by Jayne Castel
Images of the long years they’d spent together flooded over him then: the harsh winters huddled under furs, him gathering her posies of the first spring flowers every year, and Lilla’s lovely voice as she sang to him in the evenings.
“The world is so dark now, my love,” he whispered. “How can you leave and not take me with you?”
The storm hit him then, like a mallet slamming into the center of his chest. Cassian had heard tales of what it felt to be truly broken-hearted, but he was unprepared for the agony of it. Deep inside him something shattered—something that could never be pieced back together.
Lilla was gone.
Cassian bowed his head, and placed his trembling hands upon the cairn before him. Then he began to weep.
300 years later …
I
CORNERED
Dunnottar Castle
Scotland
Beltaine, 1301 AD
AILA PLACED THE posies before the altar and then stepped back to admire them. A smile curved her lips; she adored flowers. Pale pink roses, daisies, and gillyflowers were her favorites.
“Thank ye for bringing the posies down, lass,” Father Finlay’s low voice rumbled across the incense-scented interior of the chapel. “They certainly brighten this place up.”
Aila glanced over her shoulder, at where the chaplain stood a few feet away. Around him, stone arches reached up to a high ceiling. Despite that over five years had passed since William Wallace had locked the English garrison in here and torched the lot of them, the chapel still bore signs of that day—dark scorch marks around the high slit windows and the nave.
“The keep’s garden is blooming beautifully this year,” she replied with a smile. “Lady Gavina wanted ye to benefit from its bounty.”
Beltaine was upon them, and Aila had spent the morning hanging garlands of lilac in the hall. Her mistress was planning a banquet and dance for the occasion. After dusk, folk would light a great bonfire on a hill near the fortress and dance around it. Although Beltaine—which heralded the beginning of summer—came from the old ways, Father Finlay wasn’t a man to take offense.
The chaplain favored her with a kindly smile. “Please thank Lady De Keith for me, lass.”
“I will. Good day, Father.” Aila picked up her empty wicker basket, turned, and made her way from the chapel.
Stepping outdoors into a windy morning, she angled her face up to the bright sky. They’d endured a week of chill weather, but fortunately the sun had reappeared for Beltaine.
Aila closed her eyes, letting the warmth soak into her—and as she stood there, an uneasy sensation stole away the sense of well-being.
The fine hair on the back of her neck prickled. She lowered her face and shifted her gaze left, to where a man dressed in sooty leathers stood outside the smith’s forge, legs akimbo.
Blair Galbraith was staring at her.
Big and bulky, with a thick auburn beard and long hair of the same color that he’d tied back with a leather thong, the smith wore a formidable expression this morning. He stood there, brawny arms folded before him, glaring at her as if she’d done him some personal offense.
Aila swallowed, her gentle mood evaporating as tension knotted in her belly.
She hadn’t—but her sister had.
Aila’s fingers tightened around the basket’s handle. She shouldn’t have come down to this area of the lower ward alone. She should have asked one of the other maids to accompany her, but she’d been so excited at the prospect of making posies for the church, she’d forgotten that the forge lay adjacent to the chapel.
Heather had warned her younger sister to stay away from this corner of the keep.
Aila remained frozen at the top of the steps and considered whether or not to attempt a greeting. Deciding against it, for she didn’t want to encourage any interaction, she continued down the steps and then turned right, heading for the postern door and the stairs that led up to the upper ward.
Galbraith’s stare drilled into her back, but Aila did her best to ignore it.
She wished she and her kin didn’t have an enemy within the castle, but the events of just over a month earlier weren’t Heather’s fault.
Her elder sister had once been wed to Galbraith’s brother, Iain. However, when Iain never came home from war, Heather had eventually returned to live at Dunnottar. And the very day of her arrival, her husband had risen from the dead.
Things were never going to end well after that—especially since Heather had fallen in love with Maximus, the man who’d accompanied her north to Dunnottar.
