One With the Darkness by Susan Squires

wasn’t that. Other steps must still be taken before the plot could come to fruition. Was it…?
    Diana the Huntress save her, she was filled with anticipation because she had a new slave.
    Her eyes popped open. He lay beside her bed on the carpet, still asleep. The muscles in his shoulders, chest, biceps, were smooth, quiescent. But he looked powerful nonetheless. The bandage on his shoulder only accentuated his latent strength. Yet his eyelashes were as long and as thick as a girl’s. They made him look vulnerable. His hair had dried into a heavy mass of midnight waves that flowed down his back and matched the curling hair on his chest and belly. His hand still caressed the pommel of his precious sword. She felt a … a longing when she looked at him that she could not explain. It wasn’t just sexual, though certainly he roused her.
    It was that feeling that she knew him, had always known him. Ridiculous, of course. How could one feel like that about someone one had met only last night?
    But she did. He was honorable. Courageous. He wouldbe a fine leader. But he also had softness inside him that would make him a tender lover, a good father. He was protective. He would be a staunch provider.
    Where was all this coming from? She couldn’t know these things about him.
    He must have felt her watching him, for his eyes blinked twice and opened. She saw the realization of where he was come into them. He jerked up on one elbow, breathing hard. Perhaps his nightmare wasn’t one experienced while sleeping. He looked around the room, dim with the dusk outside, and slowly mastered his breathing. His gaze, steadier now, came back to her.
    “Are you feeling stronger?” She cleared her throat. Why should she feel nervous?
    He nodded brusquely. He seemed to have forgotten the lessons of last night. He set his lips, apparently determined not to give her the satisfaction of polite address.
    She sighed. She would need him for a few days at most, until the plot was brought to fruition. Then she’d free him and send him on his way back to his homeland. She couldn’t let him serve in her house as a freedman like her other servants. Not this man. A few days. But these few days looked to be long ones.
    “Come,” she said, rising.
    Jergan slipped the wooden clogs onto his feet. The soles were still bruised and swollen.
    Catia heard her stirring and opened the door. She had a pair of sandals at the ready. Livia stopped to let Catia tie them and thanked her. Then Livia motioned to Jergan and went out through the evening to the little house beside the thermae with water sluicing through it in a stone-lined trough. She used the facilities first, then emerged and motioned for Jergan to do the same.
    He looked uncertain as he poked his head inside the door.
    “Go on,” she said. “Relieve yourself.”
    He shot her a look of surprise. Roman plumbing was apparently an innovation. “It’s amazing what a little civilization can do,” she muttered.
    When he was done he ducked outside again, looking perplexed. “How is this done?”
    She raised her brows.
    He ground his teeth, then took a breath. “How is this done, my lady?”
    “We are on a hill,” she said, turning back to the house. “If we were not fortunate enough to have a spring with sufficient water volume on the property, we would need a series of pumps run by slaves.”
    She would have callers soon. There was no time for a bath. “See Lucius Lucellus,” she ordered as she went to dress. “Just off the kitchen. He will no doubt have procured a tunic of sufficient size for you.”
    J ERGAN WAS EAGER to talk to her majordomo. The man had been freed. Jergan found him sitting at a small wooden table off the kitchen. He pored over an unfurled scroll by lamplight.
    Lucius looked almost guilty as Jergan surprised him. “My owner told me to see if you have procured clothing.”
    Lucius nodded as he hastily rolled the scroll. It looked very old. The edges were torn and crumbling.