by Jayne Castel
Surely, the woman would be fast asleep by now. If she didn’t respond, he’d return to the barracks.
“Come in.” A soft voice from within greeted him.
With a sinking heart, Draco pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Surprise filtered over him then—when he saw that an iron tub stood in the center of the solar, steam rising from the water. The lady herself sat a few feet away, wrapped up in a blanket upon a chaise longue.
Rubbing her eyes, Gavina pushed herself upright and favored him with a sleepy smile.
Draco’s breathing hitched. The Great Bull-slayer strike him down—the woman was full of contradictions. One moment haughty and cold, the next soft and vulnerable. Her pale hair was unbound and tumbled messily over her shoulders. Draco’s throat constricted at the sight of it, remembering how he’d tangled his fingers in those silken strands.
A strange ache welled within his chest at the memory.
Ignoring it, he cocked an eyebrow at Gavina. “The bath’s still hot?”
Gavina’s sleepy smile widened. “Aye … the servants kindly just filled it. I thought ye’d be finishing up about now.” She rose to her feet, pulling the woolen robe she wore over her night-rail about her. “I’ll leave ye to bathe.”
“Please … stay,” Draco found himself saying. He then caught himself. What was he doing? Best to let Gavina go to bed. After his bath, he could stretch out on that chaise longue and sleep. It looked comfortable enough.
Gavina stilled, her smile fading. “Really?”
He crossed to the tub and started to unfasten his vest. His skin itched, and smoke and dust felt ingrained in his hair and eyes. He needed this bath. As he undressed, he caught Gavina’s eye once more. “You’ve already seen me naked, after all.”
A pretty blush rose to her cheeks then, and Draco found himself smiling. Despite that she’d been a widow, and previously wed for years, the lady was charmingly innocent.
“Aye … but that was … different,” she murmured, keeping her gaze firmly fixed upon his face as he stripped off the rest of his clothes.
“How so?” He stepped into the steaming water and sank into it with a sigh. Hades, how he needed this.
“I don’t know … it just was,” she replied weakly.
Draco huffed a laugh. “What kind of answer is that … could you pass me the soap?”
Gavina’s throat bobbed, her gaze narrowing slightly. She then moved stiffly over to where the servants had left a stack of cloths and a cake of lye soap upon a nearby table. She picked up the soap and a wash cloth and moved over to the tub, holding the objects out to him.
“How did the watch go?” she asked.
“Uneventful … the English are all sleeping tonight it seems.” His mouth quirked. “Wrecking Dunnottar tires a man out.”
Gavina gave an unladylike snort, settling down upon the chaise longue while Draco began to wash. He’d barely started when she spoke up once more. “Aila told me that Cassian used to have another name … before he enlisted in the Roman army,” she began, curiosity lacing her voice. “Did ye?”
Draco glanced up, surprised by the question. He then nodded. “I was born Amestan, the youngest son of a wealthy merchant in Valentia.”
Gavina considered his words, a groove appearing between her finely arched brows. “It must have felt odd … to be given a new name.”
Draco shrugged. “Not really … I’ve always thought Draco Vulcan had quite a ring to it.”
“How old were ye when ye enlisted?”
“Twenty … they didn’t take men younger than that.”
“So, ye liked being a soldier of Rome?”
He met her gaze. It felt odd to be questioned like this; Draco rarely spoke of his past. In truth, most of his old life was little more than a hazy memory. “I loved it,” he admitted softly. “I wasn’t interested in becoming a spice merchant like my father.” He paused then, deciding that it was time they turned the conversation away from him. “Yours is a strong name. Gavina … White Hawk.”
Gavina’s lovely mouth lifted at the corners. “It’s a common enough one among the Scots. It was my grandmother’s name.”
“The Romans believed hawks were a bringer of both war and victory,” he replied. “Birds of sharp intelligence and wisdom.”
His comment roused a proper smile. “Are ye trying to flatter me, Draco?”
