by Jayne Castel
But as one song blended into another, he didn’t.
VIII
REINVENTION
“YOU DO REALIZE that lass is smitten with you?”
Draco’s comment, issued with his usual laconic tone, made Cassian glance his friend’s way. “What?”
“You heard me.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it?”
Cassian frowned. He shifted his attention then, to where a comely figure dressed in plum and scarlet stood alone next to the far window, a goblet of wine clutched in her hand.
Aila De Keith was watching the dancing with a hopeful look upon her pretty face.
“No,” he lied. “I hadn’t.”
Draco snorted. “Unbelievable. I know you can be obtuse sometimes … but the girl couldn’t make her pining for you any clearer.”
Cassian stiffened. “Stop talking rot.”
Draco gave him a long-suffering look. “She watches you all the time.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Cassian scoffed, irritation surfacing.
Draco shook his head. “She gazes at you, man. And tonight, you’d have to be blind not to see it.”
Cassian raised his cup to his lips and took a large gulp.
He wasn’t blind.
But he certainly didn’t need Draco to rub his face in it.
Cassian had caught Aila looking at him a few times over the past weeks, and when he’d come to her rescue that morning, his suspicions had been confirmed. Draco, the smug bastard, was right. The lass was infatuated. Cassian had seen the sparkle in her eyes and the blush upon her cheeks as they’d danced.
“Why do you think the laird’s wife asked you to dance with her?” Draco continued, a devilish gleam in his eye now. “She was trying to match-make.”
Cassian shrugged.
“So, you aren’t going to ask Aila to dance again?”
“No.”
Draco cocked an eyebrow. “What … and break that poor lassie’s heart?”
Cassian scowled at him. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
Draco smiled back, not even trying to deny the accusation. “I must say, you are providing me with much amusement this eve.”
Cassian took another gulp of wine before his gaze shifted back to Aila De Keith. She was lovely indeed in that plum surcoat and crimson kirtle. Her thick brown hair was piled atop her head with ringlets falling softly about her round face.
Years ago, before life took its toll upon him, she’d have been just the sort of woman he’d have pursued. Cassian liked sweet, shy lasses. Lilla had been timid the first time they’d met, but he’d enjoyed seeing her gain confidence as he earned her trust.
Thoughts of Lilla made Cassian clench his jaw. So much time had passed, and yet he still compared every woman to her. These days, however, when he closed his eyes, he had difficulty recalling her face. He remembered that she was blonde and pretty, and that her eyes had been blue—but the cast of her features now escaped him.
Heaviness pressed down upon him as he dwelled upon this fact.
Draco was deliberately goading him, and he knew why. Cassian had grown far too serious of late; his quest to solve the riddle consumed him. They were so close now that he’d become blinkered. He went about his days taking charge as Captain of the Dunnottar Guard, yet his mind was always on that last line of the riddle and the curse that held him and his friends fast.
“For the love of Mithras, don’t look so serious about it,” Draco spoke up once more. He wore a slightly disgusted expression now. “Not all women want to shackle themselves to you. Some can just be enjoyed.”
Cassian cast him a rueful look. “And you think a lass like Aila would take kindly to being enjoyed?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Hades, now you’re turning into a monk? Next you’re going to start telling me to repent my sins.”
Cassian snorted a laugh, the tension between them easing. “I wouldn’t waste my breath … you enjoy them too much.”
He glanced over at where Aila was now talking to her sister, Heather.
Draco was probably right. He should relax a little. Comparing every woman to his long-dead wife was pointless. He hadn’t taken a lover in a while, and the strain was starting to show. After Lilla’s passing, he’d enjoyed a string of women—most of them blonde and blue-eyed like his wife—in an effort to lessen Lilla’s loss. Unsurprisingly, it had only made him feel worse.
Cassian frowned, his mood shadowing once more. Maybe it was time to break the drought. Aila De Keith wasn’t the right choice though. An infatuated lass would only cause him trouble.
