by Jayne Castel
Torches and braziers glowed upon the wall, casting a lambent light over the rough grey stone and the snaking fog that surrounded the fortress now. From this height, it was a surreal sight. Tonight, Dunnottar was an island floating on a milky sea. Walking to the wall, and acknowledging the man to his right with a nod, Draco stared out at the view to the west.
The mist had crept in there, obscuring the cliff-top and the spreading hills beyond. It hid the camp, yet the glow of the vast English army still penetrated the mist.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
Draco turned to see Cassian standing behind him.
Draco’s mouth twisted. “Yes, but I don’t have a beautiful woman warming my bed … if I did, I wouldn’t be out here.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “But you could have a ‘lady’ in your bed, if you wished it.”
Draco snorted. He’d walked straight into that one. “I thought we agreed to let that subject lie?”
“What subject?” Cassian’s tone feigned innocence as he moved closer, so that the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder looking out over the misty night.
Draco sucked in another deep breath. Since his return from the meeting with Irvine, he’d had some tense ‘talks’ with both Maximus and Cassian. The worst of them had been yesterday afternoon. Draco had been so intractable that Cassian had actually lost his temper with him. Maximus had stepped between the two of them before they came to blows.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Cassian murmured after a pause. “I was an arse.”
Draco cut his friend a look. “You’re never an arse, Cass,” he admitted. “We both know that’s my role. Your anger was deserved.”
Draco shifted his attention back to the fog-shrouded cliff-face before them. The mist seemed to have a life of its own tonight, shifting and wreathing like the tentacles of some great sea beast. It was an eerie sight, and one that put him on edge.
Things weren’t looking rosy for Dunnottar and its inhabitants. Even with the Wallace and his men’s assistance, and the reinforcements they’d brought in, the stronghold wouldn’t stand long-term against such a force. They all knew it, although the Wallace was stubbornly refusing to admit the truth.
Draco stared off into the fog, his gaze becoming unfocused. Sometimes he wondered why he was fighting Maximus and Cassian over this. After all, they all wanted the same thing.
This is your chance to finally break the curse, a voice whispered to him then. You’ve chased death for so long. Why are you throwing away this opportunity?
The question brought Draco up short. The voice was cruel and cold, yet it spoke the truth. Why was he resisting a union with Gavina?
He didn’t wish to wed anyone, let alone the proud Lady of Dunnottar. But if the others were right, this was indeed the opportunity he’d long yearned for. Otherwise, he’d continue living forever.
Draco’s throat tightened. That chilling dream had been a reminder of the burden he carried. He’d lived through too much, seen too much, and done too much.
Draco turned to Cassian then, meeting his eye squarely. “Actually, I’ve thought on what you said,” he replied softly. “You were right. I’ve completely ignored the fact that all three of us are in this mess together. You and Maximus need this from me.”
Cassian’s gaze widened. “Does this mean—”
“Yes, it does,” Draco cut him off, impatient now. “But the battle isn’t won yet, Cass. Lady Gavina has a say in this too … in case you forget.” He paused there. “I will talk to her once more … and see if she is willing to overlook her objections to wedding me … but I can’t make you any promises.”
Cassian cocked an eyebrow. “She doesn’t dislike you that much, does she?”
Draco snorted. “I think I’m a little too rough around the edges for the lady.”
Cassian laughed. “You are for most of us, but we love you nonetheless.” His gaze searched Draco’s face then, as if he was seeking the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. Draco knew what it was. He had never spoken of those lost years under Saint Margaret’s Chapel to Maximus or Cassian. Draco had let them believe that losing Magda in the raid a few years before that incident had turned him cruel and bitter.
Cassian knew he was hiding something—but now, as in the past, his friend didn’t press him. Draco had always appreciated that about him. He knew when to let things be.
“Discovering Gavina and I are part of the riddle came as a bit of a shock,” Draco admitted after a pause, deliberately moving the subject of conversation on. “One I’m still struggling with to be honest. I’ve always known what my name means, but I thought the answer to the last line would be more complex than that.”
