When Gambling (Love and Warfare Series Book 2) Page 6

Eric flipped the dicebox.

  “Lost!” Reaching forward, the slick-haired man moved his last piece over the finish line and swept Eric’s coins toward himself.

  Eric groaned.

  The slick-haired youth threw his dice into their cup to start anew.

  Cara dug her teeth into her fingernail, but she’d beaten Conan at tabula dozens of times. Her palla dropped from her hair as she stepped out of the shadows. “May I play?”

  All eyes turned toward her. She stood at the edge of the lamplight, alone. Her breath quickened.

  The squat youth tilted his head. “You can’t without money.”

  “You don’t have to cut me in on the money. I just want to play.” She clasped one hand over the other, nails digging into her flesh.

  Slick-haired man shrugged. “What would a girl know anyway? Their beauty’s in the body, not the wits.”

  “Shall I tell your betrothed that?” The bold girl jangled her bracelets.

  Slick-haired man directed a brazen stare at the place where the girl’s dress didn’t fully cover ample breasts. “Are you going to tell her everything that happens tonight?”

  The bold girl laughed.

  Angry tears welled up in Cara’s eyes as she whipped back to the shadows. She shouldn’t have even come to this wretched party. She couldn’t leave either until Edna agreed to go with her because far too many ruffians frequented these streets at night.

  “Muzzle yourself.” Eric slammed his fist against the table boards, jouncing wine cups. He looked to her.

  Another tear rolled down Cara’s nose even as she gave him a wobbly smile.

  “Here.” Moving up the crowded bench, Eric shoved a stack of coins toward the vacated space. “See if you can hold onto my money better than I. You certainly can’t do worse.”

  She slid in next to him. The edge of his tunic brushed her thigh.

  A man with shifty eyes directed a suspicious gaze at her. “You know the rules?”

  Cara brought her chin down sharply. She’d played this game since she was old enough to toss dice.

  Slick-haired man rolled a 2, 4, and 6 and moved black pieces forward, coupling them up to make them invulnerable to capture. She shook the dicebox and moved white pieces. Another roll, another move. Another and another.

  Slick-haired man only needed to move four more pieces across the finish line to win.

  With a flick of her wrist, Cara flipped the dicebox: 3, 5, and 1.

  Eric groaned. Not a good roll, but she’d seen worse.

  Splitting her line of ivory, she had to leave at least one piece open to capture. Instead of leaving only one open she could take the risk of leaving three open, one a breath away from the finish line. Pushing the pieces forward, she left the three open.

  Eric nudged her. “Are you sure?”

  Gaze fixed on the game board, she brought her chin down, then back up, and pushed another coin on the table, upping the bet. She intended to beat the slick-haired man after what he’d said.

  Lamplight reflected off the coin. Wait, was that pure gold? She gulped. If she lost, Eric would lose all that gold. Her insides twisted in strange knots.

  Slick-haired man gleefully shook the dicebox.

  Odds, get odds.

  A 2, 5, and 3. Slick-haired man captured her lagging piece, sending it to the start of the board, but in doing so separated two pairs.

  She rolled the dicebox: 6, 6, and 2. She slid her furthest piece over the finish line, then pushed her lagging piece forward, landing on each of his exposed pieces.

  The slick-haired man scowled. A few more rolls and her last piece slid over the finish line.

  Reaching forward, Cara touched the slick-haired man’s gold and pushed the coins toward Eric as a victory smile parted her lips.

  “Good work.” Eric looked at her, his dark eyes thoroughly impressed. With her.

  Heat rose through her body. She eyed the table boards, not him, but her heart sang.

  The slick-haired youth slumped back on his bench.

  Eric shifted his leg forward. Across the table, the slick-haired youth jerked as Eric’s foot apparently made contact. “What were you saying about girls having no skill at this game?”

  The slick-haired man scowled and shoved the tabula board down to the next two players. Sitting beside Eric, Cara listened to the crows of victory and cries of defeat as the board and pieces traded hands up and down the table, accompanied by jests. The amount of touching going on between the women that circled the table and the patrician men would have made Pruella’s mother faint.

