by Jayne Castel
This was what was missing in his life: a woman to love and cherish. Someone to build a future with.
But such a desire was foolish and dangerous.
Just because Cassian had summoned him here didn’t mean they were on the cusp of solving the riddle. In a millennium, they’d managed to decipher two lines. There was every chance the Broom-star would fade from the sky in a month or two, and he and his friends would still be immortal.
After seeing what Cassian had endured, he didn’t want to make the same mistake of falling for a mortal woman, only to see her wither and die while he remained young.
Maximus clenched his jaw and shoved his spiraling thoughts back into the recesses of his mind where they belonged. He’d only known Heather a few days, and he was already weakening. He’d told her about Evanna, and she’d seemed to understand.
But the problem lay with him.
Maximus wanted more.
Haven’t all these years taught you anything?
Clearly not, for even now, the warm softness of Heather’s body pressed against his back, the feel of her arms looped around his waist, both distracted and comforted him. He didn’t want this journey to end.
But end it had to.
Drawing Luchag up before the gates, Maximus craned his neck up at a broad-shouldered figure who loomed above him on the battlements. “Good day!” he called out.
“State yer business at Dunnottar,” the warrior shouted back, his harsh voice ringing over the high stone walls.
It wasn’t a friendly welcome, although Maximus hadn’t expected one.
“I’m here to see Cassian Gaius,” he called back, flashing the warrior a toothy smile. “Tell him that Maximus Cato has arrived.”
XXIV
WELCOME HOME, LASS
“HEATHER!”
AILA DE Keith’s squeal of joy echoed through the hallway, causing two servants carrying piles of clean linen to stop and gawk. Heather had just climbed the turret stairs to the chambers where her mother and father lived, when her younger sister emerged from one of the doorways.
For a moment, the two women just stared at each other—and then a wide smile creased Aila’s face. Picking up her skirts, she rushed down the hall, covering the space between them in just a few strides. She then flung herself into Heather’s arms.
Tears flowed down Aila’s cheeks when she pulled back from the embrace. “Ye didn’t tell me ye were coming!”
Blinking back tears of her own, for seeing her sister again had made Heather’s resolve to stay in control of her emotions crumble, she favored Aila with a watery smile. “Sorry about that … I left Fintry in a rush. There was no time.”
Worry clouded Aila’s face at this news.
Folk always said the two sisters looked alike. However, Aila’s features were more delicate than Heather’s and she had smoke-grey eyes. These days, Aila was a lady’s maid to David De Keith’s wife and dressed almost as finely as a lady herself. Clad in a grey-blue kirtle, her thick, light-brown hair pulled back from her face, she carried herself beautifully.
“Has something happened?” Aila asked, her brow furrowing.
Heather shook her head. She hadn’t been planning on telling her kin about the circumstances of her departure, and seeing concern shadow Aila’s eyes, she resolved not to.
Aila would be worried for her, yet her parents would only condemn her.
“Come!” Aila looped her arm through Heather’s and steered her toward the door of the steward’s solar. “Ma and Da will be delighted to see ye.”
“Will they?” Heather tensed. How could Aila say that—knowing how things had gone the last time she’d exchanged words with their parents?
Aila paused, her expression turning serious. “We’ve all missed ye, Heather.”
Heather stared back at her sister, her throat constricting. Aila was such a kind soul. She and Aila might have shared some similarities in looks, but their characters were vastly different. Heather was willful, fiery, and difficult; whereas Aila had a sweet, even temper, and she always tried to see the best in people and situations.
The two servants were still gawking at them from the end of the hallway, and Aila sent them scurrying away with a wave of her hand. “Aye, ye can tell everyone that Heather De Keith has returned,” she called after them.
The weight in Heather’s belly increased. The last thing she wanted was her presence here to be shouted from the ramparts. However, she kept her mouth clamped shut and followed her sister into the solar.
