Glabrio turned to Max. “If you can tear yourself away from your horse, legionary, there are tents that need to be put up.”
Max tucked the rag into his belt. “Right away, sir.” He gave Volusia a parting nod.
As he left, he glimpsed Glabrio clumsily offering his arm to Volusia. She smoothly ignored him, and followed Max back to camp, leaving Glabrio to hasten after them.
Chapter 11
Inthedaysthatfollowed, the travelers alternated between making camp and sleeping in roadside inns. Though she was grateful for a bed, Volusia almost preferred sleeping rough. It afforded more excuses to steal time alone with Max, whether feigning a desire to check on the horses or asking him to lead her to a nearby stream so she could wash her face in fresh water.
They stole kisses, as well. At night, Volusia retired to bed warm with the memory of the taste of him, the way his arms felt wrapped around her. This was dangerous—both in the short term, if Max’s grim centurion discovered what they were up to, as well as in the long term, as she knew they could have no future together.
But the exhilaration she felt at his touch was irresistible. Too long, she’d been trapped in a passionless marriage. She hadn’t even known what she was missing. Now, at least for a short time, she had a measure of freedom, and she refused to feel guilty about finding some pleasure with Max.
Almost better than his kisses was simply the way he looked at her—hungry, covetous, and worshipful all in one dark-eyed glance. She could always feel his gaze on her whether they were alone with the horses or sharing dinner around the campfire. She had become so used to Avitus’s apathy, though it was never meant unkindly. But with Max, she never doubted that she was his focus, his anchor, whenever they were in sight of each other. Feeling so important to someone was deliciously seductive, and no doubt it would be difficult to give up when their paths inevitably diverged.
Four days into their journey, Volusia woke in a cramped inn room to the sound of vomiting. She sat up in the creaky bed she’d shared with Iris, fumbling to light a lamp. The sun was just beginning to rise outside, and the room was still cloaked in shadows. “Iris? Are you all right?”
The lamp flared to life, illuminating the pale form of Iris, crouched over a chamber pot with a hand pressed over her eyes.
“Oh, dear.” Volusia swung her legs out of bed. “Is it the headache again?” Iris was prone to terrible headaches that incapacitated her for a day or more, often so painful they made her vomit.
Iris nodded miserably. “I’m sorry, mistress.”
“Nonsense. You must come straight back to bed.” Volusia blew out the lamp, knowing that light made the ailment worse. She wrapped an arm around Iris’s shoulders and helped her into bed, then set the chamber pot on the floor next to the bed in case Iris threw up again.
“I’ll ask the kitchen to prepare some clear broth, and I’ll see if they have any lavender for a cold compress. That helped last time, didn’t it?” After ten years with Iris, Volusia was familiar with the best ways to manage her maid’s attacks. Above all, Iris needed rest, darkness, and quiet. “And of course we cannot travel today. I’ll inform the soldiers.”
“Thank you, mistress,” Iris said weakly.
Volusia dressed and braided her hair in two simple lengths, twisting and pinning them into a simple bun with a long bone hairpin. She donned the few pieces of simple jewelry she’d chosen to wear on the journey, and covered her hair with a long green palla before venturing downstairs.
The six soldiers, Max among them, were readying the horses in the inn yard as the sun rose. They must have slept outside or in the stables, as the inn couldn’t house them all. Max winked when he saw her, and Volusia stifled a smile. A wink meant “hello” in the language of little gestures they’d developed as children.
She winked back, and then cleared her throat until Glabrio, the sour-faced centurion, turned to see her. “Iris is sick,” she announced. “We’ll have to remain here for at least a day until she recovers. Perhaps two.”
Glabrio looked befuddled. “Who is Iris?”
Volusia raised an eyebrow. “My maid.”
“Ah, the slave.” He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “There’s no point in delaying for such a trivial reason. It’s not as if she has to sit a horse. Just put her in the carriage. She can sleep the whole day.”
Volusia matched his posture by drawing herself up and crossing her own arms. “She absolutely cannot travel. Any movement pains her and makes her vomit.”
His lips thinned in distaste. “Then leave her here. You can buy a new slave in the next town we come to.”
Outrage sparked at the callous way he spoke about Iris. She knew she’d disliked Glabrio for a reason. “I will do no such thing! Iris has been with me for ten years. I will not just cast her off like—”
“What is she sick with, anyway?” Glabrio demanded. “If it’s catching, we have to leave her. I won’t risk the lot of us taking ill.”
“It’s not contagious,” Volusia said. “She’s prone to attacks of terrible headaches. It will resolve in a day or two.”
Glabrio took a step closer, so she had to tilt up her chin to look him in the eye. “That’s a day or two of additional food and lodging for six men and eight horses. I’m not undertaking that expense for the comfort of aslave. You have two choices: either leave the slave, or get her into a carriage by the time the sun has risen.”
Volusia bristled. The centurion was trying to intimidate her, and he was used to being obeyed. But she wasn’t one of his legionaries, bound by duty and oath to obey him. “You do not give me ultimatums,sir.”
His thick brows drew together, anger flashing in his eyes. “You might think you’re in charge here,lady, but these men”—he gestured to the five legionaries, all avidly watching the exchange—“these men all obey my orders. Not yours. And if I tell them to get you and your slave into that carriage, they will.”
“How dare—”