  “More wine?” Victor approached the table, holding an amphora high, his other arm around Edna. “Have some.” Victor shoved a full cup at Eric.

  With a shake of his head, Eric picked up the tabula pieces. The rest of the men downed wine cups, the women, too. A din rose as they stood and abandoned the table.

  Victor mock shoved Eric. “You haven’t drunk all night.”

  Eric dropped the tabula dice into the dice cup. “You’d want the legate of the province sending a cohort into your bedroom to arrest you?”

  Why the legate?

  Edna nudged Cara’s shoulder. “Walk home yourself. I’m staying late.”

  Alone! She’d get assaulted in the dark. Her head pounded, nausea sweeping over her. “Edna, you can’t abandon me.”

  “Sorry.” Edna shrugged.

  Then Victor tugged Edna against him and they moved on with the rest of the revelers.

  Eric slid his leg over the bench. “I’m leaving before this party grows any more degenerate.”

  Twisting on the bench, Cara looked up at his chiseled face. No bandits of the night would dare face Eric. Also, someone should carve a statue of him. “Will you walk me home?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Walk alone with a maiden at this hour of the night? Your father would have my head.”

  True, but it’s not as if her father would rejoice that she wandered these dark alleys alone either. She frowned. “The streets aren’t safe.”

  “It’s not safe for you to come to this kind of party either.”

  Truly? No one had drawn a knife on her and coarse words, while vexatious wouldn’t kill her. She turned her gaze up to Eric. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

  “I wouldn’t have even come tonight if I’d known how degenerate it’d get.” He stood above her, tall as Hercules.

  “You’ll come again, though. Please?” She clasped his hand. “I’ll teach you how to win at tabula.”

  He smiled at her. “I suppose I would like to learn how to beat Wryn. I’ve never won a game against him in my life.” He removed his hand. “Come then. I’ll get you home safe.”

  Eric held the door open with his arm, and she brushed by his body. Then the panel swung shut, plunging them into darkness.

  Two drunken men shared oaths in the street. One brought his fist forward. Eric touched her arm, guiding her to the far side of the street.

  The noise of the brawl faded and stillness gathered around them as the wind blew. She could hear him breathe.

  The road forked. Eric looked at her. “Which way?”

  “Light Street.”

  “Which one is that?” His voice sounded so cultured.

  “You’ve never visited Light Street?” Light Street had all the main businesses. “I thought you grew up in this town?”

  Eric stopped at the fork. “Passed through it on and off. We live to the West, but mostly only go to the garrison.”

  “You’re in the Army?”

  “Avoided that fate. Barely.” He kicked a rock, sending it flying into a pile of dark timber. “My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I’m no Cincinnatus.”

  “Your father bore arms?” Cara smiled. Father would like that. Oh, wait. Father would never meet Eric.

  “Still does. Legate of the province.”

  Cara felt her mouth drop. “The legate?”

  Eric brought his chin down through the darkness.

  “I gue
ss you can’t get in trouble for anything then.” She’d known Eric belonged to a different world than her, but she’d underestimated the vastness of the gap.

  Eric snorted. “More like there’s a martial patrol following you everywhere, waiting for you to misstep.”

  “Oh.” She pointed toward the left and their feet clacked against cobblestones as dirty water soaked through the seams of her boots. “My father’s like that, too. Only, he was a centurion before.”

  A cynical noise came from Eric’s mouth. “You know what Tacitus said about soldiers.”

  “What?” She looked at him.

  “They make a desert and call it peace.”

  She laughed.

  “Only quote from Tacitus’ interminable works worth reading.” Eric’s voice echoed across the cobblestones.

  Ahead, a shady-looking man slid down an alley. She stepped so close to Eric that her arm brushed his. “What does Tacitus write of?”

  “Military history. Who knew one could fall asleep three times reading one scroll. Now Ovid, one can’t put his works down.”

  “Ovid?”

