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

morning whole and healed.

That Pictish bandruì had made sure of that.

Breathing hard, Cassian picked up his wife’s body and gently carried it over to the grave. He then climbed down and laid her upon a bed of rushes. Hauling himself out of the grave once more, he began to fill it, shovel by shovel, with dark peaty dirt.

The shadows were growing long, pink streaking across the eastern sky, when Cassian finally completed his task. After filling in all the dirt, he placed a cairn of stones over the grave—a tradition that didn’t belong to his homeland, but to Lilla’s.

He’d made the green glens and rugged mountains of Alba his home, and had even come to love this land. Meeting Lilla had given him a sense of belonging he’d never known previously. He’d been so happy with her; there had been times he’d almost forgotten the curse upon him.

Almost.

Lowering himself to his knees before the cairn, Cassian stared at it. His temples pounded from exhaustion and too many hours working under the sun, and his limbs were leaden. Yet the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the pain deep in his chest.

She’s gone.

Lilla MacKenzie had been his light, his hope. She was his shield from the darkness of eternity.

“Goodbye, my love,” he rasped, hot tears burning his eyelids. “Thank you for everything.” He paused there. His throat constricted. Grief rose within him like a spring tide. He wouldn’t be able to hold it back for much longer. “I’ll never forget you, Lilla. No matter how many years I live on … you will always remain etched in my heart.” His voice caught, but he continued. “I will remember how you looked with the wind in your hair, how you laughed at my attempts to impress you.” He tried to smile then, but his lips wouldn’t curve. “You were always a terrible cook, but that didn’t matter to me.”

Images of the long years they’d spent together flooded over him then: the harsh winters huddled under furs, him gathering her posies of the first spring flowers every year, and Lilla’s lovely voice as she sang to him in the evenings.

“The world is so dark now, my love,” he whispered. “How can you leave and not take me with you?”

The storm hit him then, like a mallet slamming into the center of his chest. Cassian had heard tales of what it felt to be truly broken-hearted, but he was unprepared for the agony of it. Deep inside him something shattered—something that could never be pieced back together.

Lilla was gone.

Cassian bowed his head, and placed his trembling hands upon the cairn before him. Then he began to weep.

300 years later …

I

CORNERED

Dunnottar Castle

Scotland

Beltaine, 1301 AD

AILA PLACED THE posies before the altar and then stepped back to admire them. A smile curved her lips; she adored flowers. Pale pink roses, daisies, and gillyflowers were her favorites.

“Thank ye for bringing the posies down, lass,” Father Finlay’s low voice rumbled across the incense-scented interior of the chapel. “They certainly brighten this place up.”

Aila glanced over her shoulder, at where the chaplain stood a few feet away. Around him, stone arches reached up to a high ceiling. Despite that over five years had passed since William Wallace had locked the English garrison in here and torched the lot of them, the chapel still bore signs of that day—dark scorch marks around the high slit windows and the nave.

“The keep’s garden is blooming beautifully this year,” she replied with a smile. “Lady Gavina wanted ye to benefit from its bounty.”

Beltaine was upon them, and Aila had spent the morning hanging garlands of lilac in the hall. Her mistress was planning a banquet and dance for the occasion. After dusk, folk would light a great bonfire on a hill near the fortress and dance around it. Although Beltaine—which heralded the beginning of summer—came from the old ways, Father Finlay wasn’t a man to take offense.

The chaplain favored her with a kindly smile. “Please thank Lady De Keith for me, lass.”

“I will. Good day, Father.” Aila picked up her empty wicker basket, turned, and made her way from the chapel.

Stepping outdoors into a windy morning, she angled her face up to the bright sky. They’d endured a week of chill weather, but fortunately the sun had reappeared for Beltaine.

Aila closed her eyes, letting the warmth soak into her—and as she stood there, an uneasy sensation stole away the sense of well-being.

The fine hair on the back of her neck prickled. She lowered her