Cassian: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  Heather huffed. “He’s a decent man … but that doesn’t mean he has any interest in ye. If he had, he would have courted ye.”

  Once again, her sister’s words cut deep. Aila stared back at Heather, her throat thickening.

  Damn her, I won’t cry.

  “I don’t know why ye say such things,” Aila finally managed, hurt squeezing her ribs like a mailed fist. “I’ve only ever championed yer cause … but ye cut me down before I have a chance to go after my own.”

  Heather’s eyes widened, red spots flaring on her cheeks. “Of course, I want ye to be happy. It’s just that—”

  “Lady Gavina will be awaiting me,” Aila cut her sister off. Her tone was cold, yet it was merely a shield to hide the hurt that burned underneath. Heather was no different to her parents. Everyone treated her as if she was some fragile, goose-witted lass who needed to be shielded from life’s harsh realities.

  She’d had enough of it.

  Without another word, Aila turned on her heel and stormed from the solar.

  When the door thudded shut behind Aila, Heather loosed a heavy sigh.

  She wanted to go after her sister, to explain the reason for her caution. But she couldn’t betray Maximus, Cassian, and Draco’s secret to another soul—not even to her sister.

  Aila was clearly besotted.

  Heather had noted the signs from the first day she’d returned here. She’d caught Aila staring at Cassian when they joined the laird and his kin in the hall for meals.

  But until today, her sister had always denied Heather’s teasing accusations.

  “God’s teeth,” Heather muttered, twisting her hands together. “She’s about to get her heart broken.”

  Heather knew Cassian Gaius couldn’t love her sweet-natured sister. Like Maximus, he was immortal—but unlike her husband, Cassian had walled off his heart.

  Maximus had told Heather that Cassian once loved a woman deeply. He’d lived with her for many years, and the pain of losing her had nearly driven him mad. He’d sworn then and there that he’d never bind himself to another again.

  It was a lonely choice—and not so different from the one Maximus had made.

  But Cassian and Maximus were different men. Unlike his friend, Cassian’s past still drove him. She’d noted how aloof the man was, how little he gave of himself to others. Maximus said that when he, Cassian, and Draco spent time alone, the shield came down a little—but Heather had never seen it.

  Heather’s belly tightened. What a cruel fate that druidess had given them. It had been a risk to give herself to an immortal, and to wed him, yet Heather had known that whatever happened, she would always love Maximus. It sometimes worried her that if they didn’t break the curse, he would one day suffer the same fate as Cassian. She didn’t want him to watch her age and wither while he stayed forever young. She didn’t want to see such grief in his eyes.

  Shivering, Heather banished the chilling thought. It cast a shadow over the bright day. She turned to the window, and her gaze traveled south, over the walls of the upper ward and across the glittering North Sea. Today was Beltaine, a time for revelry and good cheer, not for morbid thoughts that might never come to pass.

  All the same, she worried for her sister.

  III

  MATTERS OF THE HEART

  AILA HAD ALMOST finished putting up Lady Gavina’s hair, when the laird burst into the bed-chamber.

  “David!” Gavina gasped, jumping as the door slammed back against the wall. Meanwhile, Aila only just managed not to stab the pin she was holding into her mistress’s scalp. “Please knock before entering my chamber. I could have been in the midst of dressing.”

  In response, the De Keith laird curled his lip, making it clear how little he cared for his wife’s propriety. “Ye have organized a bonfire outside our keep’s walls,” he accused.

  “Aye,” Gavina replied, her tone serene. “What of it, husband?”

  Aila went still, rapidly blinking at the laird’s show of temper and his wife’s stoic response to it. David De Keith usually wore an urbane smile. He possessed a serpent’s charm, which Heather had warned Aila about before she left Dunnottar.

  Over the years, many a tale had circulated the keep about De Keith’s infidelities. Everyone knew about the servants the laird took to his bed in favor of his beautiful Irvine wife. The laird and lady seemed to have very little to do with each other. In fact, this was the first time De Keith had ever entered Lady Gavina’s bed-chamber while Aila was attending her.

