Page 61 of Taming the Eagle
“Ho, Toutorix,” one of the chieftains, a raven-haired man with a heavily tattooed face, greeted him. “Is everyone accounted for then?”
“Aye, Berach,” he replied, flashing him a grin. “All of us have made it south without encountering the enemy.”
“That doesn’t mean they haven’t seen us though,” another of the chieftains, a bald, bull-faced man named Declan pointed out, his heavy brow furrowing.
“We’ve been careful,” Toutorix replied. “They might have spied shadowy figures passing through the fringes of the territory they hold”—he paused then, his gaze sweeping over the circle of chieftains— “But they’ll have no idea of our might.”
“And yet, the Eagle has increased his garrisons at the watchtowers and outposts,” Declan growled, not yet ready to drop the subject. “His men prowl the land around Ardoch. He suspects something.”
“Suspecting and knowing aren’t the same thing.” Toutorix’s gaze narrowed. “Even so, our decision to strike tonight, instead of waiting till the full moon, was a wise one.”
Ruarc, the chieftain who’d warned them all against waiting, gave a soft snort. Tall and muscular with long brown hair that glowed red in the firelight, Ruarc watched Toutorix with a veiled gaze. Meeting his eye, the Wolf was reminded that although these men had agreed to join him, to destroy Ardoch and all who lived within, it was an uneasy alliance.
They were all men used to leading, not following. The fact that Toutorix had managed to bring them together at all was a feat indeed.
But all the same, he sometimes caught Ruarc watching him, distrust in his grey eyes. After this campaign was done, he’d need to keep an eye on him.
“Our warbands waiting outside Dalginross and Bochastle will attack tonight,” Ruarc confirmed after a pause.
“As will my men at the watchtowers closest to the fort,” Berach assured him. “The rest of our army will hit Ardoch as planned.”
Toutorix nodded, anticipation quickening in his belly. “We shall hit them on all fronts,” he murmured. “Fast and hard, like an iron fist.” He sucked in a deep breath then, his hands clenching as he anticipated the slaughter.
“And what of your wife, Toutorix?” Declan asked. The huge warrior was still frowning. “Are we to seek her out once we breach the defenses, and keep her safe for you?”
Toutorix schooled his features into a bland expression, meeting Declan’s questioning gaze.
He didn’t want Fenella back.
He’d already taken another wife, barely a moon after her departure. Talulla was plain and meek, yet her womb had already quickened with his seed, not like that barren bitch. Getting rid of Fenella had been a boon indeed; he never wanted to set eyes on her again.
“I don’t want Aquila’s leavings,” he replied, his voice cold now. “The woman will be put to the sword, like the rest of them.”
XXII. FRAGILE
FENELLA PLUCKED THE last piece of cheese off the dish and took a bite. She then paused, casting Aquila a cautious look. “I hope you didn’t want that?”
Across the table, the general favored her with a half-smile. “No … my appetite is poor this evening … you have it.”
Fenella continued to observe him, wondering at his subdued mood, while at the same time surreptitiously drinking him in.
Aquila wore a simple red tunic, belted at the waist, and his short hair was spiky and damp, revealing that he’d bathed before supper. If she leaned forward and inhaled deeply, she could smell the spicy scent of the oil he’d used after bathing. The perfume, blended with that of clean male, made her belly flutter.
The general had invited her to join him for supper. They’d shared a platter of dried fruit, various cheeses, and salty bread, washed down with bramble wine. However, they weren’t in the tablinum this time, but Aquila’s cubiculum: his bed-chamber.
This was the first time that Fenella had been inside this room, for Kahina cleaned and tidied this space. As such, she’d taken in her surroundings with interest when she’d followed Aquila in. It was a big chamber, even larger than the living space, and comfortably furnished. Rugs covered the paved floor, and a large wooden bed, shaped like the reclining couches in the triclinium, but three times the size, dominated one end. Colorful cushions and covers lay on the bed, while a lovely mural, of naked, cavorting women in a forest, decorated one of the walls.
Fenella had halted before the mural, fascinated by it. “Those women,” she murmured. “Who are they?”
“Nymphs,” Aquila had replied, “lovely maidens who guard woodlands and other realms of nature.” He paused then. “My predecessor had it painted. Do you like it?”
Fenella had turned to Aquila, to see he was smiling. “Aye,” she answered honestly. “Very much.”
Across the table, Aquila’s gaze now roamed over her face. Swallowing the last of her cheese, Fenella washed it down with a sip of wine. Her belly did a shallow dive. Gods, the man had a look that could melt iron. Warmth flowered between her thighs. Distracted, she pressed them together.
She knew a man didn’t invite a woman into his sleeping space if he didn’t intend to tumble her. They had already lain together—she shouldn’t be on edge.
And yet she was.