To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  In a stride, Wryn stood in front of her. He lowered his voice. “Father said Marcellus is now pursuing a man even higher up in the Viri than Senator Sulla.” He rested his hand on the gladius that hung off his army-issue belt. “I want in.” He had metal greaves on his legs too and bracers on his arms.

  Though Rome denied her the opportunity to wear such armor, she had caught the Shadow Man. Gwen crossed her arms over the ruby-colored silk of her tunica. “It’s information that Marcellus and I gathered and analyzed. I don’t know that I’m allowed to share it outside our spy ring.”

  “So?” Wryn shrugged, moving his broad shoulder plates. “I wish to join your spy ring.”

  She slid her gaze to him. “You can’t. As straightforward and blunt as you are, you’d never succeed at spying. Don’t you have tribune work to do?”

  “Tribune work that could greatly aid your intelligence gathering.” Frustration in his voice, Wryn raised his hand, moving his enviable leather bracer up.

  Perhaps that’s why Aulia loved Wryn, for his striking armor and the martial way he wore it. Aulia certainly couldn’t have fallen in love with her brother’s disposition. Gwen rested one hand on the wall. “I don’t think—”

  Wryn rolled his eyes. “I’m asking your husband.” He barged through the tablinum curtain.

  A step behind him, Gwen held the curtain back. Marcellus and Wryn’s gazes met.

  Tilting his chair back, Marcellus rested his feet on the table. “Done accusing me of smuggling?”

  “I believe I deserve credit for guessing so close.” Wryn spread his stance, shoulders out. “And you need me.”

  True, since without that gold ring Wryn had found, Senator Sulla wouldn’t be under house arrest right now. Gwen pursed her lips.

  “Seeing as Senator Sulla is now in custody, I would say we did quite well without you.” The light of a grin shone in Marcellus’ eyes. “Though if Gwen wishes you included, I’m sure I can find some way to make it work.”

  “You need me.” Wryn raised his voice. “I have tribune connections.”

  Marcellus shrugged.

  Wryn’s shoulders sagged. He turned to her. “Please, Gwen.”

  She rested her hand on the doorway, though her body didn’t fill the entrance nearly as well as a man’s would have, which was annoying. “First, I want you to apologize for saying I was useless at catching smugglers.”

  “I’m sorry I said you couldn’t help me catch smugglers. I never thought you were useless. I just didn’t want the messiness of what happens whenever you’re involved.”

  She raised one eyebrow.

  “I shouldn’t have felt that way because you are very good at catching smugglers, obviously,” Wryn spoke swiftly.

  She held her chin high. “Apologize for hating Marcellus.”

  “I had cause to hate him. I was only looking out for you, Gwen.” Wryn raised his hand.

  “In the most obnoxious way possible.” Gwen resisted the urge to stick her tongue out.

  A teasing glint shone in Wryn’s dark eyes. “According to you, that’s how I do everything.”

  Truth. “And this.” Grabbing a package off the shelves, she shoved the wrapped embroidery at him. “Deliver this to Aulia for me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Some needlework we worked on.” Gwen felt heat rise to her ears. Oh, Wryn would fume if he knew what she’d helped Aulia with. “You can’t give it to a servant. You have to place it in Aulia’s hands yourself.”

  Wryn shoved up his eyebrows. “You were always at Aulia’s house, almost every day. Why do you want me to deliver it?”

  “If you want to help catch the Viri, you’ll do it.” Gwen crossed her arms.

  Wryn groaned. “Very well. Anything else?”

  “Hmm….” She pursed her lips. “Not that comes to mind. If I think of something—”

  “I’m taking this to Aulia.” Wryn walked out the door.

  Gwen stepped forward. Leaning over Marcellus’ shoulder, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Marcellus’ eyes laughed. “For what? I thoroughly enjoyed that.”

  Wryn ducked behind the curtain in the Corneli villa.

  Aulia sat on a couch, spinning wool, the image of the proper Roman maiden.

  “Sorry to disturb you. For some ludicrous reason, Gwen insisted that I bring you this embroidery thing. Here.” His cloak fell back over his shoulder plates as he handed it to her.