“We all did … but sometimes the easy answers are the hardest ones to accept.” Cassian flashed him a rueful smile then. “Plus … do you think I really want to put my fate in your hands?”
Draco snorted. His friend had turned into a bit of philosopher of late. In the past, Draco might have mocked him for it, yet tonight he held his tongue. He didn’t always need to be right, to always prove a point. Sometimes he could just let a comment pass.
Despite that he’d never openly admitted it, Maximus and Cassian meant more to him than anyone else. It was time he focused on breaking the curse that held them all captive. However, their success now hinged on the cooperation of a woman who didn’t like him, a woman who’d only been recently widowed.
Let’s see if I can get the Lady of Dunnottar to warm to me … just a little.
Gavina rose well before dawn. Wrapped in a fur mantle, she climbed the steps to the guard tower and joined the Wallace and Cassian as they stood waiting for the sun to rise. Draco and Maximus were present as well, shadowy figures in the murk.
“How far off is dawn?” Gavina asked. Her voice, although soft, sounded unnaturally loud in the eerie silence that had settled upon the castle. She stepped up next to the Wallace, lifting her chin so that she could meet his gaze.
“It will break soon,” he rumbled. “Longshanks is down there waiting.”
Gavina’s lips thinned. Indeed, the English king would be hoping she’d turn the freedom fighter over to him.
Her gaze shifted then to Cassian. The captain acknowledged her with a nod.
Not for the first time, guilt arrowed through Gavina, and her chest tightened. Her conversation with Aila the night before had discomforted her. Afterward, she’d lain in bed, staring up at the darkness, unable to get to sleep. Maybe if her maid had shown anger or frustration, it might have been easier to bear. But Aila believed in her, trusted her. She didn’t want her mistress to suffer another unhappy marriage.
Her kindness had humbled Gavina.
Friendship had always been something that had eluded her over the years. She’d lost her mother early, and hadn’t had any sisters to share things with. Her relationship with her sister-by-marriage, Elizabeth, was still oddly formal, and Gavina’s position here at Dunnottar had always isolated her.
But in Aila and Heather she’d found acceptance and companionship.
The pressure in Gavina’s chest deepened, making her catch her breath. It was hard to focus when guilt plagued her like this. At least she didn’t have the defense of Dunnottar to worry over too—she didn’t like admitting defeat, but she’d done all she could to prevent bloodshed. It was in the hands of the men now.
Maybe she should seek out Heather today? Aila’s elder sister was more plainspoken and had a fiery temperament. She likely wouldn’t be as understanding as Aila—and if she gave Gavina the sharp edge of her tongue, some of this gnawing guilt might ease a little.
The trouble was that Gavina liked Cassian and Maximus too. They were both good, honest men who’d fallen in love with wonderful women. They all deserved a future. Once again, Gavina swallowed down self-reproach at the thought that she and Draco appeared to hold the key.
The group of them waited on the walls, unspeaking, while the surrounding braziers died down and the torches started to gutter. And
with the rising of the sun, a faint glow at first in the east, the fog started to shift. It rolled away, revealing the line of mounted soldiers that bristled along the length of the cliff-face.
The English were awake and ready for them.
Gavina shifted uncomfortably, her pulse accelerating at the sight. The warmth of the rising sun upon her cheeks chased away the night’s lingering chill, but it couldn’t warm the cold knot of fear tightening in her belly.
She had already lived through a siege, and it had been terrifying. But this attack was going to be infinitely worse.
The mist continued to roll back, and Gavina glanced around, taking in their defenses. Rows of men in mail shirts and gleaming black helms now lined the walls. Archers wielding both cross and longbows stood at the ready. Much bigger crossbows had been erected upon the defenses as well, big enough to hurl projectiles at the enemy from above.
An acrid odor filled her nostrils then—the burning stench of quicklime and pine resin. Pails of Greek fire lined the walls. A useful weapon indeed, for when mixed with water, it burst into flames. Unfortunately, the English would have plenty of it too.
