by Jayne Castel
Their gazes fused before Draco’s mouth twitched once more. “I haven’t seen any tender words or longing looks pass between you though … things aren’t going well?”
Cassian shook his head. He shifted his gaze back to Dunnottar’s solid curtain wall. “I ended things before she found out about my immortality. Just as well … I need to focus at the moment … we all do. I imagine we can expect a visit from Edward soon.”
Chaos reigned the moment they entered the lower ward bailey. Guards and residents of the keep rushed out to meet them. News that Lady Gavina had returned—but without her husband or escort—had raced through the keep. Rows of guards stationed high on the walls turned from their posts, their gazes sweeping over the ragged party that had just arrived.
Aila stood in the cobbled expanse while an excited crowd swirled around her. Legs, back, and feet aching, she looked for an escape. But, for the moment, she was hemmed in. Her belly was hollowed out in hunger, and she desperately needed to slake her thirst. However, she had to go to her parents and sister first.
Her attention shifted to the archway leading into the keep, where a huge man with wild dark hair emerged.
Wallace’s heavy-featured face creased into a scowl as he surveyed the ragged party who’d returned with his men.
Behind him, a maid stepped out into the breezy morning, a bairn perched upon her hip. The lad—brown-haired and apple-cheeked—struggled to be let down. Even at three winters old, wee Robbie De Keith, was showing an independent spirit.
“Ma!” The lad had spotted Lady Elizabeth and was waving frantically to her. With a long-suffering grimace, the maid set the bairn onto his feet.
Elizabeth picked up her skirts and pushed her way through the fray, scooping Robbie up into her arms and spinning him around.
Aila’s throat constricted when she saw that Elizabeth’s cheeks were wet with tears. She’d risked never returning to her son. Not only that, but the disastrous turn of events had put her husband—Robbie’s father—in grave danger.
Shifting her gaze to where Lady Gavina stood next to Cassian, Aila saw a weary expression settle over her mistress’s face. This wasn’t the return she’d envisaged. There would be a lot of explaining to do.
William Wallace approached now, his expression formidable. His gaze never wavered from Gavina. “What happened, My Lady?”
The Lady of Dunnottar swallowed before huffing a bitter laugh. Around her, the chattering crowd quietened. “Where to start, William?”
“Why didn’t ye tell me?”
Heather stiffened at Aila’s aggressive tone. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”
Aila clenched her jaw. Part of her knew that Heather was right, but another part still stung with betrayal. “I thought we’d cleared the air after yer return to Dunnottar,” she continued doggedly. “But still ye persist in keeping things from me.”
Heather’s eyes shadowed. “That’s not true, Aila. I was trying to protect ye.”
The pair of them stood in the tiny walled garden atop the castle’s upper ward. A sheltered spot, it was usually the most peaceful corner of the keep. However, today, the chatter of excited voices echoed up from the lower ward, mingling with the ever-present hammering that drifted up from Galbraith’s forge. The smith now had a group of lads working with him to keep up with the sheer volume of sword and dirk blades required to kit out the swelling number of warriors within the keep.
Aila had followed her sister outdoors after being reunited with her family. Iona had burst into tears when she’d heard what had befallen them in Stirling. Donnan was still trying to calm her.
A bee buzzed past the sisters, traveling from a pale-pink rose bush to a clump of lavender.
Aila folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to hold onto her anger. She didn’t want to argue with her sister, not after the ordeal of the past few days.
Heather stepped close. “Now ye know why I was cautious when ye told me how ye felt about Cassian. He’s a good man, Aila … but the curse upon him is a heavy weight to bear.” Her gaze narrowed. “Ye’ve lain with him, haven’t ye?”
Aila nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Hot tears suddenly prickled the back of her eyelids. She hadn’t wept since their flight from Stirling, but seeing Heather again made her defenses crumble.
Heather’s features tightened. “When?”
“In Stirling … before I learned his secret,” Aila admitted, her voice hoarse now. “He ended things between us the following morning.”
Heather’s eyes deepened from grey-green to emerald, a sure sign she was angry. “He took advantage of ye?”
