Draco: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  The baron slid a scroll from the sleeve of his surcoat and deftly shoved it under the empty earthen bowl on the platter before him.

  Fyfa swept across the solar toward Comyn, bringing with her the scent of honey-suckle. The guards’ gazes tracked her hungrily. They’d been hired to keep watch on the former Guardian of the Realm at all times—but like most men, a beautiful woman drew their eye.

  “Good day, John,” Fyfa greeted him with a knowing smile. “Did ye enjoy yer nooning meal?”

  “It was hearty fare indeed,” he rumbled. “Please thank the cooks.”

  Fyfa’s blue eyes glinted. “I shall.” She picked up the tray, before tossing a sultry look at the guard behind her who was openly gawking at her shapely rear. “I do like a man with an appetite,” she murmured.

  Then, with a wink to Comyn, who was now biting his cheek to stop himself from grinning, she sailed out of the solar.

  Three pairs of hungry eyes tracked her.

  Comyn sat back in his chair and patted his satiated belly.

  Please thank the cooks.

  Their brief exchange was the only clue Fyfa needed that a missive sat under the bowl he’d just passed her. Actually, there were two messages wrapped up in that scroll.

  The first was to his brother, who was looking after things for him at Badenoch. In the message, he gave Blair Galbraith’s name and implored Gordon to send men to Fintry to ‘deal with him’. The man was a traitor to Scotland. But the body of the missive instructed his brother to gather the full force of his warriors and march on Stirling.

  And the second note was to be couriered by a fast horse to Lochmaben Castle in Annandale, where Robert Bruce currently resided. Comyn had a strained relationship with Bruce. Like Longshanks, he suspected his family of coveting the Scottish throne. However, in times like this, Scottish blood was all that mattered. This was their chance to unite against the English, and Comyn wouldn’t squander it.

  Both his brother and Robert Bruce, he now rallied to his side. Although a sizable English garrison still held Stirling, Longshanks’s attention, and a large bulk of his force, was focused elsewhere.

  ‘The Red’ raised his pewter goblet to his lips and took a deep draft, in an effort to mask the smile that now curved his lips.

  It was time to take back Stirling for the Scots.

  Gavina emerged from her tent with the first rays of the glimmering dawn. She’d slept fully-dressed, and although a few wisps of hair had escaped her tightly wound braid, it was neat enough to leave for now. They’d reach Dunnottar by mid-morning anyway. She could bathe and change clothes then.

  Rising to her full height, Gavina arched her aching back; despite the thick fur she’d slept upon, the ground had been hard and lumpy. It felt good to stretch the kinks out of her spine now. Yawning, she swept her gaze over the clearing where they’d made camp overnight.

  The others were all readying to leave. A few yards away, Maximus and two other men were saddling the horses while Draco kicked dirt over the fire pit. Seeing Gavina had ventured out from her tent, Draco stilled, his gaze pinning her to the spot.

  “Mac … Finian.” He motioned to two of the escort. “Our Lady has arisen … you can pack up her tent.”

  Gavina’s lips thinned. From his tone of voice, you’d think she’d lain abed for hours, wasting the day while others toiled.

  When he’d spoken to the warriors, Draco’s gaze hadn’t shifted from Gavina’s face. He was watching her with a direct look that unnerved her—a stare that flayed the flesh from her bones. In the morning light, his dark eyes looked pitch-black.

  Gavina tensed her jaw. There was no denying it; this man put her on edge.

  And last night’s discussion hadn’t helped things.

  When the White Hawk and the Dragon wed …

  Gavina heaved in a deep breath. It was ridiculous—a fantastical notion that she needed to dismiss.

  And yet, she knew the curse wasn’t a lie.

  She’d seen Cassian Gaius stab himself in the heart and then heal with the rising sun. The man who stared at her across the fire pit was the same.

  Unnatural, immortal.

  Nonetheless, the urgency she’d seen written over Maximus’s face the night before had pained her. She knew what was at stake for him, Cassian, and Draco. But he asked too much. His aggression had made her withdraw and put up walls. She wouldn’t be bullied into this.

