by Jayne Castel
“This journey is pointless anyway,” he muttered. “Shaw Irvine isn’t going to drop his claim, just because his sister pleads with him. Surely, the lady realizes that?”
“I think you underestimate Lady Gavina,” Cassian answered, his gaze narrowing. “The woman has a sharp mind … if anyone can convince that warmongering laird to stand down, it’s her.”
IV
A PATH OF PEACE
IT WAS QUIET in the chapel, so much so that the rasp of Gavina’s breathing seemed to echo in the stillness. Kneeling before the altar, she shifted position, closing her eyes as she whispered the last of her prayers.
It was growing late, yet she’d wanted to pay the chapel a visit, for there would be no time tomorrow.
“God guide me with yer wisdom,” she murmured. “Please discipline me with yer justice.”
The words gave her solace, balanced her after a day of conflict and hard decisions. She’d been on edge all afternoon following the meeting in the solar.
In truth, she was nervous about seeing her brother again.
She hadn’t set eyes on Shaw since before her wedding to David—over six years ago now—and wondered if he’d changed much. He’d always been a rash, out-spoken youth, and had bullied her when they were bairns. It worried her that as soon as he’d taken on the mantle of laird after their father’s death, he’d set about causing conflict with his neighbor.
Gavina needed to make him see sense. She’d wed a De Keith in order to keep the peace. They all had to do their part, and Shaw had to honor the pact his father had made with Robert De Keith. While Scot fought Scot, they’d always be easy pickings for invaders. The thought of the De Keiths and the Irvines at war made a weight settle upon her chest.
She would do all she could to avoid that eventuality.
“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “The time has come for me to lead … to make decisions for the greater good. Help me keep those within these walls safe.”
With a sigh, she opened her eyes. She dearly hoped that God was listening to her this evening. But even if He wasn’t, her time in the chapel had allowed her to focus on the task before her. Men always seemed intent on drawing swords against each other—but it was a woman’s role to weave peace.
Rising to her feet, she brushed off her skirts and turned to see Father Finlay standing behind her.
“Father!” she gasped, one hand flying to her breast. “I hadn’t realized ye were there.”
“Don’t mind me, My Lady,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve only just stepped inside … and wouldn’t have done so if I’d realized ye were praying.” He motioned to the banks of tallow candles that flickered down either side of the chapel. “I like to check on the candles before bed.”
Gavina nodded and moved toward the narrow aisle between the rows of wooden benches. “Then I shall leave ye to it … Goodnight, Father.”
“My Lady,” he said, stepping closer then. “I apologize for my presumption, but I heard a little of what ye were just saying … and I wanted to assure ye that ye do indeed have the wisdom to do what’s right. The path of peace is always the right one to take, in my view.”
Gavina’s step faltered, and she turned to face the chaplain once more. Father Finlay was a kind man, a good one; she only wished she could say the same for her brother. “I certainly hope so, Father,” she murmured. “The future of Dunnottar depends on it.”
Gavina was in a pensive mood the following morning when she sprang up onto the back of her palfrey and adjusted her charcoal-colored skirts. Her time in the chapel, and her short conversation with the chaplain, had made her resolve to come to a peaceful resolution with her brother even stronger.
She’d risen from her bed just before dawn and watched the sun rise from her window over the sea, while she rehearsed in her head all the things she’d say to Shaw. However, her musings had been cut short when Aila had arrived to help her dress and prepare for the journey.
Her maid stood on the steps of the keep now, next to her husband, her face tense with worry.
“Ye shouldn’t be traveling without a maid, My Lady,” she’d murmured earlier as she braided Gavina’s hair into a long plait and coiled it around the crown of her head. “Who will attend to ye this eve?”
“I will look after myself for once, Aila,” Gavina had replied with a small smile. “It’s only one night, and I’d prefer ye remained here with yer husband.”
