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

by Jayne Castel

  But the opening of the doors behind them forestalled her.

  The crowd waiting in the gallery flowed into the long hall—a rectangular space flanked by large windows and with a great hearth up one end. The laird’s table sat before the fire, while the rest of the tables lined the room lengthwise.

  Gazing around, Aila took in the lovely decorations she’d helped put up earlier in the day: garlands of lilac hung from the rafters, the scent wafting through the air, and pots of daisies and roses decorated all the tables and the window sills. Despite the warm evening, a fire crackled in the hearth tonight—for Beltaine was a fire festival, and even if Lady Gavina couldn’t have a bonfire this evening, she wouldn’t do without fire entirely.

  “Come,” Aila’s mother took her by the elbow and steered her down the hall. “We’re seated at the laird’s table this eve.” The pride in Iona’s voice was evident. She loved any occasion where she and her kin got to break bread at the same table as the laird and his wife.

  She still had designs on elevating her position at Dunnottar. Donnan was steward here, yet Iona De Keith had wished for a greater standing. She often lamented what a pity it was that Robert and David didn’t have any younger brothers—for one would have suited Aila.

  Aila’s jaw tightened. Of course, she’d hoped that her daughters would wed well. Dashed dreams there—for Heather had wed a foreign soldier, a man without rank or fortune, and Aila had gone into service as a lady’s maid.

  It looked as if her mother would have to content herself with her current position, for things weren’t likely to change.

  Taking a seat at the laird’s table, between her mother and sister, Aila caught Lady Gavina’s eye across from her. The lady flashed Aila a conspirator’s grin, and Aila favored her mistress with a nervous smile in return. She knew Lady Gavina was pleased with her handiwork—yet she felt out of place in such finery.

  Sooner or later, someone was sure to comment on it, or make fun of her.

  But as the hall filled up, and one by one, folk took their places at the long tables, no one did.

  Gradually, Aila’s nervousness ebbed. However, the brownies in her belly started dancing once more when Captain Gaius appeared at the laird’s table. Handsome in a turquoise lèine belted at the waist and dark leather braies, Cassian took a seat to Lady Gavina’s left.

  Heart pounding, Aila stared down at the pewter goblet of mead that a servant had just poured for her.

  Will he look my way?

  And to her surprise, when she finally gathered the courage to raise her gaze, she saw that Cassian had.

  Meeting her eye, he cast her a questioning look followed by a small smile. He was enquiring after her, making sure she was well after her ordeal earlier in the day.

  Swallowing hard, Aila returned the smile, cursing the heat that now crept up her neck. She hated how easily she blushed, especially around the handsome captain.

  The laird swept into the hall last. Dressed in a fine velvet lèine, with the clan sash draped across his chest, and chamois braies, he cut a handsome figure. However, the look was marred by the deep scowl that furrowed his face.

  Aila watched with interest as David De Keith lowered himself into the carven chair at the end of the laird’s table. Surely, he wasn’t still fuming about Lady Gavina’s behavior?

  As soon as the laird had seated himself, more servants appeared bearing trays of food for the banquet.

  Aila’s lips parted in delight at the array of dishes set down before her. There was a tureen of rich goat stew and roasted haunches of lamb, accompanied by spring greens and an array of breads studded with seeds and nuts. A creamy pudding made with almonds and honey sat alongside the savory dishes, as well as huge bowls of strawberries and pots of thick cream.

  It was a feast sumptuous enough for royalty. Glancing sideways at her mother, Aila saw how Iona’s gaze gleamed with pleasure. Her mother lived for evenings such as these.

  “What an incredible spread, My Lady.” Iona caught Lady Gavina’s eye and beamed at her. “So much time must have gone into the planning.”

  “I had help,” Gavina replied, glancing at where Lady Elizabeth sat beside her. Robert De Keith’s wife was, as always, dressed in dark colors. Yet she’d woven daisies through her golden hair and let it down for once; the flowers softened her austere appearance. Gavina then shot a smile across the table at Heather and Aila. “Elizabeth, yer daughters, and I have spent days making sure everything would be perfect.”

