The Gladiator Prince by Minnette Meador Page A

snapped.
    Thane resisted his first impulse to tell her to call him master, knowing that would only start another argument. The flash in her dark eyes set off ripples through his groin, and he had to turn away to relieve it, furious with himself for his lack of control and the madness that at one moment made him want to break her neck and the next throw her down to ravage her. He must keep his personal desires cool, which was proving difficult. “Sir will do for you,” he said stiffly reacquiring her gaze just to prove to himself he could. “You need to address us both that way.”
    Thane could see the shaking hands and the clench of her jaw. He hoped to the gods they would not run across anyone on the road. It would be worth their lives if she did not play her part and play it well.
    He pulled the thick blankets from the horse’s back and threw them to Phaedra. “These we can use. Split the supplies into three equal piles. I will take the heaviest. Add mine to it as well.” He pointed to the pack and was pleased when Phaedra obediently retrieved it. With a loud heya he slapped the horse’s rump to send him back home.
    Bahar’s eyes followed the horse until he was out of view around a corner. “I will miss him.”
    Thane hit the boy on the back. “You will find another in Rome. Now, we must get back on the road. We have much time to make up.” Bahar joined Phaedra to sort out the bundles, and Thane scouted the road ahead.
    He could not see far, but here, at least, it was wide and open, well away from the woods. Watching the brother and sister sorting the clothes, the burden of their safety suddenly weighed down on him. Thane knew he would fight for them, but he also knew if it came to his own children, he would abandon them in a heartbeat.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter XI
     
     
    Two hours down the road, Phaedra breathed heavily, the clouds of cold obscuring her vision. A heavy fog had moved in, making the temperature drop and the road treacherous. The oiled cloak weighed down her shoulders; it seemed to be carrying a grudge, letting every icy gust through.
    The only relief had come when the rain stopped, but she was now soaked. The frost creeping along the road accentuated the biting cold, setting her teeth chattering. She pressed her teeth into her lip to still it, not about to give the gladiator a chance to berate her again. She would show him how tough she could be. Fatigue, thirst and cold stole her dignity, but she plowed on behind them, fighting to keep up. Her insides felt full of bronze.
    Suddenly, Thane held up a hand and ordered them into the woods by pointing sternly. She struggled to get through the stiff brush, tearing a hole in her cloak, but she did not utter a sound. The brush and fog obstructed the view of the road, but she could see where Thane held the lantern.
    He spread his feet wide grinding his sandals into the ground probably to make sure he had purchase. The muscles on his thighs glistened in the lantern light when he tightened them and bent his knees in ready stance, sending an unexpected flash of heat through Phaedra’s exposed center. Even cold, frightened and exhausted she could not get the sudden memory of his touch out of her head. She cursed the traitorous cupidity for its betrayal and buried the nails of her right hand into her left. The pain helped.
    Soon, she could hear the sound of tackle jingling, and Bahar squeezed her arm. They both held their breaths.
    Out of the eastern darkness, an old wagon materialized out of the mist as if by magic.
    The wagon was not large, but Phaedra had never seen its like. It was built out of a light wood, possibly ash or poplar, with slats that ran from bottom to top stretching into a high arched roof. The wheels were tall and well built with iron strips around each. Tied all the way around the wagon hundreds of objects hung, obscuring much of the wood beneath them; pots, pans, utensils, strange crockery with worn corks and sacks in all shapes and