It was the truth. High-born lady or not, Gavina was sure she’d be able to survive without Aila for such a short trip. Nonetheless, it did feel strange to be riding out without her maid this morning. Her escort was entirely male.
Gavina glanced over at where Draco and Maximus were sharing a few words before mounting their coursers. Of course, she knew why Cassian had chosen those two to accompany her.
He wanted to provide her with an escort he trusted unreservedly. Clearly, despite Gavina’s assurances, Cassian was concerned her brother would try and harm her.
She tensed then, her gaze settling upon Draco Vulcan’s broad shoulders. Yesterday the man had looked as if he’d just been struck across the face when the captain announced that the two of them would be her personal guards.
He’d managed to hold his tongue, although she’d seen how he bristled.
However, orders were orders.
Gavina’s mouth thinned. She wasn’t looking forward to traveling with him either.
“Max!” Heather rushed across the cobbled bailey and threw herself into her husband’s arms. “Hurry back … I miss ye already.”
Maximus grinned down at her. “I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone, carissima.” The pair kissed passionately then, oblivious to the crowd of horses and men around them.
Gavina glanced away, embarrassed. Heather wasn’t usually a clingy woman, but this was likely the first time the two had been parted since their wedding. They’d been virtually inseparable since that day.
Loneliness twisted within Gavina, catching her by surprise. She clutched at the supple leather reins she held. If only she’d felt that way about David De Keith. Unfortunately, she never had.
His death had brought a strange storm of emotions—regret being the strongest, and guilt swiftly following after. Maybe if she’d been a better wife, he wouldn’t have sought solace in the arms of other women. She’d been harsh with Jean, Lady Elizabeth’s hapless maid. The lass had been hopelessly in love with David, and had lashed out at Gavina for being dry-eyed over his death.
Jean’s grief was short-lived, however, for she’d died on the journey back from Stirling. Nonetheless, the lass’s rebuke had stung.
David had never given Gavina much reason to love him. Perhaps she was as cold as Jean accused—incapable of love.
Swallowing, Gavina shifted her attention back to the happy couple, who were still kissing. Maximus and Heather had such a strong bond, as did Cassian and Aila. It was hard not to envy them their happiness.
And yet, the threat of that curse cast a long shadow over their joy.
“Lady Gavina.” William Wallace approached then. “Take care on the road.”
The wind tangled his long dark hair, the bright sunlight highlighting the leathery skin on his face. Wallace was only in his mid-thirties, yet he looked older. He had the features of a man who’d lived—a man who’d known much joy and sorrow.
One evening a few days earlier, the pair of them had shared a cup of wine after supper, and he’d told Gavina of Marion, the woman he’d lost. “I’ll never love like that again,” he’d said, a faraway look shadowing his dark eyes. And Gavina had believed him.
Unlike Cassian, who’d grieved deeply after losing his love, but had centuries to recover, the Wallace’s sorrow was still raw. Marion’s death had unleashed something within him, a hatred for the English that couldn’t be tempered. Wallace would give his life for the cause in a heartbeat, Gavina knew it.
“I will, William,” she said with a half-smile. “And I do so knowing that Dunnottar is in safe hands.”
<
br /> He smiled back, the expression lifting years off him. “Aye, ye need not worry about that.” His smile faded as quickly as it had arisen, shrewdness lighting in his eyes. “Be wary of yer brother, My Lady. He will seek to bend ye to his will, I fear.”
Gavina tensed. Here was she thinking that the Wallace had merely come down to see her off. But like Donnan, who’d cornered her in the gallery earlier, he was concerned she might say or do something foolish. It seemed that only Father Finlay had faith in her ability to conduct successful negotiations.
“I’m a woman,” she said after a pause, “but let me assure ye, William, that doesn’t make me a fool. Dunnottar is my home … and I won’t let the likes of Shaw Irvine, whether or not he is kin to me, threaten it.”
The Wallace’s gaze widened at her show of spirit, before a grin split his face. “That’s good to hear.”
