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The Protector
Carla Capshaw


Quintus Ambustus is a slave–Adiona Leonia is a wealthy socialite. He fights for his life in the gladiator's ring–she plays cutthroat politics in Rome's high society.He's sacrificed everything for his Christian faith–she believes in nothing and no one. But when Adiona's life is threatened, Quintus is chosen as her bodyguard, and their fascination with one another shocks them both. Neither thought to find joy in a match society would condemn…but their feelings cannot be denied. Have they lost too much to believe in happiness? Or will their growing love let them leave the past behind–and build a new future together?









“You ought to go inside,” Quintus said in a rough voice. “You’ve been hurt. Your cuts need tending.”


He was determined to see her safe before his control splintered and he lost his inner battle to take her into his arms once again.

“I’m fine. Please,” Adiona whispered, “just go back to the party without me.”

He’d forgotten about the celebration the moment he saw her clinging to the gate, running for her life. “No. I won’t leave you.”

“I want you to go. The gossips will roast me alive if I’m caught out here alone with a…a slave.”

Let that be a lesson to you, fool.

He’d thought his pride had suffered every indignity imaginable since his enslavement. Leave it to this haughty beauty to prove him wrong again.

“You weren’t embarrassed to be caught with a slave when you clung to me moments ago.”

Suddenly, she transformed from weeping victim to an iron-spined matron of Rome. She thrust her shoulders back and pinned him with a glare so hot he felt singed. “I’ve had enough of your insults, you ignorant, contemptible…man!”




CARLA CAPSHAW


Florida native Carla Capshaw is a preacher’s kid who grew up grateful for her Christian home and loving family. Always dreaming of being a writer and world traveler, she followed her wanderlust around the globe, including a year spent in the People’s Republic of China, before beginning work on her first novel.

A two-time RWA Golden Heart Award winner, Carla loves passionate stories with compelling, nearly impossible conflicts. She’s found inspirational historical romance is the perfect vehicle to combine lush settings, vivid characters and a Christian worldview. Currently at work on her next manuscript for Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical, she still lives in Florida, but is always planning her next trip…and plotting her next story.

Carla loves to hear from readers. To contact her, visit www.carlacapshaw.com or write to Carla@carlacapshaw.com.




The Protector

Carla Capshaw







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

—1 John 4:18


To my sister, Nicolette Denton. The saying “The sister everyone wishes she had” was written about you. Thank you, not only for being the best sister in the world, but an incomparable sister in the Lord as well.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Prologue


Rome, 70 AD

“The General’s come home, child. Put down your doll and go greet him like the proper daughter you’ve been taught to be.”

Eager to obey her maid Prisca, the closest person to a mother she’d ever known, Adiona hastened to her feet.

A chilly morning breeze swept through the room. Adiona shivered, but not entirely from the cold. Her father was a stranger. He’d abandoned her to the care of servants when she was only three years old. Her sole memory of him was a vague recollection of his rigid back as he left for Britannia.

Filled with nervous energy, she draped a blue palla around her shoulders as she grappled to recall her father’s face. Would the General recognize her? Would she please him? He’d been away on campaign for so long.

In the courtyard, the splash of fountains mingled with the smoky-sweet scent of incense as she and Prisca passed the family shrine. Praying she would make a good impression on her parent, she smoothed her dark hair back from her face and made her way across the mosaic tiles with brisk but anxious steps.

Down a short corridor, she heard men in conversation. She recognized neither voice, but assumed one was her sire. Her steps slowed and her stomach rolled. What if he found her lacking? What if he cast her away the same as he’d done her mother?

Light in the hall dimmed the farther she moved from the courtyard. The voices grew louder.

“I haven’t seen Adiona,” one of the men said. “I only returned to Rome three days past. After nine years away I’ve had more important matters to attend to.”

Father? Why hadn’t he come to her sooner? Did he have no care for her at all? Her questioning gaze darted to Prisca. Her brow pinched, the maid lifted a finger to her lips, warning Adiona not to speak.

“Naturally,” the other man continued in a gravelly voice. “A daughter is less important than a favored pet.”

“Right you are, Crassus. A son is the gods’ blessing, but a daughter…”

“Is only as valuable as the marriage she makes. Of course, that’s why I’m here. I understand Adiona will reach a marriageable age next week.”

“She’s going to be twelve already?” the General asked, a touch of surprise in his voice.

“According to your servants, she is. Let me be frank, General. I’m in need of a young and healthy wife to breed me sons. I believe the girl will suit my purpose.”

A shudder ran through Adiona. She held her breath, willing her father to reject the stranger’s offer.

“And if I agree to a marriage between you, how would the alliance benefit me?”

Adiona gasped. Would her father send her away without even seeing her first?

Prisca frowned and shushed her to silence. “Stay here. Don’t follow me until I call you.”

A dull ache spread through Adiona. Pressing back against the cool concrete wall, she wished she could disappear.

“Silver is in the bargain for you, General. I understand your last campaign didn’t go well. I’ll take the girl without a dowry and settle your debts, as well as sponsor your legions for the next year. Considering the sum you owe, who else besides the emperor could afford to be as generous?”

“The question is why you’d be so free with your coin?”

“She’s the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen. With an ornament like her on my arm, I’ll be the envy of every man in Rome.”

In the silence that followed, Prisca went to the door way and cleared her throat to make her presence known.

“What is it, woman?”

“The child is waiting in the hall.”

“Bring her in. I’m anxious to see this girl whose face is worth a fortune.”

Prisca poked her head around the door frame and waved her forward. “Come, Adiona, the General’s ready to see you.”

Chilled to the bone by her father’s indifference, she remained frozen in place. “Come here, child.” Her maid walked toward her, extending a hand. “Come greet your sire and his important guest.”

Adiona shook her head. She had no intention of placing herself on display like one of the prized cows her tutor had showed her at market.

Prisca fiddled with one of the curls tumbling over her shoulder. “Don’t shame me. What will your father think of the training I’ve given you if you prove to be willful and disobedient?”

Terrified, Adiona crossed her arms over her chest in a meager display of self-protection. “I won’t go.”

Her maid’s lips thinned. The older woman’s grip tightened on Adiona’s upper arm. “Yes, you will.” Prisca thrust her over the threshold and blocked the portal, Adiona’s sole means of retreat. Caged like one of the beasts at the menagerie, she was flooded by a wave of panic. Too frightened to look at her sire, she turned on her heel and fought to push past the maid.

“Adiona!” The General’s icy command froze her to the spot. “Present yourself.”

She swirled around, taking in the faces of the two strangers on either side of the wide desk. The one dressed in an army red tunic was big, his face scarred. The other man was old and withered. He reminded her of a giant pockmarked bullfrog leaning on a gnarled cane. His jaundiced gaze was less than fatherly as it roamed over her in the same way the buyers sized up the heifers at market.

Only he wants a broodmare.

She shrank back.

“Come here, daughter.”

Prisca shoved her forward. Gathering the remains of her courage, Adiona forced her heavy feet toward the huge man whose fisted hands and cold gaze promised retribution if she continued to embarrass him in front of his visitor.

She stopped several paces out of his reach, her chest aching for one kind gesture from him. With a sinking feeling, she realized the General would never be the father she longed for, a father who welcomed her with love and open arms.

“Well?” he demanded. “Have you gone mute since I left?”

She shook her head. Her chest tight, she answered as duty required. “Hello, Father. Wel…welcome home.”

“That’s better.” He turned back to the bullfrog without offering her the slightest show of warmth. “I want you to meet Crassus Scipio. He’s asked to wed you and I’ve decided to agree to his request.”

Anger pierced through her heartbreak and rejection. Her rebellious gaze slid to the old man. The gleam in his eyes repulsed her until she feared she might retch at his feet.

Trembling, she turned to the General, the defender of Rome who did nothing to protect his own daughter. “Please don’t,” she begged him, “please don’t give me to him.”

His face hardened. “Ungrateful whelp. You should be honored that one of the richest men in Rome desires you for a wife.”

Honored? Had years of war addled her father’s wits?

“If Crassus agrees, I’ll arrange your marriage to take place next week when you come of age.”

“But—”

“No more interruptions, girl.” He snapped his fingers, summoning Prisca. “Take her out of my sight and make the necessary preparations. It’s time she set aside her dolls and learned to be a proper wife.”




Chapter One


The Flavian Amphitheater, Rome, 81 AD

“Blood is sure to stain the sand today!”

Adiona Leonia shuddered at Claudia’s gleeful prediction. As insidious as a spider, Claudia rarely approached anyone without nefarious intent. Unfortunately, the older matron had begun to spin her web around Adiona the moment she’d approached the entrance gate.

“The gladiators face war elephants and chariots this afternoon,” Claudia continued. “I can hardly breathe with anticipation!”

Scanning the mob of enthusiastic spectators swarming into the massive arena, Adiona pretended not to hear the other woman over the roar of the crowd and motioned her bodyguards to clear a way to escape. Surrounded by the fragrance of burning pinecones meant to keep the stench of blood and death at bay, Adiona needed no reminder of who faced what in the arena. Her attraction to one particular gladiator both mystified and rattled her. Other than her friend the famed lanista, Caros Viriathos, she neither liked nor trusted men. Yet she’d been inexplicably drawn to Quintus Ambustus since the first time she’d seen him train at the Ludus Maximus five months earlier.

“One of the gladiator troupes is Viriathos’s men.” Claudia spoke louder, refusing to be ignored. “That should make the day more delightfully gruesome.”

“It explains the crowds,” Adiona agreed absently. “Caros trains the best.”

“You would know.”

Claudia’s suggestive tone earned Adiona’s full attention. Had the bloodhound somehow learned her guilty secret? Her pulse quickened with dread. All of Rome knew of her contempt for the opposite sex. She’d be a laughingstock if anyone—especially Claudia and her mindless patrons—discovered her unrequited fascination for one of Caros’s slaves.

Irritated by the woman’s nosiness, Adiona clenched her fists in the weighty folds of her blue stola. “What do you mean, Claudia? Everyone is aware of Caros’s talents. I’m not special in that regard.”

The spider’s eyes gleamed with wicked pleasure. “True, but not all of Rome is on intimate terms with the great lanista.”

“Are you jealous?” Adiona smiled, misleading her adversary on purpose. Eager to disappear before Claudia sniffed a hint of the real scandal clinging to her cloak, Adiona bid the other matron good day before she could be drawn into more uncomfortable conversation.