Aila shook her head. She knew what her sister thought, and she had to put her right. “No, Heather. It was me. On the journey to Stirling, I sensed that he was attracted to me but reluctant to act upon it. A woman at the castle, the steward’s wife, gave me advice. She told me that if I wanted him, I had to take the initiative.” Aila broke off there, her throat suddenly tight. “And so … I did.” Heather’s eyes widened at this admission, yet Aila plowed on. It was best that Heather knew the whole embarrassing story; she wouldn’t confide in anyone else. “I went to his door at night and gave myself to him.”
Silence fell in the garden, the shouting of men on the surrounding walls now intruding. A sea breeze feathered through Heather’s thick brown hair as she studied her younger sister. If Aila hadn’t felt so miserable, she’d have smiled at her sister’s flummoxed expression.
“Ye seduced him?” Heather asked finally, incredulous.
Aila’s belly clenched. Put like that, it sounded awful, and yet it wasn’t far from the truth. “I suppose so,” she said weakly.
Heather raised an eyebrow, casting an assessing eye over her sister. She then favored Aila with a wide smile. “Don’t look so worried. I’m hardly going to judge ye for yer boldness … especially after my own behavior of late.”
Heat flamed across Aila’s cheeks. “Maybe not, but I judge myself. I acted like a right goose.”
Heather’s smile faded. Stepping closer still, she held out her hands and waited while her sister uncrossed her arms and took them. “Only an unlived life is absent of mistakes,” she said softly. “Ye let yer passions rule ye for a short while.” Heather’s mouth curved. “And ye wouldn’t be the first soul to do so.”
Aila gazed back at her sister, her fingers tightening around Heather’s. This was what she’d missed, this closeness between them. Ever since her return to Dunnottar, Heather had been guarding Maximus’s secret, but now that Aila knew, there was no longer any reserve between them.
“I feel like such a fool,” she whispered then, her vision misting. “I’m in love with an immortal—a man I can’t have.”
Heather’s eyes glittered in response. She blinked furiously as her own tears welled. “Ye forget, I too fell for an immortal,” she murmured back.
An ache rose in Aila’s breast. “And Maximus risked all to be with ye … despite that the curse isn’t yet broken.”
“Aye, but his story is different to Cassian’s. Ye do know about his wife?”
Aila nodded. “She died a long time ago, Heather,” she replied softly. It was time she faced the truth, as hurtful as it was. “He doesn’t want me … he never did.”
“I didn’t realize De Keith had it in him,” William Wallace’s deep voice rumbled across the laird’s solar.
“De Keith wasn’t a brave man,” Cassian replied. “But he had an ambitious streak.”
The Wallace turned from where he’d been staring out the window, fixing Cassian with an incredulous stare. “Ye think he did it for glory?”
Cassian pursed his lips. He stood by the hearth, with its glow warming the back of his legs. Frankly, he wanted only to escape to the solitude of his quarters, but this conversation couldn’t wait. Lady Gavina had just left them after telling Wallace the story of their ill-fated visit to Stirling. Hollow-eyed from exhaustion, the lady had retired to her quarters, where servants had prepared a hot bath for her. “It’s
likely,” he replied. “David felt overshadowed by his warrior brother … he had something to prove.”
Wallace snorted. His gaze fixed upon Cassian then. “Did ye manage to learn anything of Longshanks’ plans … or did De Keith ruin that too?”
“Our investigations were cut short. I’m afraid the mission was largely a failure … but Comyn did reveal some things that might interest you,” Cassian replied cautiously. He observed Wallace’s expression as he said the Guardian of Scotland’s name, but the outlaw’s face gave nothing away. “Comyn says that Longshanks isn’t planning to attack the north yet … not for a while at least.” Cassian paused there. “However, after David’s act, I wouldn’t be surprised if Edward’s plans have changed.” Of course, the riddle confirmed that the Hammer of the Scots would soon strike Dunnottar. Yet how could Cassian explain this to the Wallace?