  David De Keith interrupted them then with a rude snort. He picked up the silver goblet before him and took a deep draft of mead. “Yer brother is readying his ‘Battle Hammer’, and those English dogs are baying at our door … and ye women prattle on about a damn banquet.”

  Lady Gavina’s features tightened at the insult. “The folk of Dunnottar need something to bolster their spirits,” she replied coolly. “Aye, our land is in chaos once more, but Beltaine has arrived, and we should celebrate it.”

  The laird sneered before holding his goblet up so that a passing servant could fill it. His gaze raked down the lass serving him, taking in her comely form, dark hair, and pale skin. The look of naked appreciation that followed made Aila’s belly tighten. She couldn’t believe he disrespected his wife so openly. How often had she seen him leer at serving lasses in the years she’d served Lady Gavina?

  Enough times to know that he did it to spite his wife.

  Aila took the basket of breads Heather passed her, grateful to shift her attention away from the laird. Still, she found herself fuming on her mistress’s behalf.

  Lady Gavina deserves so much better.

  The banquet began, while a harpist set himself up behind them and began to play. A bright tune filtered through the hall, the music blending with the rise and fall of voices.

  Aila passed the basket down the table and watched Captain Gaius help himself to some braised greens. Feeling her gaze upon him, he glanced up. “Would you like some, Aila?”

  She nodded, warmth settling in the pit of her belly. Was she imagining things, or had the incident this morning forged a connection between them?

  “Aye, thank ye,” she replied, reaching out and taking the platter from him. Their fingers brushed accidentally, and Aila stifled a gasp.

  It was the first time they’d actually touched.

  She would cherish this moment.

  Finding it hard not to smile widely at him—for her mother had always said that men preferred demure women—Aila served herself and then handed Cassian the greens back.

  The meal would taste even better now.

  Cassian nodded to her then before handing the platter to the man seated next to him. His name was Draco, and he’d arrived with the Wallace. He was striking in appearance, with hawkish good looks. The way his hair tightly curled against his scalp fascinated Aila, as did his obsidian eyes.

  Cassian and Draco began to talk between themselves then. Disappointment stabbed at Aila’s belly. Her brief connection with the captain had been lost.

  She wondered if he’d noticed her gown. Lady Gavina had also spent a bit of time on Aila’s hair, pinning it high and letting down a few curls to frame her face. Her mistress insisted that she had a lovely neck and should show it off.

  Taking a mouthful of stew, Aila marveled at its richness, and at the depth of flavor and spice that had been added to it. However, as she raised the spoon to her mouth once more, she sensed her sister was watching her.

  Glancing up, Aila noted that Heather hadn’t touched her meal. Instead, her gaze bored into Aila. A line furrowed between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to criticize ye … I was just being protective.”

  Aila tensed. “It’s forgotten,” she lied, keeping her voice light. “Don’t fret over it.”

  Heather didn’t reply, although her gaze shadowed. “But I do,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want ye to get hurt.”

  VII

  THE DANCE

  THE WAIL
OF the highland pipe echoed through the hall. Its mournful screech blended with the strains of a harp, laughter, and singing. The noise reverberated off the stone walls.

  Standing near one of the windows, Aila watched couples move around the floor. It was a rousing folk dance—not a sedate, courtly one.

  The banquet had gone on a long while, and then afterward, servants had pushed back the tables and cleared a space in the center of the hall. There was no bonfire to dance around in here, but the fire in the hearth still roared at one end of the space.

  Aila was starting to sweat in her lèine, kirtle, and surcoat.

  Maximus and Heather swirled past her then, their faces alive with happiness, their cheeks rosy from the warmth of the hall and good food and drink.

  Aila’s breathing quickened as she watched them.

  They look so good together.

  Indeed, they did. Heather was all curves and flowing brown hair, her grey-green eyes sparkling, a sultry smile upon her full lips. Maximus’s gaze devoured her as he spun her around and then caught her in his arms.

  Heather’s squeal of delight lifted high into the rafters.

  Aila’s chest compressed. She wanted a man to look at her like that—and not just any man either.