Glad to be free of Claudia’s web, she relied on her trio of guards to lead her through the mob. At the top of the steps, she located her row. Reserved for senators, their families and other wealthy citizens, the prized seats closest to the arena floor were usually off-limits to women, but she and other rich matrons like Claudia were among the few privileged females whose wealth and social influence guaranteed them the best of everything the city offered.

Squelching the lust-filled glances men cast her way with a disdainful glare of her own, she took her place on the polished marble bench. The scent of cinnamon-roasted almonds infused the cool afternoon breezes, while wine flowed freely, encouraging the wildness that crackled in the air like heat lightning.

Adiona groaned inwardly when Claudia’s rotund form appeared at the top of the steps. An overburdened slave carrying a large basket trailed her.

“We meet again!” Huffing from the exertion of her short climb, Claudia waved the wooden ticket she held. “It seems we’ve been assigned seats next to one another.”

“Who did you bribe?” Adiona asked coolly. “I’d like to know who I should have whipped.”

The spider chuckled as she plopped down on the bench, leaving Adiona no choice but to slide over or be crushed by the woman’s girth. Within moments, Claudia’s poisonous chatter made Adiona’s head throb.

Dreading Quintus’s arrival on the field, Adiona stared at the amphitheater’s sandy floor. In the past few months Quintus had trained long and hard, but today he battled seasoned gladiators for the first time. Thanks to Claudia, she now knew he also faced war elephants and chariots…

A wave of anxiety swept over her. What if he died?

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

“Are you well, Adiona?” Claudia’s sharp eyes probed her face as though searching for buried secrets. “You seem…troubled. Talk is, until Caros and his bride left for Umbria, you’d become quite a regular at the gladiator practices. I assumed you’d come to enjoy the violence—”

“Talk?” Snapped out of her dark thoughts, her patience with the older matron vanished. “You know very well I despise being talked about, Claudia. Or did you seek me out today solely to dig up more dirt for your discussion?”

Claudia wrinkled her nose and reached for a glass bottle of water from the basket beside her feet. “Why are you so sensitive about a little harmless chatter?”

Remembering all the times she’d been maimed by gossip, Adiona snorted. “I’m not convinced there is such a thing as ‘harmless chatter.’”

“Of course there is.” Claudia pulled the cork and sipped from her bottle. “For instance, what’s the harm in wondering aloud if you’re upset about the lanista’s marriage? It’s common knowledge Caros Viriathos is the one man you’re fond of. Rumors say you’re jealous of his pretty new wife.”

She blinked, suddenly understanding why Claudia had sought her out. The other social matrons must be riotous with the hope of her languishing from a broken heart. They lived for gossip, sharpening their words behind her back and spreading their vicious chatter like a disease.

Happy to spoil their amusement at her expense, Adiona turned to the older woman and spoke loud enough to be heard over the excited crowd all around them. “Surely you jest. Caros is my friend. I wish him and Pelonia eternal joy.”

Disappointment flitted across Claudia’s bulbous features before she hid her displeasure behind a sly grin. “But he slighted you for a slave girl? If I were ever abandoned so heinously, I’d—”

“Cease, Claudia. Pelonia is no mere slave girl. She’s cousin by marriage to a senator. And though it’s none of your business, let me be clear. Caros and I are friends, nothing more. As far as I’m concerned, he’s one of the last decent men in the Empire. Even so, I’d slit my wrists before I wed him.”

Claudia patted Adiona’s tense shoulder. “Gods forbid you’d married him. He may be rich at present, but he spent years as a lowly gladiator. They’re fine for trysts, mind you, but marriage? No—at least not for you. You may not have been born of noble blood, but who’s to care when your beauty and riches can buy a royal husband?”

The trumpets’ blast drowned out Adiona’s tart reply. She’d vowed never to wed again. The six years of torture she’d endured in Crassus’s depraved hands had cured her of any childish notions concerning love or marital bliss. She no longer prayed for a happy home filled with children or a husband who cared for her. For whatever reason, the gods had deemed her unlovable and she’d grown almost numb to the sting of loneliness she’d borne for as long as she could remember.

The announcer’s voice echoed across the amphitheater, proclaiming the opponents of the afternoon’s main event. The mob erupted as portals in the arena floor slid open. Lifts deployed gladiators onto the field. Gates at the far end of the amphitheater rose and a dozen war elephants, a beast master on each of their backs, charged onto the sun-drenched sand.

Adiona slid forward on the marble bench. Her lungs locked. Her heart hammered against her breastbone louder than the bellowing mob. Straining to see Quintus, she recognized him instantly. Black hair, square jaw, golden skin. His height, the breadth of his shoulders, his presence drew her attention to him with an immediacy that was both intoxicating and frightening.

The wild crowd jumped up in unison. Adiona surged to her feet. Her every muscle as tight as one of the archer’s bows, she held her breath, promising the gods endless sacrifices if they kept Quintus safe. With her gaze fastened to Quintus on his troupe’s front line, she watched him lead his men across the field toward her where they took up an attack position.

Dressed in a simple brown tunic, his bare feet buried in the sand, he carried a shield and spear, looking woefully unprotected against the war elephants’ massive tusks.

One of the beasts charged toward Quintus and his men. Adiona clamped her hand across her mouth to contain the scream that burned in her throat. The huge animal raged on, tossing its head from side to side, its gold-covered tusks gleaming in the sun as they sliced through human flesh and bone.

Quintus’s troupe attacked. Taking the brunt of the spears, the elephant faltered and fell. As the behemoth struggled to regain its footing, Quintus vaulted onto its back. He tossed the beast master to the ground and took up the reins, just as the animal lurched to its feet.

Another gate lifted. Chariots thundered into battle, deploying more archers. Arrows soared through the sky before finding their targets with horrible accuracy. Dead and wounded gladiators littered the sand.

Seemingly unconcerned for his own safety, Quintus positioned the elephant between the advancing chariots and his men. His muscles straining to control the enormous animal, he was so close she could almost see the green depths of his eyes.

Another wave of arrows pierced the elephant’s hide. One skewered Quintus in the leg, another in his shoulder. A cry erupted from deep inside her, as if the arrows had hit her instead of her man.

The elephant fell to its knees, its trunk trumpeting in one last painful wail. Giddy madness raced through the crowd. Despite the many battles taking place on the field, the mob focused on the drama unfolding around Quintus. Riveted, she watched him struggle to pull the arrow from his thigh.

She begged the gods to save him. Pinned atop the fallen elephant and exposed to the hateful whims of Fate, Quintus made a clear target for the archers taking aim. The sounds of rapid horses’ hooves filled her ears, competing with the spectators’ cries and fist-pumping demands for death.

In desperation she begged every deity she could think of for mercy, even the illegal one Quintus worshipped, “Jesus, please…” she whispered under her breath.

“Viriathos has lost a fortune in gladiators today!” Claudia cackled with amusement. She pointed toward Quintus. “Look at that one struggle. He’ll never get away. The archers have him for certain.”

The glee in Claudia’s voice filled Adiona with rage, horror and a sinking sense of anguish. “Bite your tongue, you vicious crone! Quintus is an honorable man. How dare you delight in his death?”

Adiona’s gaze flew back to the action in the arena. Quintus had disappeared in the mayhem. Panic seized her. She pressed past Claudia, raced down the steps and clung to the barrier, desperate to find him through the black smoke and crush of chariots forming a victorious circle around the few gladiators left alive.

As expected, the charioteers and their team were declared the victors. The mob jeered the decision and the unfair fight, then erupted into cheers as Quintus used the fallen elephant to slowly pull himself to his feet.

The game’s referee dismissed the men who were able to walk. Quintus looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd before limping to the edge of the field. His back to her, she couldn’t see if he’d been able to pull the arrow from his shoulder. The other one remained in his thigh. Blood seeped down his leg and into the sand.

At least he lives. Relief as pure as a mountain stream flowed through Adiona, robbing her of strength. She braced against the barrier for support, promising herself she’d do whatever Caros required to ensure Quintus never entered the games again.

Turning to leave for the gladiator hospital where Quintus would be taken, she bumped into Claudia whom she hadn’t noticed beside her. The spider’s eyes gleamed bright and with dawning horror Adiona realized she’d given herself away.

“What a day!” her rival said with malicious satisfaction. “Not only was the sport amusing, but I learned so much. Little wonder you’re happy for the lanista and his bride when you’re enamored with a slave of your own.”



Quintus Fabius Ambustus eased onto a bench in the gladiator hospital behind the amphitheater. Smoke from the torches lining the concrete walls burned his eyes. The stench of blood and sweat reeked in his nostrils. Delirious moans and cries for help from other wounded men ricocheted off the arched ceiling, but not even the chaos and bolts of pain radiating through his body failed to erase the image of Adiona’s horrified gaze and frightened expression.

He rubbed his eyes, irritated by the beauty’s hold on him. Two months of near starvation in a disease-infested prison, a fortnight trekking through half of Italy in a slave caravan, and months of training in a gladiator ludus hadn’t felled him. Yet one unexpected glimpse of Adiona’s haunting visage in the stands of the arena had been enough to break his concentration and see him almost killed by arrows.

Dear God, what is wrong with me?

The question made him laugh, which made him groan as pain shot through his chest and bruised ribs. What wasn’t wrong with him? In the last seven months he’d become infamia— disgraced, the lowest of the low. He’d lost his family, wealth, freedom, citizenship and reputation. Everything but his faith in Christ and that, he acknowledged, was hanging by a thread.

Whether he was being punished or tested like some other believers suggested, he knew he didn’t need or want to be tempted by a vixen with an ability to sneak past his defenses and shred his self-control. No woman had ever done that, not even his wife.

He slammed the door on thoughts of Faustina. She was dead and memories of her filled him with guilt and eternal regret.

A solid blow jarred his wounded shoulder. “There’s the mob’s newest darling.”

Quintus cracked open one eye. Alexius, the manager of the gladiator school, stood over him, a grin parting the Greek’s swarthy face.

Rubbing the spot where he’d torn the arrow from his shoulder, Quintus pressed on the piece of cloth he’d used to cover the ragged flesh. “Was that necessary?” he asked, his tone as dry as dust.

“Of course. You don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re famous now, do you?”

“One lost battle isn’t enough to make anyone remember my name.”

