Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,11

we know what he intends, we can decide how best to defend ourselves … or even rally the clans for an attack.”

A taut silence settled over the solar. It was a large, airy space dominated by a great hearth with a stag’s head mounted over it. A heavy claidheamh-mòr—a great Scottish broadsword that had belonged to De Keith’s father—hung upon the pitted stone wall opposite the fire place. Beneath the sword was a banner that bore the De Keith clan’s crest—a roebuck’s head.

“I’m not leaving Dunnottar,” De Keith bit out finally.

“Ye are afraid,” William Wallace accused, his temper fraying now. “Admit it, man. Irvine is merely an excuse. The truth is that the thought of leaving these sheltering walls makes ye shit yer braies.”

De Keith’s face reddened. “Careful, Wallace,” he ground out, a vein now pulsing upon his temple. “Sometimes I think ye forget ye are a guest here.”

“And sometimes I think ye forget that I liberated this castle for ye,” Wallace shot back, his own voice harsh. “If it wasn’t for me, ye’d already be kneeling at Edward’s feet.”

V

HOPE

CASSIAN STEPPED OUT of the keep into the lower ward and heaved in a deep breath of salt-laced air.

Draco turned to him, a grim smile upon his lips. “Well … that was entertaining.”

Cassian pulled a face. There had been a few moments when he’d thought the argument between De Keith and Wallace would escalate into a fist fight, one that he and Draco would have to break up. However, De Keith had eventually terminated the meeting by storming from the chamber. “Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?”

Draco’s smile widened to a grin. “I like a good brawl … and you and I haven’t drawn knives against each other in a long while.”

Cassian snorted. It had to be six centuries at least.

“Wallace was deliberately baiting him,” Draco continued as the two men made their way down the steps into the lower ward. It was a breezy afternoon, and a zephyr of straw and dust danced across the cobbled expanse in front of them. Around them, the hammering of iron echoed off stone, while the walls above bristled with helmeted figures, their spears outlined against the sky. Dunnottar was readying itself for war. “And De Keith fell for it. Wallace cares nothing for the laird’s supercilious wife.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. It seemed De Keith’s wife hadn’t impressed Draco; few women appeared to these days.

“You could be right,” he admitted, remembering how—upon the laird’s exit—Wallace had turned to Draco and flashed him a wolfish smile.

The fact that De Keith hadn’t yet agreed to go to Stirling didn’t appear to bother him. Wallace wasn’t going to let this subject drop.

Massaging a tense muscle in his shoulder, Cassian turned left and headed for the southern gateway, which led out of the fort and down the cliff face to the dungeons. Wordlessly, Draco fell into step next to him. They greeted the guards at the gate before taking the stairs that had been etched into the rock.

What a strange morning it had been. First, he’d stumbled upon Dunnottar’s smith aggressing Lady Gavina’s maid. And then he’d been summoned to the laird’s solar to watch Wallace toy with De Keith. It was a relief to get out of the stifling keep and away from all its tensions for a short while.

Cassian led the way down to the dungeons, moving carefully on the narrow steps. It was a steep drop to where waves crashed against sharp rocks below. The afternoon sun bathed his face, and a brisk sea breeze ruffled his short hair. The sweet scent of summer was in the air, although Cassian frowned at the realization.

“The Broom-star has graced the heavens for well over a moon now.” He then cast Draco a look over his shoulder. “The most it has ever remained in the night sky is three months … time is running out.”

Draco scowled. “Just one more line. Can’t Mithras grant us that?”

The Bull-slayer has no power over a Pictish curse.

Not voicing his thoughts aloud, Cassian turned his attention back to the perilously steep steps. The fleeting pleasure that the sun and wind on his face brought him faded. His thoughts had become obsessive of late; he could think of little except solving the riddle.

Mortality beckoned like a siren in the distance. They were so close now; he could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

I’ll join you soon, Lilla.

An ache rose under his breast bone at the thought of his long-lost love.