Page 39 of Ensnaring the Dove
“It’s too late to worry about it now,” he reminded her. “Just remember the reason you set out from Italia in the first place. You must want to marry this man … you’ve crossed the empire to reach him.”
Colombia nodded, her throat bobbing. “But five yearsisa long while … what if we’ve both changed?” She winced then, her gaze flicking up once more. “What if he doesn’t want me any longer?”
Aedan snorted. “Then he’s astulte.”
A fool.
And he meant it too.
Linus Calix Aurelius was fortunate indeed.
There was a part of Aedan—a part he wasn’t proud of—that secretly wished Colombia’s betrothed would turn her away. Yet he took care not to let his mind travel in that direction. Even if Linus didn’t wed Colombia, she would never choose to bind herself to an outlaw Brigante. Some things were impossible, he knew that. After all, hadn’t he told her it was better to face the reality of life than live in a world of fantasy?
Their time together was drawing to a close, and he couldn’t prevent that. Lazing abed with the lovely Colombia wouldn’t make their farewell any easier.
Aedan rolled off the bed and stooped to pick up his clothing. “Right then,” he said briskly, pulling on his bracae. “We’d better get going.”
They stepped out ofDiana’s Tavernand onto the wide cobbled street beyond. The row of taverns and wine bars slumbered at this hour. However, the rest of the town was slowly waking up.
A cockerel crowed nearby, and the shouts of centurions taking their men through drills drifted out from the parade ground at the heart of the town.
A stone trough, used for watering horses and oxen passing through Coria, sat at the roadside, and Aedan used the wooden hand pump to bring up fresh water from the well behind it. They both drank deeply, slaking their thirst before setting off north toward Onnum.
Two and a half miles separated the two forts—but as Colombia walked at Aedan’s shoulder along Dere Street, she found herself wishing the distance were longer.
Suddenly, she didn’t want this journey to end.
The past days had been exhausting and yet exhilarating—and last night had forever altered her. The heat, the abandon, had been a revelation; Aedan had shown her another world.
As they traveled, striding out on the well-traveled road, she cast a look in his direction. The warrior walked tall, gaze fixed north, his expression shuttered.
Colombia’s pulse quickened. She hoped he didn’t regret last night; she certainly didn’t.
As she’d lain awake watching him sleep, she wondered at the consequences of her impulsive act. Her womb could quicken. However, the thought hadn’t filled her with terror. Instead, a strange calmness descended upon her.
Whatever happened now, she’d deal with it.
They didn’t converse during the last stretch to Onnum, as the pair of them retreated into their own thoughts. And when the Wall finally hove into view, Colombia emerged from her reverie, her breath catching.
She’d been prepared for it, yet the sight of the great stone and timber fortification that snaked over the hills, east and west for as far as the eye could see, was even more impressive than she’d expected.
Colombia’s breathing grew shallow.
At least eight feet tall, topped by the outlines of soldiers moving about upon it, the Wall was a monument to the might of the empire. It slashed across the land, forming a boundary between Britannia and Caledonia.
Her attention shifted then to the palisaded fort that interrupted the flow of the Wall. Onnum. A civilian township of tightly-packed, low-slung dwellings—the vicus—clustered inside its southern entrance.
Aedan and Colombia entered the south gate by crossing over the vallum—an earth and turf rampart with a wooden palisade on top and a deep outer ditch. The gates were open, although helmed figures watched them from the ramparts, spears bristling against the pale morning sky.
Surprisingly, there weren’t any guards to stop them at the gates. They seemed content to let travelers flow in and out of the fort this morning.
However, Colombia felt gazes track their path, and the skin between her shoulder blades prickled in response.
Within the vicus, citizens thronged the narrow streets, and like Coria, there was a mix of Romans and Britons about. The clang of a smith’s forge echoed off the surrounding walls, blending with the chatter of women’s voices as they shopped at the market. Mounds of fresh produce sat on the backs of carts,and the aroma of baking bread wafted through the market, making Colombia’s belly growl.
“I like this town.” She glanced right to where a butcher was haggling with a man dressed in a slave tunic over a side of mutton. “It has a prosperous feel.”
“The vicus at Vindolanda is similar,” Aedan replied, moving closer to her side as locals favored them with curious looks. “Communities thrive wherever the Caesars build forts.”