by Jayne Castel
“You called for me, De Keith?” Maximus greeted the laird. He then acknowledged the Wallace with a respectful nod.
“Aye … we’re hoping ye will be able to clear something up for us,” David De Keith replied. He swirled the wine in his goblet before shifting his attention to his companion. “Wallace …”
William Wallace cleared his throat and pushed himself up off the window ledge. He then took a step toward Maximus. At his full height, and this close, the man was truly a giant. “One of my men has gone missing,” he rumbled.
“I know,” Maximus replied coolly. “We’ve all been out looking for him.”
“Well … his brother believes ye are responsible.”
Maximus cocked an eyebrow. He knew he had to be careful how he played this scene. Wallace wasn’t a fool. “His brother?”
“Aye … Blair Galbraith is our smith,” De Keith interjected. “Surely, ye have met him?”
Maximus shook his head. “I haven’t been at Dunnottar long.”
“So, ye didn’t have anything to do with Iain Galbraith’s disappearance?” Wallace pressed, his gaze never leaving Maximus’s face.
“No.”
Silence fell in the solar, broken only by the gentle crackling of a lump of peat in the hearth.
“Galbraith’s estranged wife lives here, does she not?” Wallace asked finally. When Maximus remained silent, he pressed on. “There are rumors that ye are her lover.”
Maximus drew in a slow, steadying breath. This was it—the moment that the meeting could turn against him. After a pause, he answered. “I love Heather De Keith.”
The laird snorted at this admission, and Maximus tore his attention from the Wallace to look at him. David De Keith wore a sour expression.
Deciding to ignore his rude response, Maximus focused on Wallace once more. “This has nothing to do with Galbraith’s disappearance. I don’t know what happened to the man.”
“Come now, Cato,” De Keith snapped. “Why else would the warrior vanish?”
“David’s right,” Wallace said, his voice held a note of hardness to it now. “Galbraith didn’t hide his rage at discovering that his wife had left him. If he found out ye had been swiving her, I imagine he’d have been incensed.”
Maximus held the Wallace’s eye. He didn’t like lying to the man, for he respected him. The Wallace wasn’t someone you crossed.
“We’ve been discreet,” Maximus said after a pause. It was another falsehood—he and Heather had taken foolish risks.
“I’m not fond of liars,” Wallace replied, his voice hardening further still. “But ye and I both know that I can’t condemn ye without proof.”
“Ye have proof,” David De Keith cut in. “The man is plowing Galbraith’s woman. It’s clear what happened: they fought and Cato killed him. Somehow, he’s managed to dispose of the body.”
“And how would I do that?” Maximus countered, defending himself properly for the first time. “Would someone not have seen?”
“I don’t know how ye managed it.” The laird glared at him now. “But ye are the only one in this keep with a reason to kill him.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Wallace cut in. “Galbraith wasn’t popular among my men.” He heaved a weary sigh then, as if this conversation was becoming tedious. Reaching up, he nipped the skin between his dark eyebrows.
Watching him, Maximus sensed the Wallace was now making up his mind about something. “Iain Galbraith was good in a fight … but he was a troublemaker,” he said finally. “Few besides his brother will miss him.”
“It doesn’t matter.” David De Keith was scowling now, his fingers clenched around the stem of his goblet. “If this man killed him, he must be punished. I won’t have murderers in my Guard.”
William Wallace swung his dark gaze to the laird, pinning him to the spot.
The atmosphere in the solar changed then. Despite that De Keith ruled here, he was clearly wary of the big man standing a few feet from him. They’d all heard tales about what the Wallace was capable of when riled. His temper was different to Galbraith’s—slower to kindle and far more dangerous.
The English garrison he’d burned in the chapel here at Dunnottar had learned just how little mercy he had.
But now, Maximus was seeing a different side to him. Wallace was also a practical man.
“Then I shall invite Cato to join my force,” he said softly, his gaze boring into De Keith’s. A beat of silence passed, one that De Keith didn’t dare fill.