  Tearing her attention away from her sister and brother-by-marriage, Aila’s gaze shifted to the opposite side of the hall, where Cassian leaned against the wall. Pewter goblet of wine in hand, he conversed with William Wallace.

  The pressure on Aila’s breastbone increased. Longing made it difficult to breathe.

  Why hasn’t he asked me to dance?

  Ever since the dancing had begun, she hadn’t seen him look her way once.

  Not that Aila hadn’t caught men’s attention this eve. The laird had danced with her earlier—an uncomfortable experience, for his grip on her hand and arm had been too tight, his gaze too intense. After that, one of the Wallace’s men, a big warrior with sweaty hands, had drawn her out onto the dance floor.

  But Cassian had not.

  “Aila.” A soft voice intruded upon her brooding. Aila tore her gaze from Cassian to find Lady Gavina at her side. “The man ye wish to win … is it Captain Gaius?”

  Aila went rigid. She’d been caught staring. How many other folk in the hall had seen? She dropped her gaze to the floor and considered denying it. Yet the blush that always betrayed her when it came to the handsome captain now burned upon her cheeks, and the kind look on Lady Gavina’s face made her swallow the lie.

  “Is it that obvious?” she murmured.

  “Only because I’ve been watching ye this eve … wondering who the lucky man is.”

  Aila huffed a brittle laugh. “Does he consider himself lucky? I don’t think he notices me at all.”

  Lady Gavina’s gaze narrowed slightly before she shifted her attention over to Cassian. Draco had joined him and the Wallace now, while a servant refilled their goblets. “Well, I think it’s time we changed that.”

  Lady Gavina picked up the skirts of her dove-colored surcoat and cream kirtle, and walked away.

  Aila watched her mistress leave and wondered what she meant by her final comment. But then, when Gavina made her way around the edge of the floor—past where the laird lounged upon his carven chair, his gaze upon the dancing—and headed toward Cassian, her stomach somersaulted.

  She suddenly realized what Gavina was planning to do.

  Mother Mary have mercy … no!

  Aila cringed back against the wall. Lord, how she wished she could melt into it. Like a hunted hind, she glanced left and right, looking for a place to hide. Yet there was no escape. Horrified, she watched Lady Gavina stop before Captain Gaius and exchange a few words with him.

  And then, his gaze shifted across the floor to where Aila stood.

  Aila’s pulse thundered in her ears, and queasiness rose in her throat. God’s teeth, I can’t believe she’s done this.

  When Cassian glanced back at Lady De Keith and nodded, Aila’s heart began to pound erratically against her ribs.

  A moment passed, and then he pushed himself off the wall, handed his goblet to Draco, and headed across the floor—toward Aila.

  Mortification pulsed through her. Aye, she wanted this man’s attention, but now that she had it, she realized how one-sided her passion had been. Till this moment, she’d longed for him from afar, safe in the knowledge that he didn’t feel the same way.

  It had been agony, but oddly reassuring.

  But now he was walking toward her.

  His face was unreadable, his gaze shuttered. That wasn’t a good sign.

  Nervously, Aila wiped her damp palms upon her surcoat. She couldn’t let him see just how on edge she was. A woman worthy of courting should be poised and cool—should behave as if she had men vying to dance with her.

  Of course, Cassian knew it wasn’t true—or at least he would, if he’d been paying her any attention.

  “Aila De Keith,” Cassian greeted her with a warm smile. “I hate to see a lass so lovely without a dance partner … would you join me?”

  His words made her already racing heart leap in her chest.

  Does he think I’m lovely?

  Not trusting herself to speak, lest she trip over her own tongue and make a fool of herself, Aila nodded. He then offered his arm to her, and she took it. A moment later, the pair of them walked out onto the dance floor.

  Lady Gavina watched Captain Gaius and Aila join the dancers, and as she did so, a little of the tension within her unraveled.

  The music had slowed now as the dancers began the basse danse, a slow, dignified dance that contrasted with the lively Scottish circle dance that preceded it.

  A smile curved Gavina’s lips.