One evening, Iain cornered Heather and tried to kill her. He’d have succeeded too if Maximus hadn’t interceded. Iain Galbraith ‘disappeared’ that night. Never to be seen again.
Few besides his brother had mourned him. Heather’s husband had been a bully, and his brother was cut of the same cloth.
Aila couldn’t get away from Blair’s stare fast enough. Flinging open the postern door, she fled up the stairs. But she’d only gotten halfway up when a large hand clamped around her arm and hauled her backward.
Aila’s cry of surprise echoed up the stairwell. Turning, she shrank back against the damp stone to see the smithy looming over her.
“I was wondering how long I’d have to wait,” he growled. His grip on her arm increased, and Aila gave a gasp of pain. She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was a man of formidable strength.
“Let me go,” she pleaded, her heart fluttering like a caged bird against her ribs.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been waiting to see yer whore of a sister … but ye will do well enough.”
Aila winced at his crudity, even as indignation rose within her. How dare he speak of Heather in such a fashion? Raising her chin, Aila forced herself to meet his belligerent green gaze without cowering. “Heather isn’t to blame for yer brother’s disappearance, Blair.”
“Aye, she is.” He gripped her by the other arm and shook her, his gaze narrowing. “She and that cèin devil. I don’t know how they managed it … but they somehow did away with Iain, so they could be together.”
A chill settled over Aila, dousing the indignation that had given her courage. His fury scared her, and she started to sweat.
“That murderer is now part of William Wallace’s band.” His voice lowered to a growl. A vein pulsed in his neck, and his fingers now bit into her flesh. “He kills my brother and gets rewarded for it. De Keith and Wallace both pretended his death didn’t matter … and they’ll pay. Ye all shall pay!”
Aila stared back at him, fear clenching in the pit of her belly. Menace crackled in the air between them.
Blair leaned in closer, bracketing Aila against the wall. “I’ve recently received disturbing news,” he continued. “My cousin’s rotting corpse has been found north of Stirling. He and his men were butchered like dogs … Maximus and Heather are to blame!”
Aila’s breathing quickened, panic roiling in her belly. “I don’t know anything about this.” She tried to twist out of his grip, yet he held her fast. It was the truth; this was the first she’d heard of it. “My sister had nothing to do with such brutality.”
“She has everything to do with this,” Blair countered, biting out the words. “The messenger told me that my cousin Cory had an altercation with both Heather and that foreigner before leaving Fintry. Cory tracked them north, but was never heard from again. Eventually, my uncle sent out men to search for him.”
“That’s not proof.”
Blair’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “It’s all the evidence I need.”
He then grasped one of her breasts and squeezed hard.
Crying out in outrage, Aila raised a hand and struck him across the face.
Blair didn’t even reel back in shock. He just stood there, immovable as a boulder. Something dark and frightening shifted in his eyes. “Ye shall regret that, Aila De Keith,” he murmured.
“Will she?”
A man’s voice rang out across the stairwell.
Aila craned her neck to the right, peering over the barrier of Blair’s muscular frame, to see a tall man clad in chainmail and leather standing above them. A plaid cloak in cross-hatchings of blue, turquoise and green—her clan’s colors—hung from his broad shoulders.
Aila’s breathing caught, her limbs weakening as relief flooded through her.
“Let the girl go,” Cassian Gaius, Captain of the Dunnottar Guard, continued. “Before you do something you regret.”
Blair Galbraith spat out a curse. “Walk away, Captain. This is none of yer business.”
Cassian inclined his head. His gaze was hooded, his expression cold. “Step away and go back to your forge.” He moved, descending the stairwell toward them.
Blair’s face twisted. However, the captain didn’t utter another threat. He just waited for the smith to do as bid.
Aila’s pulse quickened once more. She wasn’t sure Galbraith would heed him.
Tense moments stretched out, and then, surprisingly, Blair released Aila and stepped back.
Aila drew in a shaky breath. Her legs wobbled under her, although she remained where she was, frozen against the wall.