“Are ye enjoying the dancing?” Heather was pink-cheeked and still slightly out of breath. “I swear there isn’t a tune those musicians don’t know.”
“Aye … it’s a fine evening,” Aila replied, tightening her grip upon her goblet of wine. Six songs had passed since her dance with Cassian, and still the captain had not returned to her side to ask her for another. “The best Beltaine I remember.”
Her voice was brittle, as she couldn’t hide her disappointment. This evening certainly was one to remember; never had she swung from such elation to disappointment so wildly. Initially, she’d felt ignored and unwanted, and then when Cassian had danced with her, her spirits had soared. But in the aftermath, she actually felt worse than before. Her chest and belly ached, and she felt a little queasy.
Sensing her mood, Heather stilled. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “I know ye wish he’d show ye more attention.”
Aila swallowed. “Well, ye did try to warn me,” she replied, looking away. Actually, she desperately wanted her sister to leave her alone. Cassian was more likely to approach her again if she was on her own. And the last thing she wanted was her sister’s pity.
Heather didn’t understand what it was to long for someone like she did for Cassian.
“Maybe this is for the best,” Heather continued, her tone still gentle. “Ye need to move past this, Aila. Ye deserve to have men vying for yer hand … let them pursue ye.”
Aila’s grip upon the stem of the goblet tightened further, and she clenched her jaw. She wished Heather would leave her be.
A short while later, Heather did just that. Their mother called her over to where she was sitting with a group of other wives—women who weren’t interested in joining in the dancing.
Mercifully, Aila found herself alone once more.
Her gaze moved across the swirling crowd of dancers to where Cassian had resumed his conversation with Draco.
A knot formed just under her breast bone—and it was slowly squeezing tighter with each passing moment.
She knew she should look elsewhere, yet her attention remained upon Captain Gaius. He leaned against the wall as he spoke to his friend, one hand clasping a goblet. She’d noted what lovely hands he had a long time ago—strong, with long fingers. His touch tonight had felt even better than she’d imagined it would; he’d danced with confidence, and she’d been safe with him. He was a big man, not quite as tall as the Wallace—who was a giant among men—but tall enough to dominate any space he stepped into.
Aila longed to run her hands over the breadth of his shoulders, to lay her cheek against the hard-muscled wall of his chest.
Swallowing hard, she took a large, fortifying gulp of wine.
Heather was only trying to help, only trying to watch out for her, but her concern just made Aila all the more determined.
Other women got the man they desired. Why shouldn’t she?
Aila set her jaw, a fluttery sensation rising in her chest.
I won’t give up, she vowed. The trouble was that if she wanted to attract the handsome captain, she couldn’t remain the way she was: a timid woman who kept to the shadows for fear of being the center of attention.
If she was to be successful, she needed to reinvent herself.
Aila’s gaze flicked to where Heather was loudly arguing with their mother over something. Hands on hips, she stood her ground while Iona waggled a finger
at her.
Aila’s mouth curved at the sight.
If she wanted Cassian, she needed to be more like her sister.
Heather didn’t cringe at the sidelines; she might have made a few mistakes along her road to happiness, but she was reaping the benefits now. She’d never have met Maximus if she’d remained under her mother’s thumb at Dunnottar, like Aila had.
Aila lifted her goblet to her lips and drained the last of her wine, enjoying the heat that pooled in her belly. It gave her strength.
Glancing over at where Cassian was now laughing at something Draco had just said, the warmth in Aila’s belly spread. God’s teeth, he was breathtakingly handsome when he laughed or smiled—a rare sight indeed.
I want to be the one to bring joy to his face.
Aila drew in a deep, determined breath. In order to get Cassian to fall under her spell, she was also going to need courage.
IX
LET ME GO
IT GREW LATE, and Cassian stifled a yawn. A surfeit of rich food and drink had made him sleepy. The harpist now played soft, melancholy tunes, and just a handful of couples still danced. Most folk sat at the tables lining the hall, nursing their cups and goblets of mead, ale, and wine.
