Free The Barbarian's Mistress by Nhys Glover Page B

Gaius Annius Vali ordered. Such a Roman name for the barbarian that he was.
    ‘I can help,’ she said, ashamed of the weakness in her voice.
    ‘You’ll fall flat on your face if you try. Stay there!’ He was being harsh with her again. It hurt. She didn’t understand why her once gentle friend spoke to her that way. Or why his eyes scraped over her like she was poison, or trouble, or a nuisance. That wasn’t the way she remembered him.
    Obediently, she sat like a mouse in the carrus, as he prepared the blanket. When he came back and swept her into his arms, his touch was gentle and warm. How could he be harsh one moment and gentle the next? It made no sense. In her limited experience, people were either one thing or the other. They were either kind or they were cruel.
    Her mother was crue l in her indifference and scathing in her comments, when she deigned to acknowledge her daughter’s existence. She was never kind.
    Her father, even when he was tired or upset, was never anything but kind to her. As was her older brother Gaius. But he had been gone a long time now, serving with the Imperial Army in the wilds of Magna Germania. It was hard to bring his face to mind. Would that happen to her father’s face if she didn’t see him for years? The thought cut deep.
    As Vali gently laid her down, his rough hands lingering, she thought of another slave in her life: Ninia, the little handmaiden who’d been more friend than slave. The daughter of their cook, she’d been assigned to Anniana when she was five, to fetch and carry for her. But she’d been a playmate long before that. To her, Ninia was more sister than her own ever could be.
    And it was because of her that Ninia had suffered. She pushed the memories away, feeling the tears stinging her eyes. This was no time to remember. Exhaustion and hunger were making her weak. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not when Vali already saw her as a burden; already considered her a foolish, frivolous waste of space. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right.
    The new Lara watched as Vali unhitched the horses and led them to the edge of the muddy water. The horses were tired. Vali was tired. His shoulders sagged, and his movements were slow.
    He had too much to do. She wouldn’t behave like a spoiled patrician now. Lara the liberti would never sit around while there was work to be done. Staggering to her feet, she made her way to the curras and began to unload their food. There was the goose to be cooked. That meant they would need a fire. How did one build a fire?
    Firewood. They would need firewood. Not neatly chopped logs like they used in the ovens at home, but fallen branches and twigs.
    Vali was rubbing down the horses as the evening shadows deepened around them. She needed to move now, or it would soon be too dark to see the wood. Limping on stiff, sore legs, Lara began to scour the undergrowth between the trees, gathering twigs and branches that seemed dry, moving further and further away from the campsite with each load.
    When she heard Vali’s frantic call, she turned back. The dark copse, with its night noises and spirits, had tempted her to go too far. Vali’s voice seemed a long distance away.
    Tripping and scrambling with her armload of wood, she headed back the way she’d come. When he called again, she knew she’d almost reached him.
    When he saw her, he ran to her side, dragged the branches from her arms and flung them away. Then he pulled her into his arms, and held her so tightly against him she could hardly breathe.
    ‘I thought you’d been taken. In the name of the gods what made you go so far from the campsite?’ His demand was harsh, but his touch was gentle. She drew strength from the latter and tried to ignore the first.
    ‘I’m sorry. I was gathering firewood.’
    ‘You’ve gathered enough to feed the fires of an army. Come on, let’s get back.’
    He held her to his side, half carrying her so that she could keep up