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They were just about to douse the fire for the night when Marcus heard the telltale crackling of branches underfoot, from somewhere just outside the cleared circle of their first camp. In the darkness beyond the flames a shadow moved, the height of a small man, or a tall man crouched low, and Marcus unsheathed his sword.
"Not another step," he said, sword balanced in front of him.
"Don't," a high voice said, and then Cottia stepped into the clearing, her hair shimmering copper in the firelight.
Marcus gaped. "Cottia?"
She tilted her pointed chin up and grinned fiercely. "You expected that I would stay behind?"
"Yes," Marcus said, stupidly, and behind him Esca chuckled.
"Here," she said, and she thrust forth the armilla Marcus had given into her keeping. "I brought you your bracelet and your wolf." She whistled, two fingers in her mouth, and Cub stepped forward, and then bounded into Marcus' arms, wagging furiously.
"You cannot," Marcus said, and he waved Cub down as he spoke. "Your aunt-- your uncle--"
"I do not care," she said, simply. "Besides, it will be much easier to talk to the tribes with me there."
"I have Esca," Marcus pointed out.
Cottia snorted. "Oh," she said, "and if a Briton asks you what the son of the great Cunoval is doing in the company of a Roman centurion, what will you tell him?"
"He will not be a Roman." This was from Esca. "We will say he is Demetrius of Alexandria, a great oculist--"
"Pah!" Cottia said, and waved her hand dismissively. "It is all the same problem. None of that will explain why he is here with you, or have you been in the south so long that you think none will know a Brigantes face? Will they say, yes, a chieftain's son needs an oculist?"
"I will say I am a spear-bearer," Esca began, but he trailed off at Cottia's raised eyebrow.
She had a point, Marcus admitted to himself. If Esca was to be recognized as easily as that, they would need another disguise.
"I have a better solution," Cottia said. "We shall say that Marcus is my husband, and he accompanies me." And she smiled at Marcus, a crafty smile, like a fox. A vixen.
"What?" Marcus said, stunned.
She shrugged, and now her smile was innocent, but it was a calculated innocence. "You wanted to marry me anyway, no? We shall say that we have already. And then you will be my Roman, and everyone will understand if you do not know what is proper to say or do. And they will accept that I have married a Roman, because of course I am Iceni, not Brigantes, and everyone in the north knows about the foolish whims of southerners."
"And me?" Esca asked.
Cottia shrugged again. "Why, you will be my other husband, of course!"
"What?" Marcus said again. He must have misheard. "You cannot have two--"
She shot him an annoyed look, and then turned the same gaze on Esca. "Have you not told Marcus anything about anything?"
Esca held up his hands, placating. "It did not seem very important at the time."
"She cannot marry both of us," Marcus said, desperately, his voice gone too high, and he tried not to picture himself in bed with both of them.
Esca smiled. "Ah, Marcus," he said. "Haven't you figured out yet that she can do exactly what she likes?"
"I shall enjoy being married to you," Cottia said to Esca, taking Esca's hand. "You understand these things. You will have to tell Marcus how to behave. He will be your husband too, of course."
"Of course," Esca said.
"This isn't," Marcus began, but he found he couldn't say exactly what it wasn't.
"It is," Esca said, and he held out his other hand. "It is, if you want it."
Marcus looked at them both. Esca smiled down at him, soft, encouraging, and Cottia's eyes gleamed with eagerness.
"Yes," he said, and Esca drew him close to both of them, and Esca's arms were around him, and Cottia's lips, honey-sweet, pressed against his.
It was far better than being an oculist.