by Jayne Castel
UNWELCOME
“WHAT IS IT, De Keith?” William Wallace called from the opposite end of the table. “Ye look like ye just shat yerself.”
A rumble of laughter followed this comment. However, David De Keith didn’t look amused. His gaze narrowed, and when he lowered the scroll, Heather noted his hands were shaking.
Face ashen, he turned his gaze upon his wife once more, ignoring Wallace completely. “I’ll have yer brother strung up by his balls for this insult,” he rasped.
Lady Gavina’s eyes widened. “What’s Shaw done?”
The laird’s fingers tightened around the parchment. He then raised it once more and began to read aloud. “I duly inform ye that the valley upon the border we share has always been Irvine land,” he read, biting out each word. “Of late, De Keith cottars have presumed to build hovels upon it. I hereby order that ye remove them.”
A mutter of anger went up at nearby tables, for other De Keiths had overheard their laird.
“Wait,” the laird barked. “That’s not the end of it.” Clearing his throat, he continued to read, “Furthermore, I insist that ye also give up the meadows south of that valley, for they too belong to us. My father allowed ye to encroach, but I will not. Yield these lands, or I will come to Dunnottar to enforce my rightful claim. I urge ye not to bother cowering behind the walls, for if ye do, I shall use my new siege weapon—The Battle Hammer—to flush ye out. It is a great, iron-tipped battering ram. I will strike it against the gates of Dunnottar until they shatter, and then ye shall have no choice but to face me.”
De Keith’s voice choked off there while muttering rose up around him.
“How dare he make such threats?” Lady Elizabeth gasped. “Has he forgotten the truce between our families?”
De Keith snarled a curse, his gaze boring into his wife now. “Clearly. The bastard never intended to honor it. I married an Irvine for nothing.”
Gavina had gone pale, her blue eyes huge and pleading. “I don’t understand why Shaw would behave this way,” she whispered. “I know he was against our marriage … but—”
“He was waiting for this,” De Keith exploded, cutting his wife off. “As soon as yer father died, he couldn’t wait to restart the feud.”
“Will ye yield those lands to him?” Wallace asked, his powerful voice intruding once more.
This time, the laird turned to the freedom fighter, staring him down. “Never,” he snarled.
Supper concluded swiftly. De Keith tossed Irvine’s missive upon the fire and started drinking heavily. Sensing their laird wished to be left alone, the surrounding retainers and guests started to rise from their seats and file from the hall. Outdoors, the sun was now setting in a blaze of red and gold; the fiery sunset reflected off the rippling surface of the sea.
Heather glanced Cassian’s way when he got to his feet. She saw him lean down and whisper something quickly to Draco. Then, he edged his way along the table and made for the door.
Heather’s pulse sped up. With the arrival of the missive, her opportunity to question Cassian about Maximus’s whereabouts had been lost. But she had to speak to him before he left.
Hurrying ahead of her parents and sister, Heather caught up with Cassian as he neared the doors. “Captain,” she gasped. “Can I speak to ye a moment?”
Cassian turned to her, irritation flaring in his hazel eyes. He favored her with a curt nod, his big body tense with purpose. He had the look of a man who wished to be elsewhere. Heather really didn’t want to bother him, but this couldn’t wait.
She was aware that in a few moments her family would be within earshot. She needed to speak quickly or the opportunity would be lost. “I wish to speak to Maximus. Where can I find him this evening?”
Cassian stared down at her, his brow furrowing. The moment drew out, and Heather’s breathing stilled, her pulse now racing. Was he going to refuse to tell her?
“Please,” she continued, hoping that the desperation didn’t show in her voice. “I won’t disturb him for long.”
Cassian’s mouth compressed before he finally answered. “He’s taking the watch atop the upper ward’s north tower. When ye find him, can ye pass on the message that I must speak with him … urgently. I’ll be in the dungeon.”