Iona De Keith lowered the pillowcase she’d been embroidering to her lap. Her grey-green gaze—identical to her eldest daughter’s—narrowed. “Yer return is as abrupt as yer departure I see, Heather.”
A few feet away, Donnan De Keith rose from his desk and the ledger he’d been writing in, and crossed the solar toward her. As she remembered, he favored his right leg as he walked. It was a pronounced limp that came from a hunting injury many years earlier. Was it her imagination, or did the limp seem worse these days?
The look of joy on his face made a lump rise in Heather’s throat. The sting from her mother’s acerbic welcome faded. At least one of her parents was pleased to see her.
“Welcome home, lass,” he rumbled, pulling her into a fierce embrace. “Lord, how I’ve missed ye.”
Heather’s vision blurred once more, and this time the tears spilled over. She’d thought he’d rail at her. Instead, his warmth made her want to weep. “I’ve missed ye too, Da,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his chest.
Her father was just how she remembered him: strong and solid, his brown hair just lightly touched with silver. However, when she drew back from his embrace, she saw that there were lines of care around his grey eyes that had been absent when she’d left Dunnottar five years earlier.
Across the room, Iona sniffed. “Don’t think ye shall get such a greeting from me, Heather. I’ll not forget the way ye spoke to me last.”
Heather loosed a sigh before turning to face her mother. Now that her father had welcomed her, she felt galvanized. One of them she could deal with, but when they turned against her in a united front—as they had the day she’d left this place—it was so much harder.
Now she was standing before her parents, Heather fully understood the wisdom of Maximus’s advice to come back here and face them. He was right: life was too short, for mortals like her at least, to bear grudges.
Iona didn’t look welcoming. Her chin was held high, her nostrils flared as if she was readying herself to do battle. She’d also started to twist the gold ring she wore upon her left hand—a sure sign she was agitated.
“I apologize for the way things went that day, Ma,” Heather said softly. And she meant those words too. If she could go back in time, she’d have given Iain Galbraith a wide berth indeed. “I was wrong to run away as I did … but rest assured, I have paid the price over the years.”
Iona stiffened, her full mouth compressing. She’d been expecting her daughter to bite back—for the old Heather would have—and didn’t know how to deal with her contrition.
“We knew ye should never have shackled yerself to that man,” her father replied. Glancing back at him, Heather saw that Donnan Galbraith’s expression had darkened. “He was a troublemaker … and wasn’t going to treat any woman well.”
And how right ye were, Da, Heather thought as tears prickled the back of her eyelids once more. What a fool I was.
“So, things were bad?” Aila asked softly, drawing near to Heather and placing a sympathetic hand on her arm.
Heather nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This wasn’t how she’d expected the reunion to go. If they didn’t stop being so kind to her, she’d break down and start sobbing.
“Then why didn’t ye just come home?” Aila pressed, her grey eyes shadowing.
Heather swallowed. “Ye know what I’m like … stubborn. I wanted to make things work. I was determined to.”
“Yer pig-headed nature always got ye into trouble as a bairn,”
Iona announced, her clipped voice ringing across the solar. She was twisting the ring vigorously now. “And it has as a woman. I do hope ye have returned to us humbled … for I, for one, won’t tolerate yer headstrong ways again.”
Heather drew in a deep breath. That was better. The sharp edge of her mother’s tongue made the urge to weep recede. Suddenly, she was back in control.
Drawing herself up, she readied herself for a verbal assault. Any moment now, her mother would attack as she had the last time they’d faced off.
Filthy harlot!
Ye have become a blacksmith’s whore.
I knew ye’d come crawling back to Dunnottar with yer tail between yer legs!
Yet the harsh words never came.
“Heather takes after ye, my love,” Donnan replied, his mouth quirking. “Ye were a handful when ye were younger too.”
Iona drew in an outraged breath while Aila turned away to hide a smirk. Heather had to bite her cheek to prevent her own smile.
