by Jayne Castel
Maximus bristled. As Captain of Dunnottar Guard, Cassian was used to ordering men about—but the pair of them were equals. He’d not be barked at. Of course, before the curse, Maximus had been both Cassian and Draco’s commander, although those days were dead and forgotten, lost in the mists of time.
Picking up his cup, Maximus took a long draft. He then glanced over at Cassian, who was watching him with a deep scowl marring his forehead. “Very well,” he murmured.
And so, he started from the beginning, from that fateful night he’d taken a room at The Bogside Tavern. He left nothing out—even telling Cassian, albeit briefly, that he and Heather had spent the night together before leaving Fintry with the dawn. Cassian’s expression didn’t change as he listened, although his mouth thinned when Maximus recounted how Heather had refused to leave his side as he lay bleeding out over the ground after the attack.
Another silence, a brittle one this time, fell after Maximus had completed his tale. “As you can see, it wasn’t something I planned,” he added. “The situation just spiraled out of control.” A heavy sensation had settled over him after completing his story. He’d made a mess of things really.
“I thought you were more careful with women these days?” Cassian spoke up eventually. “Defending the honor of a tavern wench and then bedding her sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
Maximus caught the scorn to his friend’s voice and tensed. “It wasn’t like that,” he growled. “And don’t use that tone when you speak of Heather.”
Cassian favored him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She’s the steward’s daughter.” His voice still held a hard edge. “If she was to tell anyone about us, news would spread like pestilence throughout this keep.”
Maximus inclined his head. “Heather won’t betray us.”
Cassian’s gaze narrowed. “And how do you know that?”
“I just do.”
Cassian muttered a curse under his breath and downed the rest of his wine in one draft. “Let’s hope you’re right,” he said, rising to his feet. “The last thing you and I need in the coming weeks is for the people of Dunnottar to turn against us. This is our chance to break the curse, Max. I can feel it in my bones.”
XXVI
COMPANIONSHIP
“YER SISTER TOLD me once that ye left Dunnottar under a shadow?” The woman with white-blonde hair, seated by the window of her solar, greeted Heather without preamble.
Heather tensed, her fingers curling into her palms. She resisted a sharp look over her shoulder at where Aila hovered in the doorway. It wasn’t really her sister’s fault; she wouldn’t be surprised if the whole castle knew the sordid tale. This was another reason why she’d stayed away for so long. Heather hated to be the subject of gossip.
“That’s true, My Lady,” she replied after an awkward pause. “I lost my heart to a man and ran away with him to a village near Stirling.”
Lady Gavina, who was around Heather’s own age, inclined her head. Then with a wave of her hand, she gestured for her to come closer. “Don’t worry, I’ll not judge ye. Yer past doesn’t bother me, Heather … I was only asking out of curiosity. Please, take a seat.”
Reassured, Heather did as bid, sitting down in one of the high-backed chairs that sat next to the glowing hearth. Outdoors, the shadows were lengthening as the warm spring day retreated. The evenings were still cool, as Heather had noted over the latter part of the journey here when she and Maximus had slept rough.
“I was wondering if ye would employ my sister here, My Lady?” Aila spoke up, relief and hope both lacing her voice.
Lady Gavina De Keith smiled. “I don’t need two lady’s maids, Aila … but I’m sure a place can be found for Heather somewhere in the castle. Ye can leave us now, please.”
Realizing that she’d indeed been dismissed, Aila retreated from the women’s solar—a long, thin chamber with a large window looking south down the rocky coastline.
A loom sat beside Lady Gavina, with a half-finished tapestry upon it. It bore a scene of a castle perched upon a high-cliff: Dunnottar.
“The tapestry is lovely,” Heather ventured. “Ye have talent, My Lady.”
Lady Gavina’s mouth curved once more, and this time the smile seemed a trifle forced. Her cornflower-blue eyes were shadowed, her beautiful face strained. “Thank ye,” she murmured, putting down the shuttle. “Although it’s taken me nearly two years to get this far … I fear I shall be a crone before I finish it.”