Cassian rubbed a hand over his face. It was probably time he retired for the night.
He was just about to push himself up off the wall and bid Draco good eve, when raised voices made him glance toward the hearth.
William Wallace had joined the laird and his wife there earlier, and Lady Elizabeth now sat with them.
And to Cassian’s surprise, Lady Elizabeth appeared to be arguing with her brother-by-marriage.
“What’s this?” he murmured to Draco, digging him in the side with his elbow. His friend grunted, for he’d been on the verge of dozing against the wall. Without awaiting Draco’s answer, Cassian moved closer to the group, intrigued.
“If there’s a chance Robert can be freed, we must take it, David,” Elizabeth said, her voice rising louder still. “Ye cannot sit here and let yer brother rot in an English dungeon. We must get him back. I want my husband returned safely to me.”
“Going to Stirling won’t achieve that,” David De Keith countered. His face was flushed, his brown eyes narrowed. “Best we wait until they decide to free him.”
“But that day might never come!” Lady Elizabeth drew herself up. “Ye can’t throw Robert’s life away.”
“Lady Elizabeth is right, of course,” William Wallace rumbled. “Longshanks is in Stirling … and he’s invited all the northern lairds to visit him, provided they bend the knee. Now is yer chance to go to him and make an appeal for Robert’s freedom … ye may never get another opportunity. Surely, yer own brother is worth feigning loyalty for? And while ye are there, ye can find out what action Edward plans to take next.”
The laird went still, his gaze swiveling to the Wallace. His lip then curled.
Watching them, Cassian allowed himself a tight smile. William Wallace was a clever man indeed to bring up this subject with Lady Elizabeth present. She was just the ally he needed.
“Wallace speaks true,” Lady Gavina spoke up then. Her voice was low and respectful, although Cassian caught the glint in her eye. “We should pay Edward a visit—ye, me, and Lady Elizabeth … we owe Robert that much.” She paused there, her gaze flicking to William Wallace. “And take the opportunity to find out what we can.”
David scowled at his wife. “As if he’s just going to tell us his plans, Gavina. Honestly, ye might have a pretty face, but ye are witless.”
Silence followed the laird’s insult.
To Lady Gavina’s credit, she didn’t flinch. However, her gaze shadowed. “Men reveal much when they don’t intend to,” she replied, her voice subdued. “I don’t expect Edward to lay out his plans before us, but he may inadvertently reveal something he hadn’t intended.”
“Aye, and if ye bring yer lovely wife to Stirling with ye, Edward might be distracted into letting something slip,” Wallace added. He was watching Gavina with a keen expression.
Lady Elizabeth wasn’t his only ally tonight.
“All of ye are forgetting Shaw Irvine,” David De Keith ground out. A nerve flickered under one eye, a sign that he knew this conversation was getting away from him. He was outnumbered, and no one appeared to be taking his side.
The laird was losing the argument, and they all knew it. Cassian tensed at the realization.
He was torn. As much as he wished to remain at Dunnottar, a trip to Stirling would allow him access to its vast library. He could leave Draco and Maximus in charge of things here, and if his spy in Drum Castle got in touch, they’d let him know.
They still had that last line of the riddle to untangle, and their lack of progress was frustrating. It sometimes seemed like the bandruì’s riddle only revealed itself when it was ready. Of late, he’d begun to suspect that nothing any of them did made a difference. However, Cassian couldn’t give up. Maybe he’d find the answers he sought in Stirling.
De Keith shifted his attention to his wife, staring her down. “Yer brother seeks to take lands that belong to my clan. The moment we leave Dunnottar, he will attack.”
“Let him,” Wallace rumbled. “Irvine doesn’t know that my band and I are here. Ye can go to Stirling, De Keith. I’ve already assured ye that I will defend this castle in yer absence.”
David De Keith’s face went slack, and then his mouth flattened into a thin line. For a few moments, Cassian was sure he’d object. De Keith was threatened by the outlaw leader. He had charisma and courage, and inspired loyalty in others in a way that De Keith never had or would. And David knew it.