Her mother abruptly stopped twisting the wedding band, her mouth gaping. “Donnan!”
“What, mo ghràdh?” he asked innocently.
“How dare ye!”
Heather watched her father’s smile widen. “It’s the truth. But it’s also why I fell in love with ye.”
Iona De Keith stared at her husband, and then to Heather’s surprise, her mother’s cheeks grew pink.
This exchange between her parents was something she’d never seen before. She knew they were happy enough together, yet Donnan De Keith could be a dour man at times, preoccupied with his role as steward of this keep. Her mother was always the sort to notice the things that were lacking in her life rather than appreciating what she had.
She’d never seen her father tease her mother so boldly. It was as if the shock of her return had unfettered something within him.
And seeing Iona De Keith’s blush, he’d succeeded in rendering his wife speechless—for a short while at least.
Taking advantage of the moment, Heather turned to her sister to see Aila’s eyes twinkling with delight. She too was enjoying seeing their father get the best of their mother. “Do ye think Lady Elizabeth might have some work for me in the keep?” Heather asked. “I’m not afraid of hard graft … and will work in the kitchens if I have to.”
This comment brought a choked sound from their mother. “The kitchens? Next ye shall be offering to empty privies and muck out stalls. To think a daughter of mine could sink so low.”
Irritation spiked within Heather. She bit back the urge to tell her mother she’d spent the past year and a half serving ale to drunks in a rowdy tavern. None of her kin knew the truth. Instead, Heather had told her sister in her last letter that she had rented out the forge and was living off a small but sufficient income.
“Lady Elizabeth isn’t in charge here for the moment,” Aila replied, her expression sobering. “David’s wife, Lady Gavina, is.” Her sister reached out then, clasping a hand through Heather’s. “Ma is right … we can’t have a steward’s daughter scrubbing floors. I’m sure Lady Gavina will find ye a suitable position.”
XXV
IN MY BONES
CASSIAN MET MAXIMUS in the bailey of the lower ward.
Maximus had just emerged from stabling Luchag, and was wondering where his friend had gotten to—and if he was going to bother to greet him at all—when a tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared in the arched doorway leading into the keep.
Dressed in pine-green braies, a mail shirt that reached mid-thigh, and high boots, Cassian looked every inch a soldier. For a moment, the man halted, his gaze sweeping the cobbled expanse that lay between the high curtain walls and the keep itself. Then his attention seized upon Maximus, and a smile spread across his face.
An instant later, he ran down the steps, agile for such a big man, and strode across the bailey. He wore a plaid cloak of De Keith colors—light and dark cross-hatchings of turquoise green—which rippled out behind him.
“Cassian Gaius,” Maximus greeted him with a grin. “You haven’t aged a day.”
Cassian huffed a laugh. “And neither have you, Great One.”
Indeed, their paths hadn’t crossed in twenty years—when they’d accidentally run into each other in Perth. And just as then, Cassian’s lightly tanned face was unlined, his short brown hair untouched by grey.
They clasped arms and hugged, although when Cassian drew back from him, his smile had already faded. “Have you seen Draco?”
Maximus shook his head. “Not since the last cycle.”
Cassian’s hazel eyes shadowed. “Let’s hope he makes a trip to Stirling soon … he’ll have seen the Broom-star in the night sky.”
Maximus didn’t reply. Draco would have seen the comet, yet with the passing of the years, the man was becoming a law unto himself. The toll of his immortal life had turned him increasingly reckless and wild. “He may not join us this time,” Maximus pointed out. “You know he doesn’t always.” They stood alone in the bailey and so it was safe to talk.
Cassian frowned. “Surely, he wants the curse broken as much as we do?”
Maximus shrugged. “With Draco, who knows?” Seeing the concern on his friend’s face, he slapped him upon the shoulder. “Captain of the Dunnottar Guard, eh, Cass? I’ve never had gates open so quickly before me. The moment I mentioned yer name, they fell over themselves to let me in.”
