Draco: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 3)

by Jayne Castel

  The boat lurched and rolled, bobbing in the surf like an apple.

  Gavina murmured a prayer under her breath. At this rate, they were going to capsize any moment now.

  And then, all of a sudden, they were through the breakwater.

  Gavina opened her eyes and twisted around to see the line of foaming waves crashing against the rocks behind them. She then turned back to Draco. Water dripped down his face, glistening despite the dull day, as he rowed them north.

  Seeing her looking in his direction, he flashed her a grin. “That was exhilarating.”

  Choking a laugh, as hysteria bubbled up inside her, Gavina relaxed her hold on the sides of the boat. The man looked the most cheerful she’d seen him. It was rare to receive a spontaneous smile from Draco Vulcan. “For ye maybe … I was sure we were going to end up dashed against the rocks.”

  His mouth quirked once more, his dark gaze gleaming. “What … you didn’t trust I’d get you to safety?”

  “No.” Gavina looked away from him, glancing behind her again at where Dunnottar loomed above, perched on the cliff-top like an eagle’s eyrie. Had they really climbed down from so high? She wasn’t looking forward to the return journey.

  Don’t think about that, she counseled herself. Focus on one step at a time. Just like ye did with the ladder.

  She then turned her attention back to Draco. His lean face was taut with effort now, as he rowed with long, even strokes, taking them away from the perilous rocks and farther north.

  Stonehaven didn’t lie far from Dunnottar. It was a relatively short ride on horseback and so wouldn’t take them long by boat either. The port village had a harbor, with a long beach stretching north of it.

  They traveled north, and soon the line of low-slung, white-washed houses with thatched roofs that huddled along the seafront of Stonehaven hove into view.

  “Where will ye land the boat?” Gavina asked, breaking the silence between them.

  “On the beach,” Draco replied, struggling to catch his breath now. “It’ll attract less attention … and should be easier to launch from there later.”

  The light was fading—a grey day merging into an equally murky dusk. As they neared the village, Gavina inhaled the scent of smoke from cook fires, blending with the salty tang of the sea air. Most folk would likely be preparing their supper now; it was a good time to land in the village and go to the wise woman.

  Farther on, the beach hove into sight, a wide pebbly crescent.

  Gavina peered into the gloaming, scanning to see if anyone was about. The area appeared deserted.

  Draco rowed them into the shallows, before he put down the oars, leaped overboard, and dragged the rowboat the rest of the way.

  The hull of the boat hit the shingly shore with a crunch, and climbing to her feet, Gavina scrambled out onto the pebbles. She then helped Draco drag the craft properly out of the water.

  Another crunch echoed through the damp air, this one louder than the last, as the pair of them pulled the boat up above the tideline.

  Breathing hard, Draco straightened up, his brow furrowing. “That didn’t sound good,” he muttered. He circled the boat, peering at it. “Let’s hope it gets us back to Dunnottar without foundering.”

  “I can’t see anything wrong with it,” Gavina replied, making an inspection of her own.

  “Well … we’ll find out soon enough,” Draco replied. He stepped back from the boat, his gaze traveling south to where the smoke from chimney stacks stained the darkening sky. “Do you know where this wise woman lives?”

  “In a hovel just north of the village,” Gavina replied, glad that she had an answer ready for him. Elizabeth had explained how to reach the woman’s house. Her sister-by-marriage had surprised her then, by revealing that she’d visited the woman when her womb failed to quicken after her marriage to Robert. Shortly after, she’d gotten with bairn.

  “Let’s pay her a visit then.”

  Leaving their boat upon the wide strand, amongst clumps of seaweed and kelp, Gavina and Draco crunched over the pebbles and rocks and headed for the green hills beyond, and the pathway leading into Stonehaven. Around them, the light faded further and the first stars twinkled above.

  The wise woman’s hovel was easy to find. As Elizabeth had explained, it sat apart from the other houses, ringed by a high fence made of planks of wood. Pushing open the gate, Draco led the way into an overgrown garden and up a narrow dirt path to the door.