Heather stepped out into the upper ward bailey and immediately wished she’d returned to her chamber to fetch a shawl. A crisp breeze blew in from the sea, its chill feathering across her bare arms and cleavage.
This low-cut kirtle didn’t cover enough flesh. However, she risked being waylaid by her family if she went back for a shawl. She’d hurried from the hall before any of them could stop her.
She was aware of male gazes tracking her as she walked along the wall toward where the north tower rose against the sky. There were men on guard on the upper ward walls, and one or two turned to watch her progress. She felt exposed, and as such, hurried her pace.
Yanking open the tower door, she took the stairs that led past the guard room and up to the roof.
Two figures stood watch up here, outlined against the setting sun.
And as Cassian had said, one of the guards was Maximus.
Hearing footfalls on the stairs, both men had turned, their hands reaching for the hilts of the swords at their hips. However, upon spying Heather, they both stilled.
Maximus recovered first. “Heather … what are you doing up here?”
It wasn’t the warmest welcome she’d ever received. Despite that it had been days since they’d seen each other last, he didn’t even favor her with a smile. Instead, his dark brows knitted together and his jaw tensed.
A cold sensation settled in the pit of Heather’s belly. He’s not pleased to see me.
Heather shoved the worry aside. She’d done nothing to anger him; there was no reason why he wouldn’t want a visit from her. It wasn’t her fault that her husband had returned from the dead.
Aye, but it’s hardly appropriate, her conscience needled her.
Heather ignored it. Despite that she was happy to be reunited with her family, and relieved that Lady Gavina had taken her under her wing, the gnawing sense of emptiness couldn’t be borne.
Their journey north had been fraught with danger and discomfort, yet she’d never felt so alive. Being in Maximus’s company made the world seem brighter. Seeing him now, standing just a few feet from her, made the ache under her breastbone increase in intensity.
Lord, how I’ve missed ye.
“I’m here to see ye,” she replied, flashing him a smile and feigning a confidence she suddenly lacked. “Can we speak?”
Maximus’s jaw tensed, and then his gaze shifted to the guard across from him. The man was smirking, a knowing glint in his eye.
“I won’t be long,” Maximus muttered with a nod to the guard. He then stalked across to Heather, took her by the arm, and led her back to the stairwell. The grip on her arm was firm, and Heather stiffened at the way he marched her off the tower top. She didn’t appreciate being manhandled.
“Take all the time ye need, lad,” the guard called out behind them, laughter in his voice. “I would.”
Heather bristled. Why were men so crude?
Unspeaking, Maximus led her down to the chamber beneath the roof. He ushered her into the guard room—a small space furnished only with a table and a couple of chairs. Shutting the door behind them, he then turned to Heather.
“This is a poor idea, Heather … folk talk.”
Heather drew herself up, her shoulders squaring. “Let them … I’m permitted to walk around this castle and to see whomever I please.”
“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”
Heather lifted her chin, irritation surging. “And I have been,” she countered. “I’ve hardly left my parents’ rooms in the last week … the walls are starting to close in on me.”
“Galbraith will still be looking for you,” he pointed out, folding his arms across his chest. “He’ll be waiting for you to take a stroll alone … you do realize that?”
“Of course, I do,” Heather snapped. “But I wanted to see ye … although right now, I’m wondering why I bothered.”
“You shouldn’t have sought me out … it’ll only compromise you.”
Heather stilled, heat igniting in the pit of her belly and radiating up into her chest. It wasn’t from annoyance, but embarrassment.
“How did you even know I was up here?” he demanded, clearly determined to make her feel even more unwelcome.
“Captain Gaius told me,” she replied, taking a step back from him. How she wished she had a shawl. Now that they were alone, she was painfully aware of all the skin she had on show. “And don’t scowl like that … he wasn’t happy about giving me the details.”
Silence fell between them, tension rising to fill it. Heather’s throat constricted. His unfriendliness stung. She felt like weeping—not that she would in front of him.