Heather smiled back. “All the same, it will be worth the wait.”
The lady’s gaze settled upon her then, and Heather had the unnerving sense she was being scrutinized. Eventually, when Gavina spoke, her voice was as cool as her countenance. “And what of yer husband?”
Heather swallowed. “He joined the cause … but never returned home, leaving me a widow.”
Lady Gavina’s slender eyebrows arched. “Ye weren’t happily wed to him, I take it?”
“No,” Heather admitted, her fingernails now digging into her palms. After the reunion with her parents, she was feeling a little fragile. Her mother hadn’t flayed her alive as she’d expected, yet the encounter had drained her. “He turned out to be a bad man, My Lady … only, I realized it too late.”
Lady Gavina watched her steadily, her gaze shuttered now. “I always envied women who got to choose their own husbands,” she said after a long pause. “But it seems even those who wed for love get it wrong sometimes.”
The lady’s blunt words made Heather stifle a wince. Yet after a few moments, she realized that Gavina had just revealed something about herself. Heather remembered the laird well. David De Keith had made her skin crawl—and Lady Gavina had been wed to him for at least six years now.
Lady Gavina was the only daughter of the Irvine laird. For years, the neighboring clans had feuded, but the union between David and Gavina had done much to mend relations.
Perhaps David resented the match, for he’d started straying from the marriage bed even before Heather left Dunnottar, flaunting his infidelities without a care for how his young wife would feel. Heather couldn’t imagine how things had deteriorated since then.
Now she understood the melancholy in Lady Gavina’s pretty blue eyes. Her breathing slowed, empathy darting through her breast. “Aye,” she murmured, plucking at a non-existent loose thread on the lilac kirtle Aila had loaned her for this meeting. The clothes she’d arrived in were too shabby to go before the Lady of Dunnottar in. “Few are the women who find happiness in men, My Lady. After Iain left me a widow, I decided I’d never again place my fate in a lover’s hands.”
Lady Gavina watched her, and then a real smile stretched her face. The expression revealed her for the beauty she was. “I like ye, Heather,” she said, still smiling. “Ye are lively, witty company, and I’d welcome ye as my companion. I have Aila to tend to my needs as maid, but there is a mountain of sewing, embroidery, and weaving that I require help with. Although Lady Elizabeth is gentle company, she is often occupied with her son. I must admit that my days have grown a little lonely and dreary of late … I could do with the friendship of someone with yer spirit.” Their gazes met and held. “Are ye willing?”
Heather stared back at her for a moment, surprised by the lady’s words. Such an offer was generous. But guilt knotted her belly then, for the idea of becoming Lady Gavina’s companion didn’t excite her. She was the type of woman who grew restless when faced with a day of weaving, spinning, and sewing. She liked her days to be more industrious, to have more purpose; her time working at The Bogside had changed her more than she’d realized.
Nonetheless, Heather knew she’d be ungrateful and foolish to refuse Lady Gavina. Her family would be furious with her if she did so, and the truce with her mother would be shattered.
So, instead, she dipped her head in thanks. “That’s very kind of ye, My Lady,” she murmured. “I’d be honored to accept.”
Dusk was settling over Dunnottar when Heather finally left Lady Gavina’s solar. She s
hould go upstairs to her parents, for her mother would want to hear how the meeting with Lady Gavina had gone. However, she felt restless.
She and Maximus had parted ways earlier outside the stables in the lower ward bailey. She wanted to know if he’d found his friend Cassian and if so, how the reunion had gone.
And so, instead of taking the turret stairs back up to her parents’ rooms, she left the keep.
Outdoors, a brisk, salt-laced wind blew in from the sea. Heather wished she’d brought a woolen shawl out with her, for the dusk air was cold upon her bare arms.
There were a few men about—soldiers mostly, milling outside the barracks. One or two noticed her and stared, yet Heather ignored them. She was looking for Maximus.