Draco favored her with a wicked smile in response, before holding up the soap and cloth. “Guilty as charged … I don’t suppose my White Hawk could wash my back, could she?”
Gavina huffed. She knew he was teasing her.
Draco couldn’t help himself. His thoughts snapped then to an image from that morning: Gavina naked and spread-eagled against the wall, gasping as he plowed her.
Heat spiked through his groin, and his rod grew rigid under the hot water.
Moments passed, but Gavina didn’t refuse his request. Instead, she moved around to his back. The water splashed as she wet the cloth and lathered it up. She then started to wash Draco’s back in long, firm strokes.
A deep sigh of pleasure escaped him.
Maybe spending the night here wasn’t so bad after all?
His eyes fluttered shut, and the day’s worries and disappointments sloughed away. She washed his back and shoulders, and when she halted, Draco felt an unexpected pang of loss.
“My chest could do with a scrub too,” he said.
A long pause followed, and then Gavina moved around to do his bidding. He watched her lather up the cloth. The steam from the bath had made her hair curl prettily around her face. Her cheeks were still flushed.
Draco’s breathing stilled for a few instants. He’d noted the Lady of Dunnottar’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen her, but at the time, he’d told himself that it had left him cold.
She was a vision. He found it hard to believe this woman was actually his wife.
In name only. He caught himself—no, that wasn’t true. They’d consummated it. They were wedded.
Gavina moved in closer and began to wash his chest. They were so near now that he could see the sharp rise and fall of her breast. Her soft lips were parted slightly, and Draco inhaled the scent of roses.
His rod started to ache, a deep throb that made it difficult to concentrate. He’d found her ministrations relaxing earlier, but now that she faced him, his whole body tensed.
I should be too tired for this.
After Cassian had revealed that the curse still held them in its sway, rage had descended upon Draco. He’d felt duped. Many hours later, anger still simmered within him. A trip down to the mithraeum at dusk had helped calm him, but it wasn’t until he sat in this bathtub, watching his beautiful wife sponge down his chest, that the day’s trials finally left him.
At that moment, there was only one thing he wanted.
Raising a hand, he reached out, caught Gavina around the neck, and gently drew her down to him. Their mouths met, and an instant later, her lips parted for him.
The kiss was slow and deep, and by the time Draco pulled back from her, his breathing was ragged, his pulse beating like a hammer in his chest.
Without a word, he hauled himself up in the bath, water streaming off him.
Gavina rose to her feet and stepped back, her blue eyes widening as they roamed over him. He saw the way her breathing hitched when she dropped her gaze to his groin—when she spied the rock-hard column of his shaft straining against his belly.
Draco stepped out of the bath, heedless of the fact that he was still wet, and pulled Gavina hard against him. His kiss this time was hungry, demanding. And she responded in kind. Her body melted against him, her arms entwining around his neck.
Frustrated by the clothing that separated them, Draco deftly undid the tie to her robe and stripped it off. The night-rail she wore underneath it was made of a sheer material that appeared almost transparent in the glow of the hearth behind her. But it was still too much.
Draco wanted her naked.
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Tearing his mouth from Gavina’s, he reached down, grabbed the hem, and pulled the night-rail up over her head. Drawing back, he let his gaze devour her, while Gavina stared back at him. She was an achingly lovely sight: her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair a tangled mess. There was no timidity to her now. Her eyes had turned dark with desire, and she was breathing fast.
Firelight bathed her body. Gavina was a small woman, and before he’d seen her naked, Draco had thought her body would be as slender as a reed. Yet the woman had breathtaking curves: high plump breasts and womanly hips. He pulled her against him again, his mouth claiming hers once more, before he slid his hands down the curve of her back and cupped her buttocks.
Then, he lifted Gavina up, allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. He carried her out of the solar, dripping water over the flagstone floor as he went, into the adjoining bed-chamber.
This time, he was going to take his wife upon a bed.