“On the contrary.” The tall Greek moved deeper into the small alcove. Pleased by the afternoon’s events, he pulled up a stool and sat down. “Romans appreciate bravery above all else. The way you leaped on that elephant and protected your troupe… The whole city will know who you are by sundown.”

Quintus grunted, unimpressed. “A lot of good it will do me if I bleed to death.”

Alexius glanced at the arrow and growing ring of blood around the wound. “From that scratch? I doubt it.”

A man’s scream echoed down the corridor. A moment later, two of the hospital’s attendants ran past.

“Where’s the physician?” Quintus asked, weary of waiting when the deeply embedded arrow in his leg was making him light-headed from loss of blood.

“He’ll be here soon. By the sound of it, the day’s amputations are almost finished.”

Quintus grimaced. He was thankful to God his injuries were relatively minor, but a part of him wished God had taken him and spared the other wounded in his troupe.

“You’d better get used to injury,” Alexius warned. “You’re not a coddled merchant anymore. You’re a gladiator.”

Quintus curled his lip at the veiled insult. He may have been a merchant, but he’d never been an idle man. “I’ll try to remember that.” To punctuate his disinterest in the lecture, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

A stab of pain sliced through his thigh. His eyes flew open. Alexius had taken hold of the arrow and was slowly twisting the shaft. “Listen to me, Quintus. I know you’re angry at the world and probably your God, though you deny it. But if you plan to live long enough in the arena to earn your freedom, understand these paltry wounds are only the first of many.”

He threw off Alexius’s hand. Let the Greek think what he liked. He wasn’t concerned about his injuries. In truth, he didn’t care if he lived or died. It was his reaction to the widow that had soured his mood. “You do want your freedom, don’t you?”

“You know I do.” His freedom was the prize he longed for above all else. The goal he’d set for himself to return home and make certain the precious son he’d lost had received a proper burial.

“Then fear not. Today’s games will bring you a wagonload of good. A messenger brought word Caros and his lady return from Umbria next week. Once Caros hears what happened, he’ll see you’re rewarded. Your price for each fight is bound to rise. Caros is a generous master. Mark my words, he’ll see you benefit from your improved status for certain.”

Alexius would know. As the premier champion and current manager of the Ludus Maximus, he possessed wealth, the freedom to do as he liked and the respect of his master, Rome’s most feted lanista, Caros Viriathos.

“It won’t be long before you have enough silver to buy your life back.”

“We’ll see.” Weakness began to creep through him and his vision blurred. His eyes drifted closed.

“Stay with me, friend.” Alexius gave him a light shake. “Widow Leonia attended the games this afternoon. She came to see you fight.”

He opened his eyes, his focus hazy.

“I thought the mention of her might revive you.” Smirking, Alexius leaned forward on the stool and braced his wrists on his knees. “You know you might consider Adiona as a source of additional coin.”

“I’ve nothing to offer as collateral.”

“You could offer yourself. Everyone knows it’s you she came to watch at training practice these last several months. Judging by her constant attempts to gain your notice, she’d pay a fortune to have you.”

He doubted it. Rumor among his troupe said her true prey was Caros. That she flirted with Quintus to make the lanista jealous. Quintus had begun to suspect the gossip held merit when she stopped visiting the school the same day Caros and Pelonia left for Umbria. His brow arched with irritation. “You mean sell myself?”

“It’s widely done. Wealthy matrons are known to offer a huge price for the attentions of a well-known gladiator. And there’s no woman in Rome wealthier than the widow.”

The thought of Adiona paying men for their favors hit him with the unexpected force of a blow to the chest. Rage and pain washed through him. He struggled to stand.

“Easy, Quintus.” Alexius pressed him back onto the bench. “I meant to enliven you, not make you foolish. If you don’t like women—”

“I like women fine,” he said through gritted teeth, fighting the weakness that threatened to engulf him.

“All right, you like women. I believe you.” Alexius shrugged. “I take it, then, it’s only Adiona who leaves you cold? Why? She’s exquisite to look upon. Most men would sacrifice their sword arm for a single smile from her luscious lips.”

His eyelids heavy as bricks, he struggled to focus on Alexius. He couldn’t deny Adiona Leonia affected him like no other woman he’d ever met, but she also reminded him of his wife. Not in looks, but in manner and her priorities in life. A decade of marriage to a faithless, self-centered woman who chased social recognition and vain pleasure had taught him much. Outward beauty meant little when the inner being was ugly. If God answered his prayers for deliverance from his current situation, he hoped one day to find a wife who possessed faith, kindness and honor.

“Widow Leonia is not for me.” Too exhausted to frame his words with care, he answered honestly. “I don’t want a woman whose sharp tongue resembles a knife blade and whose morals mimic a she-cat in heat.”

A sharp gasp drew his attention to the edge of the alcove behind Alexius. Adiona stood in the arched doorway. Torchlight glimmered off her elaborately braided hair and the gold threads woven through the cloak she’d draped around her slender shoulders. To his blurred vision and pain-steeped brain she seemed like a bright morning star—just as beguiling and, for him, even more out of reach.

Words failed. He simply stared, grappling for an apology. He had no right to insult her. Never had he spoken of a woman with such disrespect. No matter if he believed he told the truth, he’d never intentionally hurt her.

Gutted by her stricken amber gaze and ashen complexion, he wished the arrow had missed his shoulder and skewered his heart.

And judging by the storm gathering on her flawless face, she agreed he deserved no less.




Chapter Two


He despises me.

Savaged by Quintus’s brutal assessment, Adiona swallowed the hard lump of rejection in her throat. Determined he would never know how deep his derision cut, she refused to march off in a display of wounded pride.

“My lady—” Quintus said, his voice reed thin.

“Why are you here?” Alexius jumped to his feet, his expression sheepish.

Careful to avoid the slightest glance at Quintus, she masked her humiliation behind the haughty facade she’d perfected long ago to protect herself. “Have you called a physician, Alexius? Or did you think a long chat would dislodge the arrow from his thigh?”

“I asked for help when I came in,” the Greek giant said defensively. “Quintus hasn’t been here long and he’s not the worst of the wounded.”

“Then I’ll fetch someone myself.” Grabbing the excuse to leave, she rushed down the busy corridor. She’d arrived to hear Alexius prompting Quintus to seek her out for coin and Quintus’s quick rejection of the idea. That he preferred to risk his life in the arena rather than spend time with her pierced like a gladius to the heart.

Angry with Quintus, and furious with her own naïveté, she berated herself for the foolish compulsion to see about his welfare. She should have guessed he was no better than all the other men who forever misjudged her, yet she couldn’t deny she had desperately wished he might be.

…Whose morals mimic a she-cat in heat.

The accusation went through her like a poisoned dart. If only he knew the truth. Every day was a struggle for her survival. All her life she’d fought off men who sought to use her, claim her, abuse her. Never had one looked past her outward appearance, fortune or social position to want her for herself.

Men are swine. She hated them. They could all rot for all she cared. Why did she think Quintus would be any different? What was it about him that made her forget she wanted nothing to do with any man?

She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her stola, blaming the torch smoke for the sudden sheen that blurred her vision. Idiota. Why did you let yourself hope?

In the main surgery, dust motes danced in the light pouring through a series of arched windows along the concrete walls. Herbal scents mixed with the harsh odors of vinegar and blood. Several physicians bent over drugged patients who’d been laid out on flat couches. Except for the murmur of voiced instructions, soft moans and the occasional ping of metal surgical instruments, the room was surprisingly quiet, the opposite of the chaos in the halls.

She stepped deeper into the light. “You, there.” She pointed to a balding man she’d seen several times at Caros’s compound. “Your name is Petronius, is it not?”

Petronius looked up from bandaging his unconscious patient. His eyes widened with recognition. “My lady Leonia, what are you doing here?”

“One of the gladiators from the Ludus Maximus needs your attention. He’s been shot by arrows and continues to bleed. Finish quickly with your work here and I’ll take you to him.”

The physician wiped his hands on a bloodied towel and surveyed his patient with an air of uncertainty. “I’ve done all I can for this one. Fate will do the rest.”

An assistant took over bandaging the unconscious gladiator while Petronius gathered a needle, stitching, a roll of clean linen and an arrow extractor. “I’m ready, my lady. Please lead the way.”

Adiona relieved him of the linen and wasted no time taking the physician to the alcove. Alexius met them in the shadowed corridor.

“How is he?” Petronius asked.

“He lost consciousness moments after Lady Leonia left to fetch you.”

The Greek’s announcement sent a chill straight down Adiona’s spine. Reason urged her toward the exit, but her feet refused to budge.

“How long has he been here?” Petronius knelt on the floor, his fingers testing the angry red wound on Quintus’s thigh.

“Less than half an hour is my guess.” Alexius took a torch off the wall and angled it to give the physician better light.

Adiona clutched the bundle of soft linen she held and bit her lip as every nerve in her body focused on Quintus and his treatment.

I should leave. I’m not wanted here. Quintus doesn’t want me here.

She handed the bandages to Alexius. Once again she turned to go. A moan from Quintus tugged her back. Despite her resolve to cling to her anger and put him out of her mind, she found herself by his side before she realized she’d taken a single step forward.

Being this close to Quintus was rare. He was a slave, a gladiator. Always a battlefield stood between them.

Unbidden emotions filled her heart. Her fingers twitched with the need to touch him. Torchlight danced across the lean angles of his face, the smudge of dark bristles that shadowed the sharp cut of his jaw. Her gaze roamed over the thick muscles that roped his arms and broad chest, the bloody arrow wound in his shoulder.

Wishing she could ease his pain, she noted how he’d changed since she’d first seen him. Five months ago, he’d been little more than skin and bones. Caros’s new slave with no more than a will to live and brooding green eyes. Green eyes that clashed with hers across a sea of golden sand and left her breathless.

She swallowed hard. “Will he recover?”

The physician shrugged. “It’s a clean wound, but only the gods can say.”

The pallor beneath Quintus’s sun-bronzed skin scared her. Hesitant to touch him in case she caused him further pain, she brushed a thick lock of black hair from his brow and murmured his name.

“Don’t bother, my lady. He can’t hear you,” Petronius said. “Until I get him stitched up, you don’t want him to, either.” He tossed the bloody arrow aside and it clacked against the cement floor. He set down the extractor, stemming the fresh spurts of blood with a piece of the linen bandage. “Hand me that bottle.”

Adiona did as commanded, forgetting she took orders from no one. The physician poured the foul-smelling liquid over the wound, then began sewing together the hole’s ragged edges.

