thanks."
Adrian sent me another assessing glance.”Not got a headache, have you?"
I sighed. "No, I'm fine. Honestly."
"But you've got that little line, just here." He touched a forefinger between his eyebrows. "And usually, when you get that little line, it means you have a headache."
Quinnell, at the far side of the trench, raised his head in enquiry. "Who's got a headache?"
"Verity," supplied Adrian.
David, not to be outdone, explained to Quinnell that I'd just got a wee bit chilled, and I was on the verge of explaining to the lot of them that I was, in actual fact, fine, when the sun abruptly vanished behind a gathering bank of gray cloud.
Quinnell turned, and sniffed the air. "Rain," he pronounced, in a mournful tone.
"Aye." David stood. "I'm done for the moment, at any rate. It's all down to the one level." He looked at me. "That's the last of it, for now," he promised, pointing to the three full buckets to one side of the trench. "I'll just take
them up to the Principia for you, so they'll not get rained on. You don't want to be sieving mud."
I smiled at his casual use of the Latin word. “The Principia? Where's that, the stables?"
"Aye." He smiled back. "The nerve center. Quinnell named it, and the name stuck."
Most appropriate, I thought. Every Roman fort had its principia —the large headquarters building at the center of the complex, where the legionaries gathered to receive the day's commands.
Our own commander, Quinnell, climbed with great reluctance from the trench and watched while David gathered up the heavy buckets. "Taking those up, then, are you? Good lad. Time for a drink, I suppose. There's not much we can do here until the rain passes. We'll meet you back up at the house." Turning, he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder to walk me up the hill. "And I'm sure Jeannie could find some aspirin for you. Bound to be a bottle or two around, somewhere."
It seemed pointless, really, to protest, and after all the arguing about my health it was heaven to sit in the quiet kitchen at Rosehill and let Jeannie serve me my aspirins with a nice hot cup of sugared tea. "Is it very bad?" she asked.
I sipped my tea, uncertain. "Is what very bad?"
"Your headache."
"Oh." My expression cleared. "I don't have a headache, actually."
"But the aspirins ..."
"Adrian's fault. He saw some line between my eyebrows, which he claims beyond a doubt means that I have a headache. Mr. Quinnell suggested the aspirins."
"Peter," she corrected me. "He'll want you to call him Peter. The only one who calls him Mr. Quinnell around here is my Robbie."
"Well, anyway, the point is it's a waste of breath," I told her, "arguing with Adrian. I learned that ages ago. Far easier to take the tablets and be done with it."
She smiled and sat down in the chair opposite. It was, I thought, the first time I had seen her sitting still, not doing something. "Of course," she said. "You went with Adrian at one time, didn't you?"
I nodded. "Ancient history, that."
"Was it serious?"
"With Adrian? Never. He's not the serious type. Besides," I added, 'I've the wrong hair color for Adrian. He likes blondes. I rather fancy he's cast his roving eye on Fabia, poor girl."
Jeannie shrugged and reached for the teapot to pour herself a cup. "Nothing odd about it, she's a beautiful lass. And not nearly so helpless as she lets on. Care for some shortbread? Quietly, though, don't rattle about in the tin, or the men will be in here before you know it."
I mumbled my thanks through a crumbling mouthful of biscuit. "Your father," I informed her, "seemed surprised I wasn't blond."
"Aye." Her eyes danced. "He had his doubts, ken, when Peter said he'd hired an old girlfriend of Adrian's. Full of dire warnings, was Dad. What did you think of him?"
"I barely saw him all day," I admitted. "He was digging with Quin—with Peter and David, while I sifted dirt with Fabia, but what I saw of him I liked."
I could tell she was fond of her father by the way she
Adrian sent me another assessing glance.”Not got a headache, have you?"
I sighed. "No, I'm fine. Honestly."
"But you've got that little line, just here." He touched a forefinger between his eyebrows. "And usually, when you get that little line, it means you have a headache."
Quinnell, at the far side of the trench, raised his head in enquiry. "Who's got a headache?"
"Verity," supplied Adrian.
David, not to be outdone, explained to Quinnell that I'd just got a wee bit chilled, and I was on the verge of explaining to the lot of them that I was, in actual fact, fine, when the sun abruptly vanished behind a gathering bank of gray cloud.
Quinnell turned, and sniffed the air. "Rain," he pronounced, in a mournful tone.
"Aye." David stood. "I'm done for the moment, at any rate. It's all down to the one level." He looked at me. "That's the last of it, for now," he promised, pointing to the three full buckets to one side of the trench. "I'll just take
them up to the Principia for you, so they'll not get rained on. You don't want to be sieving mud."
I smiled at his casual use of the Latin word. “The Principia? Where's that, the stables?"
"Aye." He smiled back. "The nerve center. Quinnell named it, and the name stuck."
Most appropriate, I thought. Every Roman fort had its principia —the large headquarters building at the center of the complex, where the legionaries gathered to receive the day's commands.
Our own commander, Quinnell, climbed with great reluctance from the trench and watched while David gathered up the heavy buckets. "Taking those up, then, are you? Good lad. Time for a drink, I suppose. There's not much we can do here until the rain passes. We'll meet you back up at the house." Turning, he put a fatherly hand on my shoulder to walk me up the hill. "And I'm sure Jeannie could find some aspirin for you. Bound to be a bottle or two around, somewhere."
It seemed pointless, really, to protest, and after all the arguing about my health it was heaven to sit in the quiet kitchen at Rosehill and let Jeannie serve me my aspirins with a nice hot cup of sugared tea. "Is it very bad?" she asked.
I sipped my tea, uncertain. "Is what very bad?"
"Your headache."
"Oh." My expression cleared. "I don't have a headache, actually."
"But the aspirins ..."
"Adrian's fault. He saw some line between my eyebrows, which he claims beyond a doubt means that I have a headache. Mr. Quinnell suggested the aspirins."
"Peter," she corrected me. "He'll want you to call him Peter. The only one who calls him Mr. Quinnell around here is my Robbie."
"Well, anyway, the point is it's a waste of breath," I told her, "arguing with Adrian. I learned that ages ago. Far easier to take the tablets and be done with it."
She smiled and sat down in the chair opposite. It was, I thought, the first time I had seen her sitting still, not doing something. "Of course," she said. "You went with Adrian at one time, didn't you?"
I nodded. "Ancient history, that."
"Was it serious?"
"With Adrian? Never. He's not the serious type. Besides," I added, 'I've the wrong hair color for Adrian. He likes blondes. I rather fancy he's cast his roving eye on Fabia, poor girl."
Jeannie shrugged and reached for the teapot to pour herself a cup. "Nothing odd about it, she's a beautiful lass. And not nearly so helpless as she lets on. Care for some shortbread? Quietly, though, don't rattle about in the tin, or the men will be in here before you know it."
I mumbled my thanks through a crumbling mouthful of biscuit. "Your father," I informed her, "seemed surprised I wasn't blond."
"Aye." Her eyes danced. "He had his doubts, ken, when Peter said he'd hired an old girlfriend of Adrian's. Full of dire warnings, was Dad. What did you think of him?"
"I barely saw him all day," I admitted. "He was digging with Quin—with Peter and David, while I sifted dirt with Fabia, but what I saw of him I liked."
I could tell she was fond of her father by the way she
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