Page 76 of Taming the Eagle

And all the while, their gazes remained fused.

Justin took her slow and then fast, shallow and then deep, alternating between circling his hips and driving hard.

It was so intense, so raw, that Fenella splintered, her back arching off the tiles. However, he held her fast, plowing her with the same intense determination that he showed in all areas of life.

And when he took hold of her hips, drawing them up so that he could take her deeper still, Fenella cried out. He touched her in a place that melted her, that made her writhe wildly against him.

Fenella did look away then, her head dropping back as pleasure drowned everything else and she shattered. Crying Justin’s name, she let go.

Afterward, they clung together. It was quiet in the bathhouse save for the rasp of their breathing and the drip of water.

Fenella buried her face in Justin’s neck, breathing him in as her pulse calmed and she became capable of forming rational thought once more. He’d shifted so as not to crush her under him, pulling her against his chest. The hammer of his heart against her cheek slowly calmed to a steady thud, as they lay entwined.

Eventually, Justin broke the silence. His voice, although quiet, was sure. “I’m giving you your freedom, Fenella.”

Raising her head from his chest, she blinked, before his words sank in. She then gasped, “You are?”

Justin’s mouth curved, even if his gaze remained serious. “I am.”

She swallowed, in an effort to ease the sudden tightness in her throat. “Just like that?”

He nodded. “Usually the process of manumission requires I bring you before a magistrate and formally declare your freedom … but out here on the edge of the empire, it’s enough that I declare it with a witness.” His cheek dimpled as his smile widened. “Caius can do us the honor now.”

Blinking owl-like, the house steward gazed upon the general with bemusement. “Excuse me?”

Justin made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. “I hereby give Fenella her freedom,” he repeated. “Do you bear witness?”

Glancing from the man he served to his slave, Caius rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wake himself up. They’d roused him from sleep, and he now stood in the doorway to his cubiculum, holding a lantern aloft.

The steward looked as bemused as Fenella felt. She was still reeling from Justin’s declaration. Afterward, they’d quickly dressed, and he’d taken her by the hand, leading her down the portico.

“Yes, General,” Caius said after a pause. “I do.” He cleared his throat then. “However, I must—”

“Good man.” Justin slapped him on the shoulder, cutting him off. “Sorry for waking you. Go back to bed, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

The steward’s mouth worked, and he took a step forward, “But, General—”

“Goodnight, Caius.” Justin was already leading Fenella away, toward his own quarters.

And she followed him, her heart now thudding hard against her breastbone.

I’m free?This was all happening so fast that she was having difficulty taking it in.

Together, they entered the general’s cubiculum. Golden lantern light illuminated the room and bathed Justin’s face as he turned to her, his amber eyes warm.

Fenella stared up at him. “Why?” she whispered.

He reached out and cupped her cheek; the roughness of the callouses on his palm gently chafed her skin. “Because I know it’s what you want,” he replied softly. “And it’s what I want too.” He paused then, his features tensing. “I wish to make you my wife, Fenella. It might take a little longer to organize than freeing you … for I will need to gain permission from a magistrate. But, if you will be patient, I will see it done.”

The resolve in his voice left Fenella in no doubt of his sincerity. Once Justin Aquila set his mind on something, he wouldn’t let go. And just for a moment, she let herself believe that they could have a future together. She imagined then a life where she would wake up at Justin’s side every morning, a future where she’d bear his children. The image was so enthralling that her throat thickened, her vision misting.

But then her chest began to ache, a chill seeping through her limbs.

He was spinning a fantasy—one she had to destroy. If she didn’t, she’d be shackled again.

“No, Justin,” she whispered. Lifting her hand, she gently removed his from her cheek and stepped back from him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t wed you.”

XXVIII. THE BREAKING