Her Roman Protector. Milinda Jay

he doubled back around the baths and ran as quickly as he could to his mother’s house.

      He had no time to explain why he was dumping the baby unceremoniously in the ostiarius’s arms. The elderly man who watched the door was accustomed to such wriggling bundles.

      Marcus couldn’t let the woman stay on these streets alone at night. She could be captured or worse. Anger filled him at the thought of the things that could happen to her.

      He had to reunite her with her baby.

      He turned as quickly as he could and sprinted back to where he had left her.

      She was gone.

      Dear God, he prayed, please let her be safe.

      He passed street after street with no sign of her. He tripped over a family sleeping outside in one alley and scattered a group of young street urchins in another.

      Where could she have gone?

      He retraced his steps, this time more slowly. Had someone taken her? Had he gone past her? Did she know a different way to the place where babies were exposed? Was she thinking of another place of exposure?

      And then he realized that she had probably already reached the forum and was searching in the offal for her child.

      How could he be so stupid? He had seen how quickly she ran. Why hadn’t he gone there first?

      Now it was he who was sprinting as if his life depended on it. What made this woman so important? He tried to convince himself he would have done the same for anyone, but he knew differently. Something about her haunted eyes, her quick-thinking ruse. Here was a woman who gave it all, held nothing back.

      When he heard a group of men laughing and heard her scream, he moved swiftly in.

      The men were circled, one holding her by the hair, another holding a lantern up to her face.

      “What have we here?” the man holding her asked. He was large, probably a blacksmith or shipbuilder, someone accustomed to using his body for hard work. His muscles glinted in the firelight, and the group of men surrounding him waited.

      But they waited like hyenas who watch prey caught by a lion. They would take their turn only after he had his fill.

      Marcus knew he would have to be very careful.

      “So there you are, you little minx,” Marcus said, striding into the center of the circle, his voice as deep and loud as he could make it.

      It had the intended effect, startling the men with its volume.

      Even the blacksmith, or whatever he was, jumped a little, but he maintained his grasp on her hair.

      “Running from me once again. You thought you could get away this time, did you?” Marcus strode into the group of men breaking through them as if he were the emperor himself.

      “Thank you, sir,” he said to the blacksmith.

      Marcus grabbed Annia roughly and jerked her away. Fortunately, in his surprise, the blacksmith let go of her.

      Marcus pulled her away, berating her all the way, “You curly-haired vixen, what did you think? Were you thinking I wouldn’t catch you? You wait until I get you home....”

      Annia let out a small yelp when he pretended to slap her face, and the men circled around them and laughed.

      “Thank you, sirs,” Marcus said, putting a hand over Annia’s mouth. “This little one has run away one too many times. I may have to sell her at market.”

      “I’ll buy her,” the blacksmith said. “How much will you take?”

      “Well,” Marcus said, “she actually belongs to my father. But give me your name and where you conduct your business, and you will be the first one to know when we put her up for sale.” Marcus shot the man a charming smile. “I would shake your hand, but as you can see, mine are quite full.”

      The men parted to let him through.

      “Suetonius Rufus,” the blacksmith called. “My shop is three streets over near the baths. I’m a blacksmith,” he continued.

      “Thank you, sir,” Marcus said. “I will remember you by your red hair.”

      The man touched his hair, and Marcus pulled Annia safely away around the corner, out of the man’s line of vision.

      When they reached the safety of the baths, Marcus took his hand off her mouth.

      “You did me no favors,” she spat. “I would have escaped on my own.” And she unsheathed a tiny dagger to prove it.

      “Really?” he said, pulling her into the dark recess of the inner fountain. “Well, domina, next time, I will let you defend yourself.”

      She was shaking and held the dagger to his stomach. “Where is she?” she hissed. “Where did you take my baby?”

      “Put the dagger down, and I will tell you,” he said.

      Chapter Two

      He must take her for a fool. How many other women had this handsome man lured into believing he was saving their babies, when in truth, he was selling them into slavery?

      She had to be very careful with this one. He was strong, he was smart and he seemed determined.

      Well, she had fought fierce warriors in Britain, hadn’t she? Surprising them with her strength?

      He would not be surprised. He had already gauged her strength. She would have to be very clever with Marcus Sergius Peregrinus. Very clever indeed.

      “So tell me,” she said, sheathing her dagger, “where is this place you have my baby?”

      He looked into her eyes, gauging them for sincerity, she suspected. “If you will come with me, I will show you. I don’t have much time. I have to get back to my men soon.”

      “Ah,” she said. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

      He cocked his head, a question. “You are coming with me, yes?” he said.

      “Certainly,” she said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “How else could I get to my baby? Only you know where she is.”

      They walked civilly, side by side, down the dark street. It was a few hours before dawn, and the streets were now quiet. Even the merchants’ carts had stopped, having already delivered their wares.

      The only light came from the uncertain moon and the pitch-smeared torches illuminating sacred images at a few street corners and crossroads.

      She didn’t trust this man. She knew better than he where her baby was. He had taken her to the place of exposure where the slave traders circled like hawks. Annia meant to get there.

      She had to get away from him first.

      The silence was broken by the cascading water of a neighborhood fountain. When they reached the fountain, the statue of a small boy—his arms reaching out in supplication, a stream of water flowing from his mouth—was illuminated by a single flame placed strategically at the water’s edge.

      During the day, this same fountain was busy with women, children and slaves taking turns filling their wash buckets and water jars to carry back to their homes.

      But tonight, it was eerily silent, the only sound the soft rush and gurgling of the water.

      “Are you thirsty?” Marcus Sergius asked.

      Annia was thirsty, incredibly thirsty. She ignored his offer of help and reached up to the trickling water, cupping her hands and drinking deeply.

      Marcus waited for her to drink her fill and then reached up to drink.

      When he did, she took her chance. She ran.

      Apparently, he had expected her to run and he caught her before she even reached the pavement