Slave Princess. Juliet Landon
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legs pressed against him. Her breasts lay upon the great mound of his chest, taking the heat of him through the linen, and when he laid her thick plait across his own neck like a winter muffler, she knew he intended her to stay and to sleep again, safe in his arms.
But sleep was hard to recapture when her head was being held in the crook of his neck, his mouth only inches away from hers, his arm cradling the soft red mass of her hair. Carefully, to ease it, she laid her leg over his, thus unwittingly inviting his free hand to slide gently over the roundness of her buttock and along her thigh, eventually sliding under the linen to find her silken skin.
She made a grab at his hand. ‘Please … Tribune … no!’ she said, fiercely. ‘I cannot … will not … do this with you. You told me I was safe.’
She felt his smile on her forehead as his lips brushed against it. ‘Then what was all that about learning to adapt?’ he said.
‘For pity’s sake, give me more time,’ she said, clinging to his hand.
‘Let go, lass. Time enough.’
But would there be time enough? she wondered, as she listened to the camp begin to stir outside. Would she still be a maid when she found Helm, or would he reject the used goods she had travelled all that way to offer him, all at the Tribune’s whim?
Chapter Three
‘So, my friend,’ said Tullus, rather smugly, ‘you took our advice, I see.’ His cheek bulged as he chewed hungrily on his loaf while he searched in the pan for another piece of bacon to follow it.
‘You see nothing of the sort,’ Quintus replied, holding out his beaker to be filled. ‘If I had not slept there, who would?’
That was too much for Lucan. His loud laugh turned heads in their direction. ‘Oho, the martyr!’ he chortled. ‘You had only to ask us. One of us would have obliged, to save you the discomfort.’
‘Well, save yourselves any more speculation. She has to stay virginal for the Dobunni lad to want her still. If she’s not, she’ll be of no use either to him or us, will she? That’s the first thing he’ll want to know.’
Tullus nodded agreement. He was the more serious of the two juniors, with an attractive contemplative quality that intrigued his female friends, especially when his deep grey eyes studied them with a flattering intensity. Unlike the feline grace of his friend, Tullus was built more like a wrestler who tones his body with weights, swimming and riding as much as his office work would allow. Quintus liked them both for their superior accounting skills and for their loyalty to him, putting up with their banter as an elder brother with his siblings. ‘Does she know about her father yet?’ said Tullus, licking his fingers.
‘No,’ said Quintus, sharply. ‘It’s not a good time to tell her when she’s just lost her maid.’
Lucan looked at him and waited. None of this was good timing when they were looking forward to some time off. ‘She’s accepted the situation, then?’ he said, hoping for some clarification.
‘Far from it. I’ve told her I’ll sell her before we reach Aquae Sulis if she doesn’t toe the line.’
‘But you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘Of course not. But she doesn’t know that,’ Quintus said, wiping a finger round his pewter dish. ‘But nor can we cart her through our hosts’ houses looking like something from the back woods. That would take more explaining than it’s worth. She’s going to have to dress up.’
‘Like a Roman citizen? That should be interesting.’
‘It will be. This is where I need your support.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Tullus.
‘Except for one, our hosts don’t know us. I just happen to own a slave who’s a Brigantian princess. Right?’
‘Unusual, but I don’t see why not,’ said Lucan. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, that’s it, really. I shall not present her. She’ll stay in the background in my room with Florian. She’ll be safe enough with him.’
Lucan and Tullus nodded, smiling in unison. ‘And how long has this … er … relationship been going on? In case we’re asked?’ said Lucan, innocently.
Quintus stood, brushing the crumbs from his lap. ‘Since a few days ago, I suppose. But I don’t see why anyone needs to know. I’ll get some proper clothes for her at the next market.’ He stood still for a moment with a pensive look in his eye.
‘What?’ said Tullus. ‘You doubt she’ll accept them?’
‘Nothing more certain. Find a barber before we reach Lindum, both of you. Now let’s get this lot moving. Come on.’ He strode away, shouting orders.
Lucan released his grin at last. ‘Halfway there,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, I think that’s rather too optimistic, my friend,’ Tullus replied. ‘From what I’ve seen of her, I’d say she’ll keep him on the hop for a while yet. What’s going to happen when she hears about her father?’
‘Expect all Hades to be let loose. Do I really need a barber?’ Lucan wiped a hand round his blue jaw.
‘If the boss says shave, we shave. We owe it to our hostess. D’ye know, I’m looking forward to a decent bed.’
‘As will our boss be. He’s pretending, you know, that she’s a bit of a nuisance—I believe he’s quite taken with her.’
‘That’s the impression I’m getting too. There’s a new spring in his step.’
‘As there would be in yours, young Tullus, after a night with the Princess.’
Brighid was shaken out of her sleep by a gentle hand on her arm. ‘It’s late,’ Florian was saying in her ear. ‘The camp is already packing up. Wake, or you’ll get no food. Did the Tribune keep you awake all night?’
She rolled herself upright, pushing away her loose hair. ‘Mind your own business,’ she said. ‘What’s all that din?’
‘We’re almost ready to leave. What do Brigantian princesses eat for breakfast these days?’ he said with a knowing grin.
‘Porridge, and a thin slice of masseur’s tongue, if you’d be so kind.’
‘Tongue’s off,’ he quipped, ‘but I’ll find you some stodge, if you insist.’
‘Clear off while I get dressed. Where can I go and bathe?’
Florian paused at the tail-board. ‘Bathe, domina? I would not recommend it. Not here. Not unless you want an audience.’
‘Then how am I ever going to get cleaned up?’
‘Better do it in here until we reach our lodgings. Wait. I’ll bring some water.’
The extraordinary events of the night came back to her as she unravelled the blankets and saw the pillow with the dent in it close to her own. He had left without disturbing her, she who always woke at the slightest sound. Even more remarkable was his opening of the chest beside her where now her treasures lay in a row on top of her folded clothes, set out for inspection like a soldier’s kit.
Even by Roman standards, the pieces were of the highest craftsmanship, technically perfect. The most impressive was a flat crescent-shaped neck-collar with a raised pattern of sinuous spirals studded with cornelians and lapis lazuli, and inlaid with coloured champleve enamel. One bracelet was a wide band of beaten gold with triskeles, sun discs and lunar crescents in relief, the other was fashioned like a coiled serpent with rock crystals for eyes. Her earrings were the delicate heads of birds with garnet eyes, spheres hanging from their beaks chased with spirals, as intricate as man could devise. There was a pile of anklets of twisted gold, a belt with a gold enamelled buckle, several brooches and long hairpins with gemstone tops. Gathering them