Ancient Ties (22 page)

She had not talked to Rhea much more than in passing since her first day here. Rhea had spoken with pride that her husband, Alair, managed the pottery works. Janney always meant to visit them, partly out of her own curiosity and partly as a compliment to her first woman friend out here in the country. Rhea beamed with pleasure at the plan, and the two women headed for the pottery works about a mile outside the villa walls.

Rhea was an attractive young woman, so Janney was surprised to see that her husband looked to be several years older and balding. He wasn’t as bald as Eligius, but he was getting there. Alair greeted his wife with a peck on the lips and Janney with a bow.

Janney accepted his greeting, but she’d not grown comfortable being treated like royalty. She certainly hadn’t grown up with servants and didn’t want these people to bow and scrape to her. Marek was their boss and took it as his due, but Janney didn’t feel that she was superior to them.

Alair gave them a tour of the small factory. About a dozen craftsmen sat at potter’s wheels, turning out plain gray pieces.

The storeroom with the finished products was completely different. Here, the lovely painted pieces were stored until

shipment. The potters were in one group, and the artists that did the painting were in a separate studio. Her kids would have loved seeing this.

Her kids. What were they doing? How much time had passed in their world? Janney wondered if it was still summer at home. Did her mother know yet that she was gone? Was she worried? Janney wished there was some way she could tell them that she was okay. It felt wrong to be enjoying herself in this other life when people at home might think that something horrible had happened to her.

She was distracted on the way back to the villa, her thoughts not exactly on the pottery or the villa. This was the first day that she and Marek hadn’t spent together. It had been easy to forget home when he was around. She didn’t like being reminded, when there was nothing she could do about it.

At dinner, both of them were quiet. He asked about her day, told her about his. It was obvious, though, that he’d missed her because the minute the servants started to clear the dishes, he tucked her arm through his and headed her off to the bedroom.

“I missed you, sweet,” he said as he swung her into his arms.

It was easy to let him drive her worries out of her head and succumb to his kisses and lovemaking. She had never imagined that life could be this wonderful. That any man could be such a sensual lover.

“I missed you, too. Why don’t you lie down, and I’ll give you a massage. You look tired.” She kneaded his shoulder and neck muscles. They were tight and strong normally, and she wasn’t sure how much good she could do. Just touching him, rubbing his skin, hearing his groans of pleasure was arousing. His long back muscles and firm butt tempted her in that direction, and soon she was kissing the skin over his spine and into the dip above his buns, teasing him with the tips of her breasts, stroking them across his back and thighs. She nipped at his neck and whispered into his ear, “So do you think you need two women now?”

Marek arched his back and turned his head to rest the other cheek on a cushion. “Well,” he drawled lazily, eyes closed,

“What do you expect my upper half to be doing while you do this?”

She bit his earlobe in warning.

“Oh,” he choked as she slipped her hand between his legs and closed it over his penis.

“Umm,” he stretched out the sound until his voice died.

“Two women indeed,” he groaned. “You’re more than enough, sweet.”

“I’d better be, baby. No one else is having you”

Later, as he returned the favor of her hands and lips, Janney was glad that nothing would come between them, not as long as she could keep her memories at bay.

“Mellona…” he sobbed.

Janney was jolted awake by Marek’s flailing arms. He moaned, his head twisting from side to side. She scooted away before he could strike her, but crawled back to kneel over him.

“Marek.” She spoke his name gently, but insistently, pushing at his shoulders to wake him carefully.

His face was wet with his tears, mouth wrenched open wide as if in pain. “Sorry…sooo…” His clawing fingers had ripped one side of the bed hangings down to the floor. “I’m sorry I left the baby.” The words came out clearly.

“What?”

What did he say?
In shock, Janney’s heart hurt with Marek’s obvious pain, but her stomach clenched tightly cold at his words.

Even so, she succeeded in pulling him against her, cradling his head in her arms, and rocking him. “Shhh. Wake up, Marek.

