Maximus: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  Maximus glanced down, his mouth quirking once more. “Ah, yes. I helped myself to one of Galbraith’s men’s vests … he won’t be needing it now.”

  Heather’s shoulders relaxed a little at this news. The fact that there was a practical answer, one that she had the wits to understand, eased her.

  She’d struggled all morning with the desire to wait for him on the road, and when she finally sat down upon the brow of the hill, her belly had cramped from nerves. Curiosity battled with the instinct to get as far as possible from him. Then, when she’d spied Maximus appear in the distance, she’d fought the urge to leap to her feet, mount Luchag, and gallop off.

  If he really was a demon, he’d rip out her soul and feast on her heart.

  Only stubborn will had kept her seated. That and an inquisitiveness that had always gotten her into trouble.

  “Why have you waited for me?” he asked when she failed to say anything else. Like at dawn, her tongue felt as if it were stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Maximus stood before her, a proud, dark-haired man with sun-bronzed skin and peat-colored eyes. But he wasn’t what he appeared.

  “I have questions,” she said finally. Once again, her voice sounded strangled, and she cursed it.

  He cocked his head. “You do? Wasn’t my tale this morning enough?”

  She heard the challenge in his voice, and heat ignited in the pit of her belly, quelling the chill of fear that seeing him again had brought. He thought her a coward.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Heather looked down her nose at him—easy to do, for he stood below her on the slope. “No,” she bit the word out. “Ye owe me more than that.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  “I want to know how it’s even possible?” Heather could hear her voice rising, yet she didn’t care.

  “I wish I could answer that,” he replied, his gaze never leaving hers. “But I can’t. The druidess who cursed us was powerful. She had the three of us tied up in her hovel … and the moment she approached me, I knew we were in trouble.” He paused, and Heather could have sworn she saw a shudder pass through him. “She had eyes and a voice as cold as a winter’s dawn. She made some ritual sacrifice before painting marks upon our brows with blood.”

  It was Heather’s turn to shiver. She’d heard about the druids and druidesses of ancient times, and the power they’d wielded over folk. Her father, who’d taught her to read, had explained that the authority of such figures had in fact been based largely on superstition and fear, and when Christianity had come to this land, they’d lost their influence and become part of the old ways.

  “Surely, ye mustn’t have believed her at first?” she asked, interested to know how he’d reacted.

  Maximus’s mouth thinned. “None of us did … we thought her mad. We believed that once she’d had her fun with us, she’d kill us … but she didn’t.” He shook his head. “Instead, the bandruí set us free … and sent a host of warriors after us.” Maximus’s expression grew darker still as he relived the incident. “They stuck us full of arrows, drove swords and daggers into our backs … and one of them stabbed me in the guts with a pike. They then left us to the wolves—all with mortal injuries.”

  Maximus stopped there and dragged a hand down his face. “I remember lying there on my back on the banks of a burn, staring up at the stars … waiting for death to come. But when I woke just after daybreak, my companions and I were healed. All those terrible injuries had disappeared.”

  “And ye knew then the curse was real?”

  Maximus nodded, before he sighed. “You can see why I kept all of this a secret … and if you’d done as I’d bid and fled, you wouldn’t know either.”

  Heather clenched her jaw. “I came back to help ye … how was I to know that ye … ye—”

  “Say it, Heather. I’m immortal.”

  Heather swallowed and fought the urge to cross herself as she had that morning. A priest would say such a man had been possessed by the devil. And yet something about Maximus’s tale rang true.

  Who would make up such an unholy lie?

  “Ye are immortal,” she said grudgingly. She stepped closer to Maximus then, holding his eye. “Many folk dream of eternal life, yet ye clearly hate it … why?”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Folk like the idea of living forever, of escaping death’s cold touch. And maybe if everyone you love was immortal too, it would be easier. But when you walk the centuries alone, when you can never stay longer than a few years in a place lest locals notice that you don’t age, it becomes a lonely existence.” Maximus paused there. “I’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall, Heather. I’ve lived among your people for countless lifetimes, and yet I’ve been forever cursed to remain an outsider.”

