Page 70 of Ensnaring the Dove

Swallowing to ease the lump that had risen in her throat, she tried not to think of that. Her father hadn’t told her when he was sending her away. A couple of months earlier, he’d told her he couldn’t spare the men, yet she imagined he’d manage to organize an escort for her now.

However, it would take a day or two.

She had time to change his mind.

The night stretched out, and Colombia continued to lie there, her mind churning.

Eventually, muttering a curse under her breath, she got up and reached for a heavy robe. There was no point in lying there, willing sleep to come. Not while she was in this state.

Perhaps some warm milk from the kitchens would help—it always had in the past when she’d had trouble sleeping. Morning was still a way off; she desperately needed to rest.

There was no one about now. Nonetheless, Colombia knew her way around the kitchen. The fire would be low, yet the embers would have enough heat in them to warm a small pot of milk.

Opening the door to her cubiculum, she slipped out onto the covered walkway. Moonlight bathed the courtyard beyond, and a chill breeze feathered across the portico. They were well into autumn, and Colombia reckoned a frost would settle tonight.

Shivering, she drew the folds of her robe tightly around her. Hades, the wind could be cold this far north. She wouldn’t linger over her warm milk.

She padded on slippered feet down the portico, heading toward the kitchen.

Along the way, her gaze flicked toward the atrium—and she caught sight of two shadowed figures standing erect, pilums at their sides.

Colombia’s step faltered, her mouth thinning.

She couldn’t believe it. Her father had posted guards at the entranceway to his residence. The rest of his household might think he was merely being security conscious after the near mutiny—but Colombia believed otherwise. It was to prevent his misbehaving daughter from running off to her lover.

Her skin prickled then. Jupiter, if he was putting her under guard, he was going to be harder to convince than she’d thought.

She needed to get some sleep, for she’d require all her wits about her in the morning.

Colombia quickened her stride as she skirted the moonlit courtyard. However, halfway along it, she spied movement on the other side of the paved space.

The door to her father’s quarters was opening.

Moira slipped outside.

Colombia’s breathing caught, and she froze.

Even from across the courtyard, she could see the woman was scantily clad and barefoot.

Incredulity wreathed up within Colombia.

Moira is pater’s bed-slave?

It didn’t matter to her whom her father bedded, it really didn’t. Even so, this discovery knocked her off balance. Severus Juventus had insisted no woman could replace his wife’s memory, but that hadn’t stopped him from tumbling his slave.

Colombia remembered then the look she’d seen the slave give Severus when she’d watched him stride out onto the parade ground at Armilustrium. There had also been a moment a few days ago, when he’d thanked Moira for something before looking up and meeting her eye. Their gazes had lingered for a fraction too long.

Of course, it had been right under her nose.

Colombia should have shifted out of sight behind one of the portico columns, to spare either of them embarrassment, yet her feet wouldn’t move.

As if feeling the weight of her stare, Moira turned and looked across the atrium. An instant later, the two women’s gazes met.

Colombia walked across the courtyard and lowered herself onto one of the stone seats that dotted the rectangular space. It was a cold day, and unpleasant to linger outside for long, yet she didn’t move.

Instead, her gaze swept the portico, marking the guards that now flanked the atrium.

They still barred the only way in or out of the praetorium.