  “The legendary Greek poet.” Eric’s deep voice carried through the still streets.

  Greek! She clasped her hands together. “What did he write of?”

  “Everything. Life, heroes, villains, survival.”

  Only one street lay between them and her house. She slowed her pace. Now, still out of sight of the blacksmith shop, is where Conan always kissed her good night, even though she’d told him “no” every time for the last month. If Eric tried, she wouldn’t tell him “no.” “My house is here. Thank you for walking me home. I want to know more about Ovid sometime.”

  “You want to know more about everything.” His voice had a laugh in it.

  “Only because you tell things so well.”

  “As if I’d believe that. I’m a horrid orator.”

  “Spoken from your lips, even talk of bread baking and sweeping would sound exotic.” She fixed her gaze on those lips.

  He rolled his eyes, but his smile looked pleased. “A good night to you.” He raised his hand and turned.

  When his back had merged into the shadows of the night, she whispered back, “I love you.”

  Chapter 5

  Sun streamed through arched windows as Cara walked up the aisle. Crates of wide-mouthed pottery stood on either side, giving this church plausible cover as a warehouse.

  She peered through rows of faces. No sign of Eric up front, where white linen and gold jewelry marked the few patrician families who attended. Because of their support, Camulodunum had never experienced the persecutions that went on in Rome.

  Cara slid into a worn bench and the music started, the mystical sound of flutes mingling with the melody of voices.

  The chorus wrapped around her, enchanting her senses, but she knew better than to allow the music to sweep her away. In only a few moments, the elders would read about yet another restrictive rule that God expected her to follow.

  “Cara.” Conan squeezed in next to her. “Didn’t see you up here.”

  Placing one hand on his knee, Cara leaned up to his ear. “I found that verse you wanted. Though I guess it’s late with the wedding today.”

  “Yes?” Conan moved his hand over hers.

  “Many waters cannot quench love.”

  With a final breathy note, the flutes ceased their melody. An older man strode to the front and unrolled a scroll. “In the apostle Paul’s letter to the – ”

  Cara examined the yellow dress a woman in front of her wore. She’d embroidered a lovely flower pattern on the collar.

  The hot summer air puffed through the windows above. Capturing her hand back from Conan, Cara swatted at a fly.

  The elder rolled up the scroll and an aging lady stood, vigorously declaring a “word from the Lord.” Two men followed.

  Finally, the service ended. Chattering erupted as people stood. Cara looked two rows front to where the patricians filed out a door.

  Her breath caught. Eric. For once, a linen tunic covered his chest. He stood half a head taller than the rest of the crowd.

  A patrician child ran forward, feet pounding the ground. The child hurled toward her.

  “Paulus.” Eric lunged and grabbed the flying child. “You don’t crash into ladies.”

  Cara’s heart pounded. He’d called her a lady. Like a patrician.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” The boy ducked his head then ran off.

  For all that Conan talked of children, she’d never actually seen him touch one. He’d probably make a lousy father, unlike Eric.

  “Anyway, sorry about that.” Eric smiled at her. “My brother’s like those bears the elder spoke about today.”

  “Bears?” She studied his face.

  “From the second book of Kings. Didn’t you hear the elder talk?” His smooth jaw had the angle of a warrior, his aquiline nose as dashing as any demigod.

  “I got distracted.” If she let her gaze linger on his hands, she could picture him as Hercules capturing the Erymanthean Boar with only a net.

  “Ha! I told you they’ve read Song of Solomon in First Day service before and you just didn’t listen.” His dark eyes glinted.

  She crossed her arms and let a saucy look into her eyes. “The elder was a poor orator. It’s not my fault.”

  “He spoke confidently, with good enunciation, and signposted each point. Demosthenes would have embraced him.” Eric spread his stance.

  Flaunting one shoulder, she cocked her chin. “I thought he wasn’t any good at all.”

  “And what, pray tell, have your rhetoric classes taught you makes good oratory?” His eyes teased her as he rested his hands on his belt.

  She met his gaze and he focused on her. She smiled. “The orator needs a face worth looking at, and a frame to put the Greek gods to shame.”

