Page 33 of Taming the Eagle

“He protects the crops and livestock … but he’s also the god of war.”

Fenella couldn’t help but harrumph at this.

In response, Aquila flashed her a disarming smile.

They’d nearly circuited the walls now and were approaching the steps they’d climbed earlier. Fenella’s walk up here was almost at an end.

Her breathing quickened. Gods, she didn’t want to return to the praetorium, to the drudgery of her days.

The sun had just slipped beyond the dark swathe of pines to the west. The sight of the woodland brought back memories of Fenella’s old life, before she’d resided at Loch Tatha. Back when she’d spent her days hunting and dreaming of a new life with Lorcan.

The pines also reminded her of something else.

“I never understood,” she said, turning to Aquila, “why you spared me.” He favored her with a questioning look, and Fenella gestured to the pinewood. “On the day we met.”

Aquila reached up and scratched his jaw. Dark stubble shadowed it. The men had lit braziers upon the wall, and firelight bathed the contours of his face.

“I don’t really know,” he replied after a long pause, his voice lowering as his gaze met hers. “You caught me by surprise … and I acted on impulse.”

Fenella’s lips pursed. “Like you did at Loch Tatha?”

Aquila snorted and drew back, unlinking his arm from hers. “Indeed. It seems you wield some strange power over me, woman.”

XII. IO SATURNALIA

Dalginross fort

Five weeks later …

JUSTIN LUNGED FORWARD, jabbing his blade into the warrior’s belly. He then drew a pugio and slit the man’s throat, choking off his howl of agony. The warrior had tried to drive a pike into his armpit—but he’d failed. Shoving the dead man away, Justin stepped over his twitching body.

“The fort is secure,” Marcus called down from the walls. “That’s the last of them.”

Glancing up at the primus pilus, Justin nodded. Blood dripped from Marcus’s lorica—his plate armor—but Justin guessed it wasn’t his own, for the man stood straight, his face still feral from the fight. “All the same, check all the buildings,” he ordered. “Make sure no one’s hiding.”

A horn sounded then, echoing through the fort. Thecornugave a long, drawn-out wail. The sound was almost haunting, and it raised the hairs on the back of Justin’s forearms.

Victory.

Shrugging out his shoulders, Justin surveyed the surrounding fort. Dalginross had seen better days, that was for certain, but its spiked wooden ramparts were still intact. His men would make the necessary repairs, and then he’d leave a garrison here—with twice the men as last time.

Dalginross would hold the line.

Climbing up onto the walls, stepping over the fallen as he went, Justin’s mouth thinned.

The Picti had given them quite a fight.

It soured his mouth to see so many of his own soldiers among the dead, flashes of steel and crimson amongst blue-painted faces and tattooed limbs.

The men who’d made this fort their home had been unwilling to relinquish it.

However, it galled him further still that few of the Picti they’d killed bore Wolf markings upon their bodies. There hadn’t been a whiff of Toutorix either.

The weasel had indeed gone into hiding.

Standing upon the guard tower, Justin let his gaze sweep over the green wooded vale below. A river, the Water of Ruchill, glittered in the wintry light. The sun was trying its best this morning, yet Justin’s breath steamed in the cold air.

Mid-winter was upon them. The following day marked the beginning of Saturnalia.