  His words moved her, and when Heather replied, her voice was subdued. “This curse … can it be broken?”

  He smiled then, the expression illuminating his face. Telling his story had carved severe lines into it, but the smile erased them. Heather’s breathing caught. Immortal or not, this man had a visceral effect upon her.

  Maybe that was why she’d waited for him upon this hill, why she’d wanted an explanation from him.

  “That, bonny Heather, is why I’m bound for Dunnottar,” he replied.

  XXI

  HOPE

  “I’M LISTENING.” HEATHER took hold of Luchag’s reins and followed Maximus on foot. He’d walked past her and rejoined the road that would take them north. Heather fell in step beside him. “Ye can’t say something like that and not explain yerself.”

  Maximus cast her a rueful look. “Have you always been this bossy, woman?”

  Heather frowned. “Aye … but don’t avoid the question. Tell me … what does Dunnottar have to do with breaking the curse?”

  “I’m not sure,” Maximus replied, his tone cautious now. She could tell he was regretting his candor. “But my friend Cassian—one of the three of us who were cursed—left word for me in Stirling to travel there. He has news.”

  Maximus paused there, his own brow furrowing now.

  “Go on,” Heather prompted. She sensed his reluctance, but her interest was piqued.

  “Very well,” he growled. “I might as well tell you the rest. When the bandruí cursed us, she decided to give us a chance to save ourselves with a riddle. Once we solve it, the curse shall be broken.”

  Heather sucked in a breath. “Can ye tell it to me?”

  Maximus’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure that—”

  “Go on … don’t be miserable. I’m good at riddles. Perhaps I can help.”

  Her companion gave Heather a doubtful look. However, after a few moments, he acquiesced, his voice rumbling across the hillside.

  “When the Broom-star crosses the sky,

  And the Hammer strikes the fort

  Upon the Shelving Slope.

  When the White Hawk and the Dragon wed,

  Only then will the curse be broke.”

  Silence fell while Heather digested the words. She hadn’t lied; there was nothing she liked better than a good riddle. Yet this was the strangest one she’d ever heard.

  “The Broom-star,” she murmured. “That’s the star ye pointed out to me on the morning we left Fintry … the one that comes every seventy years.”

  “Seventy-five years,” he corrected her. “We’ve had to wait for each coming of the Broom-star for a chance to break the curse. But till now, we have only ever managed to decipher the first line. The rest of it makes no sense.”

  Heather tensed, excitement quickening in her veins. “Then it’s just as well ye met me. For I can tell ye what one of the other lines means.”

  Maximus abruptly halted and swiveled around to face Heather. “What?”

  The woman had better not be making fun of him; he wasn’t in the mood.

  However, Heather merely raised her pert chin and met his gaze in that fearless way of hers that both intrigued and exasperated him.

&n
bsp; “I’d say yer friend has already discovered it, which is why he’s bid ye to travel to Dunnottar,” she said, holding his stare. “The old name for the fortress is ‘Dùn Fhoithear’ … the fort upon the Shelving Slope.”

  Maximus stared at her a moment. “Are you sure?”

  Heather nodded, before her gaze shadowed. “Aye, but as for the White Hawk and the Dragon … those names make no sense to me at all. I have no idea who or what ‘The Hammer’ is either … but it would seem that the riddle refers to a siege upon Dunnottar.”

  “It appears so, but it may not refer to this cycle of the coming of the Broom-star,” Maximus pointed out, heaviness replacing the spark of hope that had flared to life within him.

  He couldn’t bear the disappointment, the knowledge that he must wait another seventy-five years till the Broom-star returned to the sky. Eternity had taught him to be patient, but these days his patience was starting to wear thin. He was tired of it all.

  Once the curse was broken, he could finally grow old and die.

