by Jayne Castel
Maximus leaned against the stone arch, where rambling roses were just coming into bloom.
Heather’s heart leaped against her ribs at the sight of him, and her fingers clenched around the basket handle.
Lord, how she’d longed for him over these past few days—how she’d ached to seek him out. But after all the problems her rashness had caused, she hadn’t dared. Aila, ever more prudent and patient, had been right.
Better to wait till the storm passed, till he was free to come to her.
“Who’s this?” Lady Gavina asked, raising a finely arched eyebrow.
“Maximus Cato,” Heather whispered, her voice catching as she said his name. “He’s one of the Dunnottar Guard … and the man I love.”
Tearing her gaze from Maximus, Heather glanced over at Lady Gavina and saw that her cornflower-blue eyes had gone huge. Heather offered her mistress a nervous smile. “There are one or two things I haven’t shared with ye, My Lady. But I’m happy to.”
Lady Gavina watched her for a long moment before her lips curved into a smile of her own. “I look forward to hearing yer news, Heather,” she replied softly, “but it can wait.” Lady Gavina motioned to Aila. “Come … let’s carry our flowers indoors.”
And with that, Lady Gavina took the basket from Heather and glided out of the garden, Aila hurrying behind her.
On her way out, Aila cast Heather a wide smile over her shoulder.
Maximus stepped aside to let Lady Gavina and her maid pass, nodding respectfully to them both.
The Lady of Dunnottar acknowledged him with a nod of her own, and then she and Aila disappeared, leaving Heather and Maximus together alone.
XLI
ETERNITY BECKONS
HEATHER TRACKED HIS path across the garden toward her.
Maximus walked slowly between the beds of thyme and rosemary. However, his gaze never left her face—not for an instant.
By the time he stopped around three feet from Heather, her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she felt a little queasy.
This man made her feel every emotion keenly. She didn’t know why the sight of him made her so nervous, only that his nearness now caused a wave of dizziness to descend upon her.
Dressed in hunting leathers, with no sign of the injuries he’d taken three days earlier, Maximus watched her with an intensity that made Heather start to sweat.
“Yer uniform,” she murmured. “Why aren’t ye wearing it?”
He smiled. “I’m no longer a member of the Guard.”
Heather’s breathing quickened as alarm fluttered up under her ribcage. “Ye aren’t? Is it safe for ye to be here?” Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her worry. She resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms upon the skirts of her kirtle.
He nodded. “The Wallace has invited me to join his men, and I’ve accepted … but that’s not why I’ve come to find you.”
Heather swallowed, her thoughts reeling. Her throat tightened, pride swelling within her. She couldn’t believe it. He’d joined the cause.
His gaze roamed over her face, his dark eyes shadowing. “Are you well, Heather? I’ve wanted to check on you over the past days … but it hasn’t been safe to do so.”
“I am well,” she assured him. Iain’s brutality had terrified her, as had her brush with death, but with each passing day, the shadow he’d cast over her pulled back. She offered Maximus a smile then, in an attempt to mask her nervousness. “Ye know I’m tough.”
“You are,” he murmured. “But everyone has their limits.” He broke off there, moving a little closer. “I’ve just talked with your father,” he continued, his face so serious that Heather’s breathing constricted. Was there something amiss? Her worry increased when he cleared his throat. The man was clearly on edge. “I’ve asked for his blessing … that is … if you wish to wed me.” He paused once more. “Father Finlay has also assured me that he’s happy to conduct the ceremony.”
Silence fell. For a few moments, Heather merely stared at Maximus. Incredulous, she took a step toward him. “Ye asked Da for my hand?”
“I did.”
Her gaze roamed over him. “And I see no blackened eye or broken nose as a result?”
A smile crept over Maximus’s handsome face. “That’s because the request didn’t anger him. Donnan has agreed.”
Heather gasped. “He has?”
“Aye, I told him I love his daughter to distraction … and wish to wed her.”
A moment later, she flew into his arms, raining kisses over his face.
Maximus laughed, holding her tightly. She felt the thunder of his heart against her and realized that, although he hid it well, he was as nervous as she was.
“Does this mean you will be my wife, Heather?” he asked, the husky edge to his voice betraying him. “You know who I am … and you understand what it would mean to bind yourself to me?”
She stared up into his dark eyes, which now gleamed with emotion. “Aye,” she said, her own voice catching. “I love you, and I choose to bind myself to ye without hesitation. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with ye, Maximus … whatever fate deals us.”
His throat bobbed. “There’s something else, Heather … I have news.”
Heather tensed, for she could feel the urgency vibrating off him. “What is it?” she breathed, worry shadowing her joy. “Is something wrong?”
Maximus shook his head. Reaching out, he took her hands, drawing her against him. “We’ve solved another line of the riddle.”
Heather stood before Maximus in the doorway of Dunnottar chapel, a posy of purple blooming heather in her hands. Dressed in a lilac kirtle over a gold-hued lèine—one of her mother’s garments that she and Iona had spent all night adjusting so it fitted properly—Heather couldn’t stop smiling.
Maximus grinned back while Father Finlay wound a ribbon of turquoise and sea-blue De Keith plaid about their joined hands.
