Free A Man's Sword by W. M. Kirkland Page B

kind of joke? Did Audrey put you up to this?”
    “I do not know Audrey. This is my sword.” He turned the grip to show the stranger, though the move put him at a disadvantage. “This happened when I fought Titus in the arena and won.” He pointed out a large chunk out of the hilt. “And this happened when I trained with Tiberius before a match.” He pointed out another, smaller cut in the hilt. “I do not know how you got this sword, but it is mine.”
    “I see.” The stranger’s nostrils flared, and a hint of awareness, maybe even desire, sparked in his eyes. “You say you are a gladiator? You certainly smell like one.”
    “I may not be perfumed like you.” Now that the man had moved closer, Marius could smell the same woodsy scent as on the couch, only stronger now. Could it be that this man was a senator, and maybe that was why he wore such strange clothing? Marius had more honor than to attack an unarmed man, and the little box he’d slid into a pouch in his pants didn’t look like a weapon. “I made an offering to Janus. Now I am here. I do not remember.” Marius rubbed his temple. “But I am here now, and you had my sword on display. Why?”
    “I bought it from an antique dealer.” The man frowned, causing tiny lines to form between his brows. His lips, just full enough to be sensual, pulled down, and then he shook his head. “Considering that my electronics are in place and you don’t look like you’re concealing any of my things, I’ll take you at your word. Just put down the sword.”
    “You will not attack? I am a stranger in your home. It would make sense if you—”
    “I will not attack.” The stranger cut off his words. “We look about evenly matched, and I do not see any other weapons.”
    “I am a gladiator. My body is my weapon.” Indignant, and determined to prove his words, Marius laid the sword on the back of the couch. Out of hand, but definitely within arm’s reach.
    “Thank you, Cicero.” The stranger’s lips quirked up into a smile. “That certainly is a Roman name.”
    “Marius. Cicero is what senators call their slaves when senators want to pretend they are scholars.” He would have spat, but that would have marred the very fine carpet. In fact, he hadn’t noticed until now, but beneath his bare feet, the soft velvety surface felt far too luxurious for any senator’s home. Then again, he might have to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t in Rome. How long he’d slept, or what had happened, he didn’t know. But he’d find out soon enough. “What is your name?”
    “Gabriel Woodweiss.”
    “Gabriel is a Roman name.” Marius grew more relaxed in the man’s company, finding this strange situation less so as time passed. He’d decided this couldn’t be a senator’s home. The big shiny black glass in a darker frame couldn’t be Roman. Nor could the little numbers in another black box. He hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings before, but now, without the threat of a battle, he took stock of the books, many books, on a shelf, and the dots of light, green and red, scattered on various boxes across the room. It had to be the work of the gods. “I do not think I am in Rome.”
    Gabriel chuckled, a husky sound that went straight to Marius’s cock. “No. You’re in Wyoming.”
    “I do not know Wyoming. Is it beyond Gaul or Egypt?”
    Gabriel chuckled again, and as much as Marius loved the sound, he did not like being the object of humor. “Across the ocean from Great Britain.”
    “Britain is not great. It is a place of heathens and mongrel warriors. We fight them even now.”
    Gabriel sobered. “Britain and Rome haven’t fought for thousands of years. Why don’t we get you cleaned up and maybe some food, and then I can explain things.”
    “Thousands of years? It is AD 116 and Trajan is the emperor.” Marius glanced around the room again, aware of how different it looked from his home. The fine weave of the fabrics, the colors,