have been neglected.”
Lucius peered through the torchlight. One of the planting beds looked less crowded, perhaps, but beyond that he could discern little difference from its appearance the day before. The unruly clumps of greenery in no way resembled a garden, especially since the roses had yet to bloom. “No doubt my brother tended the garden himself.”
His comment seemed to cause Rhiannon such distress that Lucius found himself replaying the words in his mind. He could find nothing untoward, though his nymph seemed close to tears. “By all means,” he said hastily, “do whatever you like. I recognize little beyond the roses.”
“Roses?”
He nodded toward the arching canes. “The shrubs covered with thorns.”
“They are hideous.”
“Flowers will soon improve their appearance.” He extended one hand. “Come. I’ll carry you above stairs.”
Rhiannon took a swift step backward and ducked her head. The shy gesture charmed him. Was that a blush spreading across her cheeks? She took a second, more hesitant step, then drew a sharp breath. Swaying on her feet, she grabbed for the bench and missed.
Lucius sprang forward. As his arms tightened around her he willed her not to struggle, and perhaps she read his thoughts, for she went as still in his embrace as a mouse stunned by the cat’s claws.
“Your leg pains you?” he asked, frowning.
She blinked up at him. “No.” A flicker of alarm showed in her eyes. She twisted and Lucius reluctantly freed her, only to grasp her upper arm when he feared she would not keep her balance alone.
“I’m … I’m just lightheaded. ’Twill soon pass.”
His gaze narrowed. “What have you eaten today?”
“A mug of
cervesia
at midday.”
Lucius swore.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Hungry or not, you must eat.”
“ ’Tis no concern of yours.”
“It is.” Before she could open her mouth to protest further, he lifted her in his arms.
“Put me down!”
“No.” He carried her across the courtyard toward the dining chamber, approaching the door at the same time as a man and a woman exited the kitchens bearing the late meal he’d ordered.
“You’ll share my supper,” Lucius announced in a tone that broached no argument.
The dining chamber gleamed in the soft light of the hanging lamps. Three wide couches, draped in fine linens, were clustered about a central table. On the walls Bacchus reigned, feasting merrily in a forest grove with his scantily clad supplicants. Some of the figures weren’t clothed at all and taking full advantage of that happy fact. Rhiannon’s eyes widened when she saw the painting, but she said nothing. Lucius eased her onto the nearest couch and tucked the bolster under her left arm as the slaves laid out the meal on the table.
She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. “I’m to eat while reclining?”
Lucius smiled. “It will enhance the pleasure of your meal.” A heady mix of aromas rose from the table: broiled fish swimming in dark sauce, roasted eggs, and flat loaves arranged with artistic perfection. Lucius nodded his approval. His brother’s Roman cook had a fine hand indeed.
He removed his armor, handing the torso shield along with his sword belt to the male slave with instructions for their care. The man bowed and left the chamber.
Clad only in his tunic, Lucius settled himself to Rhiannon’s left, not touching, but close enough to wrap his arm around her waist if he so chose. “Your presence will enhance my own pleasure,” he whispered in her ear.
As if in response, Rhiannon’s stomach growled loudly. Lucius chuckled. “Your appetite seems to have recovered,” he said, drawing close.
“It seems so,” she said faintly, moving away.
The female slave stepped forward to fill their goblets. “Leave us for now,” Lucius commanded. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
He reached over the bolster and used a flat knife to transfer various selections from the platters to a shared plate. When he’d
Lucius peered through the torchlight. One of the planting beds looked less crowded, perhaps, but beyond that he could discern little difference from its appearance the day before. The unruly clumps of greenery in no way resembled a garden, especially since the roses had yet to bloom. “No doubt my brother tended the garden himself.”
His comment seemed to cause Rhiannon such distress that Lucius found himself replaying the words in his mind. He could find nothing untoward, though his nymph seemed close to tears. “By all means,” he said hastily, “do whatever you like. I recognize little beyond the roses.”
“Roses?”
He nodded toward the arching canes. “The shrubs covered with thorns.”
“They are hideous.”
“Flowers will soon improve their appearance.” He extended one hand. “Come. I’ll carry you above stairs.”
Rhiannon took a swift step backward and ducked her head. The shy gesture charmed him. Was that a blush spreading across her cheeks? She took a second, more hesitant step, then drew a sharp breath. Swaying on her feet, she grabbed for the bench and missed.
Lucius sprang forward. As his arms tightened around her he willed her not to struggle, and perhaps she read his thoughts, for she went as still in his embrace as a mouse stunned by the cat’s claws.
“Your leg pains you?” he asked, frowning.
She blinked up at him. “No.” A flicker of alarm showed in her eyes. She twisted and Lucius reluctantly freed her, only to grasp her upper arm when he feared she would not keep her balance alone.
“I’m … I’m just lightheaded. ’Twill soon pass.”
His gaze narrowed. “What have you eaten today?”
“A mug of
cervesia
at midday.”
Lucius swore.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Hungry or not, you must eat.”
“ ’Tis no concern of yours.”
“It is.” Before she could open her mouth to protest further, he lifted her in his arms.
“Put me down!”
“No.” He carried her across the courtyard toward the dining chamber, approaching the door at the same time as a man and a woman exited the kitchens bearing the late meal he’d ordered.
“You’ll share my supper,” Lucius announced in a tone that broached no argument.
The dining chamber gleamed in the soft light of the hanging lamps. Three wide couches, draped in fine linens, were clustered about a central table. On the walls Bacchus reigned, feasting merrily in a forest grove with his scantily clad supplicants. Some of the figures weren’t clothed at all and taking full advantage of that happy fact. Rhiannon’s eyes widened when she saw the painting, but she said nothing. Lucius eased her onto the nearest couch and tucked the bolster under her left arm as the slaves laid out the meal on the table.
She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. “I’m to eat while reclining?”
Lucius smiled. “It will enhance the pleasure of your meal.” A heady mix of aromas rose from the table: broiled fish swimming in dark sauce, roasted eggs, and flat loaves arranged with artistic perfection. Lucius nodded his approval. His brother’s Roman cook had a fine hand indeed.
He removed his armor, handing the torso shield along with his sword belt to the male slave with instructions for their care. The man bowed and left the chamber.
Clad only in his tunic, Lucius settled himself to Rhiannon’s left, not touching, but close enough to wrap his arm around her waist if he so chose. “Your presence will enhance my own pleasure,” he whispered in her ear.
As if in response, Rhiannon’s stomach growled loudly. Lucius chuckled. “Your appetite seems to have recovered,” he said, drawing close.
“It seems so,” she said faintly, moving away.
The female slave stepped forward to fill their goblets. “Leave us for now,” Lucius commanded. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
He reached over the bolster and used a flat knife to transfer various selections from the platters to a shared plate. When he’d
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