Malcolm found his voice after all, surprising both of them. Kit just stared. “Where do you pick up language like that?”
Malcolm managed a wan smile. “Believe it or not, I overheard that one from a Praetorian guardsman the day Caligula was murdered.”
”Really? Some day you must tell me the whole story about that day.”
Malcolm let his gaze focus on something far beyond Phil Jones’ sordid little office. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’ll ever tell anyone the whole story.”
Kit cleared his throat. “Know the feeling he muttered He scrubbed bloody hands on his ruined jesuit cassock, then cleared his throat again and held out one hand “I don’t have enough friends to lose one. Not even for something like this.”
Malcolm paused only a moment, then shook it. “I’ll make it up, Kit.”
The lean time scout grinned. “You sure as hell will. And if she’s pregnant…” He let the threat dangle.
Malcolm just groaned
The office door opened. Kit and Malcolm looked up to find Margo staring down at them. Clad in a ragged Portuguese shirt, face and hands smeared with soot and blood, eyes hardened by what she’d been through, Malcolm hardly recognized her.
”No broken bones, I see,” she said quietly. “Good. Because Rome was my fault, too. In fact, Rome was mostly my fault.” Malcolm didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Kit didn’t either. “I would just like to say for the record that I don’t deserve either one of you. But I think I’ve learned my lesson-oh, hell, I’ve learned more lessons in the past seven weeks than I have in the last seventeen years. I screwed up everything. Everyone was right and I was wrong and I’m so damned sorry I nearly got us all killed, I … I could almost go back to Minnesota and hide … .”