Page 47 of Taming the Eagle
Breathing hard, their gazes fused.
Fenella hadn’t ever seen Aquila like this: his lips were swollen from the violence of their kisses, his high cheekbones flushed, and his eyes dark with hunger.
But as the moments passed, the haze of lust fogging her mind drew back. Sanity returned. Fenella sagged against the door, her legs going weak under her.Gods, what am I doing?
Likewise, Aquila’s gaze cleared, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Releasing her, he reached forward and fumbled for the door handle. “You need to go,” he rasped, biting each word out.
This time, Fenella heeded him.
Not taking her gaze from the Eagle, she walked backward. The doors opened behind her, and she stepped out onto the portico.
Glowing lanterns bathed the colonnaded walkway in gold, and somewhere beyond the praetorium, the strains of a harp carried through the crisp evening air.
But Fenella hardly noticed. Tearing her gaze from Aquila’s, she turned and fled back to her quarters.
XVII. IN THRALL
Seven miles north of Lake Taus
ICY RAIN PELTED the soldiers as they made camp for the evening. A howling wind accompanied it, causing muttered oaths and pinched faces on those struggling to erect tents. Justin walked amongst his men, watching as the marching camp rose around him. The weather had turned mid-afternoon.
Justin shouldn’t have been surprised—the climate in Caledonia was notoriously fickle. Even so, he’d been enjoying the milder temperature and the sun on his face. The change in the weather reminded him how unpredictable this land could be—in all aspects.
Circuiting the rectangular camp, he viewed the wooden perimeter that had just gone up. Beyond, his men had dug ditches and lined them with vicious iron spikes. They had to be cautious in this country, for this patrol led them to the edge of the mountains. To the north, purple-grey peaks rose against the slate-colored sky: a reminder that they were skirting wild lands.
Looking to those mountains, Justin scowled.What’s Toutorix hatching in there?The man’s silence made him twitchy.
Thinking about Toutorix was a mistake; it reminded him of Fenella.
Dragging a hand down his face, he mumbled an oath. Jupiter, he’d made a mess of things with Fenella. All his adult life, he’d been in control—a man who knew what he wanted, and usually got it. But with her, he was at sea. He felt as if his wits were unraveling.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her that evening. And when she’d responded in kind, his blood had caught fire. Even a week later, he could still feel the sting of her lips against his, could still taste her.
And now his belly was in knots.
She was his slave, yet he was in her thrall. Want for her was driving him slowly mad.
Why didn’t you take her then?
Oh, he’d wanted to—but he’d known, even as their tongues dueled, even as his hips ground against hers, that once her ardor had cooled, Fenella would resent him even more than before.
She was right, he could have made her his whore. But instead, he wanted her as his lover. However, these days he was beginning to worry she’d hate him forever.
“The scouts have returned, General.”
Justin turned to see an optio striding toward him, head bent against the wind. “Take me to them, Decimus,” Justin greeted him with a tight smile.
The two men fell in step, making their way through the camp.
After visiting Dalginross and Bochastle, and ensuring that everything was in order at the outposts, Justin had led his patrol northwest to clear out the hills of warbands.
He’d brought the first cohort of the Twentieth with him—the most prestigious of the nine cohorts that made up the legion, and the one that Marcus, as primus pilus, led. The first cohort consisted of five double-strength centuries, and when they marched, they brought the legionary standard and its golden eagle with them.
They passed the eagle on their way through the camp. The men had driven it into the ground next to his tent. The great bird crouched atop the standard, its spread wings dull under the grey skies and driving rain.
Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he squinted up at the bird, theaquila. The men often said that it boded well that a man who bore the same name as the symbol of their legion led them. They could be a superstitious lot.