I only regret I didn’t give you a real beating before I tossed you off Nathan's farm."
Nathan was married to her sister, Alexandra. Lydia knew Nathan and Alexandra had a falling-out with Father some time ago, but hadn't known the details, only that Father was still terribly angry.
Lydia stepped around Kadar and looked up into eyes blue as a summer sky. Her grief redoubled. Asking him to come had been selfish and unfair. "Forgive me for involving you in my troubles."
The fierce lines of his warrior face softened. "It's not your fault. I made the mistake of underestimating your father."
"Cease groveling before that swine," Father commanded her. "Come kneel before me."
All the breathable air deserted the room. She turned to her father.
He pointed at his feet. "If you don't want this barbarian to be flogged, you will beg for my forgiveness."
Baby James fussed and nuzzled against her, his small mouth seeking sustenance. She willed her feet forward, prepared to submit to any punishment necessary to spare Kadar and her baby from harm. Dropping to her knees, she swallowed. "I am sorry I—"
"Speak up," Father demanded.
The guards snickered. She held her head high.
"Laugh again and I'll cut your tongues out," Kadar growled.
The men cursed and shifted in place.
"I apologize, Father." Lydia said hurriedly. "I meant no harm. Please release Kadar. I'm to blame. I was desperate to keep my baby."
Father nudged her with his foot. "You are a disgrace to my name."
Before she could open her mouth, Kadar was at her side. The point of his sword hovered under Father's nose.
The guards yelled and swarmed around the giant.
Lydia grabbed the hem of Kadar's tunic. "Don't give them an excuse to hurt you."
"Drop your weapon, gentile," her father said. "Unless you want to make this more difficult for her than it's already going to be."
Kadar loosed a string of foreign curses, but sent his enormous sword sliding and clattering across the tile floor. "This is between you and me. Leave your daughter out—"
His words gave way to a sharp hiss, and a red drop plopped onto James’s white swaddling clothes. Lydia gasped and jumped to her feet. The head guardsman twisted the tip of his sword into Kadar's muscled arm, and bright red blood streamed from the wound.
Heart pounding like torrential rain, she cradled James against her chest and pulled on the soldier's arm with all her might.
A guardsman shoved her back. She tripped on her hem and fell hard on her bottom, but was able to keep her arms safely wrapped around her tiny son. Frightened wide awake, James gave an ear-splitting wail.
Two soldiers dragged her to her feet. The one on her left snagged James's little foot instead of her elbow, almost tugging him out of her arms. She wanted to continue fighting on Kadar's behalf, but couldn't risk it.
Lungs heaving, she smoothed James's back and cast a sorrowful frown at Kadar. "Did the cut go deep?"
Kadar winked. "It's a small scratch...nothing to worry about."
Tears burned her eyes. Kadar was so brave. So honorable. They were practically strangers, yet he had shed blood in her defense and now attempted to soothe her.
"Bind him," Father said. A thick reed rope was brought forward and coiled tight around Kadar's bare wrists.
Kadar studied his bonds. "I hope you didn't go out of your way on my account."
Father laughed, and the cold sound raised bumps on Lydia's arms. "I'm glad you appreciate the fetters, Barbarian, because you will go to your grave wearing them."
"Coward," Kadar spat back.
Lydia grabbed her father's sleeve. "You can't kill him. He’s done nothing wr—" Father swung his ar
m wide and backhanded her, snapping her head sideways. She clutched her stinging cheek.
Kadar lunged at Father, but the guards fell on him.
"Touch her again, and I will tear you to pieces!" Kadar bellowed, struggling against his captors.
Father's nose curled as though catching a whiff of foul air. He snapped his fingers, and his faithful eunuch slave Goda stepped out of the shadows. "Kill the barbarian and dump the body in the Nile."
Lydia groaned. The poor, poor man. What had she done?
Kadar heaved and thrashed, trying to reach her father. "Coward!"
The guards hauled Kadar toward the door. He kicked and bucked against them, but to no avail. Goda and the knot of men disappeared with him down the corridor.
Baby James fussed. Stomach roiling over Kadar's fate, she put her knuckle to her son's seeking mouth.
Father stared at her with undisguised contempt. Cold night air poured through the open window. The noise of the struggle slowly faded away, leaving a terrible emptiness in its wake.
Lydia shivered. Baby James settled. She brushed her fingers over his soft, dear face. I'd risk anything for you, my darling. She grieved for Kadar, and felt wretched about what she’d done to him. It was unforgivable. But with her precious babe's welfare at stake, how could she have done otherwise?
Two slaves entered the bedchamber carrying reed baskets. Flaxen-haired Brynhild shot a look of concern at Lydia.
"I had to try, Bryn," Lydia said.
The middle-aged slave woman exhaled heavily. "Of course you did, my kitten."
Father swiped his hand at Bryn. "Stop your jabbering, and pack up everything. I don't want any sign of the bastard child remaining in this house once he’s gone."
The other slave, a pockmarked Egyptian, set the basket on the bed and reached for the neat pile of swaddling clothes stored in a small niche above the sleeping platform.
Lydia tucked her infant son against her chest. Legs shaking, she stood. "Don't take my baby. Spit on me, pull my hair out, whip me, I will suffer anything. But don't take him."
The Barbarian (The Herod Chronicles Book 2) Page 1