  Tearing her gaze from Draco’s, and breaking the spell he had cast over her, Gavina picked up her skirts and strode over to where Maximus had just finished saddling her palfrey.

  “Morning, My Lady,” Maximus greeted her coolly. Gavina noted that he avoided her eye. “Your gelding is ready.” He stepped back then, dipped his head, and moved on to saddle his own mount.

  Gavina watched him go, pressure mounting in her chest.

  She’d expected things to be awkward in the aftermath of that discussion. Nonetheless, she hadn’t expected Maximus to be unable to even look at her.

  “My Lady … some bannock and cheese to break yer fast?” One of the escort approached her.

  Gavina favored the man with a brittle smile. “Aye … thank ye.” She took the food from him and began to eat. Around her, the rest of the party appeared almost ready to depart. Mac and Finian had dismantled her tent swiftly, and were now rolling up the hide and fur. She’d been the only one to sleep in a tent; the rest of them had taken turns keeping watch before stretching out in front of the fire. It made packing up easy.

  The bannock was stale, yet she was hungry this morning. Traveling always gave her a hearty appetite. However, the dry griddle scone caught in her throat when she spied Draco Vulcan striding toward her.

  He’d gone off to saddle his horse, but now reappeared.

  Gavina coughed in an attempt to dislodge the bannock crumbs, before reaching for the bladder of ale tied to the back of her palfrey’s saddle. She unstoppered it and took a gulp, blinking rapidly as her eyes watered.

  And when she glanced up, Draco was standing right before her.

  Like earlier, his gaze was searing. This close, Gavina was struck by just how handsome he was: the man had near perfect coppery skin, and his features, although sharp, were beautifully sculpted. His mouth mesmerized her. The man was usually sneering or scowling, but his lips were sensual. This close, he smelled of leather and wood smoke.

  A groove creased between his finely arched brows as he watched her. “My Lady … are you well?”

  Gavina nodded, taking another gulp of ale. “Aye … just a crumb went down the wrong way.” She met his eye once more. There was a challenge in his gaze; he was daring her to look away, to take a step back from him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Did ye want something?”

  Draco inclined his head. “About last night …”

  Gavina tensed. She’d hoped he’d let the matter be—as Maximus had. She wanted to tell him she’d prefer not to speak of it, but her tongue wouldn’t comply. She merely waited for him to say his piece.

  After a long moment, Draco’s beautiful mouth quirked. “It’s not easy … being immortal, My Lady.”

  Gavina cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose it is.”

  “We were cursed in the year one hundred and eighteen of Our Lord,” he replied. “I was twenty-seven winters old at the time.” Draco shrugged then. “We’ve been chasing the answers to that riddle for well over a thousand years. Maximus finds it a strain at times … it’s really taken its toll on him—on all of us, to be honest.”

  Gavina wet her lips. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t this. The only exchanges they’d had until now had been cutting. Yet he was trying to explain things to her. “Surely, this … riddle has nothing to do with me?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

  His mouth twisted. “Maximus is convinced it does … just as he believes I am the ‘Dragon’ the riddle speaks of.” His obsidian gaze shuttered then. “Sometimes desperation makes men believe anything if it
’ll set them free.”

  “So … ye don’t think it’s true?”

  He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “No … it seems most unlikely. I’d put it out of your mind, My Lady. Forget last night’s words were ever spoken.”

  With that, he stepped back from her, turned on his heel, and stalked away.

  X

  LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE

  RELIEF SWAMPED GAVINA when the high walls of Dunnottar appeared on the south-eastern horizon.

  Home … at last.

  It was ironic really. For the longest time, the stronghold hadn’t felt like home. She’d missed Drum Castle terribly at first. She’d always been a little lonely at the Irvine stronghold, especially since her mother’s death—for her brother was unpleasant and her father largely ignored her—but it was the only home she’d ever known.

  At Dunnottar, she’d been an outsider. An Irvine. It had taken a while for folk to accept her. But with each passing year, they had embraced her a little more—and then when Robert De Keith was captured by the English a year earlier and David took his place as laird, Gavina became ‘Lady of Dunnottar’.