  As if realizing this, David’s gaze flicked to Aila. Tall and handsome, with brown eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, De Keith had often favored Aila with melting looks—looks she’d studiously ignored. And as Heather had warned, she’d been careful never to find herself alone with him.

  However, today his expression was fierce. “Send yer maid away,” David growled.

  Gavina drew herself up. “Anything ye have to say to me, ye can say in Aila’s presence.”

  The laird drew in a harsh breath, his hands fisting by his sides.

  Aila’s breathing quickened. Was he going to lash out at his wife?

  Long moments passed, yet De Keith didn’t move. In the years that Aila had waited on Lady Gavina, she’d never seen her mistress sport the tell-tale bruises that came from a violent husband.

  The laird wasn’t going to strike the lady. However, his dark eyes blazed. He ignored Aila now, his attention entirely focused on Gavina. “Have ye lost yer wits, woman? Yer traitorous brother is breathing down our necks, and ye decide to build a bonfire outside our walls … to open our gates, and empty the fortress after dark.”

  Gavina made a small noise in the back of her throat. “It’s Beltaine. The folk of Dunnottar and Stonehaven always dance around the bonfire together.”

  “Witless woman,” De Keith snarled back. “Perhaps this is all part of ye and Shaw’s master plan. No need to bring the ‘Battle Hammer’ to our gates … not if we leave them wide open.” He paused there, breathing hard. “Or maybe, ye are in league with the English? I wouldn’t be surprised if ye wrote Longshanks himself a missive, inviting him to the festivities. Ye have no idea the danger we’re all in!”

  Gavina went still. Standing behind her, Aila couldn’t see the expression on her face. Yet the rigidity of her mistress’s shoulders told her all.

  “I would never betray ye, David,” she replied softly. “Not to the English … or to my kin.”

  “Words are easy … just like the promises yer clan made and then broke.”

  “But surely the castle is well defended? Especially now we have the Wallace and his men here.”

  David De Keith’s lip curled once more. “Wallace could easily bring doom down upon us,” he spat. “He’s using Dunnottar as his hide-out … and using us to further his own ambitions.” He took a threatening step toward her. “In future, ye will speak to me before ye make any preparations like these.”

  “Ye have always said ye don’t like to be bothered,” Gavina snapped. “Has that changed?”

  The laird’s eyebrows drew together, while his beard narrowed to a point as he pursed his lips. “Ye know full well that I care not what cloth ye purchase for yer gowns,” he replied, his voice dripping with scorn. “But if ye put this keep at risk again with yer empty-headed wish for frivolity, I shall lock ye in this chamber for the rest of the summer. Is that clear?”

  The threat hung in the room, heavy and cold.

  Silence drew out, and when Gavina replied, her voice shook slightly. “Aye, husband. Very.”

  “We shall celebrate Beltaine inside the hall tonight,” De Keith replied. He still held his wife in a gimlet stare. “I’ll leave it to ye to inform those within the castle of the change of plans.”

  And with that, the De Keith laird swiveled on his heel and strode from the chamber without a backward glance.

  Another silence followed him.

  Gently, Aila inserted the last pin into Gavina’s hair and stepped back to admire her crowning g
lory. Her mistress had the most beautiful hair: it was as pale as sea-foam, and when loose, it fell over her slender shoulders in heavy waves. But it was also just as lovely braided and pinned atop the crown of her head.

  Many folk said that David De Keith had wed the bonniest woman in Scotland, yet Aila had rarely seen him glance at his wife with anything but disdain.

  “My Lady,” Aila ventured finally when the pained hush drew out. “Are ye well?” She moved around to look at Gavina’s face, her heart constricting when she saw that the lady’s cornflower-blue eyes glittered with tears. Her heart-shaped face was pinched.

  With a jolt, Aila realized that Gavina wasn’t upset as much as infuriated. “My Lady?”

  “Aye, I’m as well as to be expected, Aila,” Gavina replied tightly. “I’m torn between wishing my husband would choke on his nooning meal, and chastising myself for giving him another opportunity to humiliate me.”

  “But ye weren’t to know that—”

  “I should have realized that holding a bonfire this year wasn’t wise,” Gavina cut her off.