Wallace listened, his gaze gleaming. “Aye, I’d say ye are right, Captain. Still, since we’re already preparing for Irvine’s ‘Battle Hammer’, we’ll be ready for Longshanks as well when he does come. What else did Comyn tell ye?”
“The king’s son, Edward, Prince of Wales, also has a taste for conquering … and is doing a fine job of subduing the south-west. Scotland has more than Longshanks to worry about in the future.” Wallace scowled at this, but Cassian continued. “Finally, Edward is as arrogant as the tales boast … however, there are two Scots that concern him. He worries about the ambitions of Robert Bruce.”
Wallace took this in with a shrug, before he grinned. “And the second bothersome Scot?” With a jolt, Cassian realized that he already knew the answer.
“Longshanks nurses a deep hatred for you, Wallace,” Cassian confirmed. “He wants to see you hanged.”
To his surprise, the big man laughed—a loud boom of mirth that rolled off the surrounding stone.
Cassian quirked an eyebrow. “Not many men laugh in the face of death,” he observed.
“Every man dies … not every man really lives,” Wallace answered, sobering. “When I meet my maker, I’ll do so knowing I gave my all to this life. I’d gladly die a thousand times over for Scotland.”
Cassian stilled. Brave words, Wallace … but would you? Moments passed, and then he cleared his throat. “All the same … do you really want to be at Dunnottar when Edward of England arrives?”
The fleeting humor faded from Wallace’s eyes, replaced with an iron look of resolve. “Aye,” he replied roughly. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now.”
XXXIII
WORDS ON THE WALL
“I’M SO TIRED of this,” Draco growled. “We’ll never solve that damn riddle.”
“We’re all tired,” Maximus replied frowning, “but we’re so close now … I can almost taste it.” He glanced over at where Cassian leaned against the wall, his legs stretched out before him. “Aren’t we, Cass?”
It was at this point that Cassian usually leaped in with some advice that would spur them on. He was the most optimistic of the three of them, but fatigue had lowered his defenses. Today despondency weighed upon him like a heavy mantle. He couldn’t dredge up the words.
Cassian pinched the skin between his eyebrows. Mithras, I need sleep.
He’d just come from speaking to the Wallace, and been heading toward his quarters, when Maximus had intercepted him. Now the three of them sat around the small table in the center of their ‘study’, a windowless room at the back of Dunnottar dungeons.
“Max is right,” Cassian said tonelessly when an uncomfortable silence settled in the chamber. “It might not seem like it … but we are making progress.” He lifted his cup to his lips once more and drained the rest of his ale. This conversation was giving him a headache. He really was tired after the journey, and longed to stretch out in his chamber and sleep the rest of the day away.
By rights, he should be jubilant, for they’d managed to get Gavina, Elizabeth, and Aila safely home. However, he felt empty. Even seeing Dunnottar rising against the eastern sky hadn’t filled him with pride as it usually did. The mess with Aila had left a sour taste in his mouth, one that no amount of ale could wash away.
She knew his secret, but that only made things more strained between them. He’d been given a reprieve during the journey, for danger had brought them together for a spell. But things would be different back in Dunnottar. Shortly after they’d entered the lower ward bailey, she’d rushed off to see her family. He’d likely see very little of her from today forward. It was for the best, yet a hollow ache in the center of his chest plagued him whenever he thought of her.
Pushing the sensation aside, Cassian reached for the jug of ale and refilled his cup. “The board is set … things are likely to move fast now,” he said, avoiding his friends’ penetrating gazes. “Maybe, we just need to stop searching for answers and let the game begin.”
Loud voices boomed against the paneled walls of Dunnottar’s hall, partially drowning out the conversation of those seated closest to Aila.
News of David De Keith’s death had raced through the keep, and would have reached the nearby village of Stonehaven by now. Everyone would know how he’d tried to knife the English king and paid for it with his own life. Some would doubtless even consider him a hero for the act.
Steaming tureens of venison stew sat upon the table. The rich stew was served with oaten bread and wedges of aged sheep’s cheese. Despite the knot that still sat under her ribcage, Aila ate hungrily. Although Iona had brought a hearty noon meal up to her earlier in the day, she still felt famished. Around Aila, the conversation eddied and flowed. Her sister sat next to her, but was kept busy placating their overwrought mother.
