Page 24 of Taming the Eagle

The bastard had come to gloat—or perhaps to see if the cold had killed her overnight.

It was still early; the sun had yet to crest the eastern walls of the fort. As such, Aquila’s face was shadowed. Nonetheless, she knew it was him.

“Sleep well?” he greeted her.

“Go rut a dog,” she replied between chattering teeth. “You filthy Roman whoreson.”

He didn’t respond to the insult. Instead, Aquila moved back, calling out to someone in his own tongue. A moment later, the clang of metal warned Fenella that the iron grate above her was being unlocked. It lifted then, just enough for Aquila to hand her down a large earthen cup.

Rushing forward, Fenella reached up and grasped the vessel, inhaling the aroma of meat broth. It steamed in the damp air.

Unable to help herself, she sighed as her freezing fingers wrapped around the warm cup. She took a gulp of broth. It scalded her mouth, yet she barely noticed.

“Here.” Aquila passed her down another cloth-wrapped package.

Taking another, more cautious, sip of broth, Fenella reached up with her free hand and took the food.

The metal grate thudded shut.

“And what’s your answer this morning?” Aquila asked, hunkering down. His gaze glinted as the first rays of morning sun bathed his proud face. “Will you behave yourself, or not?”

Fenella’s fingers tightened around the package. The nutty aroma of fresh bread made her belly growl, yet she tried to ignore it.

Instead, she scowled up at the Eagle. “Let me go, Aquila.” She hated to plead with him, but a night in the pit had worn her thin. “Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I was a free woman. Toutorix had no right to give me to you.”

The general cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, he did. You belonged to him.”

Fenella’s fingers clenched around her cup.

When I escape this place, I won’t take another husband, she silently vowed.Never again will I have a man determine my fate.

“And now you belong to me,” the Eagle continued. “It’s best you accept that, and we can end this game.”

His arrogance galled her.

“I’m not playing a game,” Fenella rasped. Her voice shook, not from cold but from fury. “And you may hold me captive, but that’s not the same as owning me. There are some things you can’t barter, Eagle!”

Fenella passed a long, boring day in the pit.

Occasionally, someone would peer in, curious to see the general’s badly behaved ‘savage’, but the men left her alone for the most part. The sounds of industry drifted into the hole, as well as the shouts of soldiers training. Once or twice, she caught the strains of off-tune singing.

Aquila returned at dusk with more food and another bladder of ale—and a coarse woolen blanket.

“Why give me this?” Fenella asked, even as she drew the blanket against her. The morning had started sunny, but it had clouded over at noon, the air chilling off. “Surely, the purpose of putting me in here is to make me suffer?”

Aquila flashed her a rueful smile and straightened up, nodding to the man beside him.

The grate closed with a clang.

“I want you to consider your position, Fenella,” he replied, “not die of cold.” He paused then, his smile fading. “It’s going to be even colder tonight … the first frost isn’t far off. Without a blanket, you’ll really suffer.”

Fenella’s belly clenched.

The Hag protect her, she didn’t want another night in this hole.