  The woman’s dwelling was indeed a hovel. Unlike many of the homes of the port itself, this one wasn’t made out of stone, but wattle and daub. It had a shabby sod roof. Smoke drifted lazily from the smoke-hole at the top.

  “Stay a few feet behind me,” Draco warned, lowering his voice. “Till we know it’s safe.”

  Gavina complied, although she thought he was being a trifle over-cautious. She didn’t think the woman they’d come to see posed any threat.

  Halting before the wattle door to the cottage, Draco raised a hand and knocked on the lintel.

  Tension filtered through Draco as he waited for someone to come to the door.

  Just the sight of this hovel put him on edge. It reminded him of another hut, many years previous, where he’d been trussed up like a hog ready to be slaughtered. He, Maximus, and Cassian had sat in a corner, watching while a woman—coldly beautiful with pitiless eyes—cursed them.

  It was ridiculous really. It was so long ago. But even so, his pulse quickened and every sense went on alert when he heard the scuff of footfalls approaching the door.

  The door creaked open, and a face peeked out. The wise woman was younger than Draco had expected—no older than thirty—with a pretty face and shrewd pine-green eyes. “Aye?” she greeted them.

  “Are you, Nessa?” Draco asked. “The wise woman of Stonehaven?”

  The woman nodded, as her gaze raked up and down the length of him, taking in his measure. “Aye … some folk call me that.” She opened the door farther, revealing a tall, curvaceous form encased in a deep-blue kirtle. Thick red-blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders. “And who might ye be?”

  “Good evening, Nessa.” Despite that Draco had told Gavina to stay back till he was happy with the situation, Gavina moved up to his side now. “My name is Lady Gavina … and this is my husband.”

  Nessa stared at her, momentarily poleaxed. “The Lady of Dunnottar?” she asked, finally finding her tongue.

  “Aye.”

  “But ye are just recently widowed.” The wise woman’s gaze snapped back to Draco, curiosity suffusing her face.

  “May I present Draco Vulcan. We wed just a few days ago.”

  Nessa’s eyes went wide, her gaze flicking between the faces of the two individuals before her. A moment passed, and then she stepped back, throwing the door open to reveal a messy space and a smoking fire pit. “Ye had better come in,” she murmured.

  XXVI

  SHADOW AND STARLIGHT

  “OUT WITH IT then,” Nessa said as she bustled across to the fire pit and lifted a cast iron pot from the fire. Draco wrinkled his nose. Turnip and onion pottage from the smell of it—they’d interrupted her supper. “What brings ye both to my door?”

  She wasn’t a woman to bandy words. Draco liked that. Even so, he wasn’t looking forward to revealing his secret.

  In general, folk didn’t respond well to the story.

  “I must have yer word … nothing of what we are about to tell ye will ever be told to another living soul.” Gavina spoke then, her voice surprisingly firm and calm. If she was nervous about the meeting, she wasn’t showing it.

  Nessa turned, a frown creasing her brow. “Ye have my word, My Lady. Nothing folk say to me ever leaves this cottage. I know how to keep secrets.”

  Draco drew in a deep breath. Just as well. Nonetheless, her assurance didn’t make him dread this any less.

  Gavina’s gaze cut to him. “Do ye want to tell her about the curse, Draco?”

  No, he didn’t. Yet it was his story, and he’d
known he’d have to be the one to recount it.

  Nessa’s pine-green eyes grew wide once more at the word ‘curse’. “Please … take a seat.” She motioned to two stools behind the fire pit. The wise woman then took another stool opposite, her gaze settling upon Draco. “Go on … I’m listening.”

  Draco began the tale. He told her how he hailed from southern Spain, how he’d been born over a millennium earlier, and how a Pictish bandruì had cursed him and two others to immortal life.

  And to her credit, Nessa didn’t interrupt him, didn’t order him out of her hovel for spouting lies.

  Instead, she continued to watch him, her face growing tauter with each passing moment. Those sharp green eyes narrowed, and a muscle worked upon her jaw, but she continued to hold her tongue.

  Draco told her of the curse—of how he, Maximus, and Cassian had spent each coming of the Broom-star hoping that the curse would finally be broken. He then revealed that they’d believed he was the ‘Dragon’ and Gavina the ‘White Hawk’.