Cassian’s mouth curved, revealing the hint of another smile. Although he had beamed moments earlier when spotting Maximus, his friend had an intense, serious nature. Earning a smile from him could be a challenge, which was why Maximus knew that Cassian was pleased to see him.
“I told them my old friend Maximus Cato was on his way,” Cassian replied. He threw an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the gatehouse. “And our reunion requires a drink.”
“Wine, I hope,” Maximus quipped.
Cassian cast him a rueful look. “All these years here and you still don’t like ale?”
Maximus pulled a face in reply. “No.”
The two men entered the gatehouse, crossed a narrow entranceway, and made their way into a square hall lined with long tables. This was the guard’s mess, where the men who defended the castle took their meals. However, since it was mid-afternoon, Maximus and Cassian were the only ones here.
“Take a seat near the hearth,” Cassian instructed, waving toward the western edge of the hall, where a long table sat before a roaring fire. “I’ll go and get us something to eat and drink.”
His friend disappeared through a doorway into what was likely the kitchen while Maximus took a seat at the table.
He was massaging a tense muscle in his shoulder and studying the heavy beams that crisscrossed the ceiling above him, when Cassian returned bearing a tray. He placed some bread and salted pork before Maximus and then poured them both large cups of wine.
“It’s sloe,” Cassian advised him. “A bit tart, but good.”
The two men raised their cups in a silent toast before taking a sip. Cassian was right, the wine was drinkable. His friend didn’t hail from Rome like Maximus did. Instead Cassian, like most of the Ninth, was from Hispania—the land now called Spain. Like Maximus, Cassian had grown up drinking wine made from grapes. He knew good vinum from bad.
The two men didn’t speak a toast. Instead, Maximus made a silent vow.
To breaking the curse.
Helping himself to some bread and pork, Maximus ate hungrily. In the days since the fight with Galbraith and his men, he’d had the appetite of a wolf. It was like that whenever he sustained and then healed from mortal injuries. His body needed fuel.
“I’ve deciphered a line of the curse,” Cassian said, waiting until Maximus was halfway through his meal before speaking up. He’d shifted into Latin, the tongue they always used when discussing the curse. He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming as he continued. “Dunnottar is ‘the fort upon the Shelving Slope’.”
“I know,” Maximus replied, swallowing a mouth
ful of food. “I’m surprised none of us discovered it before now … we’ve certainly been around long enough.”
Cassian stiffened, his excitement dimming. He clearly hadn’t expected Maximus to steal his moment. “Scotland’s a big country. Just because an answer lies in plain sight doesn’t mean you’ll see it.” He paused then, gaze narrowing. “How did you find out?”
“Heather told me … it’s the old name for this place.”
Cassian tensed. “Heather?”
Maximus reached for his cup of wine and took a large gulp, stalling a moment. Dull-wit. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He hadn’t wanted to mention Heather at all, and yet her name had just tripped off his tongue.
“The woman I traveled here with,” he replied casually. “She’s a De Keith and was heading home alone … so I accompanied her.”
“And you just happened to discuss this castle’s old name together?”
Maximus let out a long sigh. This was it—the moment when he decided whether to lie to his friend or just tell him the truth.
Lying was easier. Cassian wouldn’t be impressed by the truth. And yet, he felt weary of secrets. He’d kept so many over the years, and he’d always been honest with the man before him.
He wouldn’t lie to him now either.
“She knows who I … who we … are,” he said finally, glancing away. “I told her.”
Silence followed this revelation, and when Cassian finally did reply, his voice was hard. “Hades! Why would you do something so daft?”
Maximus leaned back and dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t intend to,” he replied after a pause. “But things got … out of control.”
“Right.” Cassian’s voice was clipped. “You’d better tell me the whole story … from the beginning.” He then leaned forward and refilled Maximus’s cup. “Out with it.”