Maybe he was in the stables, checking on his pony. He was fond of that hardy garron, and Heather had also developed an affection for the beast during the journey. Even if Maximus was elsewhere, she’d check on Luchag in the meantime.
Descending the steps, she set off across the bailey, aware that even more male stares now raked over her.
She’d forgotten what it could be like here, in a male-dominated environment. Still, experience had taught her to ignore such looks, and so she did so now. It was best not to encourage them.
She was half-way to the stables when a rough male voice hailed her. “Heather!”
Halting, she drew in a deep, steadying breath. It had been a few years since she’d last heard that voice—so similar to Iain’s—but with a more gravelly edge. Of course, Blair was still at Dunnottar. She’d been bracing herself for the moment when she’d run into him again.
Heather turned, her gaze settling upon a big man with curly auburn hair. Dressed in soot-covered braies and lèine, and a sturdy leather vest, the smith hadn’t changed much since Heather had last seen him. However, these days he was sporting a bushy beard that only added to his formidable appearance.
“Blair,” she greeted him warily. “I thought I might see ye here.”
The smithy scowled. “Finally decided to show yer face, then?”
The animosity in his voice made Heather’s hackles rise. Blair had resented her years earlier, had blamed her for Iain’s decision to leave Dunnottar and return to Fintry. Clearly, he hadn’t softened his attitude toward her.
“Aye … and I can see ye are as charmless as I remember.”
The man’s face screwed up at that. “Ye were my brother’s doom,” he growled, dropping all pretense of civility now. “He’d still be alive, if he’d stayed here.”
Heather folded her arms across her chest, raising her chin to hold his stare. “Iain made his own decisions,” she said coldly. “I had very little to do with them. It was his choice to join the cause.”
In response, Blair spat on the ground between them.
Heather gave the man the kind of withering look she’d reserved for drunks at The Bogside. Then, without bothering to acknowledge the man again, she turned and continued on her way to the stables.
Nonetheless, when she stepped inside, she noted that her pulse was racing and her limbs felt shaky. How unfortunate it was that Blair Galbraith still lived here.
Taking a calming, deep breath, and then another, she walked down the narrow central aisle until she found Luchag. The garron looked content as he snatched at hay from a manger, and upon spying her, he snorted a greeting.
“Hello, lad.” Heather ducked into the stall and stepped close to the pony, stroking his furry neck. Now that they’d arrived in Dunnottar, this garron was the only link she had left with Maximus.
It was funny, but the realization made her feel sad.
Ye can’t hold onto things, she chided herself, digging her fingers into Luchag’s plush brown coat. That journey was always going to end. Ye were always going to go yer separate ways.
Even so, knowing something and accepting it were two different things.
Another male voice intruded then, drawing Heather out of her reverie. “Now … that’s a lucky beast.”
XXVII
THE GUARDIAN RETURNS
HEATHER GLANCED UP to see Maximus standing a few feet away. Her gaze took him in, noting that his dusty hunting leathers had been replaced with dark-green braies, a long-sleeved lèine of the same hue, and a fitted leather vest. Under one arm, he carried a smooth-domed iron helmet.
“I don’t believe it.” Heather quirked an eyebrow. “Ye have joined the Dunnottar Guard?”
His mouth curved into a slow smile that made her pulse flutter. He then stepped forward, ducked under the wooden barrier, and entered the stall. “I may be here for a few months,” he replied, his voice deliberately low. They were alone in the stables at present, but that could change at any moment. “I might as well make myself useful while I’m here.”
Heather swallowed. His proximity was distracting. She remembered then the things she’d said to Lady Gavina—about how rare it was for a woman to find happiness in a man’s arms. She’d been vehement at the time, yet now the words seemed tinged with bitterness.
She was still firm on one thing though: she’d never again place her future in a man’s hands.
Iain had taught her how foolish that was.
