Page 51 of Ensnaring the Dove
In truth, she hadn’t brought up anything personal with her father when they relaxed together in the evenings. After supper, they’d retire to the tablinum, where they often played a game of Latrunculi as they sipped a little wine.
Being able to spend time with her father again, after so many years apart, was a gift indeed, and she was loath to spoil it with questions that would discomfort him. Initially, she’d worried he’d be irritated by her presence in the fort, but Severus had surprised her.
He not only tolerated her living here but seemed to appreciate it.
“I imagine he must have loved your mother very much,” Claudia said, still trawling for details.
“Yes,pateradored her,” Colombia replied. Her mood shadowed a little then. “He despaired when she died.”
She tried not to think about her mother’s illness and death. Her father had tried to keep reality at bay while she was sick, calling physicians from far afield to treat her, and arguing with any who gave a grim diagnosis. After her death, he’d raged for a few days, unable to accept that his beloved wife was gone, before falling into a black mood that ensured everyone in his household—servants, slaves, and his daughter—kept their distance.
Claudia’s face creased into a sympathetic expression. Her lips parted then, as she readied herself to ask something else. Colombia’s answers had encouraged her; there was clearly much she wished to know about Commander Juventus.
Colombia’s stomach tightened. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her anything else—not at present, anyway.
However, the cook was forestalled from asking further questions when Moira strode into the kitchen. The slave carried a large shopping basket under one arm. Halting, she glancedfrom Claudia to Colombia, realizing that she’d interrupted something. “Are you ready for market,domina?”
“Yes,” Colombia replied, relieved. “Just let me fetch mypalla.”
Outdoors, the air was fresh and the scent of woodsmoke hung in the air. Autumn was creeping over the north, and the warmth of summer was abating. Soon they’d have to light the furnace that warmed the hypocaust system, for the evenings grew cool.
Leading the way out of the compound into the vicus, Colombia stifled a sigh.
She enjoyed her life at Onnum, yet something was missing.
Or more correctly,someone.
Aedan.
A lingering ache had taken up residence in her chest of late, one that sharpened whenever she thought of the Brigante warrior who’d escorted her to safety. Her menses had come five days after her arrival at the fort, a relief indeed. She truly hadn’t wanted to explain to her father why she was with child.
Nonetheless, she cherished that night she’d spent in Aedan’s arms. Often, she’d lie abed reliving it—yet the memories held sharp edges.
They made her miss him.
I wonder where he is now, she thought wistfully as she entered the busy market.Or if he misses me too.
Raising her hand, she rubbed at her breastbone, as she often did when she thought of Aedan, willing the ache to subside. There was no use in pining over what could never be.
Colombia turned to Moira then. “We need eggs,” she told the slave. “Claudia has promised to bake one of her custards forcena.”
Moira nodded, her gaze scanning the surrounding stalls. On the far side of the colorful sea of awnings stood a woman sellingeggs. Usually, she had a number of wicker baskets spread out before her, yet this morning, there remained just one. “They’re selling out fast,domina,” Moira noted, her tone brisk. “We should buy some first.”
The two women made their way across the crowded marketplace, weaving in amongst other shoppers, women mostly, who carried baskets under their arms and chattered together as they went about their morning ritual.
A smile tugged at Colombia’s mouth. Roman noblewomen didn’t usually shop at market, sending their servants or slaves out to do the task instead. However, she relished any opportunity to leave the compound. Apart from Moira, and Claudia, the cook, the interior of the compound was an almost exclusively male domain, but beyond she enjoyed hearing the lilt of female voices and mixing with other women.
An angry shout carried across the market square then.
Colombia halted, swiveling to see a legionary sprawled on the ground, clutching his groin. A heavyset woman with bright-red cheeks stood over him, quivering with outrage. Claudia recognized her. She was the magistrate’s wife.
Forgetting the eggs for the moment, Colombia approached the matron.
However, the woman hadn’t yet seen her. Instead, she glared imperiously down at the groaning man. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed. The tunic he wore under his leather harness was stained and crumpled. It was only mid-morning, but the legionary was well into his cups.
“Caenum!” the magistrate’s wife choked out, her bosom expanding like forge bellows. “How dare you touch me.”
Colombia halted before them. “What happened, Portia?”