Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(71)
THIRTY-ONE
Semni was fuming as she settled Thia into her cot. Arruns had refused to speak to her. Instead he’d turned on his heel, not waiting for her to catch up as he strode into the palace.
Cytheris was similarly unimpressed when she sighted Semni and Tas. She snatched the boy’s hand away from her. “Where have you been? Half the palace guard has been looking for you and the prince!”
At least Lady Caecilia had not judged Semni without hearing the full tale. The queen’s relief at seeing her eldest son safely home had soon been replaced with shock when she heard where he’d been. She had scanned Lady Tanchvil’s missive, her brow creasing in realization that the prince had once again been drawn to Aricia like iron filings to a lodestone. The dismay in her round hazel eyes was painful to watch.
After hugging her son, Lady Caecilia had then berated him and decreed his punishment. The boy was sent to bed with a sore bottom after Arruns dispensed a spanking. Despite showing bravery enough to traverse a forbidden room and the pitch black of a tunnel, the child’s courage failed him at the hard edge of the lictor’s hand. At each slap he’d sobbed. His mother had sat white faced and tense but did not rescind her sentence.
Semni patted and rubbed Thia’s back until the baby closed her eyes and was ready to be placed in her cradle. Then she lay down beside Nerie, who was fast asleep on her bed. He’d been fretful tonight. Usually content to have his place usurped by the princess at his mother’s breast, he’d been possessive, trying to push Thia away and sit on Semni’s lap alone.
Sleep eluded her. She was seething that Arruns had assumed her guilty. Even when he’d heard Tas’s admission, he’d not apologized.
She drew on her chiton and shoved her feet into slippers. Crossing pools of light and shadow in the torchlit hallways, she navigated her way to the barracks. She dragged the curtain open to Arruns’s cell door, then swept it closed behind her.
He was sharpening his dagger in the lamplight, the metal scraping rhythmically against whetstone. He stood when he saw her, frowning.
Semni launched herself at him, shoving him. “Why do you always think the worst of me?”
He staggered back a step, caught off balance by the surprise of her attack. Not waiting for a reply, she pummeled him on the chest with puny fists. “I went to retrieve Tas. I didn’t take him to the temple!”
The knife and whetstone clattered to the floor. He caught hold of both her wrists. She struggled against him but could do little but flail her elbows as she tried to free herself to hit him.
“What more can I do to convince you to trust me?” she hissed. “I stopped lying with other men to prove I could be faithful. I became a better mother to Nerie when you told me I was neglectful. I confessed to the master and mistress and risked being expelled for you.” His calm silence was infuriating. She wriggled her hands, resisting again. “Why don’t you answer me?”
He was gruff. “I believe you had no part in what happened today. That’s not why I’m angry with you. I saw you kissing Aricia’s cheek. I told you not to befriend her again. She means more to you than me if you choose to ignore my wish. She deserves no forgiveness.”
She gasped in frustration, the injustice scalding her. He was condemning her for a moment’s affection for a girl who was contrite. “No one should be blamed forever. And don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
He held her fast, his fingers manacles. “If you are to be my wife, then you should obey me.”
“And I don’t want to be your wife if you don’t trust me!” She thrashed against him, then, maddened he would not let her go, she bent her head and sank her teeth into his hand.
Grunting in surprise, he released her, examining the bite mark. Semni ran to one end of the bench and grabbed the pitcher and threw it at him. He deftly caught it and placed it on the worktable. Infuriated, she reached for the ewer, ready to launch the next missile, but before she could grab it, he lunged and enveloped her in a bear hug, restraining her arms against her sides.
Her cheek pressed against the cloth of his uniform as she struggled against his strength. She was incensed he could so easily control her, conscious also that he could crush her ribs with the merest increase of pressure. “Let me go!”
He continued to pin her against him. “Are you going to stop trying to hurt me?”
She squirmed, but resisting his iron embrace was tiring. She relaxed. She could hear his heart thudding, the beat slow and calming. “You can let me go. I promise to stop.”
He dropped his arms from around her, but as he shifted back, she clasped his forearms, a different emotion rising. “Hold me.”
He hesitated, but she encircled his neck. “Hold me,” she whispered into his ear, nipping the lobe. “I want you.” He inhaled and closed his eyes, his body tense, but he did not move away. She grazed her mouth across his, her teeth tugging at his lower lip. At her teasing, he groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her to sit on the bench. She gasped at the force and speed of his embrace but as he slid his hands along her thighs under her chiton, she gripped his wrists. “Not yet. I want to see all of you,” she said, releasing him to unbuckle his belt and tug at the sides of his uniform. Impatient, he pulled his tunic over his head, throwing it to the floor in one fluid movement, then reached for her again, but she still held him at bay, her arm straight, one hand pressed against his chest.