  “But it could,” Heather replied. She was studying him with a penetrating look that made Maximus tense. This woman already read him too well. “However, it might mean that Dunnottar will be attacked soon. How long does the Broom-star remain in the sky?”

  “It depends … usually for two to three months.”

  Heather nodded before she turned and resumed her path up the hill, leading Luchag behind her. “Then, ye will find out soon enough.”

  They spoke little during the afternoon. Maximus was grateful for the silence, for he felt as if he’d spilled his guts before Heather. He had no other secrets to reveal. It was a strange sensation to travel in the company of someone who knew who he truly was.

  After her initial shock, Heather had rallied. She was a practical woman, and had already started seeking solutions to his predicament. He appreciated her concern, yet if it were as easy as that, they’d have broken the curse centuries earlier.

  As dusk settled over the mountains to the west and the green hills and woodlands to the east, they entered the village of Alyth. Crouched in a valley, it was a little larger than the hamlet where Maximus had bought food that morning, but barely so. White-washed cottages with thatched roofs lined a meandering river, and birch copses carpeted the slopes of the hills around it.

  The only tavern in town was full, and so they found lodging at a guesthouse on the eastern edge of the village.

  An elderly widow named Ainslee ran the lodging, which consisted of a cottage with a hay barn out the back. The two rooms in her cottage were occupied, and so she led Maximus and Heather to the barn.

  Dumping a pile of blankets onto a hay bale, the widow turned to face them. “It might not look like much,” she announced, her gaze sweeping over the newcomers. “But it’s warm and dry. There’s a wash room with water, soap, and drying cloths next door, and I shall bring ye supper in a wee bit.”

  The widow motioned then to the dusty table that sat next to the door, where an unlit lamp sat. The place was dirty and in need of a sweep, and thick cobwebs festooned the ceiling. There also weren’t any beds in here—he assumed they were supposed to fashion them from the hay bales that lay scattered around.

  Maximus nodded, turning back to Ainslee. “It’ll do.” He handed her a silver penny, which she snatched from his hand, her dark gaze gleaming.

  “Very generous … thank ye.”

  “Make sure we get a decent supper, please,” Maximus replied, holding her eye. “Some meat would be appreciated.”

  The widow nodded before turning for the door. “I shall see what I can manage.”

  Watching her bustle away, Maximus frowned. If he hadn’t been so tired and hungry, he’d have suggested they sleep outdoors.

  He then turned to Heather, noting from her frown that she too shared his view of their lodgings. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. “I didn’t think we’d find accommodation as comfortable as The Golden Lion in this neck of the woods … but I’d hoped to do better than a barn.”

  Heather sighed before she shrugged. “Frankly, I’m just grateful that we’ve stopped for the day and have a roof over our heads.” She glanced down at her dusty, travel worn cloak and kirtle. “I think I’ll go and make use of that soap and water before the sun goes down.” She then cast a leery look around her. “Hopefully, there aren’t too many spiders lurking here.”

  “I’ll have a look around,” Maximus assured her with a smile. “If I find any, I’ll slay the beasties before you return.”

  It was cold and drafty in the lean-to, and about as dirty as the barn itself. As such, Heather didn’t linger over her bathing. But as she stripped off her clothing, she realized that her moon flow had arrived. She’d been so preoccupied that she’d barely noticed the ache in her lower belly during the day.

  Heather paused for a moment, observing the streaks of blood upon her thighs. Of course, she’d taken a risk lying with Maximus—that of her womb quickening. She sighed then, relief flooding through her. Life was tangled enough without that added complication to deal with.

  She’d never gotten with bairn during her years with Iain.

  Perhaps I’m barren. Iain had accused her of that once, during an argument. Heather frowned. Such thoughts weren’t helpful.

  Shivering, Heather washed as quickly as she could. She sluiced cold water over her body and did her best to work a lather from the hard block of lye soap. She washed her hair too before reaching for her clothes once more.

  Fortunately, she’d packed soft linen rags for this time of the month in her satchel. She secured the rag in place by pulling on a pair of woolen hose under her skirts. By the time Heather finished dressing, her teeth were chattering.

