Page 7 of Taming the Eagle
Her step faltered. For a moment, she wished she could flee, could turn tail and disappear into the woods forever. Perhaps she should, even without Lorcan’s companionship.
But her lover’s parting words still rang in her ears. Patience exhausted, he’d snarled them. “Fate decides the course your life will take, woman—not you.”
Fate. The will of the gods that watched over them all: The Mother, The Maiden, The Warrior, The Hag, and The Reaper. All of them were conspiring against her today. It was as if her hopes and desires didn’t matter in the slightest.
Fenella’s throat thickened, and she swallowed hard.
No, she wouldn’t run, not now that Lorcan had ruined everything. Instead, she would face whatever the gods had in store for her.
Her father’s roundhouse loomed before her, the conical roof outlined against the darkening sky.
Putting one foot in front of the other, Fenella walked to the dwelling, pushed open the door, and stooped to enter.
The familiar dark interior of the home she’d spent her entire eighteen winters in greeted her. The ruddy light of the fire pit caught the faces of the figures gathered around the hearth, and made their eyes gleam as they glanced her way. In one of the alcoves, Fenella spied the faces of her three youngest siblings: Ena, Maddoc, and Fife. They’d been sent to bed but weren’t yet sleeping.
All of them were awaiting her return.
As was the man seated next to her father by the fire pit.
Toutorix’s bald head gleamed in the glow of the embers as he watched her, his expression impassive. The fur pelt he wore around his shoulders emphasized his brawn, while around his thick neck he wore an intricately crafted golden torc. He was her father’s age and yet hadn’t lost any of his physical strength. Fenella might have found him handsome if his face wasn’t so hard, his pale blue eyes so calculating.
Setting down her bow and quiver near the door, Fenella approached the hearth.
“Did you not catch anything?” her mother asked. Mona’s face was taut this eve, her gaze veiled. Fenella wondered what she thought of all this. Did she sympathize with her daughter’s situation, or did she believe she was being unnecessarily obstinate?
“No,” Fenella replied, taking a seat before the hearth.
Unlike his younger siblings, Eogan was still up, and allowed to sit with his elders. Her brother cast Fenella a meaningful look, his lips parting as if he wished to comment on his sister arriving home empty-handed.
But perhaps sensing her mood, he closed his mouth and remained silent.
“It is good to see you, Fenella,” Toutorix greeted her. He had a gravelly voice that matched his rugged looks. “Although I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t return home tonight.”
“I was delayed,” she replied. “While I was out hunting, I ran into a Roman patrol.”
This news caught their attention. Both her father and chieftain’s bodies stiffened. Toutorix drew himself up before growling an oath. “What were they doing on my lands?”
“I was hunting a deer and ventured closer to the River Knaik than I’d realized,” Fenella lied. “They gave chase, but I eventually lost them in the hills.”
The chieftain stared at her, a muscle bunching in his jaw. “You shouldn’t take such risks, lass,” he muttered. “Those shit-eating bastards show no mercy.”
“Aye, Toutorix,” Fenella’s father agreed. His gaze hadn’t left his daughter’s face, and Fenella wondered if he sensed her lie. Bricius could be unnervingly astute at times. “Fenella knows not to stray so close to Ardoch.”
“It won’t happen again,” she assured them, her tone cool.
“Aye, you are right about that,” Toutorix assured her. “For soon you will be my wife … and I won’t permit you to go out hunting alone.” He cast Bricius a look of censure, wordless criticism for allowing such behavior. He then looked back to Fenella, pinning her to the spot with his ice-blue stare. “Your father has agreed … you are to come away with me tomorrow morning, and we shall be handfasted later at Loch Tatha.”
Squaring her shoulders, Fenella drew herself up. Despite the hurt, the disappointment that twisted like a nest of serpents in her belly, she wouldn’t be cowed. Her future would be decided this evening, and she would do all she could to claw back control. She wouldn’t be caged.
“My father promised me to you without my consent,” she replied, holding the chieftain’s stare. “I’m sorry, but I don’t wish to wed you.”
Sharply indrawn breaths followed.
Even Eogan, who usually wore a grin of amusement in all situations, looked shocked by her announcement.
No one among themadaidhean-allaidh a tuath—the Wolves of the North, as her tribe was known—contradicted the chieftain.
Long moments passed, broken only by the rasp of her father’s angry breathing and the crackle of burning peat in the fire pit between them.