Page 48 of Taming the Eagle
Marcus was already talking to the scouts when Justin and the optio drew near. The men were hunched under oilskins, their short hair slicked against their skulls.
“Let’s hear it,” Justin greeted the soldiers, not bothering with a preamble. All of them wanted to get out of the rain and wind.
“We’ve found their camp, General. The Wolves of the North have built a new crannog,” one of the men reported. “Upon a small lake in the heart of the Cairngorms.”
Justin flashed him a hard smile. “Well done. How many men does he have with him?”
“Two hundred, at least,” another soldier said, blinking rain out of his eyes.
Justin considered this. Two hundred wasn’t that many. Perhaps the Wolf hadn’t found the allies he sought, after all.
“Since we know where Toutorix is, do you want to go after him?” Marcus asked then. Justin glanced his way to see his friend’s dark gaze glinting. He wanted the Wolf dead, almost as much as his general did.
Justin considered it before shaking his head. The Cairngorms were perilous: a labyrinth of steep, pine-clad valleys and ice-cold rivers and ponds. He’d ventured into the mountains a few years previous, when pursuing a raiding party, and had been fortunate to emerge with half his men still alive.
“Toutorix will have the advantage in such terrain,” he said after a pause. “And he’ll see us coming.” It was true. The Romans fought best in open battle, whereas the Picti preferred ambushes, using the landscape to their advantage. “It’s best to wait.”
His gaze swept the bedraggled line of men. They’d spent the last fortnight scouting in the mountains—dangerous work indeed, for Romans were not welcome north of here. “Anything else to report?”
“Nothing, General,” the first man replied. “We spotted no warbands on our travels. The Picti are keeping to their hearths at present, it seems.”
“That’s good news, at least,” Marcus spoke up once more. “Well done, lads.”
Justin’s gaze narrowed. Itwasgood news. Why then did his belly harden and the hair on the back of his neck prickle?
“I heard what happened with your brother.”
Fenella glanced up from where she was washing the supper dishes in a pail of water upon the kitchen table, to find Aedan in the doorway. “Aye, the whole fort will be talking about it,” she replied.
Outdoors, beyond the shadow of the portico, the wind and rain pelted down. As such, the Brigante closed the door behind him.
Lips thinning, Fenella went back to her task. She’d almost finished cleaning up after supper and was keen to retire to the warmth of her cubiculum.
“You don’t look happy about it.” Aedan sauntered around the table before leaning up against a workbench. His sky-blue eyes settled upon her. “Why is that?”
Fenella’s fingers clenched around the earthen cup she’d been washing. “I don’t like being indebted to anyone, least of all the Eagle.”
In truth, she didn’t want to think about General Aquila at all. Her last encounter with him had left her shaken and confused. She’d been relieved when he’d departed on patrol the following day, yet each passing dawn brought his return closer.
She tried to keep busy in the interim—not difficult as Caius and Ava always had something for her to do—but memories of that savage kiss still intruded. And curse her, if heat didn’t pool in her lower belly and her breathing quicken whenever thoughts of Aquila surfaced.
She hated the man, and yet she’d kissed him back with a wild need that had matched his. Disappointment had swept over her when he’d pulled back and told her to go. She’d berated herself about her ‘weakness’ ever since.
Aedan’s mouth curved, his gaze glinting. “You’re a proud Cruthini woman.”
Fenella huffed a laugh as she placed the cleaned cup on the table and reached for the last dish. “Too proud, some would say.”
“I’ve heard tales of the Madaidhean-allaidh a tuath,” he replied. “Your husband strikes fear into the hearts of the fiercest warriors.” He paused then. “Even the general minds him.”
Fenella cocked an eyebrow. “Has Aquila talked to you of Toutorix?”
“In passing … he’s mentioned him once or twice over a game of Latrunculi. He worries the Wolf is plotting revenge.”
Fenella tensed.He is.
She could have confided in Aedan about the coming attack, but something stilled her tongue. The Brigante had been with Aquila a few years now, and she couldn’t decide where his loyalties lay. The man was difficult to read.
Even so, the days were passing.