Page 1 of Taming the Eagle
I. THE PINEWOOD
Ten miles from the Roman fort of Ardoch,
Caledonia (Scotland)
Autumn, 118 AD
HER FATHER’S ANNOUNCEMENT came unexpectedly, shattering the companionable silence around the hearth. “The chieftain will be arriving here this afternoon,” Bricius declared. “Fenella … I expect you to greet him.”
Glancing up, from where she was slicing a small portion of blood sausage with an eating knife, Fenella frowned. “Why’s that, Da?”
Bricius met her gaze across the fire as her younger sister and brothers looked up from their meals. The family of seven formed a ring around the fire pit in the center of their dimly lit roundhouse, consuming a noon meal of blood sausage, braised onions, and oatcakes. To her husband’s right, his wife, Mona, looked on, her expression veiled. “Because he wishes to speak to you,” her father growled.
A chill swept over Fenella. She wasn’t a fool; she had seen the looks their tribe’s chieftain, Toutorix ‘the Wolf’, had given her during the summer gathering. If Toutorix wanted to speak to her, it was because he wished to propose marriage.
The food Fenella had already consumed churned in her belly.
The Mother preserve me … not him.
Their tribe’s chieftain was her father’s age. But no matter his rank, or age, she wasn’t interested in becoming his wife. He was a man she’d never warmed to.
“You know that I’m going hunting today?” she replied coolly, even as her pulse quickened.
Her kin didn’t know it, but this was the day she’d planned to meet her lover.
Fenella wouldn’t ignore Lorcan in favor of Toutorix. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the man she loved waiting, alone in the mossy glade by a burn where they always met. He would think something had happened to her.
Her father scowled, a deep crease forming between his dark brows. “Hunting be cursed … this is your chieftain.” There was a belligerent edge to his voice now. “You will be here when he arrives.”
Fenella ground her teeth. “Our supplies of fresh meat are low,” she replied, stubbornness surging within her. “I must go.” However, seeing the way a muscle in her father’s jaw tightened and his gaze glinted in the firelight, she added, “But I will be back by mid-afternoon at the latest.”
Her father leaned forward and speared the last piece of sausage with his knife. “You’d better be, girl.”
Next to Fenella, her younger brother Eogan murmured an oath under his breath. He’d clearly been coveting that chunk of sausage.
They were all hungry today. The autumn chill had settled over their valley much earlier than usual, and a poor harvest meant that they were rationing their food already, even though Gateway—the festival that marked the end of autumn and the beginning of winter—was still a moon away.
Her father indeed knew that they needed more fresh meat—and Fenella was the best hunter in the family.
Despite that she always met her lover on those afternoons when she should have been hunting, she often returned home with a brace of grouse slung over her shoulder, or dragging a hind’s carcass behind her. She was lethal with her bow—a skill her family appreciated.
“Does Toutorix have wool between his ears?” Eogan muttered then. “Why would he choose such a savage as my sister for a wife?” It seemed he, too, had realized what was happening.
Bricius scowled, his big body tensing. He looked as if, had the fire pit—where a stinking brick of peat smoldered—not separated them, he’d have reached out and cuffed the eldest of his three sons.
Fenella covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a smirk.
“Our chieftain has watched Fenella for a while now,” their father ground out. “And if he wishes to take her as his wife, he will.”
Fenella stiffened, her brief flash of mirth fading. “Not if I have any say in the matter.”
Her mother’s swift intake of breath followed. Mona’s eyes widened, and she cast her daughter a pained look. Her dark-blue eyes—the same shade as her eldest daughter’s—held a warning.
Fenella ignored it. She’d had enough of her father’s bullying. She noted then how tired her mother appeared these days. Raising five children—and losing another three—had worn her out. She was thin and pale, her dark hair limp and laced with silver.
Handing Eogan the remainder of the meal she’d been enjoying before her father’s announcement had robbed her of appetite, she rose to her feet. Unlike her father and Eogan, who’d recently started to sprout like a weed, she didn’t need to stoop in order to avoid hitting her head on one of the low beams overhead.
The roundhouse wasn’t really big enough to accommodate all of them. The three youngest siblings slept together in one of the alcoves that lined the stacked-stone walls. Fenella and Eogan had their own alcoves, yet they were cramped.