  He didn’t look at Gavina while he spoke. She already knew the story, and it was hard enough to recount it. He hated reliving the memories. The words left a bitter taste upon his tongue.

  And when he finally concluded his explanation, silence fell in the hovel.

  Eventually, Nessa broke it. “Well.” She cleared her throat then, wiping her palms upon the skirt of her kirtle. “That’s quite a tale.”

  “It’s all true,” Draco growled, tensing.

  Nessa met his eye, boldly and without a trace of fear. “I don’t doubt ye, Draco Vulcan. Few folk would have the wits to come up with such a lie.”

  Draco inclined his head, respect rising within him. He’d expected her to call him the ‘devil’ or a ‘demon’. The fact that she believed him outright shocked him.

  As he’d told Gavina, he and his friends had seen a number of ‘witches’ over the years. Most of them had been foolish, superstitious women. A few had reacted badly to the story—and none had provided any useful advice.

  This woman had responded with such a calm, intense focus that it took him aback.

  “Few folk would take my words at face value,” he replied softly. “Who are you, Nessa?”

  Her mouth curved, even as her gaze shuttered. “That doesn’t matter,” she replied, her attention shifting to where Gavina sat silently next to him. “Ye aren’t here for that … instead, the pair of ye are in a right mess. Ye need answers.”

  “Can ye help us?” The hope in Gavina’s voice made Draco glance her way. “Can ye help Draco break the curse upon him and his friends? It has been a terrible weight for them all to bear over the years.” She was staring at Nessa, the veiled expression she’d worn until now lowered. She looked achingly vulnerable sitting there.

  Draco’s chest constricted. Why did she have to be so kind, so gracious? He’d given her nothing of himself; he certainly didn’t deserve her compassion.

  The wise woman’s gaze flicked from Gavina to Draco, her expression softening. “I will do what I can,” she murmured. “Although the curse upon ye is an ancient one … and cast by one far more powerful than me.”

  Disappointment closed Draco’s throat at these words, and his lips flattened. They weren’t off to a promising start. Maybe he’d been right about coming here after all. Despite his initial impression, this woman wouldn’t be any cleverer than the others who’d wasted their time.

  Only barely holding his tongue, he watched as Nessa rose to her feet, dusted off her skirts, and picked her way across the messy, rush-strewn floor toward a bench that lay along one wall of the hovel.

  The woman started murmuring to herself, bustling about, as she sorted through piles of drying herbs, clay jars, and baskets of objects. And as she worked, Draco cast a sidelong look in Gavina’s direction.

  She wasn’t watching Nessa, but him.

  In the flickering firelight, her face looked pale, her gaze worried. She didn’t need to say a word; he could see the regret writ upon her face. Like him, she now feared that Nessa couldn’t help them.

  The wise woman spent a while collecting objects from the bench, before she placed them into a small basket and carried it back to the hearth. “I was concerned I’d lack some of the ingredients for this,” she explained, her brow furrowed. “But lucky for ye, I found them. There’s a Mead Moon out tonight too … the timing for this divination is good.”

  Draco stared back at her, biting back a snort. Why did he have the feeling she was about to make a fool of him?

  “There is one more ingredient I need,” the woman continued, holding his gaze. “Fresh blood.”

  Draco tensed, and his alarm must have shown, for Nessa smiled. “Not yers. I’ve a fowl coop behind this cottage … the birds will all be roosting. Can ye fetch me one?”

  Draco let out the breath he’d been holding and glanced over at Gavina. The hopeful look on her face now pained him, and so he gave a reluctant nod, rose to his feet, and went to do the wise woman’s bidding.

  Returning shortly after, a brown hen in his arms, he found Nessa adding items to a small iron pot, murmuring words under her breath as she did so.

  A chill feathered down Draco’s spine. Once again, he was reminded of his cursing. The urge to throw the fowl at her and then sprint from this hovel surged within him. However, he’d not abandon Gavina to the witch. So, instead, he crossed the floor and handed the sleepy hen to her.