All gazes shifted to the laird then, and Cassian watched the war waging within the man play out across his face.
“Ye fear I will betray ye, De Keith?” William Wallace broke the weighty silence, voicing the very thing that had been playing across Cassian’s mind. The laird frowned, although before he replied, Wallace continued. “I saved Dunnottar once before, David. I rescued ye all from the English … and if I’d wanted to take this castle for my own, I’d have done so years ago. The distrust I see in yer eyes now offends me.” Wallace’s tone was gentle, yet there was no missing the steel that lay just beneath.
De Keith’s throat bobbed. No one wanted to offend William Wallace. Tales of what he did to those who angered him were now legend throughout Scotland. Cassian had heard that he’d made the dried skin of Hugh de Cressingham—the hated English treasurer he’d killed at the Battle of Stirling Bridge—into a scabbard, hilt, and belt.
Cassian’s gaze slid to the wide leather belt the Wallace wore about his waist—was this it?
“I meant no offense, William,” De Keith rasped. “But ye can see why I’m hesitant to leave Dunnottar at present.” He cast his wife another simmering look. “Irvine will strike the moment my back is turned.”
“And as I said, let him,” Wallace replied coolly. “I’ll shove his ‘Battle Hammer’ up his arse if he dares bring it here.”
“I don’t want ye going to Stirling, Aila. It’s not safe!”
Aila looked up from where she was laying out kirtles on the bed and trying to decide which ones to pack. Her mother stood in the doorway, twisting the gold band she wore on her left hand—a sure sign she was agitated.
Letting out a long breath, Aila favored her mother with a smile. “Worry not, Ma. The laird has hand-picked twenty of his best warriors to escort us. I’ll be fine. Ye wouldn’t let Lady Gavina travel without her lady’s maid, would ye? Lady Elizabeth is joining us as well … and bringing Jean, her maid, with her.”
Aila had been delighted to discover that Captain Gaius would lead them. They’d journey to Stirling together. Her chest constricted at the thought. If she wanted an opportunity to gain Cassian’s attention, this was it. Away from Dunnottar, they could form an attachment much easier. Also, away from her mother, Aila could behave differently. Perhaps this would allow her to break free of her crippling shyness.
; “Twenty isn’t enough!” Iona De Keith twisted her wedding band once more. “Ye will be going straight into the wolf’s den in Stirling.”
Aila inhaled deeply. “Please, Ma … we wouldn’t be going if it was that dangerous.”
“Ye have never been away from Dunnottar. Ye have no idea how treacherous it is beyond these walls. Look what happened to yer sister!”
Aila straightened up, her smile fading as irritation bubbled within her. “Heather needed to leave Dunnottar,” she pointed out, her tone sharpening. “It was the making of her.”
Her mother stifled a gasp. “What nonsense is this?”
“It’s not nonsense. Heather learned of the world, and I wish to do the same.”
Iona’s face darkened. “What foolery has yer sister been filling yer head with? I will have words with her.”
“Heather hasn’t said anything to me,” Aila countered. She wished her mother would go away and let her finish packing. They were to leave at first light the following day, and there was still much to organize. “I am more than capable of drawing my own conclusions and making my own choices, Ma.”
“Foolish lass,” her mother cried, advancing on her. “I’ll not have ye travel to Stirling. Edward Longshanks is there. He’s likely to have ye all murdered in yer beds!”
“Enough, Ma.” Aila grasped her mother’s hands and held them fast. She’d rarely seen her this agitated. And now that they stood close, she realized that her mother’s grey-green eyes, so similar to Heather’s, gleamed with unshed tears.
She’s scared for me.
“Ma,” Aila murmured softly. “I know ye only wish to keep me safe, but ye know ye can’t.”
Her mother swallowed, her jaw clenching as she sought to keep her agitation in check. Staring into her eyes, Aila screwed up her courage. It was odd, but she’d always let her mother cow her, had always let her decide what was best for her.