by Jayne Castel
“What is it?” Aila stared up at his face, all hollows and angles in the moonlight.
Cassian knelt and placed a hand flat upon the ground. “Horses,” he said, his tone hardening. “They’ve caught up with us.”
At that moment, the rumble of thundering hoof-beats cut through the night air.
“Gavina, Elizabeth!” Cassian called out. “To me … now!”
The ladies rushed forward, their faces taut and pale.
“Get behind me,” he instructed. “All of you.”
The three women did as bid. Cassian then drew the dagger from his belt and handed it to Aila.
“You may have to use this.” Cassian’s gaze gleamed as he stared down at her. “Wait till your attacker is close and then go for the throat or eyes … their torsos will be protected by chainmail, so don’t try to stab them there.”
Aila’s heart started to pound a tattoo against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she could stab anyone. If only I were a fearless Pict warrior woman. But pushing down her fear, Aila nodded.
There was no more time for talk then, for dark shapes emerged from the night and barreled toward them.
“Lord have mercy on us,” Elizabeth whispered from behind her. “They’re going to run us down.”
Even Cassian couldn’t protect them from being trampled by warhorses.
Aila gripped the dagger’s handle tightly and braced herself for impact.
Cassian watched the horses approach, chainmail and steel glinting. He’d drawn his sword and was ready for them, even if the knowledge that this was going to hurt turned his belly sour.
It would be worse for the women he was trying to protect.
I’ve failed. Pain lanced across his chest.
But at the last moment, the riders pulled up, their huge destriers snorting and squealing. They then drew out in a circle around the man and three women who stood upon the hilltop.
“Did you really think you’d outrun us?” A deep voice boomed through the night. A massive knight drew up his warhorse a few yards back from Cassian. He spoke French. When Cassian didn’t reply, the man gave a low, humorless chuckle. “We found your friend. The woman was witless … kept screaming that she’d fled Lucifer.” A heavy gaze settled upon Cassian. “Was she speaking about you?”
“It seems so,” Cassian replied, his voice cool and even.
“What have you done to Jean?” Elizabeth shouted.
“She’s dead,” the knight said flatly, swinging down from his horse. “The king has ordered that you all die.”
Elizabeth choked back a sob, while Lady Gavina whispered a prayer.
Cassian’s lips thinned. Prayers weren’t going to save any of them now. He kept his attention riveted upon the knight. The man drew the heavy broadsword from his side, and the sound of steel scraping against leather rent the night.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Cassian readied himself for combat. He would fight to the bitter end, but that wouldn’t help these three women.
Aila’s going to die.
Cassian’s belly clenched into a hard ball. Being immortal didn’t give him the power of ten men. He could still feel pain, could still be brought to his knees by injuries. They could cut him to pieces, and he’d still heal with the rising of the sun—but Aila, Gavina, and Elizabeth wouldn’t.
And when he rose from the dead, he’d find the mutilated bodies of the women he’d failed to keep safe.
The big knight came at him then. He wielded the broadsword double-handed, the heavy blade slicing through the air.
One of the women screamed. It was a heart-rending, chilling sound that carried far across these lonely hills.
Gritting his teeth, Cassian swung his gladius high and lunged forward.
XXXI
MERCY
THE MOMENT THE huge knight swung for Cassian, Aila’s heart leaped into her throat.
We’re doomed.
At least half a dozen more men had dismounted and now encircled them. Closing in like wolves, they drew their swords, but didn’t attack—not yet. Once their leader brought down the women’s protector, it would be over.
But Cassian wasn’t so easily beaten. Aila shifted close to the ladies. However, her gaze remained riveted upon him.
Gilded by moonlight, he feinted, parried, and attacked with a fluidity that was breathtaking to watch. His blade became little more than a silver blur. He fought like a man who’d had years to practice—an ancient warrior.
Cassian was a big man, but his opponent was huge, and he wielded a lethal broadsword. Yet, Cassian brought him to his knees with a vicious stab to the leg.
