Page 29 of Taming the Eagle

Even so, she couldn’t linger in the portico forever.

Someone would come looking for her if she didn’t bring the wine.

Jaw set, she pushed her way through the door with her elbow, entering the triclinium—the space where the general took his meals. The small room had a colorful mural upon the walls, depicting a garden and flowers bathed in sunshine. Aquila and his two guests—Marcus Camillus and the camp prefect, Felix Magnus—reclined on gently sloping couches around a low table spread with roast grouse, braised onions, and bread.

Prefect Magnus was the lanky, bald soldier she’d seen greet Aquila outside the praetorium on her arrival at the fort.

As always, Caius stood in the shadows, cloth napkins draped over one forearm as he awaited instructions from the general or his guests. Spying Fenella, the steward gestured with his chin to Aquila.

She was to fill his cup first.

Moving to the legate’s side, Fenella refilled his calix, a wide clay cup with a stem. And as she did so, he broke off from speaking to his companions and glanced up at her. In the light of the lantern that burned on the wall behind him, Aquila’s eyes were dark gold.Electri—amber. She’d learned that word, for it was the name of the house cat that spent its days following Kahina around.

To her chagrin, the Eagle smiled at her.

Fenella fought the urge to scowl. She didn’t want his smiles. She didn’t want to pour him wine. They weren’t friends. He was her master, and she hated him for it. And yet whenever they crossed paths in the past days, Aquila was amiable, charming even.

It galled her.

Swallowing her ire, she finished filling his calix before moving around the table and doing the same for his guests.

Marcus acknowledged Fenella with a nod before his gaze shifted behind her. His expression changed then, from veiled to intense.

She glanced over her shoulder to see that Kahina had entered the triclinium, carrying a tray of dried fruit and nuts. The slave had marked the centurion’s stare, for she wore a flustered look.

Fenella hadn’t lived here long, yet this wasn’t the first time she’d seen Marcus focus on Kahina. Two days earlier, he’d smiled at the slave when she brought him some wine—and Kahina had smiled back.

Foolish girl. I wouldn’t encourage him.

Turning back to her task, Fenella moved around the table to the camp prefect. Felix Magnus’s bald head gleamed in the light of the lanterns. He watched Fenella with interest as she drew near and refilled his calix, before saying something to Aquila.

Fenella’s skin prickled. Although she couldn’t catch the words, she sensed he’d just mentioned her. The Eagle murmured a reply, and all three men laughed.

Jaw clenched, Fenella stepped back from the table and took her place next to Caius. Meanwhile, Kahina placed her tray on the table and retreated from the dining room.

Marcus watched her go.

Fenella wished she could leave as well, although as a wine-bearer, she had to wait patiently at Caius’s side, in case the men wanted their cups refilled.

Glancing back at the table, her attention settled upon Aquila—which was a mistake, for he looked up, his gaze fastening upon her.

And this time, he wasn’t smiling.

Justin tore his attention from Fenella and attempted to focus on the conversation he’d been having with Marcus and Felix before she’d entered the triclinium.

The woman was a distraction, and usually one he welcomed, despite her prickly temperament. However, he really had to stop staring at her like a mooncalf when his officers were around.

“Ready your men, Marcus,” he said, reaching forward and helping himself to a handful of nuts. “With Toutorix still at large, we must take action.”

Across the table, the primus pilus cocked an eyebrow. “We’re going to hunt him?”

Justin’s mouth thinned, his belly hardening. The century he’d sent after the Wolf chieftain had returned to Ardoch three days earlier. They’d tracked Toutorix and his men from the northern shore of Lake Taus, but had eventually lost them in the mountains.

The Wolf had escaped.

Justin’s mood darkened then. He wanted nothing more than to take his legion and scour the north until they flushed out his enemy. He’d strike off Toutorix’s grinning head himself and mount it on a pike. Of course, his men wanted Toutorix dead too, but not as their legate did. For Justin, this was personal.

And yet common sense checked his need for vengeance. He couldn’t be so reckless with his men’s lives—not after what happened to the Ninth.