Free Barbarian's Soul by Joan Kayse

head, he had a clear view of the storeroom.
    “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Paulin, hurrying to his side, Strabo and Menw in his wake.
    “What other entrances are here?”
    “What difference does that make?”
    Bran leveled a hard glare at the Roman then turned his back on him. He barely registered the bluster coming from Paulin as he circled the bush and found a trail of flattened grass. There was no distinct pattern of steps which indicated the thief had abandoned stealth for a swift escape. His gaze followed the path to an overturned basket wedged against the back garden wall. The basket was still wobbling.
    Bran sprinted to the wall, hoisted himself up on the flat top with his arms and looked down into a pair of startled amethyst eyes.
    For a moment he felt as stunned as she looked. The memory of her beauty was nothing compared to the face that looked up at him now. It was symmetrical, like the facets of a well-cut jewel, with high cheekbones, a straight nose and a sharp little chin raised in defiance. Her complexion was soft and unblemished, an olive tone the perfect complement to the wisps of ebony curls that escaped the thick plait hanging down her back. Brows of the same color arched delicately over her eyes, the surprise he’d seen in them moments ago replaced by wariness, the emotions seeming to enhance the violet shade with sparks of light.
    But it was her mouth that held his attention. Generous, full, with rose-tinted lips that needed kissing, and the desire to do just that slammed into his gut. That need spiked and his breath caught when she bit the bottom one and tugged on it with small, white teeth before...she stuck her tongue out at him.
    Anger evaporated Bran’s lust at the utter gall of the little witch. He set his jaw against the urge to roar his outrage. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and held her gaze, daring her to move as he climbed onto the top of the wall.
    As he lifted one leg over the edge, the girl stumbled backwards and dropped a tattered cloth bag in her hands. The sack opened, spilling silver and amethyst jewelry into the dirt.
    Bran raised his other leg, took his time. Where would she go? She was outmatched and trapped, boxed in by Rome’s endless stone buildings. The mounting look of fear on her delicate features gave him perverse satisfaction. He was not someone to be mocked as many of his opponents in the arena had discovered—just before they’d died at the end of his blade. And he did not take well to being robbed of his money or being accused of a crime he had not committed. That Paulin’s suspicions would have landed on him solely because he was a barbarian did not matter—the girl would pay the price.
    He was sitting on the ledge now. One small leap and he would be towering over the girl. A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips as his intense perusal caused her breathing to increase. For a split moment, his gaze drifted to her breasts, pressed snug against the worn material of her tunic, the full, rounded mounds rising with each anxious breath. A fleeting thought went through his mind that they would fit perfectly in his cupped hands.
    Then his vision caught up with his fantasies.
    The girl had taken advantage of his momentary distraction and was frantically scooping the jewelry into her sack. Bran roared and leapt to the ground. The girl spared him one wide-eyed look before she sprinted off down the street, running like prey set in a hunter’s sights.
    Bran broke into an easy lope. It should take no more than a half dozen steps to catch the little thief. His legs were twice as long and rage fueled his efforts. Fear was spurring hers, he thought with dark satisfaction when she glanced over her shoulder. And well it should. Still, she was no match for him.
    The street was not long and branched off into two separate paths. The girl paused, took a quick look into the small alley to her right. It led to a bustling thoroughfare, the same one he and Menw had traveled. It