Quintus’s face contorted with pain. He groaned through his delirium. She spoke softly to him and soothed his brow until he calmed, deciding she would just have to wait and hate him tomorrow.



Caros Viriathos studied the training field below his bedchamber’s second-story window. A bright winter sun had reached its zenith, flashing off his men’s metal helmets and various pieces of weaponry. His pet, Cat, sat quietly beside him. The tiger’s long tail swished on the mosaic-tiled floor as he sniffed the cool breeze carrying the scent of lamb meant for the noonday meal.

After a month away from the Ludus Maximus, it felt good to return, but since his marriage he acknowledged the gladiator school he owned and built no longer seemed like home.

His new wife, Pelonia, claimed that distinction in his heart. Wherever she was, he wanted to be. Together, they’d decided to start their lives afresh on the Umbrian hill estate once stolen from her father. Eager to leave for the villa and fertile lands he’d been able to return to her as a wedding gift, he had much to do to settle his affairs here in Rome.

He heard his wife’s voice calling for him from out in the corridor. Assuming she had questions about the wedding feast they planned for Friday evening, he turned, a smile curving his lips. It quickly faded as she hurried through the door, her doe-brown eyes filled with distress. He and Cat both moved toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Did you know Quintus was injured while we were away? Alexius entered him in the games!”

He sighed. Home less than an hour and she’d already heard the bad news. He folded her in his embrace, enjoying how she fit against him, her floral scent, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I know. Alexius tried to help him—”

“By tossing him into the arena?” She pulled back and looked up at him with a dubious frown. “Quintus is a brother in the Lord. He’s a slave because of his faith in Christ. You should free him, Caros. Not allow him to be maimed or worse in that horrid ring of torture.”

He felt her shudder and knew she remembered the day she’d been cast into the arena for her faith. He kissed her brow, grateful the Lord has spared them both, yet wishing he could erase the nightmare for her. “I tried to free Quintus before we left for Umbria. I know he wants his liberty and I had no intention of sending him to fight.”

“Then why—?”

“Because he declined my offer. If he accepted, he’d be indebted to me or so he claimed. He’s a merchant, Pelonia, and a proud man with self-respect. He knows the value of a denarius and he’s determined to pay his full debt himself.”

“But how can he if he has no coin? Why not loan—?”

He shook his head. “I offered. Again, he declined. He won’t take anything that isn’t earned. When he leaves here, he intends to be free in every sense of the word.”

“So Alexius entered him in the arena for the prize winnings.” She searched his face. “But Quintus has only trained five months. How can he be ready?”

He tucked a soft tendril of black hair behind her ear. “Under normal conditions, I’d say he couldn’t be, but Quintus is keenly intelligent and surprisingly agile for one of his class. After he’d been here only a matter of weeks he was already making progress with some of the more advanced battle stances. Alexius told me he fought well.”

“What does that matter now that our friend is injured? His life is worth more than silver. He could have died.”

He lifted her chin with his index finger and looked deeply into her eyes. “Isn’t it you who always reminds me God has a plan for everyone’s life?”

She nodded, but her mouth drooped into a playful pout. “It isn’t nice to throw my words back in my face.”

“And it’s such a beautiful face.” He chuckled and kissed away her frown. “You should be thankful you have a husband who listens.”

She hugged him tight and laughed. “Oh, I am, believe me.”

“Then listen to me,” he said, pleased to see her smile again. “All will be well with Quintus. I’ve denied his request to reenter the ring—”

“What? He asked for another fight? Does he have no care at all for his life?”

“I admit his spirits seem much lower than when we left a month ago. He has the hardened look of a man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies. That’s to be expected after all he’s suffered, but for the moment at least, I’ll ensure he stays breathing. I’m confident the Lord will reveal a way for me to help him earn his freedom without the aid of the arena.”

“Well, then,” she said, resigned, “we shall just have to wait and see.”

Cat bumped Pelonia, jolting her sideways, his patience for attention at an end. Laughing in surprise, she bent over the tiger and nuzzled the top of his striped head. She rubbed Cat’s ears and grinned at Caros. “I think he missed me.”

“I know I would if we were separated a month.”

“A month?” She grimaced. “Don’t think you’ll ever be free of me that long.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Watching her affectionate play with Cat, he marveled at how important she’d become to his happiness, his peace of mind. He tugged her back to him and kissed her tenderly. “A month would be an eternity I couldn’t endure. I miss you the moment you leave my arms.”



Quintus finished the letter he’d written to his brother and rolled up the scroll once it dried. Since his arrest, he’d lost track of the number of messages he’d sent Lucius. None of the correspondence had been answered and he despaired of hearing back from his good-natured but irresponsible twin.

For all he knew, Lucius had taken the gold Quintus entrusted to him after his arrest and traveled to Capri to waste it on dancing girls and honeyed wine. That Lucius had been the sole person Quintus had to rely upon from his prison cell testified to the bleakness of his situation at the time.

Praying Lucius wouldn’t let him down again, he dressed and left the gladiator barracks. Caros’s visit earlier in the morning had been a blessing. It pleased him to know his friends were content and encouraged his faith to see God’s hand at work in their lives.

Drawing in a deep breath of cool, winter air, he crossed the training field, eager to get back to sword practice and regain his full strength. After four days, his wounds were healing. The twinge in his shoulder bothered him less and less, while the ache in his thigh caused no more than a slight limp. It was his dreams of Adiona’s glorious amber eyes and flowing dark hair that conspired to torture him.

He searched the stands until he realized he was looking for those same amber eyes in person. Had he really believed she might be there just because Caros had returned to Rome? Disgusted by his disappointment in her absence, he despised the flaw in him that continued to crave a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

“Why are you out here?” Alexius called from a short distance down field. “Go back to the barracks. You’re supposed to rest at least another two days.”

Quintus waited for Alexius to work his way through the maze of gladiators and other training apparatus. “I’d rather bleed to death out here than die of boredom inside that sweltering jail.”

Alexius laughed and clapped him on his good shoulder. “Normally, I’d take pity on you, but Caros and Pelonia are hosting a wedding celebration Friday eve. I have strict instructions to make certain you’re well enough to attend.”

“I’m well enough now.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the main house. A sense of peace radiated from the domus. The open shutters welcomed the sunlight and laughter carried on the breeze from the second-story window.

A shaft of unexpected envy lanced through him. He didn’t begrudge Caros and Pelonia’s happiness, but he couldn’t stop wondering why God had denied all his prayers for a loving wife and a joyful home. He’d spent years praying for Faustina to come to Christ. He’d done his best to be a good and godly husband, but she’d shunned him and his beliefs. Now it was too late. Faustina had taken her own life after the tragic death of their son.

Quintus shrank away from thoughts of Fabius. His son had been his reason to wake each morning. Every detail from his mischievous smile to his boundless energy had been a wonder. Now all Quintus had left was an eternally broken heart.

“Quintus? Did you hear me?”

He blinked and focused on Alexius who watched him with intense silver eyes. “No. What did you say?”

“I said you might be interested to know the widow Leonia will be a guest at the master’s fete Friday.”

Quintus’s heart kicked against his chest and his pulse quickened. He clawed his fingers through his hair, schooling his features to hide his reaction. “What does she have to do with me?”

“After what she overheard in the hospital, I’d wager you’re not her favorite person.”

“Most likely not. If I’m able to speak with her at the party, I’ll apologize.”

“I’ve known her a number of years,” the Greek continued. “So take this as a friendly warning. Say nothing to her and stay clear of her presence. When she’s riled, Adiona Leonia resembles one of the lions her family is named for.”

Quintus ignored his sudden impatience for the party’s arrival. Adiona may be a lioness, but he’d meet her at the gate when she arrived, before she had time to join the festivities and he, as a slave, lost the chance to speak with her. Despite the countless rumors among the men in his barracks, Quintus didn’t believe the widow’s heart was made of marble. He had no excuse for the cruel things he’d said about her and after all the mistakes he’d made in his own life, who was he to criticize her manner or her morals?

Alexius laughed suddenly. “But then, given the odd connection between you two, perhaps you’re just the man to tame her.”




Chapter Three


“Hurry with my hair, Nidia. I’m late for Caros’s marriage fete. I must be on my way.”

Her nerves stretched taut, Adiona fidgeted with the alabaster cosmetic jars and jewel-encrusted bottles lined across her dressing table. She should have left half an hour ago. She and Pelonia hadn’t started out on the best of terms. If she were unreasonably tardy for the celebration, Caros would never believe she hadn’t intended the slight against his new bride.

And Quintus will think you’re more vain and rude than he already does…

“Hurry, Nidia. I must leave.”

The glow of oil lamps in the polished silver mirror allowed her critical, kohl-rimmed eyes to study her blurry reflection and keep track of the maid’s slow progress with the curling rod.

Thanks to the cosmetics, Adiona’s skin was fashionably pale. A light dusting of rouge across her cheeks and a berry stain on her lips went well with the deep rose color of her embroidered stola. Long gold earrings set with pearls and garnets brushed her shoulders. A matching necklace, rings and bracelets glittered in the firelight. As always, she looked the part of a wealthy matron, deserving both honor and respect.

But you deserve neither, you fraud.

She dabbed scented oil behind her ears and across her inner wrists, but the cinnamon perfume failed to soothe her agitation.

Nidia pinned the last curl in place. “I’m finished, domina. You look beautiful.”

Adiona jumped to her feet, as eager to escape the accusations in her own eyes as she was to be on her way. The quick movement jostled the dressing table. One of the perfume bottles crashed to the floor, spreading shards of glass and sweetly scented oil across the colorful tiles. With an uttered oath, she ordered Nidia to clean up the mess and raced into the hall.

Her steward, Felix, snapped to attention from where he’d been leaning against the frescoed wall. “Salonius Roscius awaits you in the inner courtyard, my lady. I told him you were on your way out for the evening, but he insists he has important news.”

“He’ll have to return tomorrow,” she said without pausing her rapid pace toward the front of the palace. “The meeting with my property manager has made me late.”

“But domina…” Her steward’s steps gained ground behind her. “He says it’s urgent.”

“When is it not urgent, Felix?” she tossed over her shoulder. “And yet, when is it ever?”

“He brings word from your heir.”

“Most likely Drusus means to beg more coin.” She plucked a white silk palla from her maid’s outstretched fingers and swirled the bejeweled shawl around her shoulders without missing a step. “If not for my cousin’s sweet wife and lovely daughters, I swear on Jupiter’s stone, I’d never send that worthless leech another copper as.”