  She emerged from the lean-to into near darkness. Dusk had settled over Alyth in the meantime, bringing a damp, almost wintry chill.

  Heather hurried back to the barn, to find that it had a much more homely appearance than earlier. There wasn’t a hearth burning, yet the oil lantern illuminated the interior in a golden glow. Pulling the door closed behind her, Heather paused, her gaze surveying the two beds someone had fashioned from hay bales and the blankets that draped over them. It appeared too as if the floor had been swept.

  Shifting her attention to where Maximus sat at the table, two bowls of what smelled like mutton stew before him, she raised a querying eyebrow.

  “Did the old woman decide to tidy this place up for us after all?”

  Maximus shook his head and poured out two cups of ale from an earthen jug. “No such luck. She brought the stew with ill-grace and lit the lantern … nothing more.”

  A smile curved Heather’s mouth. She knew few men who’d tidy up and prepare beds—most of them thought of it as women’s work. It pleased her that he’d made the effort.

  “Take a seat,” Maximus waved to the empty stool opposite him. “Let’s eat while the stew is still hot.”

  Heather didn’t need to be asked twice. The long day, followed by a cold bath and the arrival of her moon flow, had given her a ravenous appetite. She was pleased that Ainslee had provided them with a large loaf of coarse bread and freshly churned butter to accompany the stew.

  Taking a seat, she picked up her cup and raised it, catching Maximus’s eye. “Here’s to finding a way to break that curse of yers,” she said softly.

  Their gazes fused for an instant. Maximus stared back at her, his patrician features tensing. For an instant, she wondered if he thought she was making fun of him. She wasn’t.

  “Sometimes I think we’ll never break it,” he admitted. “I worry that witch was just toying with us.”

  “And yet the Broom-star and the fort upon the Shelving Slope are real,” Heather reminded him. “Ye shall break the curse. Don’t give up hope just yet.”

  XXII

  A HARD LIFE

  MAXIMUS WATCHED HER, his expression veiled. Heather could sense his distrust, but wasn’t offended by it.

  If he really had lived as long as he claimed, life would have
jaded him. She knew now why he could be so aloof sometimes.

  “I can’t imagine living so many years,” she admitted, reaching for the loaf of bread and tearing off a chunk. She then picked up the knife and smeared on some butter. “What’s it like?”

  Maximus pulled a face before he raised his cup to his lips and took a deep draft. “I don’t know how to describe it,” he said, his tone guarded.

  Heather watched him, sorry she’d brought the subject up. He’d been in good spirits when she re-entered the barn, but she’d soured his mood.

  “Forget I asked ye that then,” she replied. Picking up her spoon, she took a mouthful of stew. It was delicious. “As ye said … let’s eat.”

  They ate in silence for a short while, both too hungry to focus on much besides their food. However, as her belly filled, Heather continued to hold her tongue. Sometimes her mouth ran away with her. Tonight, it was better if she kept her own counsel.

  “It’s strange.” Maximus broke the silence. His voice was low now. “It’s as if the longer I live, the more I lose track of time. One year flows into the next, and the seasons just seem to meld together.”

  Heather heard the heaviness in his voice as he admitted this. “And what of yer homeland?” she asked softly. She was curious to know of Italy. “Ye don’t remember it?”

  “Just sensations really,” he replied, his tone wistful now. “I remember the feel of the hot sun on my face, the taste of grape wine … and the smell of jasmine in early summer.”

  “Why haven’t ye gone home?”

  “I can’t.” His tone flattened with these words. “The curse forbids it. Cassian, Draco, and I can never leave the borders of Scotland. I’ve tried once or twice, but discovered that I cannot put a foot over The Great Wall.”

  Heather considered his words for a moment. Truthfully, she was having trouble fully comprehending what he’d just said. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what being trapped in a land that wasn’t your own for over a thousand years was like. She was surprised that Maximus hadn’t lost his wits in the interim.