Page 21 of Taming the Eagle

She’d left him with no choice, so he took her to the pit.

It was a dark and smelly hole—a holding cell used for individuals awaiting trial or execution—at the eastern edge of the fort, behind one of the storehouses.

Fortunately, the pit was empty at present.

Aware of the curious stares he was attracting, Justin ordered one of his men to open the metal grate. He then untied Fenella’s wrists and shoved her inside.

It was a drop of around six feet onto a dirt floor. His slave rolled easily to her feet, and tried to scrabble up the side, just as the metal grate came down with a resounding thud overhead.

Breathing hard, Justin stared down at her tear-streaked face.

The desperation in her eyes made his gut clench, yet he held her gaze.

“Let me out of here!” Her voice cracked, her chest heaving as she struggled with panic.

“No,” Justin replied. “Not until your temper cools … until you reflect on whether or not death reallyisbetter than being my slave.”

Fenella’s face twisted, and she spat on the ground, giving him her reply.

“Very well.” Justin stepped back from the edge of the pit. His face was stinging now from where she’d clawed him. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch the wound.

Turning, his gaze swept the crowd that had gathered to gawk at the spectacle he and Fenella had put on.

Humiliation, hot and prickly, swept over Justin.

Damn Toutorix and his harpy wife to infernus—they were making him a laughing stock.

Justin strode away from the pit, cutting through the crowd, and his men fell back to let him pass. “What are you staring at?” he snarled at those closest. “Get back to your posts.”

Justin hissed as Kahina dabbed some vinegar onto his cheek.

“Apologies, General,” she murmured, peering close. “The grazes aren’t too deep, but they will sting.”

“Shall I fetch a medic from the hospital, General?” Caius asked.

Justin shifted his attention to where his house steward hovered behind his slave, before shaking his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “You heard Kahina … it isn’t serious.”

Caius gave a pained look at this and cleared his throat. “General,” he began. “This is highly … irregular. You can’t take a woman like that as a slave … she’s a savage.”

Justin snorted. Earlier, he might have disagreed with his steward. Yet now he wasn’t so sure. “She’ll behave once she’s spent some time in the pit,” he replied.

Caius made a strangled sound at that, while Kahina cast Justin a questioning look.

They were in the tablinum, the living space, of his home. Wide doors opened out into the courtyard beyond, letting in a cool breeze. This room was Justin’s favorite within the praetorium. It wasn’t as richly decorated as the tablinum of his father’s villa north of Rome—which had frescoes covering the walls and busts of Justin’s grandsire and great-grandsire—but its white-washed walls, fine oaken table, decorative urns in each corner, and two reclining couches made it a welcoming space.

Kahina had just finished tending to his scratched face, when a familiar figure strode into the room through the open doors leading out to the portico.

“It’s true then?” Marcus greeted him, his gaze sweeping to Justin’s scratched cheek. “Your slave tried to run off.”

“She did.”

“And you wrestled her to the ground, before throwing her into the pit?”

“I did.”

Marcus murmured an oath under his breath, and Justin held up a hand. “Don’t start, Marcus … I don’t have the patience for it.” He then turned to his house steward. “That will be all, Caius. Leave us now … Kahina, pour us some wine.”