Without warning, the beaded curtain separating the corridor from the inner courtyard parted. Salonius’s large frame filled the doorway. The epitome of a Roman upper-class male, he was freshly shaven and clothed in white linen. Dark curls were cropped close to his head and his manicured nails suggested many hours of leisure spent at the baths.

“My lady.” He bowed and gave her one of the quick smiles she was certain he practiced in any reflective surface he came across. Why so many women found his studied seduction attractive, she couldn’t guess.

“Salonius,” she acknowledged with a quick nod. “You’ll have to excuse me. I must be on my way.”

His hand snaked out and caught her wrist in a light but unbreakable grip. “Surely you can take a few moments to see an old friend, my sweet?”

She tried to shake off his touch, but he held firm. “Unhand me,” she said loftily.

“In a moment.” He brushed his wet lips over her knuckles.

Repulsed, she yanked free of his hold and wiped the back of her hand on her stola.

Torchlight lent him the feral, yet amused, appearance of a hyena. “When are you going to stop this charade and admit you wish to wed me as much I want you to?”

“I suppose when the River Styx runs dry and Vulcan’s forging fires extinguish.”

His laughter echoed through the domed corridor. “Don’t lie, precious. Everyone knows you’re just waiting until I fall to my knees and beg for your hand.”

“I’ve no doubt everyone and the little wife you keep hidden away in the country would find that most amusing. As for me, I’d think you quite foolish.”

His laughter faded, replaced by an ardent seriousness that caught her off guard. “You know I’d divorce her like this—” he snapped his fingers “—if you’d agree to be my wife.”

“Then your wife has nothing to fear from me.”

His expression soured as he slowly circled her. “You’re off to the Viriathos reception, I imagine.”

“Yes.” Aware that wealthy, yet idle, men like Salonius both revered and despised the gladiators, she hid a smirk at his disgruntled tone and turned to leave.

“Wait.” He held out a scroll as if it were a treat meant for an eager puppy. “I returned from Paestum by way of Neopolis this afternoon. You’ll want to read this.”

“Leave it with Felix. I’ll see to it when I return.”

“No, Drusus has important news. It can’t wait.”

Resigned and conscious of the passing time, she swiped the scroll from his outstretched hand and hurried away before he delayed her further. Outside, she cringed at the late hour. The sun had already set, its red-and-gold streaks fading into a deep purple sky.

A brisk breeze ruffled the curls piled high on her head and flowing over her shoulders as she crossed the columned portico to the litter awaiting her. Titus, her lead guard, drew the transport’s heavy drapes aside. Her gold bracelets jangled as she climbed inside and breathed the scent of cloves her slaves had used to freshen the luxurious cushions. “Let’s be on our way, Titus. Caros will never speak to me again if I don’t show my face soon.”

The litter lurched as four burly slaves lifted the conveyance and prepared for travel. Titus gave orders for her three other guards to take their positions surrounding the group.

The light dimmed as they carried her from her palace’s torch-lit courtyard and into the dark streets of the Palatine Hill. With no lantern to read Drusus’s message, she adjusted the heavy silk of her embroidered stola and reclined against the fringed feather pillows and mountain of furs.

“Gods below, I hate weddings.” Only for Caros could she be swayed within a league of a marriage fete. She despised all reminders of her own marriage. Even now, eleven years later, she remembered the terror and helplessness she’d suffered that hideous day. And worse, later that night when Crassus ordered his guards to beat her for failing him.

A shudder of disgust rippled through her. Her fingers tightened on the scroll and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad the wicked old toad was dead. Reminding herself she was no longer that helpless twelve-year-old girl, but an independent woman in charge of her own life, she pushed the hateful memories to the back of her mind.

As the litter passed deeper into the maze of city streets, the sound of her slaves’ swift steps mingled with the aroma of cook fires and the local inhabitants’ bursts of laughter or occasional arguments.

Pleased by the litter’s quick pace, she willed herself to relax. She’d spent the last several days dreading tonight. Given Caros and Pelonia’s fondness for their Christian slave, Quintus was sure to be in attendance. Her attraction to him was over, she vowed, but the sting of his insults still smarted. With no desire to be further humiliated, she planned to avoid him at all costs.

Twisting one of the long curls flowing over her shoulder, Adiona tamped down her melancholy mood and forced her thoughts back to Caros. The fact that her friend was a Christian amazed her. When Caros confessed his belief in the illegal sect and their crucified God, he’d known she would keep his secret, just as he’d kept various secrets for her over the years. But she had trouble understanding why he’d put his life on the line when all gods were the same, and like most people, not to be trusted.

The litter slowed. She sat up. They couldn’t have arrived already. They’d passed through the city gate and turned onto the lonely stretch of road leading to Caros’s gladiator school mere moments ago. They had at least half a mile left to travel.

“Halt!” a commanding voice ordered.

The litter stopped. She reached for the curtain, annoyed by the delay that might squander the good time they’d made since leaving Palatine Hill. “Domina, stay inside,” Titus warned in a low voice meant for her ears alone. “We’ve met with a band of street rats. There may be trouble and you’re easier to defend if you remain hidden.”

“Let us pass,” another of her guards demanded of the thieves. “We’re guests of the lanista, Caros Viriathos. Cause us no trouble and we may allow you to live.”

Tension sizzled through the night. The sound of ominous footsteps penetrated the thin layers of cloth cocooning her. A twinge of anxiety snaked through the darkness and across the back of her neck. She fought a desire to pull the drape aside and survey the situation, but she knew better than to endanger her men by ignoring Titus’s instructions.

Her grip tightened on the scroll in her hand. She’d chosen her guards with care. All were ex-military men and formidable fighters. Along with the four other slaves carrying the litter, there should be plenty of hands to protect her and defend each other.

“Now!” someone barked. Yelling exploded through the blackness from all sides. Fear ripped through her. She screamed Titus’s name.

“Stay inside, my lady!”

The litter swayed violently, tossing her against the poles supporting the transport’s roof. She felt herself falling just before the litter hit the road with a bone-jarring thud. She fell back, the thick stack of pillows saving her from injury.

Outside, metal clashed against metal. “Kill the woman!” an enemy shouted.

Terror raked through her. She scrambled upright, hobbled by the furs and pillows snatching at her feet.

The clang of weapons grew louder. The number of strangers’ voices outnumbered those of her own men. A sickening death cry erupted beside her. Shaking with fright, she bit back a scream.

Titus stuck his head through the drapes; his blood-spattered face increased her terror. “Domina, hurry! It’s you they mean to have!”

Trembling, she rushed to leave the litter just as someone reached inside from behind and seized hold of her palla. A shriek burst from her throat. She cast off the garment and burst through the drapes onto the shadowed street. Titus’s battered form towered over her. The strong odor of his sweat stung her nostrils. Quick, sideways glances told her they were hemmed in on both sides. Dilapidated buildings loomed behind them.

“Domina,” Titus whispered near her ear. “When I say run, follow the alley behind us. Appius and I will buy time, then follow you. Don’t stop until you reach the school.”

“It’s the woman we want.” One of the attackers stepped forward from the pack. “Give her to us and we may allow you to live.”

Hearing their leader mimic her guard’s earlier threat, the pack of rats skittered with laughter.

Titus shoved her behind him, the sword he held in his free hand raised to fight. “What has the lady done to deserve the dishonor of being assaulted in the street?”

Adiona strained to see through the dark. Her other remaining guard, Appius, stood a few paces forward and to her left. Moonlight glinted off her attackers’ knives and the broken glass vessels they’d fashioned into weapons. The bodies of her men littered the barren road. Bile scratched her throat. Her stomach rolled with sickening shock and horror. Pity for her sorely outnumbered guards rose to choke her. Judging by the number of dead assailants that covered the ground, her men had fought with all their might.

Her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she turned back to back with Titus and located the narrow alley that offered her last hope for escape.

Impatient to finish her off, the rats moved closer by degrees like a tightening noose.

Titus’s muscles flexed against her shoulder blades. “Domina,” he hissed, “Run!”

She hiked her tunic to her knees and raced. Mindless with fear, she sped down the alley without thought of what awaited her at the other end. Shouts raged and weapons clashed. Fast footsteps gained ground behind her, drowning her senses with panic.

She slipped on a wet spot and fell, scraping the fingers wrapped around the scroll. The smell of dust and mildew invaded her nose and gagged her. She shot to her feet. Hands clawed her shoulder and the loose curls tumbling to her waist. Her captor yanked her head back, nearly snapping her neck. She wheeled on the man, wincing from the pain of having her hair torn from her scalp. Her tunic ripped. The night air chilled her shoulders.

She raised the scroll and beat her attacker with the hard wooden knob at the end of the rolled parchment. She kicked with furious intent, catching the rat in the shin, the knee, the groin. He doubled over, shrieking with pain. More footsteps. Yelled profanities and insults shot through the night. The pack continued their chase. Her fingers tightened on the scroll now that she realized it made a decent weapon. Lungs burning from the added exertion, she ran ever harder, her bracelets rattling with each step like a frantic tambourine.

At the end of the alley, she turned right, disheartened to find another desolate road. Terror spurred her onward. The shouts of her assailants grew louder, closer. Her mouth dry, she panted for air, her chest tight and aching. Fatigue threatened to claim her.

Up ahead, torchlight glowed in the distance and began to grow brighter. The school! She ran toward the iron gates and the guards’ darkened silhouettes. Spurred on by the sight, she summoned her second wind and pressed onward.

“I’ve got you, wench!”

Rough hands grabbed her around the neck. Her scream died in the vermin’s tight grasp. She felt herself tumble. Pain exploded down her side where she landed, her face scraped the road’s hard pavers.

The fall dislodged her attacker. She lurched upright, kicking the scum in the stomach, the face. The faint voices of Caros’s men filled her with hope. She bolted toward the shelter in the distance.

With a rush of gratitude, she arrived at the gate. The party’s music drifted on the cool night air. Weak with relief, she closed her eyes and sagged against the bars, pleading for help. Her labored breaths shook her whole body, clanking the scroll’s wooden ends against the cold metal bars in her grasp. “My lady!”

Her heart dropped. No gods, please, not Quintus! Her eyes widened with dread even as they roamed over his tall frame and broad shoulders to ascertain his wounds had healed as well as her steward reported.