  He groaned. “You just say things like that because you enjoy seeing me turn red and look like a bumbling idiot.”

  No, she didn’t. She said them because she loved every moment she spent in his company.

  “Salve.” He raised his hand and turned. “I’m off to the training grounds.” With his departure, the entire building darkened.

  People milled back and forth, then Father touched her shoulder. “Ready to walk to the wedding?”

  Cara squeezed her knuckles tight. Did breaking God’s rules in His own house make Him hate her more for it? “I’m not feeling well. Will you give Pruella my regrets?”

  “Of course. Do you have a fever? I can stay home from the wedding.”

  Father always worried about fevers since Mother died of one. If only she’d made Mother rest more. Father said she was young and she’d done her best. Usually she believed him, but not when the spells overcame her. “No need.”

  “I’ll return in a few hours then.” Father walked down the empty church aisle, through the open doors.

  Once outside the church, Cara caught up her skirts and sprinted down the street. Around her, bustling shopkeepers hawked their wares. To the left, pigs squealed as a man drove them toward the pagan temple.

  The sunshine washed over Cara, giving a sleepy feel to the perfect afternoon. The busy streets turned to grassy fields outside the city gate. Up ahead, lay the training grounds. Oh, and Edna. “Good afternoon.”

  Edna looked back and nodded.

  “How are you?”

  A hole had worn through Edna’s dress, exposing her lower calf. She groaned. “Mother’s still trying to force Alexandros to take me as his wife. He feels beholden enough to my worthless father, he might do it, too.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t just feel beholden. He smiled at you that day you picked up his laundering.” Cara touched Edna’s arm.

  “Pity I already bungled that then.” Edna drove her boot into the grass with vicious force.

  Lowering her hand, Cara studied her friend’s face. Did Edna mean because she’d insulted Alexandros that day at her house?

  Ahead of th
em, the fence rail made a squat shadow in the early afternoon sun. Edna grasped the top fence rail and flung her legs over the top.“I left something behind the building yesterday.” She ran toward the shed structure to the east of the field.

  Grasping the rail, Cara swung herself inside. Eric and Victor took their places behind a chalk line, hands on their front knees in the runner’s stance.

  Victor raised his voice, his dark eyebrows slanted, ridiculing. “You’ve never even kissed a girl?”

  “I don’t see how that has anything to do with the race. Ready?” Eric toed the line with impatience.

  “Never even kissed a girl.” Standing upright, Victor drew the words out. “How old are you?”

  “The discus throw then?” Bending, Eric grabbed a lead weight and looked ready to hurl it at Victor.

  “You can remedy this sad situation now. Kiss her.” Victor stabbed his finger toward Cara.

  Jolting to a halt, Cara glanced at Eric’s chiseled mouth. What would it feel like for Eric to tug her against his bare chest?

  “No.” Eric hurled the discus.

  Cara dropped her gaze to broken grass stems. Eric probably kissed as well as he quoted Ovid.

  “Why not?” Victor rested his toe on the chalk line.

  “Because I don’t want to kiss her. Now, are you racing or not?” Eric moved back to the line, his weight resting on his forward foot.

  Not want to? Cara went taut. Did Eric think her ill-favored of face? When she’d had her hair unpinned, he’d walked away from her, too.

  Victor yawned. “Later.”

  Turning on his heel, Eric stormed toward the shed, feet slamming against the ground until he disappeared behind the back wall.

  That’s where Edna had gone, and she hadn’t reappeared yet. Perhaps Edna had trouble finding what she’d lost. She should help Edna. Cara crossed the field.

  The grass wore down to dirt on the outskirts of the structure. Cara turned around the corner of the building to the back side where rocks, rotting apples, and broken javelins piled.

  Eric leaned back against the building, breathing angrily. No sign of Edna. Cara crossed a pace in front of him.

  As her boot caught on the splintered wood of a javelin shaft, Eric waved his hand in the air. “Why does he do that? Make everything a competition in vice?”