by Jayne Castel
Find out more about the hero and heroine of Book One of THE IMMORTAL HIGHLAND CENTURIONS
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The centurion with a heart of stone. The lady who scorns him. A marriage that will end the curse. Enemies to lovers in Medieval Scotland.
Draco Vulcan stopped caring about anything or anyone years ago. Cursed to live forever, he only finds joy on the battlefield. But in order to break the curse upon him and his friends, he must wed a woman he can’t stand.
The lady in question has just escaped a loveless marriage. The last thing she wants is to enter another one—especially to the cold, brutal warrior who fights at William Wallace’s side.
When the English king hears that Wallace is hiding at Dunnottar Castle, and lays siege to the fortress—Draco and the widow must band together against this common foe. But are they prepared to take things a step further and sacrifice their own happiness to break an ancient curse?
Book #3 in The Immortal Highland Centurion series, DRACO is the dramatic conclusion to a high-octane romance trilogy about three cursed Roman soldiers and the brave-hearted Scottish women who love them.
Historical Romances by Jayne Castel
DARK AGES BRITAIN
The Kingdom of the East Angles series
Night Shadows (prequel novella)
Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)
Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)
The Deepening Night (Book Three)
The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Mercia series
The Breaking Dawn (Book One)
Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)
Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Mercia: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Northumbria series
The Whispering Wind (Book One)
Wind Song (Book Two)
Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Northumbria: The Complete Series
DARK AGES SCOTLAND
The Warrior Brothers of Skye series
Blood Feud (Book One)
Barbarian Slave (Book Two)
Battle Eagle (Book Three)
The Warrior Brothers of Skye: The Complete Series
The Pict Wars series
Warrior’s Heart (Book One)
Warrior’s Secret (Book Two)
Warrior’s Wrath (Book Three)
The Pict Wars: The Complete Series
Novellas
Winter’s Promise
MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND
The Brides of Skye series
The Beast’s Bride (Book One)
The Outlaw’s Bride (Book Two)
The Rogue’s Bride (Book Three)
The Brides of Skye: The Complete Series
The Sisters of Kilbride series
Unforgotten (Book One)
Awoken (Book Two)
Fallen (Book Three)
Claimed (Epilogue novella)
The Immortal Highland Centurions series
Maximus (Book One)
Cassian (Book Two)
Draco (Book Three)
The Laird’s Return (Festive epilogue novella)
Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel
Light and Darkness series
Ruled by Shadows (Book One)
The Lost Swallow (Book Two)
Path of the Dark (Book Three)
Light and Darkness: The Complete Series
All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Draco, by Jayne Castel
Copyright © 2020 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.
ISBN: 978-0-473-55114-8 (Kindle)
Published by Winter Mist Press
Edited by Tim Burton
Cover design by Winter Mist Press
Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com
Roman Imperial image courtesy of www.shutterstock.com
Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com
***
To Tim—love you forever.
***
Contents
PROLOGUE
CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
I
THE DRAGON
II
THE LADY OF DUNNOTTAR
III
TRAITORS AND PROTECTORS
IV
A PATH OF PEACE
V
ASSUMPTIONS
VI
MEETING IN THE STRATH
VII
THE WHITE HAWK
VIII
GRASPING AT SHADOWS
IX
CHASING ANSWERS
X
LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE
XI
THE HAMMER STRIKES
XII
THE PARLEY
XIII
BLOOD WILL BE SPILLED HERE
XIV
WITH THE DAWN
XV
TO WHATEVER END
XVI
DESPERATE MEASURES
XVII
MAN AND WIFE
XVIII
NOT A GOOD MAN
XIX
DESPAIR
XX
UPON THE WALL
XXI
A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS
XXII
AN UNLIKELY ALLY
XXIII
SEEKING ANSWERS
XXIV
NOTHING AT ALL
XXV
TO THE ROCKS
XXVI
SHADOW AND STARLIGHT
XXVII
A MAN WITH SECRETS
XXVIII
JUST FOR ONE NIGHT
XXIX
HEART AND SOUL
XXX
NOT SIMPLE AT ALL
XXXI
ALL MEN BLEED
XXXII
IN FLAMES
XXXIII
AWAITING THE DAWN
XXXIV
FADING
XXXV
TOO LATE
XXXVI
SECOND CHANCES
XXXVII
THE BEST GIFT OF ALL
EPILOGUE
ALL I’LL EVER WANT
FROM THE AUTHOR
HISTORICAL NOTES
CHARACTER GLOSSARY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MORE WORKS BY JAYNE CASTEL
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“The only thing people regret is
that they didn't live boldly enough,
that they didn't invest enough heart,
didn't love enough.
