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Rufus’s face fell a little.
Felix rested his arm across his friend’s shoulder. “I shall buy a statue of the fertility goddess, some scented candles, and a pretty stola for her to wear. While I’m gone, Awen can remove her bush and have her well-oiled until her skin glistens. She must complete her bathing three times a day. I want her so needy that she will bend to my demands without question.”
“She will be ready,” Rufus said solemnly.
“Then, you shall be made happy, too. I’m starting to like the girl more and more.” Felix hadn’t expected the stirring in his loins to be so strong; nevertheless each time she passed close by, he had to strengthen his resolve not to touch her until the appointed time—the midsummer’s day.
“She is special,” Rufus murmured. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I dream about her.”
His friend placed the empty flask on a makeshift table. They were alone indoors, the others outside busy with clearing the courtyard of debris or fetching water from the stream. Rufus fingered his sword belt.
“What?” asked Felix.
“Would you force her?”
Felix stepped back aghast, his dismay illustrated by his dropping jaw. He thought Rufus understood what needed to be done. “You think I have no honour? No respect for my own people? I may worship the gods of Rome because they served me well in the coliseum, but my heart is still that of a Briton, as yours is of Gaul.”
“Forgive me, Felix. I did not mean to disrespect your honour. I should not have doubted you.”
Felix laughed with relief. “You test me? I have been tested plenty in the arena, friend, I don’t need it in my own home. As for Bethan, no force will be necessary. She will not resist.”
“Then, I shall not watch,” Rufus said. “It is your ritual, not mine.”
“It need not be so.” He waited to see if Rufus would take up his offer.
Rufus’s cheeks blushed a tinge of red. “Thank you,” he said with a wry smile. “I think that is for Bethan to decide, is it not? We may have shared the women of Rome, but back then we had no choice. Now I would prefer we all were free to choose.”
Felix nodded. Rufus’s decision was right for now. Let him find his own way with Bethan. Then, maybe, it might be the gods’ desire for them all to lie with her.
Rufus left to check on the slaves. Felix summoned Awen and gave her clear instructions for Bethan’s preparations. The old woman said nothing that indicated she was surprised by his request.
“If she refuses the preparations, remind her she is mine and will be punished upon my return.”
Awen’s eyes widened. “Master, she is innocent at heart and would find your Roman ways strange.”
Felix smiled. “I thought that at first, but now I’m not so sure. I think she is very keen to know my ways.”
Chapter Nine
The stola barely covered her thighs, had no sleeves and was made from a fabric she’d never felt before—soft and smooth.
“Silk,” explained Awen.
“It must have cost a great deal.” Bethan chewed her lower lip. “He won’t tear it off me, will he?”
Awen laughed. “He’s not a beast.”
“He’s hungry like one. Ever since he returned he’s eyeballed me all the time. Asking me if I’ve bathed as he instructed.” Bathing wasn’t an appropriate word. She didn’t know what the word was for what she did three times a day, only that she enjoyed doing it—as long as nobody watched.
Awen brushed her hair and tied it into a long tail, plaiting ribbons into it. “There,” she declared, standing back. “You are a beautiful young woman. He will be pleased.”
Bethan hoped so. When Awen had told her what she’d been ordered to do, Bethan had refused to undress and part her legs. Then, Awen had told her that if she refused, Felix would punish her when he returned. She’d debated for a few minutes whether to hold him to his threat, then decided she was more curious about what it felt like to have nothing down there but smooth skin. She was still shocked by what Awen had done with her bush and a pair of clippers. It had taken a lot of patience and control not to move as she snipped away every hair she had down there. She’d discovered she quite liked the smoothness.
The day was special—the longest of the year. She and the other slaves celebrated the dawn with songs and a dance around a pile of stones they’d erected in the middle of a field. Rufus and Felix played no part but hadn’t forbidden them either. She liked the others, even if they were Briganti, the clan who’d originally taken her and Ceadda. It wasn’t their fault, she realised. They were slaves like her, and as far as the Romans were concerned, all one people. Felix was more like a Roman than Rufus. He wanted to wear the toga, which he was forbidden to do until he became a citizen of Rome. He worshipped their gods and spoke their language. Rufus was content to be neither Celt nor Roman. She liked his attitude.
“Come.” Awen waved her arm at Bethan. “It is time. The sun is setting. He is waiting for you.”
