Page 60 of Taming the Eagle

With that, he lifted his barrow and continued on his way.

Heaving a deep breath, Fenella glanced up at the raven once more.

The cursed bird still sat there, staring at her with unnerving intensity. She wished it would fly away and let her be.

Aye, she knew an attack was coming, but the lone bird reminded her of the song about ravens her mother had often sung to her as a child.

One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.

One for sorrow.

Fenella’s breathing grew shallow. She didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

For her.

For her kin.

For her people.

For the man who was now her lover.

But the gods had spoken, and soon fate would reveal itself. She could only prepare herself for what was to come.

Whispering a prayer to them, Fenella tightened her grip on the barrow handles and shoved it forward, hurrying to catch up with Aedan.

Mist wreathed through the pines like crone’s hair, its milky tendrils turning the gorge ghostly.

Walking through the midst of it, Toutorix smiled. The mist was their ally, especially this close to Ardoch. Aquila’s patrols were everywhere, but they had yet to venture near this hidden rocky defile, where his army camped.

Fire pits lined the length of the valley, glowing through the mist. The scent of wood smoke mingled with the resinous perfume of pine. There wasn’t a breath of wind this evening—it was as if the world were holding its breath.

A great force had gathered here, waiting for the moment to strike.

Toutorix’s gait slowed as he approached the center of the camp. The past five months had passed in a blur, for he’d spent them traveling from village to village in the north, prostrating himself before each Cruthini chieftain. He’d hated the task, but the fire in his belly had driven him.

He’d sworn vengeance upon General Aquila, and he would have it.

But it hadn’t been easy. Some of the chieftains—those who bore longstanding grudges against the Wolf—had refused to join him. However, a surprising number had listened to his tale of Roman treachery, fury glinting in their eyes when he’d revealed how the Eagle had attacked his crannog at Loch Tatha, stolen his wife, and butchered his men.

He’d spun a tale of an unprovoked attack.

One that couldn’t be ignored.

The central fire pit beckoned, and Toutorix moved toward it. The other chieftains were there, waiting for him: big men swathed in leather, fur, and plaid, their faces painted blue, their gazes gleaming in the firelight.

The Wolf’s smile widened, his skin prickling.My allies.