Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,67

shifted back to Aila. He was watching her warily, as if he expected her to turn on him again. “Are you afraid of me, Aila?” he asked softly.

She held his gaze, not sure how to respond. Truthfully, she didn’t know. Unlike Jean, she wasn’t convinced he was Satan or a demon of any kind—but at the same time, she didn’t understand any of this.

Wordlessly she shook her head, and his features relaxed. He leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. Suddenly, he seemed tired, despite his youthful appearance. It was a weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

He was fatigued by life.

“How old were ye, when ye were … cursed?” Gavina asked, breaking the heavy silence.

“Twenty-eight,” Cassian replied. His eyes remained closed. It was clear he didn’t want to continue speaking about himself.

Sensing this, Lady Gavina rose to her feet, cast Aila a penetrating look, and then moved out from under the oak’s canopy. “Let’s all get some rest,” Gavina advised. “We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

Aila nodded before she shifted a little farther away from Cassian. She then stretched out on her side. The shock of everything crashed into her. Weariness descended like a heavy cloak, pressing her down into the ground.

She still had questions for Cassian, yet she didn’t have the energy to interrogate him at present.

I’ll just close my eyes for a few moments, she promised herself. And then I’ll face him again.

Aila rose slowly from a deep sleep. Her eyes were gritty, and her head felt as if it were stuffed full of wool. With a groan, she rolled over onto her back and rubbed a hand over her face. She’d only meant to doze, but the fogginess behind her eyes told her that she’d been asleep for a while.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” a male voice greeted her. “I’ve never seen anyone sleep so soundly.”

Tensing, Aila removed her hand from her face and inclined her head, focusing upon Cassian. He still sat, leaning up against the oak, watching her.

Around them, the sun blazed over the shallow valley where they’d taken refuge. However, under the oak’s protective canopy, it was cool and shaded.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Mid-afternoon,” he replied. “I’ve just been out scouting again. I climbed up onto a ridge and caught sight of riders far to the west … moving in our direction. We will have to move on soon, if we want to have any chance of escaping them.”

Aila sat up, her gaze shifting to the creek that meandered through the vale, where Elizabeth and Gavina sat. The ladies appeared deep in conversation, their heads bowed together.

“Where’s Jean?” she asked.

“Lady Elizabeth lost her in the trees.”

Aila glanced back at Cassian. He wore a shuttered expression, viewing her under hooded lids. He was watching how she’d react to him now.

Aila breathed a curse and scrubbed her face with the back of her hand. “She shouldn’t be out there on her own.”

Cassian gave a soft snort.

Aila’s brow furrowed. “What if the English catch her?”

“That’s a possibility.”

Her frown deepened. “Ye are acting like ye don’t care.”

“She made her choice, Aila. You can’t shield her from that.”

“But she was afraid.”

“And so are you … but you didn’t behave as she did … and neither did Elizabeth or Gavina.”

Aila went still. Of course, he thought she was frightened of him. In truth, after his revelation, her skin had crawled at the idea that she’d actually lain with him.

The man was over a thousand years old after all.

It was unnatural. It was wrong. And yet, his gaze this afternoon was warm upon her skin. She could almost believe that she’d dreamed that awful scene. He hadn’t really stabbed himself in the heart, had he?

Cassian’s belly rumbled then, making him wince.

“What’s wrong?” Aila asked.

“I’m starving,” he muttered. “It always happens after I recover from a mortal wound … I get the appetite of a famished hound.”

“But we don’t have any food.”

“No.” His belly growled once more, as if in protest this time.

Their gazes held for a few moments, and then Cassian reached out and ran his hand down the scarred bark of the great oak that sheltered them. “This tree is old,” he murmured. “Around the same age as me, I’d say.” He paused then, his fingers flexing against the bark. “It’s dying.”

Aila stiffened and glanced around her. “How can ye tell?”

“Some of the branches are withered. They say that oaks take five