“This isn’t over,” the smith growled, pinning Aila under his stare, the captain forgotten. “Ye and I shall continue this later.”
“Enough, Galbraith,” Cassian cut in, a harsh edge to his voice. “If I ever catch you intimidating Aila De Keith again, I’ll shove your teeth down your throat.”
Blair snorted and cast the captain a malevolent look before turning his back on him. “All ye cèin are the same,” he muttered. The smith then moved off down the stairwell. Moments later, the postern door thumped closed behind him.
Wordlessly, Cassian descended the stairs so that he stood level with Aila. Like Blair, the captain was tall. Aila had to crane her neck up to meet his eye.
But when she did, the knot in her belly dissolved. Transfixed, she stared up at him.
Never, in the three years that Cassian had been at Dunnottar, had he given her his full attention like this. She knew he had hazel eyes, but this close, she saw his irises were flecked with brown, gold, and green. He had a strong jaw, an aquiline nose, and tanned skin that she longed to trace her fingertips along.
Cassian Gaius wasn’t a Scot, but a Spaniard. Unlike most men at Dunnottar, who sported long hair and beards, he was clean shaven and wore his brown hair short.
How many nights had Aila lain in bed imagining what it would be like to run her hands through his hair? What would it feel like? Soft like thistle-down, or coarser like a pony’s mane?
Staring down at her, his brow furrowed, concern clouded Cassian’s eyes. “Did he hurt you, Aila?”
Aila’s breathing caught. Twice now, he’d used her name. She loved the way he said it too; his slight accent made her name sound beautiful. Cassian was a man of principle and honor. Her father, who was steward here, often spoke highly of him. Folk here admired his calm, stoic manner.
And over the years, Aila had grown increasingly desperate to catch glimpses of Dunnottar’s enigmatic captain, desperate to gain a moment of his attention.
Aila swallowed, forcing herself to focus. She then rubbed the spots upon her upper arms where Galbraith had grabbed her. “I’ll likely bear some bruises,” she admitted. “The smith has a fierce grip … but apart from that, I am well.”
Cassian’s mouth thinned. “You faced him bravely.”
Warmth flowered within Aila at his praise. “I did?”
“I’d just entered the stairwell when I heard the slap you gave him.”
“Aye, but it was like striking a boulder. He didn’t even flinch.”
The captain’s gaze glinted. “He’ll do more than flinch if I ever catch him cornering you like that again.”
II
DAYDREAMS
“WHAT HAPPENED ON the road to Dunnottar?”
Heather glanced up from the flowers she was arranging in a vase in their parents solar. She’d likely just come from spending time with Lady Gavina. Shortly, Aila would have to wait on her mistress. However, she wanted answers from Heather first.
Aila had been relieved to find her sister alone. This wasn’t a conversation their parents needed to hear.
Heather’s face tensed. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t act as if ye don’t know what I’m speaking about,” Aila countered, folding her arms across her chest. “Ye didn’t tell me that ye fell foul of the Galbraith laird’s eldest son … or that he tracked ye north after ye left Fintry.”
Aila’s belly tightened then. There used to be a time when ye told me everything. Aye, once. But all that changed when Heather left Dunnottar on Iain Galbraith’s arm five years earlier.
Heather’s grey-green eyes widened, alarm flickering in their depths. “Where did ye hear this?”
“From the smith. He just cornered me on the stairs and told me that Cory Galbraith and his men’s bodies have been found north of Stirling.”
A guilty look passed across her sister’s pretty face; Aila had always been able to read her easily. Folk said that the two sisters looked very much alike, but Heather was taller, curvier, and more confident. She had an ample bosom that Aila had always envied, and a feisty nature that her husband, Maximus, adored. Aila sometimes felt mousy and meek in her shadow.
Right now though, anger made her bold. Aila placed her hands on her hips. “Did ye and Maximus kill them?”
Heather’s throat bobbed before she nodded.
Aila frowned. “I can’t believe ye hid this from me!”
