Page 57 of Taming the Eagle

XX. TAMING THE EAGLE

“WHEN DID THEY mark you?” Aquila asked, his finger tracing the outline of her wolf tattoo. They still lay upon the sheepskin, their limbs entwined, although he’d shifted his body off Fenella to avoid crushing her.

Glancing down at where he stroked her upper arm, Fenella noted, once again, the beauty of his hands—strong with long tapered fingers. Of course he had. Everything about this man was graceful, despite his strength.

Her throat tightened then. She shouldn’t be lying there, enjoying the aftermath of their wild coupling. Nothing about this moment could last, yet she found herself clinging to it. Tomorrow would bring sanity; tonight, she was someone else.

“I was in my sixth winter,” she murmured huskily. “My mother did it.” She remembered the stinging pain of the needle, and the burning sensation that followed when Mona rubbed woad into the wounds. “My arm swelled up afterward … and I developed a fever. They had to take me to a healer in the end.”

He nodded, continuing to trace the mark. “Does it ever hurt?”

“Not now. Most of the time, I forget I even have it.” It was true, such markings were commonplace amongst her people, and warriors—male and female alike—often had tattoos etched into their face, neck, and chest.

“You have skin like milk,” he murmured.

“And yours is golden,” she whispered back, her own fingers tracing the sculpted lines of his chest. Their gazes met then. “Like your eyes. Do many of your people have eyes that color?”

He shook his head. “It’s unusual. My father has amber eyes … I’m told I look like him.”

“And are your parents still alive?” His fingertips were sending delicious shivers up and down her arm. It was difficult to concentrate.

“Yes.”

There was an edge to his voice that intrigued her. “Do you not get on with them?”

Aquila pulled a face. “My father is a bully … and my mother his hand-maiden,” he replied. “Growing up, I felt suffocated by him. There was no way but his.” He paused then, his gaze shadowing. “On my last trip back to Italia, we argued … and when I left, he made it clear I wasn’t welcome back.”

Fenella’s gaze widened, momentarily forgetting that he was still stroking her arm. “What did you argue about?”

“My career. Father was once primus pilus of the Sixth legion, but he took an injury that lamed him. Once he retired, he looked to me to bring him the glory he’d always sought. My posting to Caledonia disappointed him. He was angry I hadn’t managed to get a transfer … said I hadn’t tried hard enough, and I got sick of being treated like a child.”

Fenella took this in. They were different people, yet she too knew what it was like to have a harsh father.

“And do you have siblings?” she asked after a pause.

“Two elder sisters,” he replied, his expression lightening once more. “And you?”

“I’m the oldest of five. I have three brothers … and one sister.”

“I would have picked you as the eldest,” he replied, his hand leaving her upper arm to trace the line of her jaw. “That’s why you’re so strong … you grew up taking care of others.”

Fenella’s mouth quirked. “And what do they say of the youngest child?”

“The baby of the family?” He smiled widely then, and Fenella inhaled sharply. Gods, his smile sucked the air from her lungs. “My sisters used to complain I was coddled … that I got all the attention when we were growing up. They were probably right.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” she murmured. “Fife is the youngest of my siblings … and Ma spoiled him shamelessly.”

Aquila continued to smile down at her. The back of his knuckles now brushed across her cheek, and a familiar ache started to pulse between her thighs.

The Mother forgive her, she wanted him again.

“I’ve always thought youngest children are the most charming,” she continued, struggling to hold onto her thoughts now. “They’re used to getting what they want.”

“We don’t always get our way,” Aquila replied, the pad of his thumb tracing her lower lip. “Once I left home, I soon learned that if I wanted something, I had to fight for it.”

Seated in the courtyard, Fenella glanced up, letting the sun bathe her face. Closing her eyes, she found herself reliving the passion of the night before. Aquila had taken her once more upon the sheepskin, with a tenderness that had reduced her to tears—again.

The gods help her, she’d never wept after coupling before.