Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,26
small smile of victory. She couldn’t believe it; she was actually conquering her fears and talking to the man she longed for. It was a small step forward, but progress nonetheless.
They camped outside the village of Kirriemuir that night. The men erected a tightly-packed circle of tents, just as a vicious squall swept across the hills. It turned the sky the color of slate. The harsh weather made the horses clump together, heads bowed and tails tucked between their hind legs, as rain lashed the company.
Aila untied the saddlebags she and Lady Gavina had packed, her fingers fumbling in haste. Head bent against the icy splinters of rain and ice that howled down from the north, she carried the bags into the large tent that she would be sharing with her mistress, Lady Elizabeth, and Jean.
Her companions were already inside. The ladies were shaking rain off their mantles while Jean bustled about, unrolling furs for everyone to sleep on. One of the men had brought in a brazier and a lump of peat, but it was still unlit. Digging out her flint, steel, and a small bag of tinder, Aila set about lighting a fire. The day hadn’t been warm, and the icy rain had made their clothes damp.
Outdoors, the wind and rain hammered the tent, its hide sides billowing and snapping. Aila found it hard not to cringe at the storm’s fury. She hoped the men had bashed the tent pegs in well—otherwise they could lose their shelter overnight.
However, the tent seemed to withstand the tempest, and a short while later, the peat started to smoke, sending a choking column of blue-grey fug up through the hole in the roof. Eyes watering, Aila nursed the fire until tender flames took hold. Meanwhile, the ladies had settled themselves on a makeshift seat, made from their saddlebags, as Jean set out a supper.
“It’s not much of a meal,” Jean sniffed, raising her voice to be heard over the howling wind and drum of the rain above their heads. She was a sweet-faced lass. Aila envied Jean her small, curvy frame and mass of wild red curls that won her much male attention. “Bannock, cheese, and eggs is meagre fare for ladies.”
“And it’ll do us all fine, Jean,” Lady Elizabeth replied. “Frankly, after a day in the saddle, all I want to do is stretch out on my furs and sleep.”
Lowering herself into a cross-legged position a few feet back from the crackling brazier, Aila took a bite of bannock and boiled egg. She was ravenous.
Across from her, Gavina buttered a wedge of bannock for herself, her gaze flicking to where Elizabeth sat next to her, peeling an egg.
Watching the two ladies, Aila noted—not for the first time—how different they were. Gavina had an ethereal, delicate quality to her—the effect enhanced by her white-blonde hair. The lady’s skin looked almost translucent in the brazier’s glow. In contrast, Elizabeth possessed an earthy beauty. Disheveled dark blonde hair framed a strong-featured face, curling over her shoulders in a wild mane.
“I’m glad ye are with us, Liz,” Gavina said after a pause. “I intend to make sure David presses Edward about Robert … but it’ll be much easier with ye present.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I’m relieved the Wallace managed to convince David to go in the end.”
“Aye, although I think William was glad of our assistance,” Gavina replied. Her lips thinned then. “David can be bull-headed.”
Elizabeth’s mouth lifted at the corners. “Aye, but so is the Wallace. He’s a clever man … Robert thought highly of him.”
“Thought?” Gavina chided her. “Ye must not talk as if yer husband is dead.”
Indeed, the laird had received word just three months earlier that Robert was still alive and residing in an English dungeon. The missive had deliberately avoided telling them exactly where. The English had captured him just over a year earlier during a skirmish near the River Cree on the Scottish-English border.
Elizabeth’s dark-blue gaze shadowed. “How much longer will they hold him?”
Gavina clearly had no answer for that, although her face tensed in sympathy. All at Dunnottar knew how close Robert and Elizabeth were. Their son, Robbie, was now three, and Elizabeth clearly worried he would never know his father.
“I miss him so much it hurts to breathe,” Elizabeth said finally, breaking the awkward silence. She stopped peeling the egg and lowered it to her lap. “What if I never see him again?”
Gavina reached out then, placing a hand over her friend’s. She didn’t assure her that he would