Barbarian's Soul Read Online Free

retreat back to the shelter of the column.
    The men were indeed no longer fighting, though from the way they were sneering at each other it was clear the quarrel was not settled. The disputed fish lay in a gray lump in the dirt at their feet. As one, they shot hot glares to the source of the interruption.
    It was a man; not uncommon of course but this one stood out apart from the crowd of people. His presence filled this one small corner of the marketplace, his stance straight and confident, his scowl fierce and so full of threat that the brawlers shrank back—as did many of the bystanders.
    Concealed as she was, Adria openly studied the intruder. Her gaze traced the broad line of his shoulders, trailed down the wide expanse of his back to a trim waist circled with a stained leather belt. His tunic of plain brown wool ended mid-thigh, which still afforded her a fine view of legs as well-muscled as the bared arms that hung loose at his side. She noted his right hand opening and closing into a fist and knew from his broad stance that he was prepared for a battle.
    What a foolish thing for a foreigner to consider and he was a foreigner. A well-bred Roman citizen would rather leap from the Tarpeian rock than see his hair falling down his back uncontained. Oddly appealing though, much like a curtain of black silk. What, she wondered, would it feel like to run her hand along its length?
    It would feel like suicide because the predatory menace emanating from the stranger would see her dead if she dared move one finger in his direction.
    The cluttered mass of shoppers who’d stopped at the altercation still kept their distance, but began to stir even as they kept wary eyes on the man. It was as if he were an island in the midst of a sea of people, a sea churning with disdain, disgust and blatant hostility. Adria chewed her lip and frowned. Such a strong reaction to the outsider. True, most Romans considered themselves far above those unfortunate enough to be born outside of the Empire, but the city was filled with people from different lands, both slave and free. Why such scorn for this one?
    A Roman matron, standing on the opposite side of the column made a disgruntled noise and muttered beneath her breath. “Barbarian filth.”
    The man’s head whipped around and Adria felt as if she’d been struck by a stone. Gods, he was striking. It wasn’t the fine beauty of his features that stunned her, though the harsh angles of his god’s face, straight nose and firm mouth could stir a blind woman to swoon, but his eyes—she’d never seen eyes the color of emeralds. They glittered now with challenge so strong that she took an involuntary step backwards.
    He scanned the clusters of people on either side of her hiding place, but passed over Adria, which left her relieved but no less fascinated. She noted a pair of thin braids swinging from his left temple which added credence to the woman’s designation of barbarian. A muscle worked in his clenched jaw which hardened all the more when his gaze locked on the woman who had spoken. Adria peeked from the shadows and saw the color drain from the matron’s face, heard her sharp intake of frightened breath. For one long moment the man stared, the power of his contempt surpassing any that had been aimed at him.
    He said nothing. Did nothing. Yet the woman stumbled backwards into the arms of her startled servant, who just managed to keep her from tumbling to the ground. Adria’s lips twitched as the woman floundered in her attempts to gain her feet. Several concerned bystanders rushed to her aid which only increased her hysterics. With an aggrieved look, the servant helped her settle onto an outdoor bench next to the wine shop.
    Adria shook her head, unable to contain her smile. Gods, you’d think she’d been attacked by the three-headed Cerberus the way she carried on. Adria turned from the cluster of people surrounding the moaning woman and lifted her head, her gaze snared and held by