  They made a lovely couple: Cassian tall and muscular, Aila willowy and clad in scarlet, her walnut-colored hair piled atop her crown. Gavina was particularly happy with the job she’d done with her maid. Aila was a pretty lass, yet she didn’t make the most of herself.

  In Gavina’s opinion, Aila outshone every other woman in the hall tonight, herself included. The blush upon her cheeks was charming, as was the rapt way she watched Cassian as they danced.

  “You shouldn’t meddle in the affairs of others, My Lady.” A gruff voice intruded then. Gavina tore her attention from the dancing couple, her gaze meeting Draco Vulcan’s. The warrior, who’d been talking to William Wallace and the captain when she approached, was scowling at her.

  He wore a look of disdain upon his proud features, an expression that immediately made her hackles rise. She received enough such looks from her husband; she wouldn’t suffer one of their guests glaring at her in such a manner.

  “I’m not meddling,” she replied, her tone wintry. “What harm is there in ensuring a woman has a dance partner?”

  “You’re match-making,” he drawled. “Cassian’s no fool … we all saw what you did.”

  Gavina stiffened. He was making it sound as if she’d done something venal.

  Next to him, Wallace snorted into his cup of ale. “Leave it be, Draco. What does it matter if the captain enjoys himself? I wouldn’t mind a dance with that pretty lass myself.”

  Gavina cast the Wallace a grateful smile. She appreciated his words. She then cast a cold eye upon Draco once more, taking in his lean, hard-muscled form, haughty face, and penetrating night-dark eyes. The Moor was a good friend of Captain Gaius, but right now she found nothing redeeming about him.

  This man was no ally of hers.

  “Perhaps ye should enjoy the Beltaine dancing as the captain is,” Gavina replied after a long pause. “I’m sure ye can find a woman here who’d take pity on ye.”

  Aila smiled so widely that her face started to hurt. She’d never enjoyed herself so much. She never wanted this moment to end. Cassian was an excellent dancer. He knew all the steps to the slow dance the harpist was now playing, and the pair of them glided around the floor, moving back and forth like a rising and ebbing tide.

  She liked the basse danse. It made her fe
el courtly; for a moment, she was a lady and he her dashing knight.

  Back and forth they moved, and when she gently placed her hand over his, a strange giddiness swept over her. His hand was strong and warm, and the light touch of his skin against hers was overwhelming.

  The mortification Lady Gavina’s bold move caused had vanished. Excitement, a deep, hot pulse in her belly now, replaced it.

  All too soon, the dance came to an end. Aila and Cassian drew apart, and he bowed while she dropped into a curtsey.

  “That was a pleasure, Aila,” Cassian said, his lips curving into a smile, meeting her eye. “It’s been a long while since I danced.”

  “Thank ye, Captain Cassian,” she breathed.

  He inclined his head. “Captain Cassian?”

  Heat flared in her cheeks. What are ye saying? He’ll think ye have the brains of a sparrow! “Captain G … Gaius … I meant,” she stammered. “Ye are a wonderful dancer.”

  “You are too kind … and I must say ‘Captain Cassian’ has a certain ring to it,” he replied, still smiling. Then, to her disappointment, he moved back from her. “Please, excuse me.”

  Aila kept a smile plastered to her face, even as disappointment arrowed through her. The harpist had begun another slow melody. She’d hoped he’d continue dancing with her—not bow out after just one dance.

  Cassian turned and made his way back to Draco and Wallace. Lady Gavina had returned to sit at her husband’s side before the hearth. As usual, neither the laird, nor his lady wife, spoke to each other.

  The dancing resumed, and Aila realized that she was standing in everyone’s way. Hastily, she picked up her skirts and wove a path back to her former place by the window.

  However, her heart still raced, and her hand still tingled from his touch.

  Taking a goblet of wine from a passing servant, she took a large sip in an attempt to calm her pitching stomach.

  Maybe, he’s just taking a breather, she assured herself, her gaze flicking over to where Cassian was now talking to Draco, while the Wallace had engaged Maximus and Heather in conversation. Maybe, he’ll ask me to dance again soon.