Gavina arched back against the coverlet, her eyes fluttering shut.
God’s bones … what’s he doing to me? Draco’s tongue … his lips … were making her melt. He was weaving that same enchantment around her as he had that morning, and she was powerless in its thrall.
And strangely, the loss of control thrilled her.
With a ragged gasp, she let go, let the pleasure he was giving her build and crest.
Trembling, she opened her eyes to see Draco rise from between her thighs. He then moved up, holding himself over her, his mouth claiming hers once more.
He kissed her with an abandon that made the same wildness explode within Gavina. She’d never felt like this—utterly unfettered.
Dunnottar was besieged. She was on the brink of losing everything, and yet at this moment, she couldn’t care less if the whole world burned to cinders around her.
She just wanted this man inside her.
Draco entered her in one smooth, gliding thrust. Gavina arched her hips up to meet him. Aching pleasure rippled through her loins as he stretched her, filled her. She gasped his name, clutching at his shoulders. It was almost too much.
But Draco continued to drive into her, in deep, punishing strokes that pushed all coherent thought from her mind.
Heart pounding, Draco lay upon his back, staring up at the rafters.
The Bull-slayer be praised … this woman turned him feral. He hadn’t thought this morning’s wild coupling against the wall could be bested, but the pleasure that had just consumed him had turned the world black for a moment.
Buried deep inside Gavina’s tight heat, he’d lost himself.
For the first time since the cursing, he’d been completely present. No regrets. No disappointments. No bitterness. No hope.
Nothing but this bed. This woman.
And as Draco lay there, trying to recover his breath and wits, a chill stole over him.
Letting go like this was dangerous.
Gavina affected him too strongly. He needed to get a leash on himself.
He turned his head, focusing upon the beautiful woman who lay sprawled on her back next to him. Gavina’s eyes were closed, her long lashes dark blonde smudges upon her cheeks. Her lips were parted, and as his attention rested upon her mouth, Draco felt hunger rise once more.
He didn’t understand it. He didn’t even like this woman.
Liar, a cold voice whispered to him. You’ve wanted Gavina De Keith from the first moment you set eyes on her. Indeed, it was because of her confident, proud manner that he found her attractive. He’d just told himself otherwise.
Draco’s breathing hitched, the chill that had enveloped his body deepening. Had he really deceived himself so fully? Running a hand over his face, he attempted to net his racing thoughts.
Enough. He’d bedded his wife once more, in order to end the curse upon him, Maximus, and Cassian. Not because he had feelings for her. Not because this woman lit up his world like a candle in the darkness.
If she couldn’t help him break the curse, he had to distance himself from her.
Gavina stretched slowly and languorously like a cat basking in the noon sun. Her body had never felt so relaxed, her limbs so loose. Twice since their wedding, Draco Vulcan had taken her—and twice he’d made her forget herself.
This time, she’d literally been rendered speechless in the aftermath. They’d lain, side-by-side upon the bed, reeling in the aftermath. The ragged rasp of their breathing had filled the bedchamber.
Shortly after, Gavina had fallen asleep.
Her exhaustion wasn’t surprising. This had turned out to be the most dramatic day of her life—more of an upheaval than even her wedding to David had been.
That day had literally been the opposite to this one.
On the dawn of her first marriage, she’d been excited. Her handsome husband hadn’t been particularly warm during the ceremony or the banquet that followed. However, Gavina had been unable to take her eyes off him. Unfortunately, the bedding that had ended the day destroyed her hopes for a happy marriage. In contrast, she’d dreaded lying with Draco. She’d expected the experience to be humiliating at best and traumatizing at worst.
Instead, this man had shown her what true passion was.
Eyes flickering open, Gavina stretched once more and rolled onto her side. She’d slept a while, for her senses still felt heavy as she awoke. It wasn’t dawn yet though, for there was no noise outside the walls and no tell-tale light filtering through the gaps in the shutters. The last embers of fire in the hearth a few yards away still glowed, casting a faint light over the bed.