Maximus’s breathing slowed. Had he heard right?
Wallace shifted his attention back to Maximus then. “Draco tells me ye fought together in the past … that ye are a man of courage and honor … that ye have commanded warriors and led them into battle.”
Maximus swallowed. He wondered what tales Draco had spun this man. How would the Wallace react if he knew the man before him had previously commanded the first cohort of the Ninth—and that he’d once slain many of Wallace’s countrymen for the glory of Rome.
“Will ye join us?” Wallace asked.
Maximus stared back at him. The question both humbled and surprised him. He’d enjoyed being part of the Dunnottar Guard, yet the thought of joining something bigger, of fighting to protect this land, made his chest constrict. Now that he’d given his heart to Heather, he could also give his loyalty to a cause beyond breaking the curse that bound him.
“I would be honored,” he replied. He then shifted his gaze to the man who still stood by the window. David De Keith glared back at him. His eyes were narrowed, and a muscle flexed in his bearded jaw.
It was just as well that Maximus had gained an ally in William Wallace today, for he’d certainly made an enemy of the laird of Dunnottar.
“I’m going to ask Heather to become my wife.”
Maximus’s assertion caused both Cassian and Draco to cease eating. The three of them sat at the captain’s table at the far end of the guard’s mess. Around them, loud male voices boomed off the stone walls; the noise was almost deafening, yet Maximus had raised his voice so that his friends could hear him.
Cassian swallowed a mouthful of boar stew and reached for the cup of wine before him. “You’re making a mistake.”
Maximus met his friend’s steady hazel gaze. “Am I?”
“Cassian’s right. There’s a reason none of us form attachments,” Draco spoke up. He was watching Maximus with a veiled expression. He shifted into Latin then, as he continued. “We’re on the cusp of breaking the curse … a woman will only distract you.”
Maximus shook his head. “A month ago, I’d have agreed with you,” he replied, also transitioning into his native tongue, “but meeting Heather changed everything for me.”
“That’s exactly it,” Cassian cut in. “You’ve known her less than a month, and you’re about to propose. You’re love-struck, and it’s turned you into a half-wit.”
The words were harsh, uncharacteristically so from Cassian.
Taken aback, Maximus held his friend’s eye, while Draco wisely held his tongue. They all knew what had prompted Cassian’s comment.
“Lilla has been dead three hundred years, Cass,” Maximus said finally. “Yet you still carry her shade with you. Isn’t it time you let her go?”
Cassian scowled, a muscle bunching in his jaw. “It’s easy for you to say such things now,” he growled. “Everything is easy in the beginning. She’s still young, and it feels as if nothing will ever change. But wait for the years to pass … watch the woman you love wither before your eyes while you’re powerless to do anything to stop the march of time. And then, one day the Grim Reaper comes for her … and you’re powerless to stop him too.”
A heavy silence fell between them. The noise in the mess hall was as loud as ever, yet Maximus was oblivious to it.
All these years later, and he could still feel Cassian’s pain.
Next to him, Draco was swirling his cup of wine, his sharp-featured face unreadable. This wasn’t a discussion that the Moo
r was going to get into.
Maximus understood his reticence. After seeing how he’d hurt Evanna all those years ago, and after her violent reckoning upon him, he’d done his best to wall up his heart. He’d spent years outrunning love, but in the end, it had hunted him down.
He hadn’t wanted to fall for Heather, but now he had, his life finally had meaning again.
“I’ll not deny anything you’ve just said,” Maximus answered when the silence drew out. “If we don’t break this curse, I’ll be doomed to watch Heather grow old and die … if illness or injury don’t take her first. But I’d rather suffer the pain of loss than walk through the centuries alone.” His gaze swept from Cassian’s stony face to Draco’s impassive one. “Let the pain come when it must,” he concluded. “It’s time for me to move on in life … perhaps we all need to.”
