his

"You have had

"You have had trouble with him."
Not as much trouble as you'll have if you sell me to that—
Publius Bericus patted Charlie's shoulder in a caress that brought unbearable memory. Charlie swallowed a snarl and endured it.
"I see you've at least beaten some restraint into him." Bericus laughed. He caressed Charlie's scarred back again, sensually.
Charlie clenched white-knuckled fists until his hands hurt—and hated with every fiber of his being.
"I'll consider him. Meanwhile I'd like a look at this girl you've brought me, Caelerus."
The three men moved off, leaving Charlie to stand semi-naked in the shivering torchlight. He found he'd tightened his fists through the woolen tunic so tightly the seams had given under one armhole. He didn't care. Charlie jerked the ripped tunic back on and stooped for his crutch. Xanthus had conducted his guests into the new girl's room. Bericus' voice drifted across the garden, asking questions in tones that strove not to sound eager.
Charlie narrowed his eyes. If Bericus bought the girl, it would be a tragedy. If the bastard bought him . . .
Then neither he nor the Roman would likely survive the week.

Chapter Three
Up . . . down . . . sideways . . . up and down again . . . sideways with a gentle, sliding motion. . . . Hot, sultry air reminded her of . . . something. . . . Wet wood, too, and the smell of dead fish . . . and other things . . .
A dim sense of pain slowly resolved into a raging headache, a prickly sunburn, and a throat raw from screaming. She stirred slightly and regretted the movement instantly. Pain, combined with the heaving surface on which she lay, brought bile to her throat.
She vomited before she was fully awake and lay in terror of choking to death—especially when she discovered she couldn't move her arms.
Blind hysteria seized her. She thrashed against ropes on her wrists and ankles. That made the nausea worse. She vomited again, then lay still, trembling. Voices rose and