Once Edward’s men tried scaling the walls, they would have arrows and rocks cast down on them, but that wasn’t likely to happen today.
First, according to the Wallace, the English would do some damage to the curtain walls. After that, they would turn their attention to the gates.
Gavina’s jaw tightened. Dunnottar was fortunate in its position, perched high upon the headland with only one side landward. The Wallace’s men had dug a deep ditch around the base on that side, and filled it with iron spikes. That would make it harder for the enemy to put up ladders.
To reach the castle gates, the army had to pick its way down a steep slope and then climb through a defile—a narrow path that would slow them further.
As if reading Gavina’s thoughts, the Wallace spoke up. “There are many of them, My Lady,” he rumbled. “But it wouldn’t matter if twice that number were to lay siege to the castle. Only a handful at a time can get close to us.”
Gavina nodded. He was right, yet his words didn’t make her feel any better.
The sky lightened further, shifting from rose-pink to a fiery red.
The sight made Divina’s already nervous belly tighten. It looked as if blood stained the morning sky—an ill omen for the first day of battle.
Then, as they waited, a long, drawn-out wail echoed over the cliff-top—a horn.
Gavina had been waiting for the signal, but even so, it startled her. Her breathing caught, and her heart started to race.
A heartbeat passed, and then another, and Gavina continued to hold her breath.
Then on the cliff-edge opposite, the English army gave a great roar. It had begun.
XV
TO WHATEVER END
THE MOMENT GAVINA ventured out into the walled garden and the castle’s upper ward, she regretted it.
Indoors, the shouts of soldiers and the whooshing sound of trebuchets launching was muffled. Every so often, the keep would shudder from the impact of rocks and Greek fire hitting the curtain walls, but for the most part those indoors could keep their heads down and ignore the siege.
Outdoors was a different matter.
Gavina inhaled a lungful of acrid smoke, which caught in her lungs and made her cough. Out here, the clash of iron on stone and the thunder of stones and debris hitting the walls rang in her ears.
The roar of men’s voices had screams blended with them.
Scots were dying.
Whomp. Whomp.
Two more projectiles hit the curtain wall, sending a deep shudder through the entire fortress.
Sucking in a deep breath, and then regretting it as another fit of coughing seized her, Gavina wiped her stinging eyes and walked over to the rose bed. In an effort to distract herself, her gaze traveled over the magnificent blooms of red and pink. Bees were buzzing there, and a butterfly had just landed on the wall, oblivious to the turmoil going on around it.
As he promised, Edward had begun his siege at daybreak. And he hadn’t paused since. The bastard had set up a line of trebuchets—big iron and oak machines of war from which he hurled chunks of lead and slate, and Greek fire—along the cliff-edge opposite.
At noon, when Gavina had dared peek out the window of the solar to see how their defenses were holding up, she was frustrated to realize that she couldn’t see much from her vantage point. After the siege began, she’d retreated from the top of the wall. It had been too dangerous for her to remain there.
Now, as the afternoon drew out, she found that she dreaded discovering what damage the English had already wrought.
“You really shouldn’t be out here, My Lady. It’s not safe.”
A male voice drew her from her brooding. Tearing her gaze from the roses, Gavina swiveled to see a tall man with tightly-curled, short dark hair, clad in leather armor, emerge through the stone arch leading into the garden and stride toward her.
Draco Vulcan, battle-ready, was an intimidating sight. A sword hung at his side, and he carried a domed metal helmet under one arm. Dust and ash from the siege covered his lean body.
For a moment, Gavina merely stared at him. What was he doing in her garden?
“I had to get outside for a few moments,” she replied, irritated that she felt the need to defend herself. “The walls were closing in on me.”
“Well, you’d better hope that Longshanks’s Greek fire has a short reach,” he replied. “Or you might get an unwelcome guest in your pretty garden.”
Gavina tensed. She hadn’t invited this man in here. And yet here he was telling her how to behave. “Did ye want something, Vulcan?” Her tone was unwelcoming, yet she didn’t care.