“I’ve missed ye,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The days have been long without yer company … and I thought that … maybe … ye felt the same way. But I see I was wrong.”
Those words cost her. Heather wasn’t the type to bottle things up. She wasn’t like her bashful sister, or the stoic Lady Gavina. She’d suffer for being so open, but she would tell him anyway.
Yet Maximus appeared carven from stone. He merely stood there watching her with a narrowed gaze, his shoulders braced as if to ward her off.
Heather’s vision blurred when he didn’t answer. Damn him, the man was going to make her cry after all. She couldn’t let him see it.
It hit her then that she’d made her greatest mistake yet—she’d lost her heart to Maximus Cato. And he didn’t feel the same way.
“I’ll go now,” she continued, hating the rasp to her voice. “Oh, and Captain Gaius wants to speak with ye … it sounded urgent.” With that, she stepped around him and reached for the door handle. The faster she got away from here the better. What terrible instincts she had—what a foolish goose she was.
But before she could open the door, Maximus stepped forward to block her way, his hand fastening over her outstretched arm. “Wait.”
XXXV
I’LL WAIT FOR YE
THE FEEL OF her naked skin under his fingers made Maximus’s heart jolt against his ribs.
Hades take him, what was this woman doing? She’d stepped out onto the tower roof like a siren, beckoning him to his ruin.
And that kirtle she wore—could the neckline dive any lower?
Every man on the northern walls would have seen her make her way here, would have ogled the creamy swell of her cleavage. She was every red-blooded man’s dream come to life, and she was standing right before him.
He wasn’t made of stone.
Whatever Cassian wants, it can wait.
Gripping her arm, Maximus pushed her backward two strides so that her spine hit the wall. Then he released her arm, his palm burning from the contact, and placed his hands either side of her shoulders, boxing her in.
Heather stared up at him, those luminous grey-green eyes glittering with unshed tears.
He hadn’t meant to, but he’d hurt her.
Yet he couldn’t believe she’d taken such a risk by coming to find him. Over the past week, he’d spotted Galbraith from time to time. The man watched him with a malevolent eye, his gaze simmering with resentment. Heather was still in danger from her estranged husband, but this evening she’d thrown caution aside in order to see him.
“I’ve missed you, Heather,” he rasped. He couldn’t the bear the hurt in her eyes. “All I can think of is you … but I’ve stayed away to protect you.”
Her throat bobbed before she spoke, her own voice husky now. “I don’t need protecting.”
“Yes, you do. Wherever you go, trouble follows, woman.” His gaze dipped to where her breasts now rose and fell sharply, just inches away from his touch. “And then you come out to find me dressed like this?”
“My family was invited to take supper with the laird this eve,” she replied, indignation lacing her voice. “This was the only decent kirtle of Aila’s that fitted me.”
“It doesn’t fit you,” he growled back. “You’re virtually spilling out of it. My friend up on the roof started drooling at the sight of you.”
Her lips parted at his words, and Maximus found himself distracted by her mouth. That plump lower lip would be his undoing.
“I don’t want to stay away from ye,” Heather said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Her cheeks were flushed now; standing this close together was affecting her as much as it did him. “These past days have made me realize that I’m in love with ye, Maximus. I want us to be together.”
Maximus’s breathing hitched. Mithras, Lord of Light, save me. This woman was so bold. He adored it, loved how she spoke what was on her mind, in her heart—even if she wanted the impossible.
“But you know what I am,” he said finally, his voice roughening once more as he fought a sudden tightness in his chest. “You can’t bind yourself to an immortal.”
“I can.” She lifted a hand to his chest, her fingers splaying over his heart.
“But I can’t give you a family … you know that.”
“That doesn’t matter. I only need ye … nothing else.”
Maximus’s belly clenched. “You say that now … but with the passing of the years, you’d grow to hate me for denying you bairns.”
“I’d never do that,” she countered, her eyes gleaming. “And if ye break the curse … none of this will matter.”