Her husband-to-be was dressed in chamois braies and a black lèine, his Roman sword hanging from one hip, his dagger strapped to the other. He was so handsome that it hurt Heather to look upon him, yet she did. Her gaze drank him in.
The chaplain led them through their vows, and when Maximus said his, Heather’s vision blurred.
“I take you, Heather De Keith, to be my wedded wife,” he began, his gaze riveted upon hers. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health …to love and to cherish, till death us part … according to God's holy ordinance … and thereunto I pledge you my troth.”
Till death us part.
One day it would—whether or not Maximus broke his curse. The wheel of time couldn’t be stopped. Just as summer couldn’t last forever, neither could life—not for her at least. Meeting Maximus had made Heather determined to grasp every last bit of happiness while she could, for one never knew what lay around the corner.
When the Hammer strikes the fort upon the Shelving Slope.
Excitement quickened Heather’s pulse. She was delighted they’d solved more of the riddle—no wonder Maximus had been so eager to share the news with her. Of course, she should have realized what the ‘Battle Hammer’ signified. But when the laird read out the missive from Shaw Irvine, she’d been distracted. Maximus had dominated her thoughts that evening.
And yet, one more line of the riddle remained unanswered. Until they deciphered it, her husband would remain immortal, and she needed to ready herself in case the Broom-star faded from the sky without the final piece in the puzzle being solved.
If the curse remained, one day she and Maximus would be forced to leave De Keith lands—for folk here would wonder why he never aged—but for now, this was their home.
Whatever happened, she had no regrets binding herself to this man.
When their vows were done and Father Finlay had untied the plaid ribbon, Maximus pulled her into his arms for a kiss. It was searing, possessive. The embrace went on and o
n, and soon Cassian and Draco were wolf-whistling and calling out to them.
Breathless, Maximus and Heather drew apart. However, their gazes were still locked.
Holding hands, they turned to face the group gathered on the steps beneath the chapel. Heather’s mother and sister were both weeping. Her father and Maximus’s friends were all grinning like fools.
The wedding banquet was a sedate one—the seven of them dined in the steward’s solar. Servants had dragged in a long table, and Iona had ordered the cooks to prepare a feast of roast goose stuffed with chestnuts and pork, a range of breads studded with nuts, and kale braised in butter.
Donnan De Keith had a barrel of his best plum wine brought up from the cellars. Aila poured them all large cups before passing them around. Heather noted that her sister blushed as she handed Cassian his cup.
With all the excitement, she’d forgotten about her sister’s infatuation with the handsome captain.
A little of Heather’s happiness dimmed then. The curse was on Cassian too; and unlike Heather, Aila would never learn of it. Not only that, but she glimpsed no interest in Cassian’s eyes as he took the cup and thanked Aila with a smile.
Her sister pined for a man who didn’t feel as she did.
“A toast to the newlyweds!” Donnan De Keith climbed to his feet and raised his cup high into the air. He then cleared his throat and began a blessing. It was an old one that had been passed down through the ages of this land. “May the road rise to meet ye … may the wind be always at yer back … may the sun shine warm upon yer face … the rains fall soft upon yer fields. And when eternity beckons, at the end of a life heaped high with love, may the good Lord embrace ye with the arms that have nurtured ye.”
“May the road rise to meet ye!” Everyone at the table raised their cups in unison.
Heather took a sip of wine and turned to Maximus. He was watching her with that intense look that made her limbs feel as if they were melting.
“And when eternity beckons?” he asked softly.
“I will be waiting,” she whispered back.
They ate and drank late into the afternoon, and then finally, when Cassian and Draco staggered away to their quarters and Heather’s parents dozed in their chairs before the fire, Aila ushered the newlyweds off.
“Go on.” She waved Heather away when she started clearing the table. “A bride doesn’t do any chores on her wedding day. I’ll get the servants to help me with these.” Her grey eyes gleamed, her mouth curving at the corners. Get going before Da wakes up and pours ye more wine.”
Maximus and Heather needed no further encouragement. Taking his wife by the hand, Maximus led her out of the keep and across the lower ward bailey to the guard tower.
“Cassian has given us our own quarters on the top floor,” he announced with a grin. “It’ll make a nice change from sleeping in the barracks … the snoring in there was awful.”
Heather laughed. “Aye … but maybe I snore.”
His grin turned wicked. “You don’t … I’ve spent nights sleeping by your side, remember?”
Warmth filtered through Heather. Aye, he had—and it had all started that night at The Bogside Tavern, a night when they’d been strangers. How long ago it seemed now—even if a full turn of the moon hadn’t yet passed.
Reaching the top floor landing, they stopped before a large oaken door. Then, without warning, Maximus scooped her up into his arms.
Heather squealed in surprise. “What are ye doing?”
“Among my people, we have a tradition,” Maximus told her, still grinning. “A man carries his bride across the threshold into their new home.”
With that, he shouldered the door open and walked inside, kicking it closed behind him.