“Guard, open the gate!” Quintus ordered. “You, there, fetch your master.”

Why did the Fates toy with her? Of all the men in the ludus, why did he have to be the one to find her scorned and disgraced?

In Rome, no decent woman of rank was attacked in the street. People would blame her, judge her, believe she’d done something to deserve the dishonor. Quintus would be no different. How could he be when her shame supported the abysmal opinion he already held of her?

Hot tears burned her eyes.

The gate rattled open. She crossed into the courtyard and flinched as the heavy metal bars slammed shut behind her. A torch’s flame reflected in Quintus’s intense, unreadable gaze. Raw and exposed beneath his stoic inspection, she lifted her chin.

Her lips quivered as she grappled to maintain the last shreds of her dignity. Like her torn garments, the careful facade she cultivated to protect herself hung in tatters.

“My lady, what happened?”

His deep voice washed over her with a gentleness that unraveled the last of her control. Stripped of her pride, the armor she hid behind, she wished her attackers had caught her and finished her off.

The tears she’d fought spilled down her cheeks in hot rivulets, burning her with humiliation to the depths of her soul. She swiped at the moisture and swung away, furious with her weakness and that he should be the one to witness her shattered state.

She heard Quintus groan behind her. His footsteps crunched on the gravel. Assuming he’d gone to find someone else to deal with the embarrassment of her situation, she wrapped her arms around her middle, her right hand locked around the scroll.

Fear from the attack crowded around her. She heard the clash of weapons, saw the lifeless faces of her men. Eyes shut tight, she covered her mouth with her free palm, desperate to keep her sobs in check lest she fall apart at the seams.

“My lady.” Strong fingers curved around her shoulders. She jerked at the contact, unused to being touched.

Quintus gently turned her toward him and with a sigh of resignation gathered her close. Surrounded by his scent of citrus and leather, she stood there rigid at first, ignorant of how to react because no one had ever held her. Always alone, always lonely, she was used to being abandoned, never cared for or comforted.

He stroked her mangled hair, offering her the solace she was loathe to refuse. The murmur of his deep voice soothed her. Warmed by his tenderness, she melted against him, accepting the first genuine embrace she’d ever known.

Surrounded by the security of Quintus’s arms, she pressed closer against him and wept against his chest. Safety was foreign to her, but his quiet confidence made her believe he was the one man in existence meant to protect her from harm.

Voices drifted across the courtyard from the direction of the house. She stilled as reality invaded the haven she’d found. Suddenly ashamed of the flaw in her that enjoyed the solace offered by a man who thought the worst of her, she stepped back from Quintus, wishing he would leave her to cope with her humiliation and despair on her own. Awash with embarrassment, she made haste to repair her appearance.

Quintus let go of Adiona with reluctance. Clearly she’d been attacked. Suspecting thieves, he struggled to control his anger toward the jackals who hurt her.

The night’s breeze ruffled her glossy black hair. He fisted his hand to control the urge to caress its softness once more. Both dazed and irritated by the sense of completeness he experienced while he held her, he despised the weakness that made it impossible for him to walk away as he ought to. He knew better than to court disaster, but her tears had chained him to the spot. His reason failed to quell his need to console and protect her.

Had he been wiser, he would never have touched her. Now, it was too late. Her scent and the feel of her in his arms were burned into his brain. Never again would he smell cinnamon or enjoy the texture of silk without thinking of Adiona Leonia.

Moonlight bathed her smooth skin with an ethereal glow. Moisture sparkled on the tips of her long lashes like diamond dust. Her beauty tormented him and pushed him to the edge of his endurance. If not for the bruises and scrapes, she might be mistaken for one of the sirens the Greeks believed tempted a man from his senses until he crashed against the rocks.

Lord, please help me keep my wits around this temptress.

“You ought to go inside,” he said in a voice rough and hardly recognizable even to himself. His apology would have to wait. Besides the fact she was in no state to hear him, he was determined to see her safe before his control splintered and he lost his inner battle to return her to his arms. “You’ve been hurt. Your cuts need tending.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Go back to the party without me.”

He’d forgotten about the celebration the moment he saw her clinging to the gate. A quick glance showed the courtyard empty except for a few guards high on the watchtower. “No. I won’t leave you.”

“I want you to go.” She had yet to look at him. “The gossips will roast me alive if I’m caught out here alone with a…a slave.”

A wave of cynicism crashed over him. Here he was, reeling from the ferocity of his need to care for her, while she was embarrassed to be seen with him.

Let that be a lesson to you, fool.

His mouth twisted with self-mockery. He’d thought his pride had suffered every indignity imaginable since his enslavement. Leave it to this haughty, haunting beauty to prove him wrong again.

Although he supposed he should be grateful for the reminder of the chasm that spanned between them, bitterness hardened in his belly like a weight of lead. He was a slave because of his faith, not because of birth or low rank. Before his arrest, he and the widow would have been considered more than a worthy match. “You weren’t embarrassed to be caught with a slave when you clung to me moments ago. Perhaps Alexius is right and you wealthy widows are just selective in how you spend time with slaves.”

Her eyes flared, then narrowed at the veiled insult. Cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged, she transformed from weeping victim to an iron-spined matron of Rome. She thrust her shoulders back and pinned him with a glare so hot that he felt singed. “I’ve had enough of your insults, you ignorant, contemptible…man!”

His chest throbbed where she’d punctuated each word with a solid thump of the scroll she carried. He took hold of the rolled parchment and pried it from her death grip. “Don’t hit me, mistress.”

Her lip curled as she struggled to find a worse name to call him. He almost laughed when he realized she thought labeling him a man was the vilest of slurs. He was far from offended. After months of feeling caged like an animal, it was just what he needed to hear.

“Adiona!” Caros and Pelonia burst into the courtyard. The guard Quintus sent to fetch them trailed in their wake.

Caros pushed past him, his concern for the widow evident in his brusque manner. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

As Adiona explained how she was attacked, Pelonia wrapped her in a fur-lined cloak. Caros snapped orders to his guards to find the widow’s men.

“I’ll go,” Quintus volunteered, eager to put distance between himself and Adiona.

“No, come with us,” Caros said as he ushered the women back toward the main house.

A cheerful melody mingled with the aroma of lemons and smoked oysters, roasted lamb and fresh bread. The laughter and conversation of the guests in the domus’s inner courtyard contrasted sharply with the solemn air surrounding their hosts.

Inside the house, Quintus leaned against the back wall of Caros’s office. The mosaic-tiled floor and expensive dark wood furniture reminded him of his own office before his imprisonment.

Cool evening air blew in through the large arched windows behind the lanista’s formidable desk. A mural of a setting sun dominated one wall. Ornate lanterns lit the space, providing Quintus with a clear view of Adiona on one of the blue cushioned couches across the room.

Pelonia sat down beside her and held the widow’s hand. To Quintus’s surprise, Adiona clutched her hostess’s fingers like a lifeline. As far as he knew the two women were less than friends. The men in his barracks suggested a rivalry existed between them, that Adiona had been jealous when Caros wed the young woman who’d once been his slave.

He looked up to find Caros studying him with a frown. The lanista’s sharp blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully, before he turned his attention back to Adiona. “Why do you suppose someone wants to harm you? Was it simply thieves? Or did one of your enemies aim to dishonor you?”

“Dishonor wasn’t their intention.” She clenched her fist. “Some wretch means to murder me.”

Murder her? Every nerve in Quintus’s body went on alert.

“Why?” Caros asked. “What have you done this time?”

Adiona blanched. “Nothing!”

Quintus stepped forward. His grip tightened on the scroll as protective instincts surged through him.

“Caros.” Pelonia stood and moved between her husband and Adiona before Quintus could reach them. Her calm presence defused the escalating tension. “Adiona is the one who’s been hurt. Let’s not add to her pain. No matter what she may or may not have done, it doesn’t warrant murder.”

Caros grunted in agreement, even though he seemed unconvinced.

Quintus stepped back to his place beside a potted palm. Rife with irritation, he watched Adiona, disturbed by the sway of his emotions and intentions toward a woman whose reputation was so sour that even her closest confidant wasn’t surprised someone wished to harm her.

Never in his life had he been as irrational or distracted from his own goals. It was as though he rode a pendulum in a tempest. One moment his anger burned against the widow, her insults, and worse, her effect on him. The next he’d willingly vow to protect her. He was becoming a stranger to himself.

Eager to leave Adiona and the confusion she churned in him, he remembered the scroll he held and offered its return.

She waved the message away. “You open it. It’s from my heir.”

“Drusus?” Caros sneered.

She nodded and cupped her forehead in her palm. “Read it…if you’re able, Quintus.”

He grinned at her second failed attempt to insult him. He noted the serpent pressed into the wax seal as he broke it and scanned the script. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“More?” Caros said, rounding his desk.

Adiona stood. “What? Is he whining for more silver?”

Quintus noticed the disdain in her tone and wondered why she’d chosen an heir she held in contempt. “The message was drafted three days ago. It seems your heir’s wife has taken ill. The physician fears she’ll pass on before the week is out. Drusus requests you attend her funeral.”

Adiona paled. “Oh, gods, not Octavia.” She sat heavily as though her knees were too weak to hold her slight weight.

Seeing her grief, Quintus’s heart twisted with compassion. Again he wanted to comfort her, but he crushed the urge, determined not to lose himself in her pain-filled eyes. “For your own safety, you mustn’t leave these walls.”

“I agree,” said Caros. “You’ll have to send your condolences.”

“No, I must go.”

Pelonia crouched before the widow and cast a silencing glance over her shoulder to quiet both men. “Don’t trouble yourself further tonight,” she told Adiona in a gentle voice. “There’s nothing more you can do. Come, let’s tend your wounds and see you’re made comfortable. Tomorrow, once you’re rested, you can decide the best course.”

Quintus watched Adiona’s narrow back until Pelonia led her down a long torch-lit corridor and out of sight. A helpless yearning to soothe her warred with his need to guard his own interests. Only a fool would allow himself to be drawn to the temperamental shrew or embroiled in her many problems. Yet he’d known since the first time he’d seen her months ago that she was dangerous to his peace of mind. Tonight proved just how susceptible he was, both to her beauty and to her vulnerability. How could he continue to resist his attraction, as he must, if he didn’t keep his distance?

He handed the scroll to Caros, disturbed to realize the lanista had been studying him again. “What do you plan to do?” he asked.

Caros shook his head. “I haven’t decided.”

