Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,49

might leave him.

I have to do it now.

It was later than he’d realized—Cassian had slept in well past dawn. He found Lady Gavina and Lady Elizabeth breaking their fast together in the guests’ solar, but there was no sign of Aila.

“She’s downstairs in the kitchen, Captain,” Lady Gavina told him, a groove appearing between her eyebrows when he enquired as to Aila’s whereabouts.

Thanking the lady with a brusque nod, Cassian moved to retreat from the solar. However, Lady Gavina spoke up, preventing him.

“What do ye want with her?”

“The steward’s wife is looking for her,” he replied, tensing. The curiosity in the woman’s eyes made him uncomfortable. “It seems they’ve struck up a friendship.”

Hastily quitting the chamber before Gavina could question his feeble excuse, Cassian made his way downstairs.

The kitchens were hot and smoky, the air heavy with the scent of freshly baked bannock.

Cassian usually looked forward to breaking his fast in the morning, and when he’d awoken earlier, his belly had grumbled.

But this had to be done now.

He found Aila seated at the far end of a long table, chatting to that sly-eyed woman she’d befriended since her arrival here—the steward’s wife.

Both women glanced up as he approached. Fyfa favored him with a slow, flirtatious smile, while Aila’s cheeks blushed prettily. He should’ve known that woman, Fyfa, was involved somehow.

Misgiving rose up within Cassian then. Coming down here wasn’t clever. If he’d thought his plan over, he’d have waited till Aila made her way back upstairs. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to both of them like this. Nonetheless, it was too late to turn back now.

“Captain,” Aila greeted him, lowering the wedge of bannock she was eating. “What are—”

“Can I speak to you a moment, Aila?” he cut in.

Her gaze widened. “Now?”

“Yes … if you don’t mind?”

Not taking her attention from him, Aila rose to her feet. She ignored the grin the steward’s wife shot her and edged out from behind the table.

XXI

LAST NIGHT WAS MADNESS

HE’S COME LOOKING for me.

Aila followed Cassian up the stairs. Her heart raced. The bannock she’d just eaten churned in her belly as excitement caught her up in its thrall.

Cassian had just walked into the kitchen and asked to speak to her alone—in front of everyone.

Jean was there too, seated farther down the table. She’d have seen him. Maybe they wouldn’t need to keep things secret for much longer after all.

The only thing that concerned Aila about his abrupt appearance was the sternness upon his face.

However, she wasn’t surprised either; he was hardly going to seek her out with a love-struck expression, was he?

Halfway up the stairwell, Cassian turned and drew her into a shadowed alcove. This was a storage area. Bulky cloth sacks surrounded them, and Aila inhaled the musty scent of oats and barley.

They were alone here. Did he intend to sweep her up in a passionate embrace, to kiss her senseless as he’d done the night before?

Aila waited, breathless, yet Cassian did neither of those things.

Instead, he stood there, his hazel eyes narrowing as they fixed upon her. It was dimly lit in the alcove, with just a faint glow from the cressets on the stairwell. However, there was enough light for her to see that he was in a very different mood to last night.

“Cassian?” She reached for him, but he moved back, out of reach. Aila lowered her hand, a chill washing over her. “What is it?” she whispered. “Has something happened?”

He shook his head. “Last night was a mistake,” he said. His voice was so different, so hard and cold. Where was the lover who’d held her in his arms and whispered endearments in her ear while she trembled and gasped?

Aila stared at him, momentarily lost for words. His declaration was a slap across the face.

When she didn’t respond, Cassian continued. “I can’t give you what you seek, Aila. I can’t love you … or wed you.”

An ache twisted deep in her chest. “But we lay together,” she whispered. “I thought—”

“It’s not possible,” he cut her off, his tone sharpening. “I did warn you.”

“But why?” She hated the sound of her voice, the pleading note to it, yet she couldn’t help but ask the question. She had to know.

His shadowed gaze guttered. “My reasons don’t matter. I’m sorry, Aila. I shouldn’t have bedded you. I shouldn’t have taken your maidenhead.”

Her eyes stung as tears threatened. Her throat was suddenly so tight that it was difficult to speak, and yet she forced herself. “I gave it to ye willingly,