  These days, she felt more a De Keith than an Irvine. And the disastrous meeting with her brother had only widened the gulf.

  Riding between Maximus and Draco, Gavina was careful not to glance at either man.

  It had been an awkward morning. Shortly after Draco’s brief exchange with her, they’d mounted their horses and headed south-east, back toward Dunnottar. Barely a word had been shared since.

  A strong wind had gusted in from the sea as they made their way home, chapping Gavina’s cheeks and making her eyes water. However, she’d welcomed its sting.

  The wind, and the cracking pace her escort set, had distracted Gavina from her thoughts.

  When the White Hawk and the Dragon wed …

  Once again, the riddle whispered to her. Draco had told her to forget it, but she couldn’t. That line had repeated itself, again and again, throughout the morning. It was ludicrous. The ‘White Hawk’ could refer to any number of things, surely? And yet, Maximus had gazed upon her as if she were the answer to all life’s problems.

  Gavina’s throat constricted. To him, she was.

  She could still feel his frustration and anger; it was a cold wall between them.

  Draco might have advised her to cast the entire incident aside, yet this situation wouldn’t be ignored.

  Her belly felt tied in knots, and she dreaded seeing Aila and Heather again. Would they react the same way as Maximus?

  They’ll think me heartless and self-centered for not agreeing to wed Draco.

  If the curse wasn’t broken, both women were doomed never to have bairns with the men they loved. Maximus and Cassian wouldn’t age, and so, with the passing of the years, they’d all be forced to leave De Keith lands. It wouldn’t matter for the next decade, at most. But then people would notice.

  Heather and Aila would have to become outcasts if they wished to remain wed to their husbands.

  Gavina’s pulse quickened. She didn’t want to be responsible for that.

  Ye aren’t, she reassured herself. This is all nonsense. It has to be.

  Gavina stepped back from the loom, her gaze traveling over the tapestry she was close to finishing. It had taken her a long while—especially since she didn’t have much time to dedicate to such tasks these days—but the scene of Dunnottar Castle overlooking the sea had finally taken shape.

  “Ye have done a fine job,” Elizabeth spoke up from across the chamber. She sat near the fire, winding wool upon a spindle, while her son, Robbie, played with his prized collection of wooden horses upon the deerskin rug at her feet. “I’ve never seen such detail in a tapestry before.”

  Gavina huffed, running a critical eye down her work. “My mother taught me everything I know,” she murmured. “She was the best weaver in the Irvine clan.”

  “Then she taught ye well.”

  Gavina turned from her tapestry, her gaze settling upon her sister-by-marriage. They made a somberly dressed pair these days—both in mourning black. However, while Gavina’s husband was deceased, Elizabeth’s husband, Robert, was likely still alive.

  Elizabeth didn’t look right in black. She had a vibrant, earthy beauty and a lush figure that Gavina had always envied. Her dark-gold hair was usually swept back in a long braid, and she had sharp, midnight-blue eyes that missed little.

  Gavina’s attention strayed then to where Robbie was lining up his horses side-by-side. Her chest constricted. Robbie was such a sweet-faced lad. She’d so hoped to have a bairn of her own. Although she and David hadn’t lain together in a long while, David had made frequent visits to her bed in the first years of their marriage. However, her womb had never quickened.

  David had eventually told her that she was likely barren. After all, everyone knew about the bastards he’d sired in Stonehaven.

  Humiliation closed Gavina’s throat. The Lord forgive her, but part of her was relieved that man was dead.

  Gavina realized then that Elizabeth was watching her with an expression she’d come to know well over the past six years.

  Her sister-by-marriage knew something was amiss.

  “Ye’ve been back nearly two days, Gavina,” she said after a pause, “and ye’ve barely said a word to me. Does something ail ye?”

  Gavina shook her head. She’d been busy since her return. With threats to Dunnottar coming from two directions now, she met with Cassian, the Wallace, and Donnan daily to discuss Dunnottar’s defenses. Work on the ditch outside the landward walls had been completed—and they’d just received a wagon of rocks from Stonehaven to use in catapults.

  Keeping busy was best.