  A smile blushed up Aulia’s cheeks. “My thanks. Are you hungry?” She gestured to a tray.

  A succulent smell rose from the tray. “I’m starving, but I feel rude wasting your time because I want to eat your food. I’m sure you have more entertaining things to do than talk to me.”

  “Speaking with you enlivens any day.” She stood and handed him the tray.

  Not sure what that meant, but then he rarely had any idea what Gwen and her friends were talking about. He bit into a veal pastry, the best food he’d tasted in days. If he left before dawn tomorrow, he could reach the Moesia garrison in time to complete the projects he needed to before the governor of the province arrived. How had the new aqueduct construction progressed in his absence?

  The curtain swished. “Good news.” Aulius Cornelii stomped into the room. “Got your new betrothal arranged. Brutus Valeri, young and hearty too, so no more deathbeds breaking this betrothal. You’re getting old.”

  Drusus’ younger brother, not a good man. Wryn glanced to Aulia.

  She dropped her hands to her lap, her pale eyes so wide. “Father, I don’t wish to marry him.”

  “You have no say in it.” Her father flung the curtain out of his way and marched out.

  Wryn narrowed his eyes. Aulia’s father truly was a brute, but one couldn’t break custom and say that.

  Aulia lowered her gaze, a tear streaking down her cheek. “I wished he’d picked a good man at least.”

  What did one say to that? Especially since she spoke truth.

  Another tear rolled down her cheek.

  Wryn shifted on the tile. “You’ll make the perfect wife. He’ll see your virtue and change.” Untrue. Wickedness didn’t lighten at the sight of good, yet how could one tell her the truth?

  “You truly think I’ll be the perfect wife?” Her face brightened.

  “Of course.” She was the exact image of everything a Roman patrician desired in a wife, skilled at domesticity, maternal, obedient, and focused on bringing honor to her husband’s career. Everything Gwen wasn’t.

  Aulia swallowed, moving a lump in her throat. She ran her tongue over her upper lip, then she slowly opened her mouth. “Who will you marry?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not even marrying age for men yet.” The local Moesian stone broke apart in layers each time they built the aqueduct past fifteen cubits. He needed to import stronger stone. If the governor found his aqueduct impressive, perhaps he’d recommend him for a praetor post.

  “When you are?”

  He looked up as Aulia did something strange with her eyelashes. “Someone docile and sweet, who I won’t deserve. That’s Gwen’s opinion.”

  “What’s your opinion?”

  He wanted a girl who took his breath away from the first time she spoke his name. A girl he’d lay awake at night thinking about because he couldn’t stop. A girl who could make him forget he had an aqueduct to build, a grain and salt tally to compile, and an entire garrison to drill in martial exercises all before the governor arrived at month’s end because he lost himself in the light of her eyes.

  He’d never met a girl like that. He’d never confess he even wanted such a girl to Gwen, who’d laugh mercilessly. Wryn shrugged. “I’m much too busy trying to earn a praetor post to think of it. Speaking of which, I should get some work done.”

  “You could marry a girl with good political connections to get you such a post.”

  He laughed. “I have no idea how you and Gwen are even friends. She’s convinced I’ll drive any woman fool enough to take me r
aving mad.” Gwen might have a point. He wasn’t good with women, or love.

  “You could, though.” Aulia rose from the couch.

  “That sounds heartless.” New stone could take weeks to import. What if he ran the aqueduct down the hill so he needn’t exceed fifteen cubits in height for a good three-fourths of the distance?

  “Every other patrician does. The Corneli name holds great sway. If you asked for me, my father could likely secure you a praetor post.”

  No, if he used inferior rock for the aqueduct the project wouldn’t withstand the forces of time. Better to delay the building project than create an unstable structure that could break in the spring floods leaving the garrison without water. Wryn glanced up. Aulia had a question in her eyes as if she’d just asked him something. He’d been paying no attention to what she said. Had she asked him if he wanted more veal? To return a sewing bauble to Gwen? “Um . . .”

  A blush rose across her cheeks. “I hope you don’t think me forward for asking.”

