Page 60 of Ensnaring the Dove
After finishing their meal, they’d moved next door to the tablinum. The men were now halfway through their first game, moving counters across the wooden board, while the women sat on a couch a few feet away, sipping cups of wine.
Colombia pulled a face. “Do you think so? Neither of them looked impressed.”
Fenella huffed a soft laugh. “Men … they like to think they have all the good ideas.” She leaned closer then, her gaze glinting. “But we know different.”
Colombia smiled back, warmth spreading across her chest. “We do. Men might rule the world … but we women know how to negotiate, how to build trust. They’d do well to listen to us better.”
Fenella’s dark-blue gaze glinted at this admission. “I don’t meet a lot of high-born Roman women,” she admitted then. “Although those I have been introduced to aren’t like you.”
“I’ve always been somewhat of a black sheep,” Colombia replied, her smile turning rueful as she looked to where the two men were engrossed in their game. “Much to my father’s frustration.”
Glancing back, she found Fenella still watching her steadily. The woman had an unnerving look, direct and penetrating, not unlike her husband’s.
“What’s it like living amongst us?” Colombia asked, deciding it was time to take the focus off herself.
Fenella smiled. “Strange at first … but I’ve gotten used to it.” She paused then. “It’s certainly easier being Aquila’s wife than his slave.”
Colombia huffed a laugh. “I imagine it is … but are we really so different though, my people and yours?”
“I suppose not.” Fenella’s expression turned thoughtful. “When you strip away our different ways of living, our different tongues and gods, we have more in common than most people think.” She jerked her chin toward Severus, making it clear she’d marked his poor welcome earlier. He was focused on his game with Aquila, yet he’d not said a word to Fenella all evening.
Heat crept up Colombia’s neck. She was just about to mutter an apology for her father when Fenella spoke once more. “What brings you to Onnum, Colombia? Surely, a woman of your age has better things to do with her time than accompany her father at the frontier?”
Colombia sighed before taking a sip from her calix. The woman had artfully turned the conversation back to her again.
The urge rose within her then to tell Fenella about Aedan.
Surely, Aquila would be curious to know where his former slave had ended up. However, she checked herself. Perhaps Aedan wished to remain hidden. This wasn’t her news to tell.
“It’s a long story,” she replied. “Are you sure you have the patience for it?”
Fenella flashed her another smile. “Lucky for you, I have a fondness for lengthy tales … go on, I’m listening.”
“Look at the prettylupa… I wouldn’t mind climbing on top of her.”
“I wouldn’t, Cartesius … that’s Juventus’s daughter you’ve just taken for a whore.”
“Futuo!Really?”
“Yeah … watch yourself. The last man who messed with her had the skin flayed off his back.”
Casting the two men a scowl, Colombia drew her palla closer around her and hurried past the noisy tavern. The two off-duty legionaries, who lounged against the wall of the building, cups of wine in hand, discussed her as if she were deaf. She felt their gazes track her path as she walked away.
Suddenly, Colombia wished she’d brought Moira along; she wasn’t used to venturing into the vicus without her. A heavy atmosphere, one that had nothing to do with the overcast skies, hung over Onnum this afternoon. Indeed, it wasn’t wise to go anywhere unescorted while discontent persisted within the fort—and yet Colombia had slipped out alone.
Colombia hoped her father and Aquila had come up with a plan to deal with the poor morale—and that they might consider her advice. Severus’s guests had left that morning, after Aquila and her father had stayed up late discussing what to do about their common problem.
Approaching the carpenter’s workshop, Colombia’s gait slowed. Worries about the unrest melted away, and her belly fluttered, in anticipation of seeing Aedan again.
Halting at the door, her gaze settled upon the tableau within.
Two men labored side by side this afternoon—Aedan and the older Brigante she’d seen when she’d passed by on the way to the cloth merchant. They were working on a beautiful oaken table. Both men were carving intricate designs around the edge of it using small chisels, talking together as they worked.
Aedan’s face was relaxed, and he laughed now at something his companion had just said.
Suddenly, Colombia was loath to interrupt them. Two days had passed since she’d seen him last, and she’d told herself she should wait before visiting the workshop again. Yet here she was. Maybe she should slip away, unnoticed.
However, an instant later, Aedan glanced her way. Straightening up, his mouth quirked into another smile. “Colombia?” he greeted her. “What are you doing here?”