by Jayne Castel
Yet, maybe that was part of the curse. It kept you healthy, both in mind and in body.
Sadness filtered over her as she envisaged the long years he’d spent, living in the wilderness, waiting for the next arrival of the Broom-star.
“It must be a hard life,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts aloud.
Maximus’s answering grunt, as he poured himself another cup of ale, told her that she had no idea just how difficult such an existence could be. There wasn’t any point trying to empathize with him. She’d lived twenty-five winters. Her life was a mere blink of an eye compared to his.
“Have ye not had a few families over the years though?” she asked finally. “That must have eased things somewhat.”
Maximus shook his head. “I can’t father children … it’s part of the curse.”
Heather went still at that. She needn’t have worried about her womb quickening after all. Did she imagine it, or was there a faint tinge of sadness in his voice?
“But surely, ye must have loved women during the centuries?”
“One or two,” he admitted gruffly. “Although for the past four hundred years, I’ve done my best to avoid emotional entanglements.”
Heather frowned. “Why?”
Maximus looked back at her, his expression suddenly tired. “I lived with a woman once. Her name was Evanna, and she was a Pict warrior from the ancient fort of Dunadd. Things were good between us, and I let myself believe I could stay there and forget about who I was for a few years. But then Evanna started talking about becoming my wife … about bearing my children … and I knew I had to leave.”
Heather didn’t answer. A Pict woman. His story was another jolting reminder of just how long this man had lived. Maximus’s face was now set in grim lines. She had the feeling this tale didn’t have a happy ending. Patiently, she waited for him to continue.
“It sounds cowardly to admit it, but I packed my things in the early dawn and left one morning,” he said softly. “It tore me up to do so, yet I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want her to discover who I really was. I didn’t want Evanna to be saddled with a man who couldn’t age, who couldn’t give her the family she deserved.” He paused there. “And I didn’t want to see the horror in her eyes when she found out the truth.”
Heather grew still at this. The same horror he would have seen in her eyes that morning.
“I should have realized that Evanna wouldn’t let things be,” he continued. “She was too proud, too fierce to simply let a man leave her without explanation.” He winced then, as if the memory still pained him. “She caught up with me a day later. I was sharing the fireside of a group of hunters, and Evanna came riding in like an avenging fury, her flame-red hair flying behind her. She confronted me, and when I gave her some feeble excuse, she drew her blade and stabbed me in the belly with it.”
Heather drew in a shocked breath.
Seeing her reaction, Maximus’s mouth twisted. “The women of Scotland have always been fierce … but Evanna was any man’s equal in battle. The hunters scattered, and Evanna left me to bleed out by their fire pit.” He glanced away then, severing the connection between them. “But of course, I was reborn with the dawn.”
“So, ye never told her who ye really were?”
“No … it would only have enraged her. You’re the only mortal I’ve told the full story.”
Heather’s gaze widened at this admission. When she spoke again, her voice was awed. “And ye have never lived with a woman again?”
Maximus shook his head. “I broke my lover’s heart … and my own … that day. I’ll not put myself, or anyone else, through that again.”
Silence settled in the barn while Heather considered his words. After a few moments, she pushed her bowl away and fixed Maximus with a level look. Feeling her watching him, he raised his gaze, meeting her eye.
“I’ll not lie,” she said, her attention unwavering. “Discovering that ye cannot die came as a terrible shock to me … one that I’m not yet over.” She paused there, seeking the right words before she continued. “But all the same, I’m glad I know. We all need others to see us for who we really are, Maximus. I can’t break the curse, but I can be yer friend.”
Friend? A small voice mocked her. Is that what ye two are?
Aye, as they’d lain together, their relationship was a little more complex. Nonetheless, after everything that had occurred in the past few days, it felt an age since that night at The Bogside Tavern.
Maximus watched her. His expression was shuttered, yet his dark eyes gleamed. And when he spoke, there was a husky edge to his voice. “Thank you, Heather.”
Once supper was over, Heather rose from her stool and moved over to one of the beds Maximus had made up. “I take it ye chased off the rats and spiders?”
“I did my best, My Lady.”
Heather’s mouth curved at the teasing edge to his voice. After the intensity of their conversation, she welcomed a lightening of the mood.
She sat down upon her bed, tucking her legs under her, and began to comb out her still damp hair with her fingertips.
Meanwhile, Maximus stood up and stretched. “I suppose I’d better use the washing facilities,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“Take the lantern with ye,” Heather replied. “Or ye’ll trip over in the dark. There is no candle in there.”
Maximus nodded and picked up the lantern. “Very well … I’ll be back soon.”
He left the barn, the door creaking shut behind him, and darkness swallowed the interior. Heather didn’t mind the darkness, although as soon as he departed, she heard the tell-tale sounds of scratching and scrabbling in the haystack behind her. Maximus hadn’t managed to turf out all the rodents it seemed.
Suppressing a shiver, Heather drew a blanket around her shoulders. She hated rats.
The time slid by, and Heather finished combing out her hair. She then remained seated, awaiting Maximus’s return. The situation still seemed surreal. She’d almost forgotten about the violent fight she’d witnessed on that hillside.