  “Of course not.” Because he had no idea what she’d just asked. Should he say ‘yes?’ He’d tried that answer last year with Gwen when he hadn’t been listening and found himself forced to accompany her in delivering three score tunics to the poor, thereby losing an entire day of tribune work.

  A few years back, he’d said ‘no’ to the cook after not listening. She’d fumed for days before finally exploding to Mother that she’d raised an ingrate of a son who refused to let her have a day off even though she had the shakes and a raging headache.

  “Would you?” Aulia clasped both hands together.

  If he admitted he hadn’t listened, Gwen would learn of it and then she’d make his ears ache about the fact for years. She still berated him about the time he’d refused to take the then four-year-old Paulus with Eric and him to hunt in the forests surrounding the Catuvellauni land where Mother had grown up.

  Paulus had snuck away, and Mother had thought the boy had gone with him. When he returned, he and the entire village had spent the better part of a night hunting for Paulus. He’d felt great relief when he discovered his little brother hiding in an ash grove, but how again was it his fault the child had made a witless decision?

  “You would have to do it quickly before the other one’s signed.” Aulia’s hand trembled as she gazed at him, waiting for his reply.

  Signed? Was this about Gwen’s fuller shop? Wryn cleared his throat. “I’ll think on it.”

  Behold, a safe answer, and with any luck, Aulia would forget about whatever she’d asked long before he returned from Moesia. He inclined his head to her and headed for the entrance.

  Olive trees and grapevines surrounded them as Gwen walked the pebbled path to Marcellus’ northern villa. Hand on her horse’s reins, Gwen twisted back. “This is where you grew up?”

  Marcellus nodded and pointed to the hills that towered above them. “I want to show you the sunset over those tonight.”

  “I want to see it. But we’re waking up at the second watch of the night to smuggle those dozen slaves, which Androkles brought here, to Germania.”

  “No rush.” He smiled at her. “We’ve got a lifetime for it.”

  Horse hooves pounded behind them. Gwen twisted. The new recruit escorted a woman in fine clothes.

  “Claudia.” Gwen ran to her. “I’m so glad you decided to escape before your father could betroth you to another brutish man.”

  “Well—” Claudia arched one shoulder, her smile highlighting the deep rouge on her cheeks. “After Fabius died, Quintus Semproni told Father that he’d acted hastily and he wanted to renew our betrothal.”

  “Quintus?” Gwen raised an eyebrow. “The one that Livia called doting and sweet?”

  “And old and ugly.” Claudia jangled her bracelets. “What’s life without impassioned kisses behind overgrown hedges?”

  Gwen groaned. “You need a mother, girl.” Fortunately, she’d be taking Claudia straight to that mother in Moesia.

  “See you at the house.” Claudia dug her heels into her steed and she and the new recruit galloped past.

  Marcellus wrapped his hand around hers. “I want to show you the waterfall too, and—”

  A man emerged from a grove of olive trees ahead of them. Keys hung from his sturdy girth, and a knotted whip protruded from his belt. Though he swaggered as if he owned the villa, the tattoo curving down his right cheek marked him as a slave.

  Rage flashed across Marcellus’ face. Hand dropping from her, he clenched his fists.

  Gwen glanced at him. “Who’s that?”

  “The overseer.” The words slid through Marcellus’ clenched teeth.

  “The overseer that beat you?”

  “He beat my mother too.” Marcellus’ voice was low and dangerous.

  That was a “yes” then. “And he’s a slave?”

  “My slave.”

  Her gut clenched. Sweat built on her palms as she glanced from her husband to this man. Marcellus had killing fire in his eyes and a knife at his belt.

  “Caius Marcellus.” The overseer bowed. He had no hair, not even eyebrows.

  Marcellus threw something at him.

  The overseer raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?”

  “Your manumission papers. Leave now.”

  The overseer stared. “Now? I have business to finish.” He shifted in the dusty road. “Things to collect.”

  Marcellus stabbed his finger down the path. “If you’re still here at the end of the hour, I’m not responsible for what happens to you.”

  The overseer pounded down the path.