“It was better ye didn’t know,” Heather replied, stubbornness lacing her voice. “Cory and his men attacked us, and we fought them off. It was ‘kill or be killed’. Afterward we hid the corpses and continued north.”
Aila’s frown deepened to a scowl. “What? Two of ye against a group of armed men … and ye arrive in Dunnottar without even a scratch? Ye don’t even know how to fight.”
Heather’s mouth thinned. Aila knew she was pushing it, yet hurt still boiled within her. She was tired of being the last to discover things. Her parents still wrapped her in wool like she was a five-year-old. Often they’d be discussing politics when she entered the room, and then they’d abruptly change topic. It was as if they thought she’d shatter if she came in contact with the world outside the fortress.
Aila wasn’t a fool; she knew things were bad for the Scots at the moment. After a few years of uneasy truce, the English had attacked once more. King Edward of England had just taken Stirling Castle, while a second fork of his army was rampaging up the south-western coast of Scotland. If the English took Dunnottar again, her parents wouldn’t be able to protect her, yet they seemed intent on keeping her cosseted.
“I know how to wield a dirk … Maximus showed me,” Heather replied stiffly. “And Maximus is a formidable swordsman. He defeated them.”
Aila stared back at her sister, torn between disbelief and admiration. “Well,” she said, a little deflated now. “Ye should know that Blair Galbraith is intent on avenging not just Iain, but Cory too.”
Heather’s gaze shadowed, and she took a step closer to Aila. “Did that bastard harm ye?”
The concern on her sister’s face was real, yet Aila clenched her jaw as irritation surged. She would not let Heather change the subject. “He grabbed me … and would have done worse … if Captain Gaius hadn’t intervened.”
Heat flowered across Aila’s chest when she said these last words. Moments later, a blush crept up her neck. Ever since her sister’s return to Dunnottar, she’d done her best to avoid Heather’s questions about her feelings for the handsome captain.
Heather’s eyes gleamed, her expression turning sly. “Really?”
Aila stiffened, her face flaming. “Aye,” she replied. “But that’s not important … what matters is—”
“Ye have gone as red as a poppy, dear sister.”
Curling her fingers into fists, Aila clenched her jaw. “No, I haven’t.”
“Aye, y
e have … and if I had a looking glass to hand, I’d show ye.”
Aila glared back, aware that her cheeks now burned. Curse her sister and her knowing looks. Heaving in a deep breath, she decided to use Heather’s own trick and brazen the situation out. Maybe, her sister would back off if she thought Aila didn’t care what she thought.
Aila gave Heather a haughty look she’d learned from their mother. “Well … I’ll have ye know that he was very gallant. Captain Gaius sent Galbraith slinking away like a beaten dog, and he was very concerned about me.”
That made Heather’s smile slip. “He was?”
“Aye … it’s not that strange.” Aila drew herself up, chin tilting. “Perhaps he will dance with me this eve … it is Beltaine after all.”
Heather drew in a slow breath, her expression growing serious. “I do hope ye aren’t pining for him, Aila … it won’t do ye any good.”
Aila’s breathing hitched.
Her sister had no idea how she pined for him. He was the first thing she thought about each morning when she awoke, and her last thought before she drifted off to sleep at night. She looked forward to those times, to the quiet moments of the day, for they allowed her to daydream of what life would be like as Cassian Gaius’s wife.
“Why won’t it?” she replied, her tone sharpening. “Ye speak as if he’d never be interested in the likes of me.”
Heather shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Ye are lovely, Aila … and one day a man will sweep ye off yer feet and make ye his wife. But Cassian has never shown any interest in taking things further. It’s unwise to give yer heart to someone who doesn’t want ye in return.”
Aila drew back. “What makes ye think he doesn’t want me?”
“Has he ever encouraged ye?” Heather’s tone was gentle now, her eyes shadowed.
However, her concern merely angered Aila. She was tired of being patronized. “He takes his role as captain seriously,” she shot back. “And I respect that. But ye should have seen him today … he was protective and concerned about my welfare.”