You’re safe.” She sounded more confident than she felt, but what else could she say right now? She’d never seen anything like this.

The room seemed suddenly so large and cold, and empty. Fear and the fluttering pressure of anxiety choked her.

Marek woke slowly and lay stiffly in her arms. He brought his hands up to rub his face and blinked madly as he brushed the

tears away. She’d already seen them; he could not hide them now. Their gazes met.

Janney saw the recognition in his eyes. They both knew something monumental had happened. Swallowing heavily, she spoke evenly, “Marek, maybe you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

He sat up and his gaze roamed around the room. With a groan, he pushed his sweating body away from the bed and walked naked over to the table. Taking a gulp of wine, he brought the flagon and another goblet back to the bed.

Janney moved up to sit against the head of the bed, drawing the cover up over her breasts. Although she would have welcomed the comfort, she shook her head at the offered goblet.

She was too suspicious and anxious to be distracted by drink.

Marek perched at the bottom of the bed and stared into his wine. Finally, by the time she thought she would scream if he didn’t say something, he began his tale, spilling out all the details to her horrified ears. Marek told Janney the story of the day that began all his agony. Of his own private Hades. The battle and the boy. Marek buried his face in his hands; his short hair stood straight up as his shaking fingers pushed through it. He never made eye contact with her.

She heard the words, understood the concepts. War, death.

Pain, grief. He was an experienced, career soldier. What made this battle different for him? She pulled her knees up to her chest, gripping them with the covers wound tightly around her.

The action kept her focused on his story.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly. Her throat felt closed with the tears that were also streaming down her cheeks. There was more to the story. He had said more in his nightmare. “You said something about a baby.” It was a statement not a question.

The silence, except for his tortured breathing, seemed endless. Janney didn’t know what to think. Here was this courageous military man, and he couldn’t look at her, his gaze directed into the wine, past her shoulder. Everywhere, but on her.

“I have a son.” Marek finally turned his dark, bleak gaze on her. “A boy of fifteen years.”

She could only stare back. A son.

My God. A son
.

She shook her head. “Who’s Mellona?”

Time stretched out. “His mother. My wife.” Marek’s voice was composed. Unnaturally so. Steady. Emotionless.

His wife
. Janney flinched. Her pulse picked up, her chest hurt like a fist squeezed her heart. Did she even know this man?

“I loved her very much. I was devastated when she died.”

Janney wasn’t sure if she’d ever breathe normally again.

Her mind whirling, thoughts buzzed but none lighted to give her any help. A wife…dead…a son. His son. Janney had to swallow a couple times to get her voice to work right.

“Where is he now?”

His shoulders stiffened. Janney’s attention shifted to focus on his hands, the white knuckles gripping the wine goblet, his only sign of emotion. This was surreal. She felt as lost as she’d ever felt, even as lost as she’d been when her dad died. “Marek?”

“Rome.” His voice was dull, withdrawn. Vacant.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Janney’s heart stuttered. She’d only seen the strong, masterful side of this man.

He’d lied to her, lied by omission, but still, it was awful to see his disintegration like this. She knelt up and crawled toward him—to touch him, to offer comfort.

His face took on a new expression, a deep frown that he buried again in his hands. She heard the huffing and puffing of his fractured breathing.

“There’s more.”

Oh, God, what more?

“Janney,” he finally whispered, lifting his head, meeting her gaze. “I have a wife.”

She didn’t react. She couldn’t think. Inches from him, she sat back on her heels.
Wife. Wife.
She couldn’t breathe. “A wife.

Here?”

“No.”

Panic boiled up inside her chest.
What am I going to do?
Her skin felt cold, her insides burning.

“It is a marriage in name only. An arrangement. She needed a husband to inherit some property, and I needed a mother for my son. They live in Rome. I haven’t seen them in five years.”

Marek’s voice was calm, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

God! A bad TV movie of the week come to life.