Relief settled over Aila. She was glad that few folk paid her much attention. She wished to be ignored this evening.
Farther down the table, William Wallace was deep in conversation with Cassian and her father, although Aila was careful not to look in their direction. She’d deliberately avoided glancing anywhere near Dunnottar’s Captain of the Guard. Once or twice, she’d felt his gaze upon her, yet she’d refused to look his way.
Her conversation with Heather earlier in the day had made some things clear.
She’d made a mistake, one that she somehow needed to make peace with.
But she was home now, and with war looming on the horizon, she needed to focus on what had to be done to protect this stronghold. Many of the women currently spent their afternoons fletching arrows, and Aila would join them the following day. Lady Gavina had increased the number of guards keeping watch on the walls, and upped the frequency of patrols south of the fortress. Despite the word of Comyn, the consensus was that Longshanks would likely seek vengeance for De Keith’s act. It was better to be safe than sorry. While Aila had helped her mistress dress for supper, Gavina informed her that Wallace intended to stay on in Dunnottar. Her brother wasn’t the greatest immediate threat now, but sooner or later Shaw Irvine would likely have to be dealt with.
No, Aila’s bruised and battered heart didn’t matter. And neither did her shredded pride. She’d learned a valuable lesson, and although Heather had tried to soften the disappointment, she’d unwittingly just driven the blade in deeper.
After all, Maximus had bound himself to Heather knowing that there was a real risk he might never break the curse.
His love for her overcame his fears.
Obviously, Cassian didn’t feel the same way about Aila. She couldn’t blame him for it, for he’d made his position clear.
It was time to bury her broken heart.
All the same, it had been an effort to attend this supper. She’d wanted to avoid Cassian. Nonetheless, she couldn’t skulk in the shadows now they’d returned to Dunnottar. This was her home too. In the end, she’d agreed to go just to keep her mother’s nagging at bay.
Aila glanced up from her stew to see Lady Gavina was watching her. The Lady of Dunnottar had taken the laird’s carven chair. It dwarfed her, although her mistress sat proudly upon it, her chin held high. Dressed in a charcoa
l-colored woolen kirtle, her pale hair tightly braided and wrapped around her crown, her mistress cut a regal, yet somber, figure. David and Gavina’s relationship had been so strained it was sometimes easy to forget that the lady was now a widow in mourning.
“Are ye well, Aila?” Gavina asked, raising her voice to be heard over the clamor of nearby conversation.
Aila tensed. Was her unhappiness so easy to read upon her face? “Aye,” she replied, forcing a bright smile. “I’m still reeling from it all, I suppose.” She paused then, keen to turn the conversation away from herself. “Ye look like ye belong in that chair, My Lady.”
Gavina cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t look like a bairn sitting in my father’s seat?”
Aila gave a snort. “No.” The two women’s gazes held for a few moments before Aila continued. “I think ye’ll make a fine laird. Ye rule these lands now, My Lady … and I wager ye’ll do a much better job of it than yer husband.”
Gavina’s gaze widened. It was a bold statement—the boldest Aila had ever made to the woman she served, but Aila meant every word. She dared her mistress to contradict her.
Gavina drew in a deep breath, a smile curving her lips. “I appreciate the faith ye have in me, Aila,” she replied. “We live in dark times indeed …but I swear to ye that I’ll do my best to keep this castle and all living within its walls safe.”
Cassian rose from the table, ignoring something that Draco had just said to him. Instead, his gaze was upon the young woman a few yards away.
Aila De Keith had studiously avoided his gaze all evening. Seated to the right of her mother and sister, eyes downcast, she had said little to anyone besides Lady Gavina. Her lovely face, which was usually so frank, was shuttered and strained.
He didn’t like seeing her like this. Withdrawn. Detached.
This is my doing.
On the journey home, just before the English soldiers had caught up with them, he’d apologized. He couldn’t let Aila shoulder the blame. She’d been gracious, yet reserved. He’d broken the trust between them.