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“Do you understand?” he asked softly. He pressed his hip against her and she felt it—the steely rod of his member—upright and bold.
She wasn’t sure if she did understand the finer details, but it didn’t matter. She was enthralled by the thought of a gladiator claiming her. “I am to be your lover, Master.”
He grinned. “No, not lover. I don’t require your love, only your obedience and passion.”
“What of Master Rufus? Does he not want to honour the gods, too?” She heard Rufus smother a chuckle.
“Rufus can choose for himself if he wishes to honour the gods. Will you help me, Bethan?” He raked his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back. She tingled from scalp down to toes. If he asked, she would let him claim her right there.
“Yes, I shall. I want to help both of you.”
He eased away from her. “You shall, my sweet. Now, put your clothes back on and fetch us food.”
Rufus handed her the stola and smiled. His dark eyes were magnified by the candlelight and they twinkled with unrestrained delight. She’d pleased him just as much as any god. For how long did he plan to stay with Felix? Please, let it be as long as the stars shone in the sky!
“What kind of gladiators were you?” she asked, after serving them broth in two wooden bowls. She helped herself to a smaller portion and sat cross-legged on the floor while they perched on their beds.
“I started out as a Paegniarus,” said Rufus, mopping his chin with his sleeve.
“What’s that?”
“I fought wild animals with a whip. But they ran out of beasts. It’s expensive to keep killing them. So I was trained as an Eques. A horse-backed fighter with a lance, and also on the ground with a small sword.”
A horseman! That explained why he spoke to his mount as if she was his friend and not a dumb beast.
“And you, sir?” she asked Felix politely. This man was her master. She might hanker to know Rufus better, but Felix would decide her future.
“I was the emperor’s. A Fiscales, which means I was maintained using the wealth of the private treasury. I had the pick of the best weapons and training. I was also a Gallus, a prisoner of war, and not a criminal. I fought hand to hand with a sword and shield.” He spoke with great pride.
“And now you are free.”
“Yes,” he said. “Free. A Rudiarius. If I ever fight it is my choice.” He handed her the empty bowl.
“We shall sleep. In the morning, I shall visit the slave market for supplies.”
Supplies! Her fellow slaves meant nothing to him. How could he be both callous and kind in equal measure?
Felix lay on the bed and tucked his hands behind his head, then closed his eyes. The small candle flickered. Outside it was dark, but there was some moonlight.
She had one blanket and a little straw. It wasn’t much, but she’d slept in worse places than a tavern, including the dark cell at the fort.
“Come here,” Rufus said quietly.
She hesitated. Felix didn’t move, but she couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. Was she not his?
“You can lie next to me for warmth. I promise I won’t touch you.” Rufus patted the narrow space next to him. She hesitated. What if he could not contain himself and ravished her in the night? Would she fight him off or lie still like she’d done with her fumbling husband?
“If I say I won’t touch you, I mean it,” Rufus said firmly.
She tiptoed toward the bed and lay next to him. The mattress was soft and cosy, and sinking into it, she was forced to lie closer to him. He didn’t appear to mind. However, he kept his hands off her and covered them both with a blanket. Immediately she felt the trapped warmth of his body migrate across the narrow bed and into her cold bones. She held her breath and waited for some sign of contact, both fearing he might break his word, and wishing he would. The conflicting emotions kept her awake for a while until she realised Rufus was not going to do anything. He was a man of his word. He did snore a little, though, right in her ear.
Chapter Seven
The morning light woke Felix first. He kicked Rufus’s foot, which poked out from under the blanket.
“Girl,” he said, drawing the blanket off her shoulder. “You should go find us food.” No please, no gratitude. Exactly what she’d come to expect from a master.
She yawned and slipped on her sandals before hurrying to find the innkeeper. She brought back some kind of gruel. She expected the men to complain, but they didn’t. They wolfed it down as if it might be their last meal on earth, which she supposed was a fate they had once faced on a regular basis. She picked at hers uneasily. She wished they weren’t going to the slave market.
