To that Jason rolled his eyes. “They insist that things are not done that way in Israel, that I should have taken her as my wife if I wanted her so badly.”
Titus scoffed, even waved his hand to dismiss the possibility. “Are they insane? You cannot take a Hebrew slave as your wife if you desire a political career in Rome.”
“They did not like it when I said that, either.” Jason put on a lopsided grin as they meandered between the stalls aimlessly. “I believe my parents hope I will remain here for the rest of my days. And they tried to insist that now I simply must wed Abigail.”
“Of course, you refused.”
“Yes.” Jason let his breath out in a slow gush. “But my father came up with a sort of compromise to appease my mother. He gave me Abigail as my slave, which means that I can do what I will with her. But that also means I must see to her welfare. And part of the arrangement is that I still allow her to serve my mother, of course. And that when I tire of her, I will not sell her, but return her to them.”
The arch of Titus’s black brow showed that he thought that unnecessary. “She was already yours. What difference does it make if she is more yours?”
“Hebrew law is a complicated thing.”
Titus slapped an encouraging hand to his shoulder. “It seems to me, at least, that what you need is to forget about this blasted Hebrew law for a while. Forget about this slave. You have been thinking of her too much, and it is not healthy. She is only a woman, and a servant at that. My advice,” he said lightly, “is to broaden your horizons. Find yourself another woman today; that will help you put her into the proper place in your mind.”
Jason felt the money that was stored in his belt and wondered at the counsel. It may have the effect Titus claimed it would, but he was not so certain he wanted to waste his money on what he could have for free at home. And he remembered, too, that his father had relented in order to keep him away from the harlots. He could not bring himself to disrespect that.
“But the prostitutes seem tasteless now.”
“So do not take a prostitute.” Titus swept an arm outward to encompass the swarms of people flocking the stalls. “There are women everywhere, and more are willing than you would suppose, if you ask them right.” His smile showed that he had been successful in that often enough.
“Let us pick out a beauty for you. There.” He pointing to a woman at a stall nearby. “Perfect. She is youth, she is grace, she is beauty, she is appeal. I would take her myself, but I am feeling generous. Just walk up . . .”
Jason strode her way, setting his jaw in determination. He waited until he was near enough to keep his voice at a normal level before speaking. “Abigail. What are you doing out here?” His eyes moved over her dress; it was the fine linen garment she wore within the house but seldom without.
Abigail spun around, her eyes wide for an instant. When she realized it was him, she relaxed and held up a measure of herbs. “We were out of camomile, and your mother wished some.”
Jason studied her for a moment, then took her elbow and steered her toward an alley. Her face was drawn, her eyes sparkling with worry. Once they were out of the stream of shoppers, he turned toward her. “Are you angry with me for how I acted with you this morning?”
“No.” Her tone was calm, and she even looked him in the eye. “You are my master. You may do with me as you will. I have neither the call nor the right to be angry about it.”
She looked as though she meant it–but anxiety still lit her eyes. “What, then?”
Abigail searched his gaze. After a moment she made a quiet answer. “Your mother was very upset, Jason. I know not what you said to her, but it has hurt her greatly.”
It was the first time she had called him Jason. He rewarded her with a smile. “I will apologize, beloved. I know I caused her pain, and I will make it right.” His smile grew when he saw some of the worry fade from her eyes. “Believe it or not, I love my mother as much as you do.”
She took a moment to apparently gauge the truth of those words, then smiled genuinely. “Perhaps, then, you should tell her that.”
“Perhaps I should.” He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Was she angry with you?” She shook her head, and he nodded. “Good. Did she tell you of what my father said?” A nod. Seeing she would not volunteer her reaction, he pushed for one. “And what did you have to say to it?”
Abigail drew herself up much as Cleopas had done earlier before handing down the law. “I said the truth. That as long as I am yours, I will honor you as my master and my husband. Even if I am not to be your wife.”