Rage bubbled over. The calmer he sounded, the closer she came to hysteria. Janney clenched her teeth to keep her lips from quavering. However, as rubbery as her knees were, she had to get away from him. Scrambling off the bed, clutching the covering around her—until that moment, she’d forgotten her nakedness—she put one foot carefully in front of the other, very deliberatively, until she reached the table in the center of the room. She pressed her shaking fingers down hard on the tabletop to keep herself from breaking into a million pieces. It felt as if someone had cut her open and squeezed her heart until it was a little, shriveled ball of pain.

I am such a fool. I’m just the nearest willing body.

“Janney, say something. Anything.”

I’m going to throw up. No! I won’t!
Her back prickled. She maliciously enjoyed the uncertain quaver in his voice. He should be worried.

Moving woodenly, Janney retrieved her clothing, slipped her tunic over her head, and left his room. She prayed that she could get to the room she’d abandoned many nights ago, even in her trance.

Don’t think about those nights, those glorious, enchanting nights.

Quietly, overly carefully closing the door of her room from the inside, she leaned back against it in shock. Dry-eyed, shaking-like-a-leaf shock.

Finally. Alone. He couldn’t see her. No one would see her fall apart. She was trapped here in another time with strangers.

No home. No job. No friends. No future. No matter how fascinating the company, no matter the physical desire and

pleasure with him, the reality of her situation was never far from her mind. She slid down the wood and collapsed on the floor.

Janney curled up in a ball hugging her stomach.

Don’t let the pain come. Keep the pain away. Please, God, don’t
let it hurt.

Marek stood in his doorway and dully watched her go.

Needing to make sure she was safe, he was greatly relieved that she went into her room and not out the front door. For the next several hours, he alternately sat and paced in the peristyle watching her door, his expression bleak, then annoyed. He guarded her door, waiting for Janney to come back out.

She can’t stay away for long, can she? I should go break the door
down. How dare she hide herself away from me. This is my home. I don’t
have to explain myself to anyone, least of all to her.

He’d seen the stunned, hurt expression on her face. It made him sick. He made himself sick. All this time in each other’s company and he hadn’t had the courage to look her in the eyes and tell her the truth. No wonder she was disgusted.

Leonidas. The vision of his son as he’d seen him last swam in his mind. Marek had swept back into his son’s life five years ago bearing gifts. Leonidas had seemed contented. Solita, his wife of convenience, said she was happy with the arrangement also. He wanted to believe them and had no obvious reason to do otherwise.

It wasn’t uncommon for a soldier’s family to be separated for long years, but he had abandoned his son because Mellona’s death had left him empty and raw. Ecstatic at the birth of a son, the young Marek didn’t think he could survive the devastating, bloody death of his wife just hours after she’d given birth. Even though his common sense told him that the newborn Leonidas wasn’t at fault, Marek’s heart had been too shattered.

Solita had been Mellona’s friend. As it turned out, they could do each other a service allowing him to escape his grief by

running back to the army. He knew that Solita cared for his son and would be good to him. Marek spent fifteen years pushing away the guilt and sorrow, telling himself that Leonidas probably didn’t miss him since he’d never really known him to begin with.

There was no real relationship between Solita and him, except the one obligatory night necessary to legitimize their union. He’d closed his eyes and pretended she was Mellona, and she’d closed hers pretending—he didn’t know what.

Periodically he had word from Solita, and he sent a message back to Rome whenever he could, letting them know he was still alive. Lately, he’d been wondering if his family would like to live in Britannia. He supposed that was part of why he’d broken down so disgracefully. He’d let himself lose sight of the battle.

He’d let personal thoughts interfere with his job.

Well, now he had another woman on his hands. Marek knew Janney was in love with him. He could see it in her eyes.

Every kiss, every touch proved it. She wasn’t the kind of woman to be used and discarded as if he was on campaign.

Love.
The word appalled him. Terrified him. He hadn’t loved a woman since Mellona.