Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,38
unlace his braies. It was no good. He was going to have to relieve himself. And then, afterward, he was going to harden his heart and make sure he and Aila were never alone again.
The Kirk of the Holy Rude was empty when Cassian entered shortly after daybreak. The monks had just filed out after their dawn prayers, and had gone to break their fast. Cassian too had an empty belly, but he had no appetite for bannock, butter, and honey this morning.
Reaching the shrine to Saint John the Baptist, he halted before the bank of candles and withdrew a silver penny from the pouch at his waist. He then slotted it into the iron box before the shrine and lit a candle.
It was his ritual over the years—to light a candle for Lilla whenever he came here.
But he felt like a fraud for doing so this morning. Especially after last night.
Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. He was being a fool, feeling guilty when his wife was three centuries dead. Of course, he’d lain with other women over the years. He wasn’t made of stone.
But not since Lilla had he responded to one with such passion. He’d lost control. A storm had caught him up, and for a few moments, he’d forgotten who he was and the quest that had driven him for so long.
He’d even forgotten about Lilla.
Watching the candle’s tender flame, Cassian sighed.
It had broken him to watch his wife wither and die while he stayed treacherously young. The memory of the agony that had grasped him as he knelt before Lilla’s cairn revisited him then.
He’d never weather that pain again. He could not.
Cassian moved to the back of the alcove and pushed aside the slab that hid the passageway beyond. Then he padded inside, lit a torch from the one that burned within, pulled the slab shut, and made his way down to the mithraeum.
The heady scent of incense greeted him, a perfume that always made the years roll back.
As a centurion, he’d worshipped Mithras—the Great Bull-slayer revered by soldiers. After being cursed, he’d thought his faith might fade with the years, especially in a land where no one had ever heard of Mithras.
But in fact, The Bull-slayer had helped keep him strong in the hardest moments and continued to do so now.
Lighting a fresh wand of incense, Cassian knelt before the altar, drew his dirk, and made a shallow cut upon his thumb. He smeared the blood on the stone and bowed his head, letting the smoke waft over him.
“Great God Mithras,” he began. “Slayer of the Bull. Lord of the Ages. The wheel turns, and the Broom-star is again in the sky. Draw back the mists and grant three men of the lost legion peace … at last.”
It was the same invocation that all three of the centurions used, each time they visited this temple. A plea for Mithras’s assistance and guidance.
As he knelt there, Cassian’s thoughts turned from Aila to yesterday’s discovery.
The Hammer of the Scots.
Never had Cassian visited the mithraeum so hopeful that the curse would be broken. They’d taken a wrong turn in believing that the ‘hammer’ was Irvine. The truth was both exhilarating and unnerving.
And when the Hammer of the Scots struck Dunnottar, they needed to be ready.
Rising to his feet, Cassian turned to find a hooded figure standing a few yards behind him.
“Good morning, Norris,” he greeted the guardian. “I’m relieved to see you up this early.”
“Morning, Cassian,” the man replied. “I didn’t expect to see ye back here so soon.”
“Neither did I.” Cassian flashed him a tight smile. “Is all well with you?”
“Aye, thanks for asking.”
“The English aren’t causing you and your family any trouble, I hope?”
Within the recesses of the cowl, Cassian caught the man’s answering smile. “Not at present. We’re keeping our heads down, like we always do.” The man then gestured to the iron box that sat upon the altar, behind the burning incense. “Have ye brought another message for the others? Only Maximus has passed this way recently … there has been no sign of Draco for some while.”
“They are both at Dunnottar now, thank you.” Cassian stepped toward the guardian, withdrawing a small scroll of parchment from within his leather vest. “And I do bring another message. I need an urgent favor. Can you take this to Dunnottar … and deliver it into the hands of Maximus or Draco … no one else?”
Norris nodded. His features inside the shadowed hood tensed. “Aye,