  “But everyone looks forward to it.” Aila certainly had been. She’d hoped that Captain Gaius would attend, and that they’d dance around the fire together, hand in hand.

  “Aye, but as much as it pains me to admit it, David is right. My brother’s threats are worrying indeed. We can’t leave the keep vulnerable to attack … even for one night.”

  Aila went silent at this, lowering her head as disappointment settled upon her. “So, there will be no dancing?”

  Lady Gavina favored her with a brittle smile. “Of course, there will be, Aila. Once the banquet is done, we shall push back the tables and let the dancers take the floor in the hall.” A groove etched itself between her brows then as she studied her maid properly for the first time since David De Keith’s stormy exit. “Are ye hoping a certain man will ask ye to dance?”

  Aila stiffened, cursing the blush that rose to her cheeks at her mistress’s penetrating look. However, unlike Heather, Lady Gavina wouldn’t push her to reveal the name of her wished-for suitor. Aila’s throat tightened. Heather’s lack of support still stung.

  “Aye,” Aila admitted, dropping her gaze to the woven rug on which she stood. “Can I ask ye something, My Lady?”

  “Of course,” Gavina replied. Aila noted the edge of reserve in the woman’s voice. She never had to worry about Lady Gavina prying, for her mistress was an intensely private person herself. Despite that she’d served Gavina for years now, her mistress had shared very little of her thoughts and feelings with her.

  Perhaps it was their relationship that prevented her. Maybe she confided more in Heather, whom she often spent afternoons with, or in Lady Elizabeth—the wife of Robert, Dunnottar’s former laird. Robert De Keith was now an English prisoner, and his brother had taken his place until his return. If he ever returned.

  “What would ye suggest, if a lass is in love with a man who hasn’t yet noticed her?” Aila asked, gathering her courage. “Is there a way to … encourage him?”

  She glanced up then, meeting Lady Gavina’s eye. Her mistress surveyed her for a long moment before a rare smile curved her lips. “I’m probably not the best person to ask such a question,” she said after a pause. “As ye know, my marriage was an arranged one.”

  Aila inclined her head, her interest piqued by Gavina’s response. “Were ye pleased when yer father organized the match?”

  The faint smile remained upon Gavina’s lips, although her eyes shadowed when she nodded. “I was never rebellious … and as the only daughter, I was expected to marry advantageously. When the younger De Keith son sought my hand, it was an opportunity to forge peace between our clans … and I was eager to please my father.”

  Aila fought the urge to frown, questions bubbling up inside her. This was an opportunity to learn more about the woman she served. However, before she could ask anything else, Gavina spoke up once more. “Like I said, I know little about such matters … but I would suggest that sometimes men do need a little encouragement.”

  Aila’s pulse quickened. Finally, someone is willing to help me. “Such as?”

  “Well … if this man is to be at tonight’s banquet, I suggest that ye make an effort to look yer best.” Gavina cast a critical gaze over the simple blue kirtle that Aila wore. “Do ye have a pretty gown for this evening?”

  “I have a nice silver-grey kirtle that matches my eyes … I was going to wear that.”

  Gavina shook her head. “Grey is no shade for Beltaine. Ye need to shine like the sun tonight, if ye wish the man ye desire to notice ye.” A real smile flowered across Gavina’s face then, and she rose to her feet, brushing off her skirts. It seemed that focusing on Aila’s predicament had made her forget her own. “Come … let’s see if one of my kirtles and surcoats can be adjusted. Ye are a little taller than me, but we are of a similar size.”

  “But, My Lady … the laird insisted that—”

  “Telling the servants that we’re no longer holding a bonfire can wait,” Gavina replied with an airy wave of her hand. She caught Aila’s eye once more and winked. “We have more important matters of the heart to deal with first.”

  IV

  OLD FEUDS AND NEW

  “I’M NOT BENDING the knee to Longshanks!” David De Keith’s voice cut through the solar, causing the three other men gathered there to grow still. “And I’m not traveling to Stirling … not with Irvine sharpening his dirk at my back!”