The knight roared, swinging his blade around to intercept Cassian’s next strike just in time. He then bellowed, “Attaque!”
The surrounding men moved. An English soldier leaped toward Aila before Cassian intercepted him and drove his short, sharp blade into the man’s throat.
But the first knight wasn’t done for yet. He lunged to his feet with a roar and swung at Cassian’s neck.
He’d have decapitated him, but Cassian ducked, and the blade whistled overhead.
Suddenly, Cassian was surrounded on all sides. He hissed as one of the English blades found its mark, cutting through his chainmail.
Aila’s knees threatened to buckle, a cry rising in her throat.
She knew he couldn’t die, but she didn’t want to see him cut to pieces in front of her either. Not only that, but he was the only thing standing between them and the English soldiers.
Heedless, Cassian fought on, savage now.
But it was hopeless. They all knew it.
Gavina screamed, and Aila twisted around to see that one of the soldiers had grabbed her. He had hold of Gavina’s hair and was dragging her away while she kicked and clawed at him.
Terror jolted through Aila.
He’s going to rape her! I have to do something.
The knife didn’t sit easily in Aila’s hand, yet she tightened her fingers around the hilt and gathered her courage. Gavina fought the soldier like a hell-cat, clawing, biting, and kicking. Her fury was slowing him, but if Aila didn’t act now, it would be too late.
Jaw clenched, she flew at the soldier—and slashed him across the throat.
The feel of steel slicing through flesh made Aila’s stomach heave, but she went through with it, reeling back as darkness bloomed across his pale throat.
Eyes startling white in the hoary light of the moon, the soldier stared at her an instant, his mouth working in a soundless curse. And then he crumpled.
Gavina’s breathing came in rasping sobs as she scrambled away from her attacker. Wild-eyed, she clutched at Aila and Elizabeth, and the three women clung together. But men closed in on them on all sides now, cutting them off from Cassian.
Aila gripped the dagger tighter still, although she was shaking so violently that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wield it. All the advancing soldiers were wary of her now.
The man nearest grimaced, his teeth flashing white in the darkness before he muttered something in a tone that needed no translation.
Aila broke into a cold sweat, a sob rising within her. She wanted to be brave, but these men terrified her.
And then the twang of a bow-string cut through the night.
The soldier who was just moments from making a grab for Aila stiffened. His face then contorted in agony, and his knees gave way beneath him. When he toppled forward, Aila spied a fletched arrow embedded between his shoulder blades. It had pierced the chainmail.
Out of the darkness, the silhouettes of men appeared. Prowling close, they drew a net around the cluster of figures standing upon the brow of the hill.
Aila choked back a whimper. Her heart was beating so wildly now she couldn’t hear anything else. She moved forward, shielding Elizabeth and Gavina. However, the dagger she held out before her shook.
Were these men friend or foe? She wouldn’t let her guard down, for they could easily be outlaws looking for unsuspecting travelers on the hills.
But as she looked on, steel flashed, and the dark-clad men engaged the English soldiers.
Aila spied Cassian then. He’d just managed to kill the huge knight who led the patrol. Sweat glistened upon Cassian’s face when he straightened up, gasping for breath. His gaze swung left and right, taking in the scene around him.
The choking sounds of dying men echoed over the hillside as the newcomers finished off the remaining English.
One of the English soldiers threw down his sword and sank to his knees.
“Pitié!” The man gasped. “Je me rends!”
Aila’s French was very poor, but even she understood the soldier. He was pleading for mercy, surrendering himself to them.
A dark shape emerged from the night, and a man clad in a rippling cloak strode toward the kneeling soldier.
In the moonlight, Aila saw that the soldier had removed his helm. He was young—barely older than seventeen winters at most.
Barely more than a lad, and yet a man all the same.
And as the newcomer neared, he pushed back the cowl that hid his identity.
Aila sucked in a breath. She recognized him.
It was Draco. The Wallace’s right-hand. A patrol from Dunnottar had found them.