They clattered out of Dunnottar in single file, down the steep path that descended to the bottom of the defile. The party then rode up the rugged slope to the cliff-top opposite. A strong wind caught at Gavina’s cloak, snatching at the fine strands of hair that had come loose from her braid. However, she found that she was smiling.
Last time she’d been beyond these walls, the worst had happened. That trip to Stirling was supposed to have been a peaceful mission. But instead, it had transformed into a fight for their lives. She’d imagined to feel nervous upon leaving Dunnottar again, and yet her brief words with the Wallace prior to their departure had really lit a fire in her belly.
She’d show them all that she was a capable laird.
Her father would have called her ‘unfeminine’ for taking on the role. He’d have chastised her for filling her head with ‘men’s matters’, and encouraged her to hand over rule to the steward.
But once she’d taken the laird’s chair in the hall, something inside her had come alive.
David had shielded her from all the important decision-making, and since they’d spent very little time together, and hadn’t shared a bed since the first years of their marriage, he’d confided very little in her. As such, she’d often felt frustrated and bored.
Her escape with Cassian and the others from Stirling had been terrifying, and yet at the same time oddly exhilarating. It had proved to Gavina that she wouldn’t shatter at the slightest hardship.
She wasn’t like her poor mother who’d suffered from ‘nerve trouble’ her whole life. Greta Irvine had possessed a pale, ethereal beauty, but her sickly constitution and fragile nerves sent her to an early grave at thirty winters.
Dunnottar had never before had a female laird, and Gavina wanted to be remembered for doing the role justice.
They reached the bottom of the path. She urged her palfrey into a brisk canter, taking up her position between Maximus and Draco. Two riders carrying the De Keith banner, which flapped and snapped in the wind, rode up front, while the remainder of the company brought up the rear.
The thunder of hoof-beats shook the ground, and Gavina’s smile stretched out into a grin.
This morning, it felt good to be alive.
V
ASSUMPTIONS
DRACO CUT A look right, at where Lady Gavina rode next to him. She leaned forward, braced against the wind. There was something different about her this morning. Her cheeks were pink—an unusual sight, for her face was usually so pale, especially against the dull black of her mourning attire. She rode well, sitting easily in the saddle as her mount lengthened its stride.
And to his surprise, she was smiling.
She actually wants to go on this journey, he thought incredulously. Perhaps she was looking forward to seeing her brother again? Although from what Draco had heard of Shaw Irvine, the man had the personality of a pit dog.
Maybe she’s just happy to be free of David De Keith? This thought made Draco pause. He hadn’t paid close attention to the laird and his wife over the past couple of months, but even so, the unhappiness of their union had been clear to all. De Keith had been a shit-weasel—a man of weak character who’d made a poor laird.
Surely, his lady wife couldn’t do a much worse job of leadership.
Dragging his gaze from Lady Gavina, for he was coming close to staring now, Draco surveyed the lush, green hills that rolled away in every direction. To the north-west, wooded mountains rose up against a deep-blue sky. It was the loveliest morning Draco had seen in a while.
He wanted to be able to smile back at it, the way Lady Gavina was. But the place inside his chest, where his heart thudded against his ribs, was cold and dead.
Digging deep, he realized he felt nothing at all.
We have to break the curse, he thought, bleakness flooding through him. I need an end to this. With the curse broken, death would eventually find him, and it was likely to be from misadventure rather than old age.
He’d sought oblivion for so long, but the curse was always there to bring him back to the living with the dawn. He was so weary of life. Every morning when his eyes flickered open, heaviness descended. He always shut his eyes once more then, and murmured a prayer to Mithras.
Surely, one day, the Bull-slayer would heed him?
Death would be such sweet relief after a life that had gone on for far too long.
Draco clenched his jaw then. He hated that dark thoughts dogged him wherever he was and whatever he was doing. He wanted to lose himself in the beauty of the sunshine and the lush landscape unfolding around him.