“But we might not this time.” He could feel the heat of her hand, even through the thick leather of his vest. It was making it difficult for him to think. “I will have to wait another seventy-odd years for the Broom-star to reappear … and in the meantime, you will grow old and eventually die … and I will have to watch.”
For the first time, Maximus truly understood how Cassian had felt when he’d lost his beloved wife centuries earlier. The agony must have been unbearable. Maximus didn’t want to weather such pain. He saw the toll it had taken on his friend.
“Aye … I will age and one day die,” Heather replied, her gaze never leaving his. “But my love for ye won’t. Even after I leave this world, my love for ye will echo across eternity … and one day, when ye break the curse, our souls will meet again. I’ll wait for ye, Maximus. To the end of time itself … I will always wait for ye.”
He stared at her, his throat aching. “Heather,” he whispered her name in a plea. “I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Ye would,” she countered, her voice firm now. “Think about it … few lovers leave this world at the same moment.” Her mouth quirked then, even if her gaze was serious. “I’d just have to wait a little longer than most for my love to join me.”
“But what about Iain Galbraith?” He was grasping to hold on to control now, trying to anchor himself in the reality that was slipping away. “You’re still a wedded woman.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Aye … but he’ll leave Dunnottar eventually.”
“But you’ll still be his wife, Heather.”
Her gaze widened. “Ye want to wed me?”
“Of course I do,” he ground out the words, his heart beating so fast now he felt sick. With that he stepped close, cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her.
And the moment he did so, he was lost.
He was immortal, but that didn’t mean he had a will of iron. There was only so much he could take. The softness of her lips under his stripped away the last of his self-control.
How things had changed since that night at The Bogside. He’d been in command of his feelings then; the night had been an escape, had been nothing but pleasure. He’d enjoyed her but had been content to leave things be afterward.
But now, just a fortnight later, he wasn’t the same man.
Somehow Heather had gotten under his skin. He had a beating heart after all. The feelings she roused in him were raw, wild, and dangerous. They made
him reckless.
All he wanted was to be with this woman, to lose himself in her.
Heather groaned, and he parted her lips with his tongue and tasted her, hungry for her. Within moments, he was lost, the last remnants of his self-restraint sloughing away.
He was supposed to be standing guard on the roof above—but suddenly he didn’t care about that.
He didn’t care about anything except this, except Heather.
She kissed him back with a hunger equal to his own, her fingers clutching at him. She unlaced his vest, and Maximus shrugged it off, his mouth never leaving hers. At The Bogside, he’d spent the night taking his pleasure slowly, exploring her. But not now.
Breathing hard, he broke the kiss and reached forward, unlacing her kirtle. Then, he pushed the garment off her shoulders, sliding both it and the lèine she wore underneath down so that her ripe breasts were exposed to him.
She had the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen—large and rose-tipped, the skin the color of milk. And with a groan of surrender, he lowered his head and feasted upon them. He drew each swollen nipple deep into his mouth, suckling hard.
Heather’s soft cry echoed through the chamber, her hands sliding over his shoulders and up to his head. Her fingers dug into his scalp, urging him on.
She was wild, lusty, and unforgettable.
And Maximus would go mad if he had to wait much longer.
With a growl, he released her breasts and stepped back, pulling her with him. He lifted her up onto the table, shoving her skirts up around her hips. Heather wantonly spread her legs for him, her breathing coming in excited gasps. The sight of her nakedness exposed to him made the aching in his groin almost unbearable.
Staring down at her, he unlaced his braies and released his swollen shaft. It twitched in its eagerness for this woman, and her gaze widened at the sight of his rod. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around his girth, a pleading whimper escaping her.
It was no good. He couldn’t wait.
Grabbing hold of Heather’s hips, he yanked her hard against him as he pushed inside her, working his way in to the hilt. The tight heat of her—the way she stretched to accommodate his shaft, her hips undulating to welcome him—made a deep groan well up within him.