“Do you really think someone means to kill her?”

“I don’t know. Adiona can be…difficult. She doesn’t act or hold her tongue like a proper woman should. I’ve seen her flay senators to the bone with a few well-aimed barbs. I can believe she’s done something to make the wrong person angry enough to seek vengeance.”

“Do you suspect anyone in particular? What about her heir? Neither of you seemed to think well of him.”

“Drusus is the logical choice, but I have my doubts,” Caros said. “It’s true her cousin is a leech, but he’s also a coward. If he wanted Adiona dead, he’d ply her with poison, not warn her of his intentions by having her attacked in the streets. He’d fear her dishonor might rub off on him. He’s too fastidious for that.”

“Unless his inheritance is more valuable to him than his self-respect or reputation.”

“True.”

Pelonia returned, her soft features marred by concern. Caros stood and met her in the middle of the room. “How is Adiona?”

“As well as can be expected. She’s much calmer than I would be in the same situation. I suppose she’s trying to put on a brave face, but I suspect her placid demeanor is no more than a thin layer of ice covering a turbulent winter pond.”

Quintus silently agreed. He’d seen the widow’s icy facade melt in the courtyard. The memory of her pain washed through him until an unbearable need to seek her out and make certain of her welfare sent him heading for the door.

“Quintus?” Caros stopped him. “Where are you going?”

His hands curled into fists. Where was he going? Adiona wasn’t his woman to protect or care for. He had no rights to her. Indeed, he was probably the last person she wanted to see after the way he’d insulted her. His jaw clenched, he scraped his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Pelonia eyed him warily. He wished he could head back to the barracks. He cleared his throat. “Do you think Lady Leonia will listen to reason or insist on attending the funeral?”

“When I left her, she seemed determined to go,” Pelonia said.

Caros frowned. “I’m not surprised. Adiona cares for few people, but those who earn her trust have a friend for life. Octavia happens to be one of those she loves.”

“I don’t know her well,” Pelonia offered, “but Adiona seems stubborn enough to strike out on her own if need be.”

Fear spiked through Quintus. He suspected Adiona was determined, proud and rebellious enough to leave the safety of the ludus just to prove no one cowed or controlled her.

“She just might.” Caros caught Quintus’s gaze. “I’ll do my best to convince her to stay until I can make inquiries and discover her attackers if possible. But if she insists on leaving, I’ll send guards to keep her as safe as I can.”

Pelonia sighed. “I suppose you’ll send Alexius?”

“No,” Caros said gravely. “I think Quintus is the best man for the task.”

Relief and dread filled Quintus with equal measure. He closed his eyes, both savoring and despising the thought of being with Adiona for days, perhaps weeks on end.

Pelonia gasped. “You can’t. He’s still recovering from his fight in the arena.”

I’m fine.

“He’s fine,” Caros said. “Haven’t you noticed his limp is gone?”

Quick to begin making plans, Quintus listened with half an ear while the two of them discussed him as though he weren’t there.

“Yes,” Pelonia answered. “But he has no experience as a bodyguard.”

He scowled, not happy to hear how weak Pelonia saw him. Did Adiona share the same view?

“No matter,” Caros continued. “He has everything he needs. He’s a natural leader. The other men I send for added defense will have no trouble following him. And if his time in the ring taught us anything, it’s that he’s intelligent, resourceful and battle-ready. He’s strong and depends on the Lord for direction. We’ll send them out in secrecy. If we’re fortunate, they’ll reach Neopolis before her attackers guess she’s left our midst.”

Satisfied to realize Caros didn’t consider him a useless weakling, he had to admit the plan held merit. Of course, Caros didn’t know about Quintus’s gnawing fascination for the widow or the constant battle he waged to keep from handing her his heart on a plate.

Caros faced him. “What say you, Quintus? Are you willing to be Adiona’s protector in exchange for your freedom?”

“I’d rather take my chances in the ring.”

A smile twitched at the edge of Caros’s mouth before he smothered it beneath a scowl. “I’ve already denied your request to reenter the games.”

They both knew Caros possessed the power to reverse the decision and grant his approval. They also knew he would not. His friend cared more about Quintus’s life than he did. Caros knew he longed for freedom, but wouldn’t walk away without paying his debt. It was obvious the lanista saw the situation as a lesser of two evils, a way for both of them to win.

The anger he constantly fought because of his powerless position nearly blinded him. “I suppose I have little choice, then,” he said tightly.

“Very little,” Caros agreed.

“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll head back to the barracks. I have much to prepare.”

In the corridor, he leaned against the wall and reined in his temper. The melodious music and laughter of the party mocked his agitated mood. Not for the first time, he wondered what he’d done to provoke God’s wrath on him.

“Do you really think that was wise?” Pelonia’s voice carried into the hall. “What?”

“Forcing Quintus and Adiona into such close proximity. Have you seen the two of them together?”

Caros chuckled. “Why do you think I thought of Quintus? Who better to protect a woman than the man who can’t keep his eyes off her?”




Chapter Four


“Have you lost your mind, Caros?” Incredulous, Adiona stared at her friend as though he’d grown two heads. The very idea of Quintus acting as her bodyguard made her tremble.

“No, I’m sane enough.” Caros crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned against the marble desktop. Morning sunlight streamed through the office’s east-facing windows and glinted off the jewel-toned tiles in the mosaic floor. “You need a strong, trustworthy leader for your guard if you mean to leave for Neopolis anytime soon.”

“Quintus is capable for certain, but he despises me. What makes you think he’ll agree to your plan?”

“He doesn’t despise you.” He ignored her snort of disbelief. “He’s already agreed.”

Her heart skipped a hopeful beat. “He has?”

“He wants to earn funds to buy his freedom. Your situation provides a perfect solution to that end.”

“Yes, perfect,” she said tightly, wounded by the painful knowledge that Quintus had to be bought to spend time with her. She tugged the leaf off a potted plant, grateful Caros hadn’t noticed the root of melancholy growing inside her. “Why force him to buy his freedom? You’ve released your other slaves and kept only volunteers since you became one of those Christians. Why not simply release him? You have no need of money.”

“I’ve tried. He calls it charity and won’t accept my offer. The two of you need each other.”

She cringed at the idea of needing anyone. Unlike most men, Caros wasn’t stupid. He possessed hawklike powers of observation. He was aware of how attracted she was to Quintus and just how much Quintus chafed at being within a mile of her. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think her long-time friend was making a cruel joke at her expense. “I thought when you wed Pelonia you’d grow tired of meddling in my affairs.”

His smirk slid into a full grin. She gritted her teeth, vexed she seemed incapable of sparking the tiniest flame of irritation in him when his plans had left her capsized and floundering.

She moved to the window, in need of air and something to focus on beside the conflicting mix of excitement, longing and fear that threatened to drive her mad.

Gladiators trained in the field below. She winced when she caught herself searching greedily for the tall Christian who tormented her thoughts by day and her dreams by night.

She twisted the end of her long braid around her finger. The clack of wooden practice swords and the glint of sunlight on shields reminded her of the attack the previous evening. She closed her eyes, absorbing the loss of her men, men she barely knew and shared no bond with beyond that of master and slave. What if Quintus were her protector and she was attacked again? What if Quintus suffered the same deadly fate as Titus and her other guards?

She clutched her chest as a sudden rush of anguish robbed her of breath. She must keep him safe. How would she ever be able to live with herself if any harm came to him because of her?

“Adiona?” Caros asked.

“What?” Embarrassed by her overwrought reaction, she wrenched her eyes open and pretended interest in the gladiator practice.

“Are you well?”

“Of course,” she whispered just as she spotted Quintus training with another gladiator in the center of the field.

Her traitorous heart leaped at the sight of him and his powerful movements mesmerized her. A voice of reason clamored in the back of her mind to leave the window before he saw her, but her feet seemed buried in the concrete floor.

Without warning, Quintus broke from the fight and glanced her way as though her presence called to him from across the sand. He turned slowly toward the house. The sharp, angular cut of his jaw was locked tight, his full lips unsmiling. Sweat poured down his temples and the bronze column of his throat, soaking the front of his dark tunic. His muscled arms and legs seemed relaxed in their stillness, but the intensity in his gaze exposed the turbulent inner man that both frightened and fascinated her.

As their eyes locked, tender feelings unfurled within her chest. Despite her best efforts to remember his disdain for her, she found her thoughts focused on the gentleness and security she’d found in his embrace the previous night.

Confused and aggravated by her reaction when she’d vowed to feel nothing but hate for the slave, she shivered, uncertain if it was the chill in the air or the coldness of Quintus’s wintry gaze that spread ice through her veins.

Never had she felt more powerless to protect herself. Not when her father sold her off, not even when her husband locked her away in a damp cellar for days or when he ordered his minions to torment her for his amusement.

She swallowed the sharp lump in her throat and shoved the nightmares back into the dark recesses of her mind where the pain was more manageable.

Quintus’s beautiful mouth compressed. He seemed irritated. As though he, too, had been caught unaware by the sight of her and was unable to sever the ever-tightening bonds that drew the two of them together.

Don’t be an idiota. Scoffing at the fanciful idea of Quintus bearing her any emotion beyond dislike, she blamed the morning sun for the sudden flare of heat in her cheeks.

Caros gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You know I’ll concern myself with your affairs until I’m satisfied you’re safe and no longer need me,” he said, bringing her back to their conversation. “I’ve acted as your defender too long to leave you to the wolves now.”

“I know.” Every nerve in her body begged her to turn back to Quintus and she was grateful Caros was there to keep her from acting on the foolish impulse. “I’m truly thankful for your friendship.”

He waved away her gratitude. “Will you trust me then? Quintus is the best man to keep you in one piece. If I weren’t convinced of his abilities, I wouldn’t suggest him.”

She eased from his grasp. With a fleeting glance out the window, she saw Quintus was gone. Her heart heavy with disappointment, she knew it wasn’t Caros she didn’t trust.

I don’t trust myself.

She made her way to the couch across the room. Aware that she was being a coward, she found it infinitely safer for her peace of mind to indulge her fascination for Quintus from a distance.

“I’d prefer someone else.”

“You’re just being stubborn.” He ran his scarred fingers through his hair. “You won’t leave here without Quintus in command of your guards.”

“You can’t make my decisions for me.”