  Breath slipped from Gwen’s lungs. She slid her fingers into Marcellus’ hand. He smiled at her.

  Five Days Later on the Germanian Frontier

  Darkness shrouded the eaves of ramshackle wattle and daub dwellings. The Danube now roared to the west, and they stood on unconquered territory. Gwen walked by Marcellus as the rabble led the dozen now-former slaves to the Germanian village that had agreed to take them in. The forest blocked out all light but a single star.

  Marcellus wrapped his arm around her. “I never thought I’d have this.” Bending, he pressed his mouth to hers. His smile lit his eyes.

  “Have what? A wife who’d let you kiss her? I mean, I could see why you’d doubt that after, let’s see, threatening to murder me, imprisoning me in your villa, lying to me—”

  He traced his hand down her cheek. “No. Have you, us. A lifetime. Love. A familia. No slavery. No chains.” He stroked his fingers down her shoulder, underneath her cloak, as the cold Germanian wind whistled through the oak boughs. “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “You already said that. New compliments.”

  “Only married me for my silver-tongue, eh?”

  “Well,” she arched one shoulder, laughter in her eyes, “it certainly wasn’t for the sordid reputation, near assassination attempt, or how you yell when you’re angry.”

  He twisted his hand over, palm up. “You threw a javelin at me when you were angry.”

  “You deserved it.” She placed her lips on his. He tasted of honey and barley cakes. She ran her fingers through the bristles of his hair.

  He caught her under the legs, half-bare since she wore a man’s tunic, and scooped her into his arms. He angled his flat eyebrows up, a teasing light in his eyes. “Then again, delicia, I suspect you would have even if I hadn’t.”

  The End

  Excerpt: Without Love

  Love and Warfare series book 4

  Please enjoy this exciting excerpt from Without Love, book 4 in the Love and Warfare series by Anne Garboczi Evans.

  Felix “Wryn” Paterculi strode through the garrison gate outside Rome. He needed to report to his new duty station before he went to his domus.

  A legionary swung the heavy wooden doors shut behind him, Libya, and Horus.

  He looked to her. She was a loose woman, but she obviously loved her son. When he saw her tears, he couldn’t walk away and let the brutish Gnaeus
separate them. Why had Gnaeus even wanted a five-year-old boy?

  No matter. He’d free Libya and the boy as soon as he arrived home. “I won’t take longer than an hour. Horus can play anywhere inside the walls.”

  Libya nodded. Libya, her name as exotic as her loveliness. Even the coarse fabric of her work dress couldn’t hide her form. The waves of her ebony hair hung loosely to her waist, swinging with every step she took. Only women of infamia and prostitutes wore their hair down for all to see.

  A star-shaped tattoo blackened her cheek, also marking her as infamia. Yet she stayed up half the night with her son as the boy retched and she cleaned and calmed him. Libya took another step. Her wool dress slid around supple curves. Though her dress now covered her legs, he’d seen everything at that tavern. Her perfectly formed legs, the amber skin of her stomach curving around her navel—

  As soon as he notified the garrison of his arrival, he’d write up her manumission papers and send her off. Spending four days and nights with this woman had obviously already taxed his self-control past all godly limits.

  Turning, he moved to the peaked roof of the officers’ quarters.

  The tramp of soldiers on guard duty sounded through the paved courtyard.

  A legionary’s gaze swung right to where Libya sat on an overturned cask. “Look at that beauty.” He let out a catcall. The other legionaries turned to stare.

  Yes, Libya surpassed the beauty of any vestal virgin or temple statue of Venus or Athena. Didn’t mean these men had the right to notice.

  Wryn knocked the man against his helmet. “Leave her alone. That goes for the rest of you too. Or there’ll be trouble with me.”

  The men’s gazes touched the tribune rank on his helmet and a chorus of “yes, sirs,” followed.

  A decurion at the far end of the line kicked a rock, his grumble not quite low enough. “She’s infamia, not like I’m ogling some untouched girl.”

  A legionary clashed his shoulder plate against another’s as he elbowed the other man. “She’s his woman, that’s why. Lucky cur.”