He stopped a few feet back from her. His gaze then roved over her face, as if he was trying to judge her mood. “I wish to speak to you, My Lady … if I may?”
She frowned. The man had poor timing indeed. “What about?”
“About that riddle you and I are part of.”
Gavina’s pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. Despite that it was a mild day, she drew the light cloak about her shoulders close. “Now really isn’t a good time.”
“Time grows short, My Lady,” Draco countered, his tone polite. He didn’t appear remotely affected by her chilly response. “Perhaps it’s time for you and me to do our part.”
Gavina stilled. Our part? “Ye told me to forget about the riddle,” she reminded him. “Why are ye bringing it up again?”
He huffed a heavy sigh, before he dragged a hand down his face. “There’s nothing like a siege to get you thinking.” The warrior’s expression was suddenly weary. “I’m not asking for myself, but for Cassian and Maximus. If Edward reduces this castle to rubble, my friends aren’t going to want to live through it … only to see the women they love die. If we all go down … we go down together.”
Gavina drew in a shocked breath. His words were a slap across the face. The bleakness of such a proclamation made her queasy. As such, her voice was strained when she finally replied, “That is a dire prediction … maybe ye are wrong … maybe Cassian and Maximus value their lives more than ye think.”
Draco shook his head. “Not if they lose their wives.” He paused then, his eyes shadowing. “It might take Longshanks a while, but eventually he’ll take Dunnottar … and when he does, few of you are going to survive his wrath, My Lady. You might, perhaps … and Lady Elizabeth. You’re high-born ladies, so Edward might decide to take you hostage. But he’ll put every other soul in this keep to the sword or burn them alive once he breaches the gates. Aila and Heather will die, and I know that my friends would prefer to go with them … if it comes to that.”
Gavina fell silent. She didn’t know how to answer him. Like when he’d approached her the morning after their discovery that Gavina was the ‘White Hawk’, she was struck by how much he cared for Maximus and Cassian. It was incongruous in someone who usually appeared so hard and cold.
What a bitter irony though, to care for his friends, and wish them dead at the same time. But Gavina understood.
She’d been there in that clearing when Cassian had stabbed himself in the heart to prove who he was to Aila. She’d seen the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with the injury he’d inflicted upon himself. It had dawned on her then that immortality was far crueler than she could possibly comprehend.
“So, we are all doomed?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco stepped closer to her, his dark gaze pinning her to the spot. “I’m not a man given to optimism, and I wish I could say different,” he murmured. “But if this were a game of Ard-ri, your king would now be surrounded, My Lady. It may not be for a few days … but this castle will fall.” A harsh smile split his face then. “So, you can rest assured that you and I won’t be wed for long. Assuming our union breaks the curse, you’ll be widowed a second time very soon.”
Gavina’s body drew taut. How could he make fun of such a situation? There were some things that one shouldn’t joke about. “Is this a game to ye?” she rasped. “Don’t ye want to live?”
Draco held her gaze fast, and in the depths of his obsidian eyes, she saw nothing but bleakness.
The castle shuddered then, the impact so sudden that Gavina staggered. An instant later, something hit the wall behind her.
Gavina gasped, her gaze swiveling to where a massive hunk of lead had torn a hole in the garden wall.
“Come.” Draco took hold of her arm and firmly led her toward the archway. “I told you it wasn’t safe out here.”
Heart pounding, Gavina meekly went with him, shock rendering her biddable. However, the moment they were inside the keep, and had entered a long colonnaded gallery, she wrenched her arm free and turned to him. “It can’t really be that simple, can it?” she demanded. “How can ye and I marrying change anything?”
He stared down at her, his look so intense that Gavina suddenly forgot to breathe. She’d never met a man who looked at her like he did. She felt laid bare under that stare. “Over one thousand years ago, a witch woman cursed three centurions she’d taken captive,” he replied, his gaze never leaving hers. “And from that moment onward, things were set in stone. All that remains is for us to do our part.”