I’ll feel better once war comes to Dunnottar, he assured himself as the party thundered down a slope and the horses leaped the narrow burn at the bottom. Few men craved war like he did. He couldn’t die, but being surrounded by death made despair release its stranglehold. He didn’t relish the pain of being injured, but at least that brought a welcome distraction from the mire of his own dark thoughts.
As the noon sun crested the sky, the party stopped to rest their horses and eat some of the bannock and hard cheese they’d brought with them. They’d left the rolling hills and wide skies behind now, and entered a landscape of wooded valleys interspersed by meadows. Their resting place was next to a trickling burn, so that the horses could be watered.
Draco took his food and sat down with it upon a mossy boulder, apart from the others. He ate quickly, taking little pleasure in the meal. And all the while, his gaze surveyed his surroundings, taking note of every detail.
The English had yet to come this far north, but it still paid to be wary. Shaw Irvine might have planned an ambush, and could be waiting for his gullible sister to ride straight into his trap.
Draco’s jaw tightened at this last thought, his gaze narrowing when it rested upon the lady herself.
He didn’t know why, but his attention was constantly straying to Lady Gavina today.
It’s just because you’ve been charged to protect her, he told himself. Nonetheless, it was as if she were the shore and he the tide. Without thinking, his attention shifted to her again now, and as it did so, he found himself scrutinizing her.
As much as he hated to admit it, for the woman chafed him like a boil upon his arse, the Lady of Dunnottar truly was a beauty. She sat upon a rock, back ram-rod straight, daintily picking at some dried fruits she had brought with her. The braid wrapped around the crown of her head was an austere style that drew attention to the slender length of her neck—she had a neck like a swan.
Her cold manner must have been off-putting indeed, for David De Keith had appeared immune to his wife’s loveliness. Perhaps she was just as icy in bed, Draco reflected. Not all beautiful women were lusty between the sheets.
“Enjoying the sunshine?” Maximus approached Draco, shattering his reverie. His friend winked then, for he’d caught Draco staring. “Or gazing upon something else?”
Draco pulled a face and shoved the last bit of bannock into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of wine from the bladder Maximus passed him. He’d sat down upon the boulder next to him, his keen gaze scanning their surroundings as Draco had been doing.
Before Gavina had caught his eye.
“It’s quiet out here today,” Maximus observed. “We haven’t seen any travelers on the road.”
Draco shrugged. “I’m not surprised. The threat of war makes folk a bit nervous of venturing out.” He cast Maximus a look then and saw he was frowning. “Don’t worry, Edward will come north.”
Maximus grunted, taking back the bladder of wine and raising it to his lips. “The Broom-star isn’t going to remain in the night-sky for much longer,” he replied. “We’re cutting things close.”
Draco heard the tension in his friend’s voice. A rare pang of sympathy lanced through him. Draco cared about few people these days, but Maximus Cato and Cassian Gaius were his brothers. The three of them had weathered long years together in this northern land, and although there had been lengthy spells at times between when they’d seen each other, the tether that bound them had never been broken.
Suddenly, he wanted to break the curse—not for himself and the oblivion he sought, but so that Maximus and Cassian might fully enjoy the happiness they’d found.
The realization caused surprise to jolt through Draco then, and he looked away.
Perhaps, I’ve a heart after all.
The warmth of the sun on Gavina’s face warned her that they were nearing their destination. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was dipping toward the western horizon. Despite the nervousness that had stolen upon her as the day progressed, Gavina had enjoyed the journey. It felt good to be away from the encircling stone walls of the fortress. They protected her from the outside world, but sometimes felt like a prison.
Slowing their horses to a brisk trot, the company entered the Strath of Muirskie—a long, wide vale covered in clumps of gorse and broom, interspersed with tightly-packed hazelwood.
“Did your brother say where exactly he’d meet us, My Lady?” Maximus asked, reining his courser in next to Gavina. “This strath is a wide space.”
