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He wanted to discover everything about himself through her.

They had the rest of their lives to do that.

“Come along,” he murmured against her lips, finally releasing her. “Let me take ye home.”

Esme was so overwhelmed by his kiss that she stumbled as he tried to lead her away. Titus quickly realized that she was cold and stiff, and he let her go long enough to remove the cloaks he was wearing, both of them, and put them around her, fastening them tightly.

It was his first lesson in thinking of someone other than himself.

He’d learned it by nearly losing something more precious than he could possibly comprehend.

PART THREE

ET A TRIBUS MILITIBUS (A CLAN OF WARRIORS)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The day was bright, but not for long. The storms of autumn were beginning to show themselves, and they’d had two major rainstorms in as many weeks. The shutters to the cottage were open but Esme kept a close watch on the sky, preparing to close the shutters against the rain at any moment.

Titus was at the Fields of Mars, training with his fellow fighters, while Esme was in the process of making curtains for the windows with oiled canvas she obtained from a woman who came to the Ludus Caledonia now and again, selling her wares.

Esme had paid for it with her own money, and she’d earned quite a bit of it teaching reading and writing to a few of the more advanced and worldly warriors. Her two prized pupils were Christos and Aurelius, although Aurelius had been somewhat of a challenge. He was very bright, but very stubborn, and when he didn’t understand a lesson, he would often throw something or kick something purely out of rage.

The first time Aurelius had thrown a tantrum, Esme had been shocked. The second time, she had ordered him away and not to come back until he could behave himself. Somehow, Titus had caught wind of the tantrum and he nearly came to blows with Aurelius, his old friend, until Esme stopped it and scolded them both.

Aurelius never had a tantrum again after that.

But it didn’t stop him from kicking the table leg now and then.

In fact, she was expecting Aurelius when the training at the field was over, so she was hurrying to finish at least one of the curtains she intended to hang. With the weather expected to grow worse, she wanted the curtains up to help keep the drafts and weather out of the small cottage.

The little cottage itself had transformed under her careful hand, with hides on the floor, two very comfortable chairs in front of the hearth, and a second, smaller bed where her pallet used to be, surrounded by a canvas curtain that hung from the ceiling.

She may have shared Titus’ cottage, but she still didn’t share his bed.

In fact, he hadn’t even tried to coerce her into it. He’d been a perfect gentleman since she’d tried to run away, seemingly content to go at whatever pace she was comfortable with when it came to their budding relationship. He would kiss her, though, and kiss her often, and there were times that she could feel his stiff manhood through his breeches, but he never said a word about tending to it.

After his bouts, he still received all of the hero-worship he always had with the exception of selecting a woman to spend time with. He collected all the money thrown at him, flexed his sweaty muscles for screaming admirers, but he ducked out of the arena on the south side where no one was waiting for him.

Except Esme.

She was always waiting for him.

And she tended to him sweetly and gently, something he’d never had in his entire life. As Esme sat next to the open window with her sewing in her hands, she smiled as she thought of their latest escapade, the Battle of the Beds. Titus would take the smaller bed if he had the opportunity to, forcing her to take the larger one, and vice versa. He was trying to be chivalrous, but she wasn’t the one fighting nightly, so she wanted him to have the more comfortable bed.

They argued about it constantly.

It was all part of coming to know one another better, of learning to work together, and of understanding the attraction that grew stronger by the day. Titus had lost none of his arrogance, but somewhere in the midst of it all, he had softened his edges. His arrogance didn’t carry over too much with Esme, whom he’d grown a heart for. Everyone could see it, especially Esme. He was everything she knew he could be.

He’d told her once that she made him want to be a better man.

Now, he was proving it.

Over in a big bowl, her little bumblebee was starting to stir. He was still alive, her wingless friend, and he had an elaborate living space for a bee with fresh flowers and honey water to drink. He still crawled on her hand and sometimes slept on her, and there was no one more fascinated with the bee than young Niko. In fact, he called Esme “Bee”, something that stuck to the point where everyone, including Titus, called her Bee.

Sweet Bee, as Titus would say.

More clouds began to roll in from the east, distracting Esme from her bee because she very much wanted to get the oiled canvas finished, so she picked up her sewing pace. She was nearing the end of the last seam when there was a knock on her door. Before she could answer, Isadora came in with Niko in tow.