“No, but I can lock you in a room upstairs until I discover your attackers and have them arrested.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Furious he threatened her freedom, the one thing she valued most, she began to pace as though looking for a way of escape. “I’d never speak to you again.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the office and glared at him. “Fine. Have the slave packed and ready to leave within the hour.”

Caros’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she managed not to flinch. He knew her too well. It wasn’t like her to capitulate with ease. But why waste time arguing with the stubborn ox when she could simply agree, then order Quintus back to the ludus once they’d safely left the city? She had the other members of her guard to protect her if the need arose, while Quintus’s absence assured he wouldn’t come to harm because of his association with her.

“It wouldn’t be wise of you to leave until late in the afternoon.”

“You know I must reach Neopolis as soon as possible. If there’s a chance to see Octavia before the end, I’d like to.”

“I understand.” He spoke gently as though she were one of his skittish Spanish mares. “But think, you may not reach her at all if you don’t proceed with caution. Preparations must be made and new guards chosen if you’re to be kept safe. Leaving later will provide the time we need to find the right men and ensure enough light for you to make the first tavern outside the city before nightfall.”

“Fine,” she snapped, rife with frustration, but unable to argue with the truth. “We’ll wait. However, I will leave for Neopolis today, and gods protect you if you try to stop me.”



When the sun began to wane and the afternoon turned cooler, Quintus made his way to the courtyard behind the main house. Most of the day had been spent in unbroken activity. After praying for wisdom, he and Caros had weighed various plans of escape and worked out the quickest, safest route to Neopolis. Quintus had overseen every detail of the trip’s preparations himself. His own life meant little to him, but the thought of Adiona coming to harm chilled him to the marrow.

The pair of geldings he’d chosen for the road portion of the journey to the port town of Ostia waited to be hitched to the raeda, a small covered coach in the center of the courtyard.

Alexius hailed Quintus from where he sat on a bench under an olive tree. The Greek joined him by the horses. He broke his half-eaten apple in two and fed a piece to each animal. “These scruffy beasts have certainly seen better days, no? With Caros’s stable flung wide for you, why not choose horses with more…appeal?”

Eager to get the journey under way, Quintus cast a glance around the walled space until he located the assembly of formidable guards he’d selected based on their swordsmanship, speed and, most importantly, intelligence.

“These mounts are perfect for my purpose,” he said, turning back to Alexius. “I picked them for strength, not beauty. If Lady Leonia’s assassins are watching the compound, they’ll expect her to leave in luxury, not cramped in the back of a shabby covered wagon.”

“Good thinking, but I’m surprised Adiona agreed.”

“I didn’t ask her.”

“I see.” Amused disbelief crossed the Greek’s dark features. “Do you mind if I stay until you do ask her? That ought to prove entertaining.”

“She’s an intelligent woman. She’ll see reason.”

“Usually I’d agree with you,” Alexius said, trying not to laugh, “but the lady seems most unreasonable where you’re concerned, my friend. In truth, I’ve considered lending you my armor for this venture.”

Quintus offered a halfhearted smile. Alexius had a knack for turning every situation into a farce, but in this case he was too close to the truth for comfort. The next two weeks promised little but inevitable arguments and power plays. He didn’t delude himself into thinking Adiona would be placid or agreeable, but he was determined to fulfill his duty and keep her safe no matter how often she tempted him to wring her slender neck.

Whatever it takes to earn my freedom.

Disgusted with himself to realize a part of him looked forward to being with her no matter how badly she behaved, he crawled under the raeda to ascertain the underpinnings were sound enough to hold the bounty of possessions a peacock like the widow was sure to require. Satisfied all was well, he slid out from under the vehicle, dusted off his tunic and went to check the supplies.

He opened the coach’s back door, expecting the covered space to be stuffed with Adiona’s frivolous trinkets and overabundance of clothing. To his surprise, no new chests had been added to the foodstuffs and amphorae filled with water he’d placed there earlier.

What is she waiting for?

He bristled, recalling the orders she’d sent for him and his men to be ready to leave when she commanded. The curt note still rankled. He should have ignored the missive like he’d intended. As he’d expected, she was the last to arrive.

Alexius said farewell and wished him a safe journey. Another hour passed and Adiona had yet to make an appearance. His temper rising, Quintus began to pace. He’d gone over his orders with his men and the horses were restless. He’d hoped to leave while there was enough light to see them safely beyond the city gates and installed in a tabernae before darkness made them prey for thieves and other riffraff. Not for the first time that day, he wondered if Adiona had any concept of the lengths he and her friends had gone to to ascertain her welfare.

A servant girl with a leather satchel approached from the direction of the main house. Quintus recognized her as the maid Adiona had sent for earlier in the afternoon. Tall and slim, the girl’s wool tunic matched her dark brown hair and eyes. She seemed as timid as her mistress was untamed.

“I’m called Nidia,” she said shyly, her eyes downcast. “My lady said she’ll be along in a moment. These are her belongings.”

Quintus took the satchel she held out to him. It was lighter than he expected. There must be some mistake.

“There’s no more,” Nidia said as though she guessed his thoughts. “My lady realizes you mustn’t be weighted down if you mean to travel quickly.”

Mystified but pleased by Adiona’s good sense, he placed the satchel in the back of the covered cart and latched the wooden door just as Caros made his way through the gate that separated the courtyard from the private gardens of the main house.

“Are you ready to leave?” the lanista asked.

“Only for the last two hours.”

Caros grinned. “No one claimed punctuality is one of Adiona’s virtues.” Quintus snorted.

“She does have virtues, you know. She strives to keep them hidden, but I’m confident you’ll see the truth once you’ve spent some time with her.” Caros grinned at Quintus’s dubious frown. “To be fair, I think she’s tardy now because of a late delivery of tunics she ordered.”

“That’s understandable,” Quintus said drily. “Wouldn’t want to be unfashionable when we slink away in the dark.” The lanista chuckled. “There’s plenty of light. You’ll make it to the inn before night falls, just as you planned.”

“Not if we don’t leave soon.”

Just then, Pelonia and Adiona came into view. Their quiet conversation failed to carry across the courtyard, but their serious expressions warned of their concerns.

Quintus focused on Adiona, an unsettling yet unbreakable habit he’d developed over the last several months. The surprise of seeing her dressed in a slave’s tunic and worn leather sandals left him momentarily speechless. She should have looked ordinary, drab, but the harsh, shapeless wool and rope belt failed to disguise her willowy frame or delicate bone structure.

His muscles tightened into knots along his shoulders. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep to clear his head. The image of her flawless face invaded his mind’s eye. Clean of cosmetics, her skin shone like polished alabaster. Even now his fingers recalled the silken texture of the thick braid that spilled over her shoulder and past her slim waist.

She’s not for you, Quintus!

He dragged air into his lungs and forced open his eyes. As usual of late, Caros was studying him as the women drew closer. Annoyed to think Caros suspected the widow’s hold on him, he turned away only to fall into the amber flame of Adiona’s contemptuous gaze. Her stare burned with challenge as she silently dared him to break his word and refuse to go with her.

His blood boiled. He wasn’t afraid of any challenge she chose to throw his way. Since his son’s death and Quintus’s subsequent arrest for his faith, he’d walked through fire. His losses had left his heart broken and his soul scarred by grief, but his honor remained. It was all he possessed of his former self. He’d promised Caros to guard Adiona until her attackers were caught or until he drew his last breath. Nothing she said or did would detour him from his purpose.

“How kind of you to finally join us,” he said in a wooden voice that left no doubt he found her tardiness rude and arrogant. “Say your farewells and let’s depart. The rest of us have been ready to leave for some time now.”

Miffed by Quintus’s commanding tone, Adiona arched her brow as she watched his proud back disappear around the opposite side of a tattered coach she wouldn’t expect her slaves to ride in. How dare he presume to order her about as if she were the servant and he the master. He had much to learn if he thought she’d follow him around like a lamb. She’d ceased obeying anyone the moment her husband had done her the favor of dying.

“Shall I help you up?” Caros motioned toward the battered vehicle.

“I’m to ride in that?” She couldn’t quite hide her disgust. The coach was so small. So closed in…

“I suspect Quintus will return rather quickly. You don’t want to start your journey on the wrong foot by provoking him this early on, do you?”

Her irritation with her new bodyguard swelled to include Caros, as well. “By the gods, no. Whatever would we do if Quintus were provoked?”

“Don’t be difficult,” he warned, his humor at her expense barely concealed. “It’s two days to Neopolis. Do you want to spend the journey fortifying his belief that you’re a spoiled harpy?”

“I don’t care about a slave’s opinion of me in the least.”

He burst out laughing. Cringing, she lifted her chin and studied the raeda. Like most coaches, it consisted of a flat bed, tall wooden sides and an arched oiled canvas cover. A small door at the back provided the only way of escape. She loathed enclosed spaces and the nightmarish memories they released within her. “I’ll sit in the driver’s seat with Quintus.”

“That’s not safe. It’s best you stay hidden until you’re certain no one is following you.”

Her hands grew clammy at the reminder of how perilous the journey was. That someone wanted her dead. Pelonia placed an arm around her waist as though she suspected Adiona’s rising unease. Grateful for the younger woman’s friendship even though she’d done nothing to deserve it, Adiona promised herself to make amends if she managed to return to Rome alive.

She swallowed hard. “What if I’m locked in that…that box and my attackers decide to set it on fire with a few flaming arrows? I might be roasted alive. Or what if—”

Caros’s incredulous expression silenced her rambling fears. “I never realized how colorful your imagination is.”

Her head began to throb as the memories she fought to keep buried clamored for release. “Men are animals,” she whispered. “They’re capable of anything.”

“Quintus isn’t an animal, Adiona. Neither are these other men who’ve sworn to guard you with their lives.”

Panic began to claw up her throat. She bit her bottom lip and looked beseechingly at her friend. “I can’t get in that coach.”

His mouth curved into an impatient frown. “Why?”

She glanced toward Pelonia. Had she and Caros been alone she may have told him the truth. Her friend already knew more of her past than anyone else, although not the worst parts. He was the only person she’d ever known who disagreed with the common wisdom that blamed a woman for the abuse she received.

But his wife’s sympathetic expression filled her with the familiar rush of shame she experienced when she recalled the vile acts her husband had subjected her to. Her pride smarted. She couldn’t abide the thought of a good woman like Pelonia knowing about the vile treatment she suffered or the indignities she’d endured. After years spent cultivating an image of strength and separating herself from the weak girl she’d been before and during her marriage, she’d rather die than be pitied.




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