XL
YER BLESSING
MAXIMUS EMERGED FROM the chapel to see the steward outside the nearby storehouses. Donnan De Keith stood, a thick ledger under one arm, talking to one of the servants.
A tight smile stretched Maximus’s face. Just the man I need to see.
He’d just spoken to Father Finlay, and was about to go in search of Heather’s father—but Donnan had made it easy for him.
Seeing Maximus descend the stairs, the steward sent the servant off and limped across the bailey toward him.
“Strange time of day for prayers?” Donnan greeted him, gesturing to the chapel.
Maximus shrugged. He hadn’t visited the chapel to pray, but to have a quiet word with the chaplain. There was something he’d needed to be sure of before he took the next step.
“Ye shouldn’t venture down this end of the lower ward,” the steward continued, his voice low. “Galbraith’s forge is right behind me.”
That fact hadn’t escaped Maximus. He’d smelled the tang of hot iron and heard the ring of steel being beaten as he approached the storehouses. However, he had more important things on his mind right now than the belligerent smith.
“It went well with Wallace and De Keith earlier,” he replied. “I’m no longer under suspicion. The laird isn’t happy about it though, so I’m not with the Guard anymore … Wallace has invited me to join his men instead.”
Donnan’s gaze widened. “Ye’ve joined the cause?”
“Aye … and not before time.”
The steward favored him with a long, assessing look. “Still … his brother will want yer guts.”
Maximus’s mouth curved at the steward’s concern for his hide. “Blair Galbraith messes with me at his peril.”
Donnan huffed. “Why is it that my daughter always loses her heart to arrogant men?”
Maximus tensed at these words. Was that what the steward thought of him? “I admit I’m arrogant,” he said after a pause. The pair of them turned and walked away from the storehouses and the forge. “But I hope you don’t think I’m cut of the same cloth as Iain Galbraith … that will make things … awkward.”
Donnan cut him a sharp look. “Awkward … why?”
Maximus drew in a deep breath. “Because I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand.”
The steward halted, turning to face him. Maximus did likewise, their gazes fusing. Fortunately, although the man’s face had gone slack with shock, there was no anger kindling in his eyes.
“Ye wish to wed Heather?”
“I do.”
“And she wants to be yer wife?”
“I think so … once you give me your blessing, I will go and ask her formally.”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Donnan murmured a curse under his breath. “Her husband’s only been dead three days,” he reminded Maximus, deliberately lowering his voice. There was no one about, yet the steward was wise to be cautious.
Caution had made Maximus visit Father Finlay. Of course, a handful of them here knew that Iain Galbraith was dead, but there was no corpse to prove it. That being the case, Maximus had been concerned the chaplain would refuse to wed him and Heather. Once he’d told Father Finlay his intentions, the man had held his gaze for a long moment. Maximus’s pulse had quickened when he spied a shrewd glint in the man’s eye.
He suspects the truth.
“There isn’t a body … but I think we both know Iain Galbraith is dead,” the chaplain had finally answered when the silence drew out. “The Galbraith brothers were always a mean pair … some might consider Iain’s disappearance a mercy. Ye seem like a good man, Maximus. Ye are free to wed Heather De Keith … if she wishes it.”
Those words had caused a wave of giddying relief to crash over Maximus. Now, the only obstacle to his happiness was the man standing before him.
“Heather and Iain were estranged for over two years … and he treated her badly before that,” Maximus pointed out. “Your daughter deserves to be cherished by a man who loves her.”
Donnan pursed his lips. “And that man is ye, is it?”
“It is.”
The steward stared at him for a heartbeat longer before he snorted and raked a hand through his greying brown hair. “I suppose I shouldn’t tar ye with the same brush as Galbraith,” he muttered. “He never asked my permission before he wed Heather in Stonehaven kirk.”
Maximus didn’t answer.
Donnan scowled then. “And I suppose ye plan to take her away from here too?”
“No … I’m happy here, and once the conflict is over, I wish to stay.” As Maximus spoke the words, he realized they were the truth. When peace settled upon Scotland again—and it always did, even after years of strife—he wanted to make this fortress or nearby Stonehaven his home.
