One With the Darkness by Susan Squires Read Free Book Online Page A

that smirk off his face. So it was time to tell him exactly what was at stake and seal the bargain between them. “If you serve me faithfully, I will allow you to earn your freedom.”
    His gaze snapped back to her face, questioning. She saw a spark of hope bloom there and be suppressed. “How long?”
    “That will depend on your behavior.”
    “How do I know that you will do this thing?” he growled.
    “Ask Lucius Lucellus. I freed him.”
    His brows drew together. “Yet he still serves you.”
    “But now he does so by choice, for a salary. A good one.”
    They stood there, staring at each other. She had to tilt her head back since he towered over her. “Choose, barbarian. Do you serve me, or do I give Graccus and his friends, or Agrippina and Julia, another opportunity to buy you?”
    He looked away and stared at the ground. She watched his chest rise and fall for three breaths. Finally he turned back to her. His green eyes bored into hers. “I will serve you.” He said it as though it was a vow.
    “A wise choice. Then kneel.” His first test.
    She saw him struggle with himself. But the combination of his honor, the possibility of freedom, and fear of the brothel would win out. He bowed his head and sank slowly to his knees.
    She took out the key to his shackles and walked around him. Her eyes widened. His back, buttocks, and thighs were laced with stripes in various states of healing. She bit her lip and bent to his shackles. “Who whipped you?”
    “Who did not?” he answered grimly.
    She could imagine the expression of defiance he wore even in defeat attracting the wrath of his captors. He musthave been naked when he’d been whipped, and the blows had occurred over time. “They took your clothing?”
    “The wool was fine, the cuirass well-wrought. The boots were tooled leather.” He had contempt for those who had stolen from him. She had thought all Celts fought in the nude. At least he wasn’t that barbaric.
    “So they marched you all the way from the shores of Gaul without clothing or boots.” She glanced to the soles of his feet and saw that they were bruised and cut. She wasn’t proud of the Roman army at this moment. “And whipped you into the bargain.”
    As she released the shackles, he shrugged and began rubbing the circulation back into his hands. “They wanted the other captives to despair as their leaders were humbled.”
    “How did you get over the mountains?”
    “I wrapped my feet with the leather jerkin of a captive who died. When it got cold some peasants along the way took pity on me and tied some animal skins about my body.”
    But his spirit had not been broken. She had a tenuous truce with him, no more. Romans thought slaves had a need to submit their will to another’s, that they did not appreciate freedom. Not this slave. He might submit because his honor required it or because it was the lesser of two evils. But that was all.
    “Come,” she ordered. “I want the stink of the slave market washed from you.” She clapped her hands. Catia, her maid, appeared. “Assemble a basket of astringent and unguents, Catia, and see if you can find a tunic for him. Oh, and make up a poultice of acetum and garlic.”
    He rose gingerly. How had she not noticed he was footsore? Or was he too proud to limp through the city of his captors, no matter the pain? She turned her back on him and walked into the gardens. The thermae was outnear the back wall. She had taken two steps before she heard him follow. She avoided the graveled paths because of his feet and kept to the flagstone walk among the olive trees.
    As she passed the wall that held back the hill, covered with a gnarled wisteria vine, she paused. A feeling of uneasiness wound up her spine. She should know something, or do something. She had been feeling strange all night, full somehow, urgent.
    She shook herself and pushed the feeling down. Nonsense.
    Her purpose now was clear. She must establish her dominance over this slave so