Cory and his men had been strong warriors; even so, Maximus had still managed to hold his own for a while. He’d told her to run, but a few yards into the woods, she’d pulled Luchag up and turned him around. And when she’d emerged from the trees, the viciousness of the fight had cowed her. Horrified, she’d watched it unfold, but when Cory drove his dirk into Maximus’s chest, she’d had to do something.
Now Cory Galbraith and his men lay rotting in the undergrowth on the edge of those woods. She hadn’t dragged them that far from the road, and in a few days, their corpses would start to stink.
How long before someone found them? How long before the Galbraith laird heard that his son had fallen? They’d blame Maximus. Would Logan Galbraith seek vengeance?
Her belly cramped as she imagined him tracking them down. They wouldn’t be hard to find, for everyone in Fintry knew she hailed from Dunnottar.
Pushing aside her churning thoughts, Heather let out a long exhale of relief when the door creaked open and light flooded into the barn once more.
Maximus placed the lantern back onto the table and turned to her. “I see Ainslee doesn’t want to waste warm water on us.”
Heather huffed. “Aye … but at least she provided soap.”
Maximus pulled a face, making it clear what he thought of the hard soap and coarse cloths that the widow had given them.
“Can ye leave the lantern lit tonight?” Heather asked. “I heard rats scrabbling while ye were out.”
His mouth curved, yet he nodded. “If you wish.”
Crossing to his hay bale bed, which lay against the far wall, he unlaced the front of his leather vest and stripped it off.
Heather’s breathing stopped. She hadn’t realized he was going to undress. She’d have looked away if he’d given her warning. The sight of his nude torso—all lean, sinewy muscle and tanned skin—made her mouth go dry.
“Isn’t it a bit cold to sleep naked?” she
said, cursing the gasping sound of her voice.
Maximus’s chin snapped up, the smile returning. This time, she caught the playful edge to it—an expression that made the pit of her belly warm. “Worry not, fair lady, I’ll keep my breeches on,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “Although since you’ve already seen me naked, you shouldn’t find the sight too … shocking.”
Heat blossomed across Heather’s chest. She could feel it creeping up her neck. Any moment now, her cheeks would be aflame. She couldn’t believe how easily he managed to embarrass her. She wasn’t a shy, blushing maid—and he was right. She’d seen him without a stitch of clothing on.
She’d seen him aroused, had stared into his eyes as he’d moved inside her. She’d run her fingertips over every hard-muscled plane, every hollow, of his body.
And yet the blush wouldn’t recede. She watched Maximus’s smile widen as her cheeks caught fire. He knew where her thoughts had just gone.
Momentarily rendered speechless, Heather cleared her throat, turned away from him, and lay down upon the makeshift bed of hay bales. She could feel the heat of his stare upon her back, his unspoken challenge.
Despite all that transpired over the past day, the connection between them was still there.
XXIII
THE GATEHOUSE LOOMS
THE SIGHT OF Dunnottar made Heather catch her breath. Seated behind Maximus, her arms instinctively tightened their grip around his waist. As if sensing her tension, he drew Luchag to a halt upon the clifftop.
The stronghold reared up opposite them.
Heather had known that their destination was near, yet she’d been unprepared for the impact of actually seeing it. A host of memories flooded back, thoughts that she’d deliberately buried ever since leaving this place five years earlier. She was glad Maximus had halted the garron. She needed a few moments to collect her wits before they made their approach.
“It’s still an impressive sight,” Maximus murmured, his own gaze sweeping over the high, dove-colored walls with a swathe of blue sea behind them.
“When were ye here last?” Heather asked, deliberately focusing on him so that she could avoid her own thoughts for the moment.
“I don’t recall … fifty years ago maybe,” he replied. “It was smaller then … the keep hadn’t been built.” He paused. “But when it comes to location … and sheer brooding impregnability, Dunnottar can’t be beaten.”
He was right about that, Heather reflected. The castle perched high upon a green headland, with sheer cliffs plummeting to the rocks below. A narrow strip of land joined the outcrop to the mainland. The castle stood like a sentinel, watching out over the North Sea.
The skin on Heather’s forearms prickled. How she loved this place—but returning here brought mixed feelings with it.
“You’re nervous,” Maximus noted when Heather didn’t speak. “I can feel it vibrating off you.”
Heather forced a laugh. “I didn’t realize I was that transparent.” Her belly cramped then, and she struggled with the urge to scrabble down from the saddle and sprint away.
Coward.
Aye, when it came to facing her kin, she was. And yet, she didn’t run, but remained perched upon the saddle behind Maximus. She wouldn’t let him know just how much she was dreading this. The day she’d been putting off for too long now had come.
“You are easy to read, Heather,” he replied, without the slightest teasing edge to his voice. “I’ve never met a woman who wears her emotions for the world to see as you do.”
Heather tensed. That was ill news indeed. “I imagine that’s why my life has turned out the way it has,” she murmured. “I must learn to don a mask like most folk do.”
“That would be a shame.” His hand—warm, strong, and steadying—covered hers and gently squeezed. “The world has too few folk like you in it.”
