Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity by Carolyn McCray Page B

her trepidation grow. She was not really a woman, was she? For her adult life, Syra had been a warrior—her womanhood hidden deep within the folds of her leather. She never revealed it to the world. Since her early adolescence, Syra had passed as a man. Her body was accustomed to being bound and controlled. Not loose and flowing as this dress. Is this how women the world over felt? Is this how Syra wanted to feel?
    Navia cajoled the Northerner’s wild mane, while the cook made sure each of the gown’s folds fell perfectly. Finally, the other women backed away, seeming content.
    Syra squirmed under their scrutiny. “Well?”
    Navia beamed with a pride that made her sallow cheeks pink. “You shall eclipse the sun, Syra.”
    “ I am presentable, then?”
    “ Aye,” Fiona said appreciatively, then scooted Syra to the door. “Go! You must not keep him waiting too long.”
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    Brutus might have been vexed any other time. He had sat out upon the hot bench for what seemed like an hour—an hour that he might have been working on his wheat tallies. By Mercury, he could have gone to the market and been back by now.
    Why then, did he wait? And why was he not upset with Syra? If this were Lylith… Well, there was no point in extrapolating. He never would have waited a single minute for his wife.
    But the sun dipped dangerously close to the horizon. If Syra did not appear soon, he would be forced to go to the market by himself. And suddenly that no longer appealed to him. Solitude had always been his solace. There was no greater company to him than silence. Yet today, he wished nothing more than to hear Syra’s husky voice.

Rising to pace again, Brutus stopped halfway as Syra entered. It was as if Helen descended from Troy. If it were not for her fiery red hair and brilliant green eyes, Brutus might not have recognized his recently purchased slave. The gown was the color of softly sifted cinnamon, while the sash that covered one shoulder was the color of an emerald held up to the sun’s rays. Her flowing locks were swept up off of her neck into a cascading tower of curls. Syra’s wild hair was artfully constrained by the finest gold braid.
    The Northerner had no need for the layers of powders that his wife usually favored. Syra’s cheeks had a blush of their own, her lips a natural, deep red. It was hard to imagine that just yesterday the woman was encrusted with mud and covered in rags. Dressed such as this, Syra could easily enter a palace feast and have a dozen suitors press down upon her.
    “ Is it not to your standard?” Syra asked.
    Brutus stumbled over his answer. Up to his standard? He did not even know that a woman could look so radiant. Syra had far surpassed any expectation he had ever had. But he could not find the words to articulate his amazement.
    “ Shall I change?”
    “ No.” Brutus might have been tongue-tied, but he was quite emphatic on that point. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he motioned toward the litter. “We had best be going.”
    Syra hung back, however. “Might we walk? My legs would like to feel solid ground beneath them.”
    And what lovely legs they were , Brutus thought, but kept his tongue from straying. Once again, he could think of nothing intelligible to speak, so he simply walked down the path, hoping that Syra followed. They were far down the Hill where the residential path emptied into the Sacred Way before Brutus’ heart began beating at a normal pace. Syra’s presence was like a beacon on a stormy night. It took another few moments before he finally regained the use of his tongue.
    “ How does Rome compare in the day?”
    Syra sounded a bit overwhelmed. “Busier.”
    Brutus was so used to the bustling crowds that he had not even thought that the pressing traffic might bother the Northerner.
    “ Here,” Brutus said as he extended his arm to her.
    Syra looked at his elbow, but did not take it. Letting his arm fall to the side, Brutus tried to act