  The bird died swiftly, from a deft twist of the neck, before Nessa drew a knife and cut open its breast, letting blood gush out into the pot. Then, once its feathered body had stopped twitching, Nessa put it aside. She glanced up at where Draco still stood before her and winked at him. “That’s for the pot tomorrow.”

  Draco didn’t answer. Instead, his attention went to the disgusting-looking concoction the woman was mixing.

  “I need a lock of hair from ye both now,” Nessa continued, wiping the fowl’s blood off her hands with a cloth. “And the potion will be done.”

  Misgiving feathered within Draco, and he started to sweat. This really had been an ill-advised idea. He hated the thought of giving this witch power over him; he’d already spent centuries in one’s thrall.

  As such, he didn’t move, his jaw clenching as he opened his mouth to refuse her.

  “Draw yer knife, Draco … here.” Gavina spoke then, lifting the end of her braid up. Their gazes fused, and the moment drew out. Gavina sensed his struggle and knew the reason for it—he could see understanding in her eyes. “All will be well,” she said finally.

  Will it?

  Reluctantly, Draco choked down the refusal and drew his pugio. Moving to Gavina, he took hold of her braid, cutting off a lock of silver-blonde hair. He then reached up and sheared off a tightly cropped curl from his own head, before handing both to Nessa.

  The wise woman held them upon her outstretched palm, another smile curving her full lips. “Look at that,” she murmured. “Shadow and starlight.”

  And then she leaned forward and dropped their hair into the pot.

  Nessa removed the pot from the heat, took a wooden spoon, and began to stir the mix, first to the left and then the right—and all the while, she murmured more enigmatic words under her breath, her eyes fluttering shut.

  Draco dragged in a breath. It suddenly felt overly stuffy and airless inside this hovel. He was sweating heavily now, and every instinct screamed for him to run. He’d had enough of witchcraft to last a thousand lifetimes.

  But he remained where he was, rooted to the spot.

  Gavina wanted them to try this, and he wouldn’t let her down.

  Eventually, Nessa’s eyes flickered open. “The potion will have cooled a little now,” she announced. “It is time.”

  Moving from her stool, she knelt beside the fire pit and cleared away the soiled rushes, revealing the packed dirt floor beneath. And then, to Draco’s disgust, she plunged her hand into the pot of blood, hair, and Hades knew what else, scooping the dark liquid into her hand. Leaning forward
, she splattered it over the ground.

  Draco’s bile rose as he watched Nessa decorate the floor with dark swirls and splatters. He didn’t look at Gavina while the wise woman worked; she’d likely be horrified by now, would likely regret ever suggesting this visit.

  But it was too late. They’d given Nessa locks of their hair, and she would give them answers in return.

  Sitting back on her heels, Nessa cast a sharp eye over the patterns and splashes before her. To Draco, they appeared meaningless, but to the witch they clearly held significance, for her gaze narrowed, her jaw firming while she studied the blood stains.

  Time drew out. The woman was taking an age in her observations, and Draco suppressed the need to fidget. He was on edge as it was; the urge to start pacing rose within him, but he quashed it.

  For once in his long life, he needed to counsel patience.

  Eventually, Nessa looked up, her gaze fixing upon Draco. Her eyes were luminous, and she wore a look of sympathy upon her face. “Ye are a man with secrets, Draco” she murmured. “One who has known the depths of despair. Ye have stared into the abyss … and barely survived.”

  Draco’s heart started pounding.

  She knows, he thought, panic grasping him around the throat. He hadn’t told a soul about those lost years trapped in stone, but somehow this woman knew. He read it in her eyes.

  He stared at the wise woman. Indeed, she was far more than she seemed. The woman had an insight and sharpness that belied her youthful appearance and carefree manner.

  “Ye need to let it go, Draco,” Nessa continued, her voice sharpening. “While ye carry darkness in yer heart, ye can’t give yerself to a woman.” Her attention flicked to Gavina before returning to Draco’s face. “A marriage isn’t just a promise before yer God,” she said, her mouth lifting at the corners. “It’s not two people living under the same roof, or sharing the same bed.” She paused then, ensnaring Draco’s gaze with her own. “The curse knows lies from truth. If ye want to break it, then ye must truly love yer wife.”