Heather swallowed. Now he was making the flaw sound like a strength. She wasn’t sure she agreed with him. “Aye, well, since we’re about to ride into the wolf’s den, I need to be wary of being too open,” she replied. “Dunnottar isn’t for the meek.”
“Who rules here now then?” he asked. Although the conversation had moved on, Maximus hadn’t removed his hand from over hers. Heather welcomed his touch. If she was being honest with herself, she actually craved it. But at the same time, it was distracting. The past two days, during which they’d completed their journey north, had grown increasingly uncomfortable.
The pull between them hadn’t disappeared with the shock of Heather’s discovery. If anything, it had grown. Maximus only had to look her way and Heather’s pulse quickened. Traitorously, her gaze always sought him out and lingered upon him when he wasn’t looking in her direction. She couldn’t help herself.
Over the last couple of days, she’d realized why he’d been so protective of her. Of course, as an immortal she must seem incredibly fragile to him.
The realization had made her belly flutter.
It was no good. Immortal or not, she still wanted him.
Fortunately for them both though, Maximus had continued to keep his distance physically from her. The heat that flared every time their gazes locked hadn’t encouraged him to take things further.
Their arrival at Dunnottar was a relief. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could travel with this man before throwing herself at him—and such behavior would be unwise. Falling for an immortal man was likely to be the worst decision—in a long line of disastrous choices—she was ever going to make.
“When I left here, Robert De Keith ruled,” she began, attempting to focus. “However, my sister sent word to me that he was captured by the English last year. His brother, David, is now laird.”
“Your voice sharpened as you said David’s name,” Maximus observed. “I take it you aren’t fond of the man?”
Heather’s lips pursed. Nearly six years earlier, David De Keith had wed Gavina Irvine in order to weave peace between the two warring clans. However, just weeks after their wedding, he was rumored to have strayed from the marriage bed. He cornered Heather once, in a stairwell, and tried to kiss her. She’d kneed him in the cods and fled.
Fortunately, she’d departed from Dunnottar soon after.
Heather drew in a steadying breath before she answered. “No … he’s lecherous and vain. Let’s hope that Robert manages to escape the English and return home before David brings Dunnottar to ruin.”
Maximus laughed. “Your honesty is refreshing, Heather.” He sobered then. “I will miss it.”
Silence fell between them, for he’d just reminded them both that their forced companionship was now coming to an end. Now they’d arrived at their destination, everything would change.
“So, what now?” she asked, injecting a bright note she didn’t feel into her voice. “Do ye have plans for after ye find yer friend?”
“It all depends on Cassian’s news. If it’s as you say, and Dunnottar is ‘the fort upon the Shelving Slope’, then I’ll likely stay here while the Broom-star is still in the sky.” He paused then. “And you, Heather? Once you make peace with your kin, what will you do?”
Heather swallowed. Truthfully, she had no idea. She was so focused on confronting her family she hadn’t given any thought to what lay beyond that meeting.
“Like ye, it depends,” she replied, deliberately cagey. “If they spurn me, I suppose I will go to Stonehaven and search for work there.”
“And if they welcome ye?”
Heather gnawed at her bottom lip. “A widowed daughter will be a burden to them,” she admitted. “I will have to find some way to make myself useful.” If she was honest, she didn’t see a bright future ahead of her at Dunnottar. A heavy sensation settled over her when she imagined the years to come.
As if sensing her tension, Maximus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll find your path, Heather.”
Leaving the clifftop, they picked their way down the steep hill beyond. Reaching the bottom, they then took the narrow path that climbed to the
gatehouse. Luchag made easy work of the slope, although Maximus let the garron have his head, while he and Heather leaned forward to aid him.
And all the way, Maximus was aware of stares tracking their progress. He glanced up, spying the outlines of men and spears upon the walls. He tensed under their scrutiny, aware they’d see he was armed. Yet, since there were just the two of them approaching, the guards wouldn’t view them as too much of a threat.
The mood was tense throughout Scotland these days. Years of battles against the English had led to a period of uneasy peace—one the English seemed intent on shattering. As such, all the northern strongholds would be wary of strangers approaching their gates.
Maximus and Heather didn’t speak on the way up to the walls. Maximus wasn’t one for filling silences with prattle, and during the days they’d traveled together, he noticed that neither was Heather.
All the same, he meant what he’d just told her. He would miss Heather De Keith.
He hadn’t wanted her to discover his secret, but in the days that had passed since, she’d surprised him.
Heather was a survivor.
She’d been full of questions—some of which were easier to answer than others—but her fear and horror had quickly transformed into unceasing curiosity. Sometimes that curiosity got too much, and Maximus had been forced to steer the conversation in a safer direction, but he’d enjoyed her company nonetheless.
More than enjoyed it, in fact.
She was warm and clever, with a sharp wit and dry sense of humor. He’d been content to just sit and listen to the lilting cadence of her voice. They’d shared meals together and camped out under the stars while he listened to her grumble about the tree roots that kept sticking into her back.
Maximus hadn’t even minded that.
Heather’s company reminded him just how lonely his life was. He’d chosen this solitary existence, and yet just a few days in this vivacious woman’s company, and he longed for more.