  Cassian lowered the cup he’d been about to take a sip of wine from, catching Draco Vulcan’s eye. His friend stared back at him, his expression veiled. Cassian’s gaze then flicked to where William Wallace stood by the open window.

  Both Draco and Cassian had joined the men they served in the solar for this important meeting.

  A few yards away, the De Keith laird stood before the glowing hearth—not that a fire was needed in the solar this afternoon, for the sun streamed in through the open window, pooling like honey upon the deerskins spread across the stone floor.

  Wallace was watching De Keith, his bearded face shuttered. “There are worse wolves in the woods than Shaw Irvine,” he rumbled. “Not only that, but we have the men here to deal with the likes of him.” Wallace paused then. “We need to stop fighting with our fellow Scots and face the real enemy … the English. This is a unique opportunity … Longshanks has invited all the northern lairds to visit him in Stirling … to pledge their fealty.”

  De Keith snorted, before reaching for the clay bottle of wine on the mantelpiece beside him and refilling his cup. He then took a large gulp. “I told ye … I’m not kneeling to him.”

  “No one is suggesting ye do it in earnest,” Wallace replied. “Make the sign of the devil’s horns behind yer back if ye must, when ye pledge yer troth, but it’s Edward ye should be focusing on … not yer brother-by-marriage. We must know what Edward intends, and our best chance of finding out is if ye go to Stirling and bend the knee.”

  De Keith scowled. “That’s easy for ye to say, Wallace. Ye left yer clan years ago … ye have forgotten how dangerous old feuds can be.”

  Wallace’s dark gaze narrowed. Across the room, Cassian grew still. He’d only known William Wallace a little over a month, but had already noted that he wasn’t a man to cross. Usually, De Keith minded him—but this afternoon, the laird wore a disgusted expression, as if someone had over-salted his porridge.

  “Old feuds are meaningless,” Wallace answered. “Especially if we all end up under the English yoke.” He paused there, his heavy brow furrowing. “That’s how they’ll defeat us in the end … they’ll use the fact that we squabble like brats amongst ourselves instead of uniting against them.”

  The laird’s brown eyes glinted. “Why don’t ye go to Stirling, William? I’m sure Longshanks would be delighted if ye bent the knee to him.”

  Wallace huffed a laugh. “Things have gone too far between me and Edward for that. He’d have me strung up.” The big man’s expression sobered then.
“Besides, it’s vital that my presence in Dunnottar remains a secret. The English can never know I’m here.”

  De Keith’s mouth puckered. While there were benefits to hiding Wallace and his men at Dunnottar, the outlaw had also just reminded him of the danger his presence here put them all in.

  Cassian took a sip of spicy plum wine and shared another look with Draco. Wallace spoke true about the feuding. Both Cassian and Draco had lived long enough to watch the tribes of Caledonia war amongst themselves before eventually forming the kingdoms of Pictland and Alba. The fighting still continued, even after the clans were eventually united under the kings of Scotland. Feuding was a constant, and Cassian and Draco had been involved in a number of them over the years. The clans of this land had never gotten on. And to make matters worse, these days Scotland no longer had a king, a void that Edward of England helped create—and one he was keen to fill.

  “Ye forget that Irvine wrote to me recently, bragging about that twenty-foot battering ram he’s had built,” De Keith pressed on. “A traveler from Drum Castle a few days ago confirmed it’s true … apparently it can bring down any gate, no matter how strong.”

  Wallace raised a heavy eyebrow. “Don’t tell me ye have been losing sleep over this ‘Battle Hammer’?”

  De Keith’s face screwed up before he threw back another deep draft of wine. The laird had been drinking heavily of late, Cassian noted. He wondered if the pressure of ruling Dunnottar was taking its toll on him. The man had been delighted to take over his brother’s mantle. Yet, ever since the English had resumed their campaigning, he’d grown twitchy and paranoid. And now, he spoke incessantly about the weapon his brother-by-marriage had threatened him with.

  “Irvine wants Dunnottar,” the laird growled, glaring at Wallace, his fingers clenched around his cup. “He hated that his father tried to weave peace with us … that he sacrificed his sister to a De Keith.”