Approaching the English soldier, Draco’s hawkish gaze fastened upon the man’s face.
“S’il vous plait,” the young man gasped, his voice breaking. “Aies pitié!”
But Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he drew the dagger at his waist and struck.
The English soldier gave a soft, choking gasp and then crumpled to the ground, his throat cut.
Suddenly, there was no sound but the wind whistling across the hilltop. Draco wiped his knife off on his cloak and then resheathed his blade, his gaze surveying the three women clinging together.
Cassian staggered across to where Aila still stood before the ladies. He moved awkwardly, favoring his right side. His gaze traveled down the length of her body, checking for injuries, before it rested upon the bloodied dagger she still gripped.
Cassian met Aila’s eye then, and he managed a tight smile. “I knew I could rely on you, Aila.”
“Drag the corpses into a pile and burn them.”
The men of Wallace’s patrol got to work. Sitting on the brow of the hill, hunched over the deep wound in his left flank, Cassian listened to Draco’s voice carrying through the predawn stillness. The patrol dragged the bodies of the fallen English soldiers into the gully below and lay them upon a pyre of dry reeds before setting it alight.
Cassian sat, unmoving, watching the smoke snake up into the cobalt sky. The Broom-star was fading from sight. The sunrise wasn’t far off.
Once he’d overseen his men, Draco joined Cassian on the hilltop. “Norris reached us at Dunnottar,” he murmured, shifting to Latin so the women seated nearby couldn’t catch his words. “The Hammer isn’t what we thought it was?”
Cassian shook his head, grimacing. The throbbing in his side made him feel sick; dawn couldn’t come soon enough. “It’s not the ‘Battle Hammer’ that will strike Dunnottar,” he agreed between gritted teeth. “But Edward, the ‘Hammer of the Scots’. And if Longshanks didn’t have a good reason to attack Dunnottar before, he does now … De Keith tried to kill him and got his throat cut for his trouble.”
Draco’s gaze widened as he took in this news. He then flashed Cassian a grin, his teeth white in the dim light. “It looks like the Wallace is about to meet his old foe again.”
Cassian grunted. “If he’s wise, he’ll leave Dunnottar. Longshanks wants his guts.”
Draco chuckled, although the sound had no humor in it. “No chance of that … you know how much that man loves a good scrap.”
Blood stained the peaty earth, the offal stench of it making Aila’s already delicate stomach churn all the more. With the rising of the sun, the slaughter around them upon the hill became evident.
Cassian sat a few feet away with Draco, his face pale, his features pinched. He’d suffered a deep cut to his flank. But as the first glimmers of sun touched him, his expression relaxed, and he no longer hunched over.
Just like the morning before, he was healed and whole once more.
Aila watched the two men converse quietly. She wondered if Draco would question Cassian about his injuries. Would he be surprised to see his friend healed so quickly?
Dark smoke wreathed up in the gully below from the pyre, staining the lightening sky. Elizabeth watched it, her face grim. However, Aila noted that Gavina’s attention was upon Draco, a deep crease etched between her finely arched eyebrows.
“Why didn’t ye show him mercy?” She eventually spoke up, her cool voice cutting through the dawn hush.
Draco glanced toward the lady, his own brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“That lad asked for clemency,” she continued, holding his gaze. “Why didn’t ye give it to him?”
Draco shrugged. “That lad would have raped you if given the chance, My Lady.”
Gavina stiffened. Her cornflower-blue eyes shadowed.
When she didn’t reply, Draco frowned. “Is that the thanks I get for coming to your rescue?”
“Of course I’m grateful for yer assistance,” Gavina replied stiffly.” Her face had gone taut. “But when a man goes down on his knees and surrenders … it is honorable to spare his life.”
Draco’s mouth twisted. “Honorable?”
“That’s enough, Draco,” Cassian cut in, a warning edge to his voice.
Draco snorted, yet heeded his friend.