Her gaze rested upon Draco then. He’d rolled over, with his back to her. They had slept apart.
Disappointment flickered to life within Gavina. He was sleeping at the farthest edge of the bed as if to deliberately avoid touching her. She imagined that most lovers curled up together after coupling. Obviously, David never had. Whenever he’d visited the bedchamber, he’d done the deed swiftly and coldly before rising, dressing, and leaving the room as quickly as he entered.
But after the passion she and Draco had shared, Gavina was surprised, and a little hurt, that he hadn’t reached for her all night.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Her gaze traveled from his broad shoulders, down the columns of muscle either side of his spine, to his tight buttocks.
Her breathing quickened.
He really was a beautiful man—and despite that he had lived so long, his body wasn’t a patchwork of scars either. There were one or two blemishes, silvered with age, but Gavina guessed these were old wounds from before his cursing. His body was that of the man he’d been on that fateful day. A moment forever frozen in time.
Tentatively, she reached out a hand and trailed her fingertips gently down his spine.
With a rumble deep in his chest, Draco stretched and slowly awoke.
A smile curved Gavina’s lips. A dragon indeed.
Draco rolled over onto his back and scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. “What time is it?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep.
“It’s still early,” she murmured. Her fingertips itched to reach for him again. She wanted to explore the carven muscles of his chest and belly. She wanted to take his shaft in her hands and explore that too. Yet she suddenly felt oddly shy. She wasn’t used to taking the initiative with men.
“I should get up,” Draco murmured. “I’ll be wanted on the walls.”
Disappointment arrowed through Gavina. Selfishly, she’d hoped he’d stay in bed with her just a little longer.
She craved his touch. But the moments drew out, and she didn’t voice her desire.
Draco rolled off the bed and padded naked through to the solar to retrieve his clothing. Lying upon the bed, Gavina heard him moving around, heard the jingle of his belt buckling as he dressed.
Presently, Draco appeared in the doorway. For a moment, he leaned against the door frame, just watching her. His expression was veiled.
Meeting his eye, Gavina screwed up the coura
ge to speak. “Surely, we must have broken the curse by now?”
His mouth twisted. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
The coldness in his voice made Gavina tense. She reached for a sheet and drew it around her, shrouding her nakedness. She suddenly felt used. His words were a sharp reminder that he’d only lain with her because he was desperate to break the curse.
Lust had addled her brains. She’d nearly forgotten.
“I have to go now,” he said when the silence between them lengthened. “I’d advise you to stay within the keep today, Gavina. Don’t come up to the walls.”
She stared back at him, treacherous tears stinging the back of her eyes, her throat too tight to speak. Silently, she nodded.
A heartbeat later, Draco turned and left.
XXII
AN UNLIKELY ALLY
“THE DEVIL CURSE this blasted land … how difficult can one castle be to take?” Edward of England’s rage was blistering, sweeping through the surrounding crowd of soldiers. “Are its walls unbreakable? Are its gates made of granite?”
Many of Edward’s men looked down at their feet in the face of his wrath, while Hugh De Burgh, his second-in-command stood stoically before him. Nonetheless, the big man’s face was pale and tense as he weathered his king’s anger. “Dunnottar’s never been an easy fortress to take, sire,” he ventured finally. “But we’ll get there in the end.”
“I don’t have the time or patience for this,” Edward snarled, turning on his commander. “Our battering ram should have breached the gates by now—like it did last time—why hasn’t it?”
“They’ve reinforced the gates somehow,” Hugh admitted. “The steep approach makes it impossible to raise siege towers … and so far, they’ve repelled all our ladders. Their archers have taken every one down.”
“Then put up more,” Edward bit the words out. He was trying hard to keep a leash on the fury that roared in his veins. He’d always been cursed with a terrible temper, one that had gotten him into trouble in the past. As such, he preferred to let intellect rule him.