“I like this tradition,” Heather admitted. There was something special about being carried in like a lady. She couldn’t stop smiling as she gazed around the small chamber that would be their home from now on. A hearth burned at one end of the space, where two chairs sat awaiting them. A scrubbed wooden table dominated the room, while a door led through into what Heather supposed was their bed-chamber.
“I know it’s small, but it’s ours,” Maximus murmured.
“It’s perfect,” she answered.
And it was. One day, when peace reigned once more, she hoped they’d have a home of their own in Stonehaven. Until then, these rooms and his company were all she needed.
He carried her across the living space then and into the bed-chamber. A bed dominated the far corner, near a small shuttered window, while a heavy curtain shielded the privy in the opposite corner.
Someone had scattered rose petals over the floor and the coverlet of the bed.
“God’s teeth … I didn’t realize Cassian was the romantic sort,” Heather said, her gaze shifting from the rose petals to the spray of spring flowers in a pot next to the bed.
Maximus laughed. “I doubt he’s responsible for these touches … I’d say your sister is the culprit.”
Setting her down upon the sheepskin before the bed, Maximus leaned in for a kiss. It was soft, deep, and achingly sensual. Heather swayed against him, a groan rising in her throat.
His mouth moved over hers, and his fingers went to the laces of her kirtle. Unlacing them, he pushed the dress and the lèine underneath off her shoulders. He then stood back. His gaze raked over her while her clothing pooled around her ankles, leaving the rest of her bare.
His look was scorching, and Heather’s heart began to pound wildly. Finally, they could be together without worry of discovery. They were man and wife now.
“Look at you, bonny Heather,” he murmured. “Risen from the ashes.”
Heather’s mouth curved as she remembered their conversation back at The Bogside Tavern. So much had happened since that night. “Aye,” she whispered. “It seems that I’m a phoenix after all.”
Maximus smiled. “I’m going to take my time over this,” he said, his voice husky. He then reached down and began to unbuckle his sword, dropping it to the ground before he pulled his lèine over his head. “A woman as beautiful as you needs to be loved slowly.”
Heat built in the pit of Heather’s belly at these words. Standing naked before him, she felt powerful, cherished.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes. His arousal was achingly evident, his shaft thrust up against his belly. Heather swallowed hard while excitement reared up within her; how she longed to touch him, taste him.
Heather’s gaze returned to his face. He watched her, his eyes alive with hunger.
“I’m not sure I want ye to go slowly,” she gasped as her breathing quickened. “It’ll be torture.”
His mouth curved, a wicked light catching in his dark eyes. Then he stepped close, his hands cupping her face. The heat of his body, so close and not quite touching, enveloped her. “It will,” he murmured, his voice full of promise. “And we shall enjoy every moment of it.”
EPILOGUE
NEWS FROM THE SOUTH
A fortnight later …
MAXIMUS STEPPED UP onto the wall and breathed in the warm afternoon air. This was his favorite spot, this corner that looked south-east across the North Sea.
As he was no longer part of the Dunnottar Guard, he didn’t have to stand watch on the ramparts. But he still liked to come up here, to admire the view and be alone with his thoughts for a while.
Maximus hadn’t expected to see anyone, and so he was surprised to discover two familiar figures standing near the southern guard tower.
Cassian and Draco.
Frowning, he headed toward them. “What are you doing up here?” he greeted his friends.
“Waiting for you,” Draco replied.
Maximus halted next to them and leaned against one of the crenellations. He noted that Cassian was frowning, and Maximus knew why. They’d been poring over those volumes, but were still no closer to solving that last line.
“The Broom-star only remains in the sky for two to three moons at most before it passes from s
ight,” Cassian pointed out, “yet we still don’t know who the White Hawk and the Dragon are.”
Maximus heaved a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. He didn’t need reminding. Despite the joy he’d found with Heather—or maybe because of it—the curse had been on his mind often over the past days.
“Well, we know the ‘Battle Hammer’ will strike at some point,” he said finally. “Maybe the riddle will solve itself then.” Maximus shifted his attention to Draco. “The Wallace has friends everywhere … has he heard anything about Irvine’s intentions?”
“Don’t look at me for answers,” Draco replied with a frown. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”
“But you have the Wallace’s ear, do you not?”
Draco grunted. “As much as anyone can … the man keeps his counsel close, even with his most trusted warriors.” Draco paused there. “He’s suffered betrayal in the past … and it’s made him wary.”
Maximus nodded. He knew something of William Wallace’s history—of how he’d once been in love with a woman called Marion Braidfute. Their story had ended in tragedy when Marion was murdered in the Scottish town of Lanark. Fueled by rage and grief, Wallace attacked Lanark and took revenge by killing its English sheriff, Sir William Heselrig.
“Wallace is more focused on the English than on clan Irvine,” Draco admitted after a pause. “He’s determined to see the Balliol family on the Scottish throne once more.”
“I do have some good news though,” Cassian spoke up once more, favoring his friends with a tight smile. “De Keith wants a spy placed at Drum Castle … and I’ve agreed to make the arrangements.”
Grins spread across Maximus and Draco’s faces in response. This was good news indeed. They had their own reasons for wanting to know the moment Irvine moved, but De Keith’s paranoia served them well.