Another silence settled upon the hill-top—this one fragile. Gavina turned her attention away from Cassian and Draco, her gaze traveling toward the north-eastern horizon. The Lady of Dunnottar’s expression was now shuttered. Aila sensed she wished she were already home—far away from all this brutality and bloodshed.
The hush drew out, and then Cassian and Draco resumed speaking once more. Aila had overheard them exchange a few words earlier, and once again she realized they conversed in another tongue.
She watched them for a few moments before stillness crept over her. Her breathing slowed, suspicion flowering.
Cassian. Draco. Maximus. Latin names. Friends who’d come together at Dunnottar. Foreign men who’d made Scotland their home.
Aila’s breathing quickened. Her thoughts started to whirl. “Cassian,” she gasped. “Ye aren’t the only one who’s immortal … are ye?”
Cassian’s attention cut to her, his face suddenly strained. Next to him, alarm flared in Draco’s dark eyes. He flinched, as if Aila had just struck him, before he turned to his friend, his voice rough. “You told them?”
Cassian nodded. “My hand was forced.”
Aila stared at the two men. “Maximus too?” she demanded.
The merest nod of Cassian’s chin confirmed her fear. Her pulse started to gallop.
Does Heather know about this?
She remembered her sister’s shadowed gaze when Aila had revealed her feelings for Cassian, and how she’d tried to steer Aila away from him.
Suddenly, everything fell into place.
Of course, Heather knew.
Heat ignited in Aila’s belly. She knew, and she didn’t say anything.
Draco muttered a curse, turning on Cassian. “What’s wrong with you?” he snarled. “Why don’t you find yourself a tower to shout it from, man?”
Fortunately for him, the five of them were alone on the hilltop for the moment; Draco’s men were still busy tending to the pyre they’d lit.
Cassian cast his friend an apologetic look but didn’t defend himself.
Aila shared a glance with Gavina and Elizabeth. This all seemed unreal.
Lady Gavina then shifted her attention to Draco, understanding flickering across her face. “No wonder ye are so ruthless,” she murmured. “Immortality has made ye so.”
XXXII
NOT MY SECRET TO TELL
“YOU’VE GOT MUCK for brains.”
“Clearly.”
&nbs
p; Draco and Cassian walked side-by-side over the last hill before Dunnottar. In front of them, the fortress rose against the morning sky. Gulls wheeled, screeching overhead. The two men led the way, a few yards ahead of Gavina, Elizabeth, and Aila, while the rest of Wallace’s patrol brought up the rear.
“I don’t understand,” Draco continued, scowling. “All these years, you’ve been the most guarded of the three of us. What compelled you to tell those women?”
Cassian didn’t reply immediately. Truthfully, he didn’t feel like sharing anything with Draco at present. Nonetheless, he knew his friend wouldn’t let the matter drop.
“Things got … complicated,” he murmured.
“What kind of fool answer is that?”
“Stop being an arse, Draco. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
Draco’s dark brows knitted together as he continued to study Cassian. “You’ve fallen for one of them, haven’t you?”
Cassian tensed. His pulse quickened as the full weight of Draco’s accusation hit him.
He had.
“Please tell me it’s not that haughty bitch … I’d credit you with better taste than that.”
“Lady Gavina rules Dunnottar now,” Cassian replied, casting Draco a quelling look. “Try to be a little less insulting.”
“Hades, you aren’t in love with her?”
“No,” Cassian snapped, his temper fraying. “It’s … Aila.”
Draco stumbled, his eyes flying wide. A moment passed, and then a hard smile stretched his face. “So, you’ve started ravishing virgins now?” He glanced over his shoulder, looking back at the women, before turning his incredulous gaze on Cassian once more. “You horny hound!”
Cassian cast him a dark look, but Draco laughed, not remotely cowed. “Serves you right … always preaching to us about how to behave with women. Max is going to love this.”
Cassian drew in a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to rein in his quickening temper. “No doubt … but he won’t be as irritating as you.”