Nothing else really counts at all.”
―Ted Hughes, Letters of Ted Hughes
PROLOGUE
CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
Edinburgh
Scotland
Summer, 1135 AD
THEY WOULDN’T CATCH him, not this time.
Draco fled through the warren of narrow streets below Castle Rock. A stitch stabbed his side—a reminder that, with a belly full of ale and mutton, he wasn’t in the best state to escape the warriors who pounded the alleyways behind him. Nonetheless, the fear of being caught spurred Draco on.
His feet flew over the slick cobbles, damp after an afternoon shower of rain. Ahead, a wagon laden with baskets trundled out onto the street, blocking Draco�
�s way.
Spitting out a curse, he leaped up onto the wagon, causing the mule pulling it to give a shrill, grating whinny.
“Hey, get off!” the man leading the mule bellowed.
Draco ignored him. Nimble as a hare, he clambered over the mountain of wicker baskets and then jumped, landing lightly on his feet on the other side.
Shouts echoed off the stone buildings behind him, but now Draco allowed himself a grin.
Catch me if you can.
The wagon would slow that lot down, giving him time to get away.
Emerging into the wider thoroughfare of Grassmarket, Draco sprinted east. He knew Edinburgh well; he’d visited the town hundreds of times over the centuries, watching it grow from a Roman fort to a thriving Scottish royal center. The tangle of fetid alleys around the fish market would be easy enough to lose those idiots in.
Still, despite that he was close to shaking off his pursuers, Draco regretted lingering in town on this visit. The White Horse was comfortable, and the serving lass there had shared his bed the night before. Instead of leaving that morning as he’d planned, he’d enjoyed a hearty noon meal before sauntering out to the stables to saddle his horse.
Henry and his lads had been waiting for him.
Henry, the king’s son, had been after reckoning with Draco ever since he cuckolded him three years prior. It would probably have been wise for Draco to avoid Edinburgh for the time being—but he wasn’t given to being wise.
He liked to push things to the limit, every time.
Losing his lover Magda had turned him reckless. He’d been part of the raid afterward that massacred those responsible for her death—but had learned first-hand that vengeance sometimes left a bitter taste in a man’s mouth. The years since hadn’t been easy, but he’d realized he had no choice but to move on.
Draco left Grassmarket, diving into a dark lane and narrowly missing being doused by the chamber pot someone emptied overhead. Still grinning, as the fear of capture gave way to the thrill of escaping, Draco rounded the corner.
And collided with a wall of leather-clad muscle.
Henry’s thugs were on him in an instant. Heavy fists collided with his face, his stomach.
Shit. He was sure he’d out-smarted them. How had the bastards caught up with him?
Draco fought savagely—but to no avail. They had him cornered, and they weren’t going to let him slip their net again. Grunts and the sound of fists pummeling flesh filled the lane. No one came to Draco’s aid.
Eventually, he hung between two of them, his head throbbing from the beating he’d just sustained, spitting out blood onto the cobbles.
A tall figure stepped out of the shadowed recesses of a building that overhung the street. A thin, young man, with aquiline features and dark hair brushed back into a rakish widow’s peak, stood before him.
Henry, son of King David of Scotland, had been waiting a while for this moment. “Finally … we have the freak.”
Freak.
The name made Draco’s mouth twist. Of course, Henry had discovered Draco’s immortality a year earlier, when he’d jammed a dirk into his guts in an Edinburgh ale house and seen his victim alive and well the following day.
He’d caught and tried to kill Draco twice more after that.
Really, Draco was a fool to come back to Edinburgh.
Over the centuries, he’d made a point of keeping who he was a secret. Folk didn’t tend to respond well when they discovered an immortal walked amongst them. Draco was a Moor of Valentia, a town on Spain’s southern coast, and he’d been born well over a thousand years earlier. He’d joined the Roman Ninth legion at twenty winters, and had ended up in Britannia a few years after that. And then when the Ninth fell in northern Caledonia, he’d been one of three survivors cursed by a Pict witch to eternal life.
Draco couldn’t die, although that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain.
“How’s Suisan?” he slurred. They’d smashed his head repeatedly up against the wall, and he was finding it hard to think. Even so, his question hit its mark like a well-aimed quarrel.
Henry’s smile slipped. “I broke the betrothal, and she wed another,” he growled. “Do ye think I wanted yer leftovers?”
Draco grinned at him, aware that blood was trickling down his chin. “I did the lass a favor … sparing her a life shackled to you.”
Henry went still, his heavy brows knitting together. A dangerous silence settled in the alleyway, and Draco’s skin prickled.
He liked to push things, but had he gone too far this time?
“I loved her.” Henry choked out the words. “But to ye, it was merely a game.”