  Her thoughts turned then to Maximus and Cassian’s wives. Heather had wanted to visit her this afternoon, but Gavina had made an excuse. Aila still attended her morning and evening, yet neither spoke of the disastrous peace mission she’d just returned from. Was it her imagination, or did Gavina sense a reserve between them now?

  She knows I am likely their only hope.

  Guilt squeezed Gavina’s chest then. Of course Aila knew—and she wouldn’t be surprised if her maid resented her for refusing to aid them.

  “Surely, yer brother’s reaction can’t come as too much of a shock?” Elizabeth pressed. “Especially after that missive he sent David in late spring.”

  “It doesn’t really,” Gavina admitted. Her gaze went then to the open window, where the rumble of men’s voices on the walls drifted in. Dunnottar was so crowded these days—more men had arrived this morning, stout-hearted farmers who’d come to help defend De Keith lands.

  A sigh gusted out of her; she was tired of keeping her worries to herself. She trusted Elizabeth, and like her, the woman knew Maximus, Cassian, and Draco’s secret—for she too had seen Cassian heal from that mortal wound. It was time to confide in her.

  “It’s not Shaw,” she admitted finally. “Although our estrangement saddens me … it was inevitable in a way.” She paused then, turning back to her sister-by-marriage. “Do ye remember Aila talking of a riddle … one that would free Maximus, Cassian, and Draco from the curse that binds them?”

  Elizabeth’s smooth brow furrowed, her shoulders tensing. She didn’t like mention of the immortality of those three men. Unsurprisingly, it put her on edge. “Aye,” she replied cautiously, “although I don’t know the details of it.”

  “Neither did I … until yesterday. Maximus recited it to me, and I really wish he hadn’t. I learned something rather disconcerting.”

  Elizabeth’s frown deepened. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m supposed to wed Draco Vulcan, if the curse is to be broken.”

  Elizabeth’s dark-blonde eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  Gavina gave a tight smile. “That was my reaction too. The riddle refers to the White Hawk and the Dragon. It’s the final piece in the puzzle.” She paused there, her fingers tightening around the tapestry beater she was holding. “That’s what ou
r names mean … Gavina and Draco … the ‘White Hawk’ and the ‘Dragon’.”

  Elizabeth didn’t reply for a few moments. Gavina’s admission had clearly stunned her. On the deerskin before her, Robbie gave a squeal of delight as he chased one of his wooden horses across the floor. “It sounds …” Elizabeth said after a pause, before breaking off as she struggled to find the right words to continue.

  “Preposterous … ridiculous?”

  “Aye,” Elizabeth agreed, her frown returning. “Surely, ye haven’t agreed to it?”

  “Of course I haven’t.”

  “Ye are a new widow … in mourning.”

  Gavina swallowed the laugh that clawed its way up from her chest. That wasn’t the half of it.

  “And ye are the laird. Yer responsibilities are to this clan … not to three men ye barely know,” Elizabeth pressed on, her voice hardening.

  Gavina nodded. Elizabeth didn’t need to convince her. “Worry not, Liz. I told them it was impossible.” She broke off there, just as a knock sounded on the door to her solar. Tearing her attention from her sister-by-marriage, Gavina turned. “Aye … who is it?”

  “Captain Gaius, My Lady,” Cassian’s low voice rumbled through the oaken door. “May I have a word?”

  Gavina tensed, her pulse quickening. Although she’d seen Cassian a few times since her return, it had always been in the Wallace and Donnan’s company. They hadn’t been able to speak openly. She’d been wondering when he’d seek her out. The dogged captain of the Dunnottar Guard likely had some choice words for her.

  “Aye,” she replied, swallowing hard. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a tall, heavily-muscled man entered, a cloak of turquoise, blue, and green cross-hatchings—the De Keith plaid—hanging from his broad shoulders. Like Draco and Maximus, Cassian wore his hair cropped short. His hazel eyes, usually warm and frank, were guarded this afternoon.

  Immediately, Cassian’s gaze swiveled to Elizabeth, before his attention snapped back to Gavina. “I’d hoped to talk to you alone, My Lady … if possible?”