Maximus wasn’t the sort of man she should yearn for. He was cursed, unnatural. Wanting to spend time with him would only lead to trouble, for them both. And yet, as she lifted her chin to hold his dark gaze, Heather noted that her pulse had quickened. The desire she’d felt ever since that first evening at The Bogside had grown even stronger, rawer. Her mouth went dry, even as her fingertips itched to reach out and touch his face.
As if sensing her turmoil, Maximus inclined his head. “Is all well with you, Heather?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“The reunion with your parents and sister?”
“It went better than expected,” she managed, cursing the breathy edge to her voice. “I think my mother may even soften toward me with time … and I’ve found employment … as Lady Gavina’s companion.”
His smile widened at this news. “So, you needn’t have worried about coming back here after all?”
Heather swallowed. “I suppose not,” she replied weakly. They were standing so close she could feel the heat of his body. He was observing her intently now.
“And yet your voice sounds a little flat,” he observed. “Aren’t you happy how things have turned out?”
She huffed a laugh, in an attempt to mask her growing discomfort. It suddenly felt hot and stuffy in this stall, and they were standing far too close to each other.
“I should be,” she admitted. “Lady Gavina has been more than kind … but …” She broke off there, searching for the right words. “I know it sounds selfish but … it’s just that I wish for more from life.”
“It’s not selfish at all. What do you wish for then?” His gaze didn’t waver from hers.
“Aye, well … that’s a fine question.” Heather cleared her throat. “My days at The Bogside were exhausting, yet at least I had a real purpose there. I suppose I’d like a home of my own … even if it’s just a humble one … and a family to care for. I wish to be a wife and a mother.”
Satan take her, why couldn’t she still her blathering tongue? Maximus didn’t need to hear all this.
“Heather,” he said softly, stepping closer still. Their bodies were almost brushing now. “You’ll have all those things one day … when the time’s right.” When she didn’t answer, he reached up and cupped her cheek. The warmth of his palm upon her skin made her stifle a gasp. “You’ll make a fortunate man very happy,” he continued. “And you’ll have a brood of bairns, who’ll exasperate you.”
Heather’s breathing quickened at his words. He wore an intense expression, although his dark eyes were shadowed.
And all the while, the ache to touch him grew.
He bowed his head, leaning down toward her, and unconsciously Heather swayed toward him.
They shouldn’t be doing this, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to
feel his lips on hers.
With a soft groan in the back of his throat, Maximus covered her mouth with his.
The kiss was hungry, demanding. Heather melted into him while his hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss. Her lips parted under his, welcoming his questing tongue.
Pressure built in Heather’s chest, and heat flowered in her belly. His kiss overwhelmed her, caused her thoughts to scatter and her knees to weaken.
He’d kissed her at The Bogside passionately. But this kiss was different. This embrace vibrated with more than just lust. Instead, it felt as if he was opening himself up to her, felt as if he was giving her a part of himself. She could feel the tension shivering off his body, his want.
And in return, Heather kissed him back wildly, her pulse pounding in her ears.
The thunder of horses’ hooves and the boom of men’s voices shattered the moment, rippling into the stables from the bailey outside.
Maximus froze and pulled back from Heather. Breathing hard, his gaze fixed upon the stable doors. When he spoke, his voice held a rasp to it. “What in Hades is that?”
Emerging from the stables, Maximus’s gaze swept over the now busy lower ward bailey. When he’d spied Heather earlier, speaking with a belligerent looking man—her late husband’s brother most likely—there had been only a scattering of soldiers about, and a handful of servants finishing up the last of their chores before the light faded.
Now flaming torches hung from the walls, casting a lambent light over the faces of the men who urged their horses into the wide cobbled space.
Maximus glanced over his shoulder, relieved that Heather had left the stables through the side door, which would take her to the stairs leading to the upper ward.
The voices that echoed off the stone walls were rowdy, aggressive—it was no place for a woman.
Maximus’s heart still thundered in the aftermath of their kiss.
