Page 80 of Ensnaring the Dove

The backs of Aedan’s arms prickled.

It hadn’t occurred to him earlier, even after his encounter with Maccus, that the leader of the outlaws might have led this attack. Yet it did now.

Of course, that supply convoy had yielded much—and he’d used his newfound riches to gather an army.

Aedan’s brow furrowed.

Did Maccus honestly think he could take one of the Wall forts? He’d been clever, sending Lucon and his companion in to set fire to the vicus—for it had created confusion and chaos, and the distraction they needed. But the garrison at Onnum was five hundred men strong, and Severus Juventus was a skilled military commander.

Maccus had miscalculated, and it had cost him, and most of his men, their lives.

Aedan’s mouth soured.What a waste.The stench of death hung heavily in the air, and Aedan felt no joy in knowing that the warriors he’d once lived amongst were dead.

His chest tightened then. He understood what had driven Maccus; the brutalization of his wife at Roman hands had set him upon this path.

He had every right to seek reckoning—yet, in the end, it had consumed him. It was a warning to Aedan, one that he would heed.

Colombia watched her father walk into the courtyard.

Blood-spattered—his once gleaming lorica smeared with ash and gore, his fine red cloak tattered—Severus Juventus limped slightly.

Nonetheless, he still managed to carry himself proudly.

Moira stifled a gasp at the sight of him, while Colombia stepped forward. The rain had eased, yet the air stank of smoke. “Pater,” she said softly. “Are you hurt?”

Her father stopped in front of her before shaking his head.

“But your leg?” Colombia glanced down at the blood that slicked his left knee.

“A shallow cut.”

“Shall I call for a medic?”

“No need … Moira can deal with it.”

Colombia nodded. Her gaze then searched her father’s face. He wore an odd expression—severe yet wary. “What happened out there?”

“A large warband of Brigante laid siege to our walls,” he replied. “But not before two of them … who were already inside the fort, set fire to the vicus.”

Colombia swallowed. “They’re defeated?”

“Yes.”

Silence swelled between father and daughter then, and awkwardness rose within Colombia.

Curse it, after her father had made her a prisoner inside the praetorium and informed her he was sending her back to Italia, she’d told herself she hated him—but that was all nonsense. She’d spent the long night pacing the portico around the courtyard, listening to the blood-curdling sounds of battle, and imagining the worst.

The truth was, despite his stubbornness, and his hypocrisy, she adored her father. She had no siblings, and her mother was dead. Apart from an uncle and aunt who’d never liked her, he was all she had in the world.

“I’m glad to see you safe,pater,” she murmured, dipping her head. “I shall leave Moira to tend your leg.”

She turned away, yet he forestalled her. “Colombia … wait.”

Raising her gaze, she found him watching her. “What is it?”

The commander glanced at Moira, his mouth lifting at the corners. “Fetch your healing basket and some clean bandages, and I shall see you in my quarters shortly.”

Moira nodded, her gaze flicking between them. “Yes,dominus.” She then walked off.