Page 33 of Ensnaring the Dove

The silence that followed Aedan’s suggestion grew heavy, and Colombia’s pulse quickened. They’d both done their best to pretend that kiss hadn’t happened, but the wanting was still there.

And now it pulsed between them.

XIV. ONE LAST TIME

“IT’S BUSIER THAN I expected,” Colombia whispered to Aedan as they crossed into Coria, over a stone bridge spanning the River Tin, amongst a throng of travelers. A golden gloaming settled around them.

“It will be … this close to the Wall,” her companion replied.

In truth, Colombia had forgotten how noisy civilization could be. Over the past few days, she’d been traveling across empty hills, remote valleys, and peaceful woodland, but now noise assaulted her from every direction: the rough shouts of men in both her own and the native tongues, the clang of iron in nearby forges, and the rattle of carts across the large flat river stones that paved Dere Street—the great road that cut a swathe north.

They now traveled upon the same road the supply convoy had been traveling on when the outlaws had attacked.

Colombia suppressed a shiver as haunting memories flooded back. It was a relief to know they’d almost reached Onnum—and that the outlaws hadn’t caught up with them. Aedan had told her that, with any luck, their pursuers would head for the mouth of the River Tin once they spoke with Enid. It had been a clever ruse on his part.

The crowds grew thicker still as they walked into town. Of course, there were plenty of soldiers about—men clad in tunics, breastplates, pleated leather skirts, and heavy sandals—but Colombia also spied many civilians, both Roman and Briton,going about their end-of-day business. Roman ladies with pallas draped around their shoulders walked amongst native women in ochre or blue sleeveless tunics. Some of the native women wore bronze arm rings or torcs around their necks.

They passed by neat rows of long, rectangular dwellings with tiled roofs—a sight that made Colombia feel at home. However, unlike other forts she’d visited, there appeared to be little distinction between the vicus—the civilian town—and the military compound. The residential buildings merely became higher and better built the closer they drew to the center.

As they approached the heart of Coria, walking between military barracks to the right and a temple to Jupiter on the left, Colombia caught sight of the high, white-washed walls of a massive portico looming before her. The portico, with its burnt-orange roof tiles glinting in the setting sun, housed the two most important buildings of any fort: the praetorium, or commander’s residence, and the principia, or military headquarters.

Of course, she could go there, could throw herself at the mercy of the fort’s commander.

Colombia cast aside the thought. She was so close to her destination now; it was best she kept a low profile and pretend to be a Briton woman passing through.

Walking close to Aedan, she noted the interested looks one or two of the soldiers flashed her. Skin prickling, she stepped closer to her companion and linked her arm through his. Immediately, her tension eased a little. “Do you mind?” she whispered. “You were right about me attracting attention.”

“It’s hardly surprising,” he murmured back. “Men well outnumber women in a frontier town like this.”

“Do soldiers really take up with local women then?” she asked as they crossed the wide street before the massive portico. Through the colonnaded archways, she spied soldiers on parade.The rattle of armor and the shouts of their commanding officers drifted through the gathering dusk.

“Of course,” he replied. “Many soldiers posted out here take Briton lovers … and a few of them marry their women too.” He cut her a veiled look. “It’s frowned upon, but this far away from Rome, who really cares?”

Colombia fell silent. In their missives, both her father and betrothed had described their soldiers as too dedicated to furthering the glory of Rome to let themselves be distracted by local women.

Her cheeks warmed then. Of course, she should have known better than to believe them.

They left the center of the fort behind them, continuing along Dere Street to where a row of wine shops and shabby-looking tabernae sat.

Aedan appeared to be studying their façades with interest, as if deciding which tavern to stop at for the evening.

“We don’t have any coin to pay for lodgings,” Colombia pointed out. It was true: when she’d fled, there had been no time to grab her purse, filled with gold, silver, and brass coins.

Nonetheless, Aedan merely flashed her a grin and dug into the pouch at his belt, producing two brass sestertii. “These should be enough to buy us some bread and cheese, and a room for the night at the cheapest establishment we can find.”

Colombia favored him with an arch look, and Aedan’s smile faded. “I didn’t take this off a Roman corpse if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t—”

“When I left his service, Aquila gave me some coins,” he cut her off, “and these are the last of them.”

Colombia nodded. “Well, I shall make sure my father pays you well when we reach Onnum tomorrow morning,” she assured him.

A groove appeared between Aedan’s brows, and Colombia immediately regretted bringing up the payment she’d promised him. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d unwittingly reduced their relationship to a financial exchange—the last thing she wished to do.

Aedan meant much more to her than that.

“This tavern will do,” he announced, angling them toward a narrow establishment squeezed between two rowdy wine shops. At this hour, it was busy. The gentle strum of a lyre filtered out, fighting to be heard over the rumble of voices.