A nomadic life no longer held any appeal.
Donnan raised his eyebrows. “Ye do?”
Maximus nodded. “I adore yer daughter … her fire, her courage,” he said finally. His chest constricted as he admitted this. It wasn’t easy for him to say such things before another man. “And I know I’ll never meet anyone like her again. She is the other part of me I never knew was missing. Dunnottar is her home … and so it is mine as well.”
He would have said that he’d lay down his life for Heather—but such a gesture wasn’t possible for an immortal.
Donnan watched him a little longer, and then his mouth curved in the hint of a smile. “Fine words, lad. Let’s see if ye mean them.”
Maximus inclined his head, his pulse accelerating. “Does that mean I have yer blessing?”
“The roses are bonny this year.” Gavina De Keith bent over the rosebush and sniffed. “Have ye smelled these pink ones?”
“No.” Heather smiled as she approached the Lady of Dunnottar. She then stooped and inhaled the sweet perfume. “Heavens … that is lovely.”
“I think we should use those ones to make soap and perfume, My Lady,” Aila piped up from where she was weeding around a bed of primroses. “Since they are so well scented.”
Lady Gavina’s face lit up at this suggestion. It warmed Heather to see the lady smile; she’d been so pale and withdrawn of late. Outdoors, in the small garden in the castle’s upper ward, Lady Gavina’s cares appeared to lift from her.
Maybe we should spend more afternoons together in the garden, Heather reflected. The sunlight and fresh air are good for her.
It was another bright day, with a robin’s-egg blue sky stretching above them. A warm breeze fluttered in from the south-west, bringing with it the scent of grass and wildflowers.
Heather breathed it all in, aware that the happiness within her made the day seem even more beautiful. The only shadow over it all was that she hadn’t seen Maximus since that awful night on the tower top.
She ached to lay eyes on him again, to touch him. She wished he were with her right now.
The night before, she’d voiced her frustration to Aila as they readied themselves for bed, but her sister had merely smiled. “He’ll be keeping away until this all blows over … the whole castle is in an uproar over Galbraith’s disappearance, and Iain’s brother is pointing the fi
nger at Maximus.”
Remembering her sister’s words, Heather’s belly clenched, her joy dimming. Of course, Blair would do such a thing. He was a mean-spirited man who’d been looking for a chance to get even with her for years.
And it was him who saw us together, she thought, her gaze traveling to the watchtower where she and Maximus had given their hearts to each other, and their bodies. Maximus was right to be cautious. As always, her impetuous character had gotten her into trouble.
Only this time, she was more worried for Maximus than herself.
“Can ye hold this for me, Heather?” Lady Gavina’s soft voice intruded then. “While I cut some lavender.”
Heather nodded, taking hold of the wicker basket her mistress passed her. She then followed Lady Gavina to where a profusion of lavender grew against a wall. Another pleasant, yet sharper scent, filled her nostrils. The smell of lavender was a perfume she’d always associate with her mother.
Heather’s mouth curved when she thought of Iona De Keith. Ever since Iain’s attack, her mother’s attitude toward her had softened. Gone were the judgmental glances and snide comments. Gone was the aloof shield she’d worn around Heather since her return.
Her mother had even wept when Heather told her and Aila what had actually happened on the tower top—of what Iain had tried to do.
“Beast,” Iona had choked, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
And so was Heather. Only, she didn’t want Maximus to pay for it.
Holding out the basket, she watched as Lady Gavina delicately snipped off lavender heads. The lady was in a much lighter mood today; she even hummed to herself as she worked.
A short while later, Aila cleared her throat behind them. “Ye have a visitor, Heather.”
Both Lady Gavina and Heather glanced up. Aila had just risen to her feet after weeding and was brushing soil off her hands. Yet her attention was upon the gateway that led out of the walled garden into the upper ward bailey. Heather followed her sister’s gaze to a tall, dark-haired man.