Draco’s goading grin slipped. He hadn’t realized Henry had actually been in love with the comely Suisan Boyd. He checked himself then. But would it have stopped him anyway? Likely not.
Henry’s gaze was wintry when it settled upon Draco once more. A nerve flickered under one eye. “Ye won’t slip away this time, Vulcan. There are ways of dealing with a man who won’t die.”
And with these words, Draco felt the first flicker of fear tremble in his gut.
They dragged him through the streets up to Castle Rock. The guards at the gate cast the party curious looks but said nothing as the king’s son led his men and their captive inside the walls.
Draco’s ears were ringing, his legs stumbling, and yet he tried to fight off the two brutes who held him fast.
He was a rash man, but not a dull-witted one. The look on his nemesis’s face had scared him. He needed to get free.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t strong enough. They’d beaten him soundly. It hurt with every intake of breath, a sign that a few of his ribs were cracked.
That would be the least of his problems soon though.
Will they torture me?
Folk had tried that with him over the centuries, and the unpleasant memories still returned to Draco in his dreams. Although he awoke healed with every new dawn, he felt each cut to his flesh, each blow.
Being burned alive was the worst.
His belly cramped, sweat beading on his skin. Mithras, I hope it’s not fire they’ve got in store for me.
But it wasn’t.
Henry led the way to a small chapel inside the walls—a rectangular, stone building with a peaked roof. They entered through a Romanesque arch, into a sanctuary lined with low stone benches.
“This chapel was built in my grandmother’s memory … Saint Margaret,” Henry announced, turning to face Draco. He favored his captive with a tight smile, waving his hand toward the altar at one end. “She was a pious woman, who died a few days after hearing of my grandfather’s demise in battle.” Henry motioned to one of the men behind them. “Pull up the flagstones,” he ordered.
The two holding Draco tightened their grip upon him as they dragged him toward the altar. They and Henry looked on while three others used their blades to pry up the heavy slate stones covering the floor.
And as he watched them work, Draco’s breathing quickened.
He started to wish they’d planned to set fire to him after all.
They raised a number of flagstones to reveal a tomb underneath.
“Open it,” Henry commanded.
The grating of stone against stone filled the chapel as the tomb eventually yawned open. Even from a few yards distant, Draco could see the dusty remains of a skeleton within it.
He swallowed, fighting the sting of bile in the back of his throat.
Henry caught his eye before flashing him a hard smile. “Scared yet?”
Draco stared back at him. For once, a cutting response didn’t rise within him. Henry had outmaneuvered him, and they both knew it.
The king’s son met the eye of the bigger of the two men holding Draco. “Put him in the ground.”
Draco fought them. Dread rendered him vicious, and he gouged, kicked, and twisted in their grip. His reaction was so violent that in the end it took all five of the men with Henry to drag him into the tomb, and they had to sta
nd on him to keep him down.
Snarling and spitting curses, Draco glared up through their legs at where Henry had moved close.
The young man’s face was a pitiless mask, and through his rage, Draco realized that he’d made a grave miscalculation the day he’d cuckolded Henry. Some men never forgot a slight and wielded vengeance like a weapon.
Henry’s hate had made him strong.
“It took me a while to devise this end for ye,” Henry said while Draco panted and clawed at the sides of the tomb. “But now that I see ye lying there, I realize the wait has been worth it. Enjoy the long darkness … it’ll give ye ample time to think on how ye wronged me.”
And with that, Henry motioned to his men. “Cover him up.”
Panic seized Draco then—a wild madness that reared up within him. “No!” he roared. “I beg you … no!”
But none of them paid him any heed.
Henry watched his men seal the tomb, muffling the cries of the man inside. They worked swiftly, their faces pinched and pale. It was an unsavory task, but a necessary one. They all knew what this man was. This was the only way to deal with the demon.
After sealing the tomb, the men dragged thick sacking over it, to muffle the captive’s cries and beating fists further. And once they’d replaced the flagstones, and stomped upon them to ensure they lay flat, Henry could no longer hear Draco Vulcan’s cries.
Sending his men away, Henry lingered in his grandmother’s chapel for a few moments longer.
Silence settled over the sanctuary, and Henry drew in a deep breath, his ears straining to hear the trapped man beneath his feet. Perhaps, if he listened carefully, he could catch the faintest whisper. But no one else would.
The young man walked to the altar then and crossed himself. “Forgive me, grandmother,” he murmured. “Ye may have died of a broken heart, but I’m not going to martyr myself. Instead I choose vengeance.” He paused there, his gaze lingering upon the iron cross before him. “I didn’t wish to sully this place … but it was necessary.”
