Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(50)

He frowned when he noticed her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I brought your son to see you.” She crouched and gave Nerie a nudge as she released him. The boy tottered, arms outstretched.

Arruns smiled and lifted the tot over his head and onto his shoulders. “Perhaps you can stay a little while.” Nerie giggled, unconcerned by the gruesome scales marking the man’s skin.

Semni drew the door curtain shut and sat down on the pallet. Arruns lowered himself to sit beside her, taking care to ensure Nerie did not wobble and fall. Usually so inscrutable, Arruns could never hide his delight when in the company of his son. For a moment she felt jealous that his eyes did not light up at the sight of her in the same way.

“I also came to tell you that Aricia visited here today.”

His smile vanished. He lifted Nerie onto his lap.

“Who let her in?”

“She came with Lady Tanchvil. When the mistress wouldn’t see her, she crept into the princes’ chamber.”

“Without being stopped! I’ll see that the lictor who was on shift is punished.”

“Don’t blame him. That witless Perca let her in.”

“What did Aricia want?”

“Forgiveness.”

He grunted. “Then she will be disappointed.”

“She’s repentant. She realizes her mistake.”

He glared at her. “And you would err in giving her consolation. Promise me you won’t try to see her again.”

She nodded, anxious not to displease him. “I promise. And I made it clear she was not welcome to return.”

“And the mistress? You told her?”

“Yes, I told her straightaway. Are you not proud of me?”

He encircled her shoulders. “Yes, I’m proud.”

She shivered, his contact arousing her, surprised the force of her desire could be so strong with a simple gesture.

Mistaking the cause of her trembling, Arruns looked across to the small brazier burning in the corner. “Are you cold?”

“No, it’s you who makes me quake.”

He slid his arm from around her, making her regret that she’d spoken.

“Perhaps you should go.”

Semni slipped off her shoes. “It’s late. Your men are occupied in their quarters. The princes and Thia are abed. Can’t we lie beside each other for a while?” She drew aside the blanket and lay on her side on the pallet. Nerie crawled across and snuggled next to her. “Our son will be the guardian of our chastity.”

Arruns stared at her, temptation grappling with duty. She extended her hand to him. Nerie giggled and copied her, thinking it a game.

He glanced at the door, then back again. “For a short time.”

The cot creaked as he eased his bulk onto the narrow breadth, lying on his side so he would not squash the toddler. He propped his weight on his elbow, his palm against the side of his face. The boy lay on his back, turning his head from one side to the other, regarding his parents and this strange new arrangement. Semni reached into her purse, retrieving a tiny wooden carving of a rabbit. Nerie smiled and fingered his favorite plaything.

She wanted to walk her fingers down the muscles of Arruns’s abdomen, pull aside his kilt, and check whether the markings on his body reached to his groin. She resisted, knowing that to touch him would end this time together. “One day I’ll see if the snake is two headed. We were so rushed that night, we didn’t even take off our clothes.”

“Don’t worry, it will be worth the wait.” Arruns smiled with a flash of chipped teeth, surprising her. It was not like him to joke.

“We’ll need a bigger bed when we’re married,” she continued, unable to rid herself of the image of them lying naked.

“That will take some getting used to. Until I was promoted to head lictor, I slept on a bedroll outside the master’s room.”

“Then this bed is luxury. As is my own.”

He sighed. “I’d prefer a hard floor if it meant I could be a lone bodyguard again.”

“Aren’t you proud to be in charge?”

He pointed to the bundle of rods tied with red bindings that stood propped against the wall. A double axe was strapped to them. “Carrying the ceremonial fasces and wearing a uniform? I’m a simple man, Semni. I liked it best when the master did not need twenty-four men to watch over him. He does not like all the fuss either.”

She stroked Nerie’s cheek as the boy sang to his toy. “And being a warrior? Do you miss that, too?”

Arruns remained silent, listening to Nerie’s garbled tune. She did not press him for an answer, already knowing this man hated war yet longed for battle.

She studied his hooked nose and hooded lids. So close to him, she could see the ink in his pores. “It must have hurt to be tattooed.”

His response distracted him from the child. As always, she was struck by the resinous color of his eyes, the dark rings around the irises. “It was agony.”

“Who did it to you?”

“A Veientane trainer. He liked to gamble. He’d win wagers on me when he pitted me against other wrestlers. Decorating me with a serpent instilled fear into my opponents.” He ran his hand over the coils. “He had the artist work on the pattern over many weeks because the task was so great. Six slaves held me down as the pigment was tapped into my skin by a bone nail. Over and over. Pinpricks of blood welling, then smeared away. They would wash it with saltwater to stop it from being infected. I would recover, and then the hammer and needle would be wielded again. First on my back and then my front, slowly moving upward.”