Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,72
clinging together.
Cassian staggered across to where Aila still stood before the ladies. He moved awkwardly, favoring his right side. His gaze traveled down the length of her body, checking for injuries, before it rested upon the bloodied dagger she still gripped.
Cassian met Aila’s eye then, and he managed a tight smile. “I knew I could rely on you, Aila.”
“Drag the corpses into a pile and burn them.”
The men of Wallace’s patrol got to work. Sitting on the brow of the hill, hunched over the deep wound in his left flank, Cassian listened to Draco’s voice carrying through the predawn stillness. The patrol dragged the bodies of the fallen English soldiers into the gully below and lay them upon a pyre of dry reeds before setting it alight.
Cassian sat, unmoving, watching the smoke snake up into the cobalt sky. The Broom-star was fading from sight. The sunrise wasn’t far off.
Once he’d overseen his men, Draco joined Cassian on the hilltop. “Norris reached us at Dunnottar,” he murmured, shifting to Latin so the women seated nearby couldn’t catch his words. “The Hammer isn’t what we thought it was?”
Cassian shook his head, grimacing. The throbbing in his side made him feel sick; dawn couldn’t come soon enough. “It’s not the ‘Battle Hammer’ that will strike Dunnottar,” he agreed between gritted teeth. “But Edward, the ‘Hammer of the Scots’. And if Longshanks didn’t have a good reason to attack Dunnottar before, he does now … De Keith tried to kill him and got his throat cut for his trouble.”
Draco’s gaze widened as he took in this news. He then flashed Cassian a grin, his teeth white in the dim light. “It looks like the Wallace is about to meet his old foe again.”
Draco chuckled, although the sound had no humor in it. “No chance of that … you know how much that man loves a good scrap.”
Blood stained the peaty earth, the offal stench of it making Aila’s already delicate stomach churn all the more. With the rising of the sun, the slaughter around them upon the hill became evident.
Cassian sat a few feet away with Draco, his face pale, his features pinched. He’d suffered a deep cut to his flank. But as the first glimmers of sun touched him, his expression relaxed, and he no longer hunched over.
Just like the morning before, he was healed and whole once more.
Aila watched the two men converse quietly. She wondered if Draco would question Cassian about his injuries. Would he be surprised to see his friend healed so quickly?
Dark smoke wreathed up in the gully below from the pyre, staining the lightening sky. Elizabeth watched it, her face grim. However, Aila noted that Gavina’s attention was upon Draco, a deep crease etched between her finely arched eyebrows.
“Why didn’t ye show him mercy?” She eventually spoke up, her cool voice cutting through the dawn hush.
Draco glanced toward the lady, his own brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“That lad asked for clemency,” she continued, holding his gaze. “Why didn’t ye give it to him?”
Draco shrugged. “That lad would have raped you if given the chance, My Lady.”
Gavina stiffened. Her cornflower-blue eyes shadowed.
When she didn’t reply, Draco frowned. “Is that the thanks I get for coming to your rescue?”
“Of course I’m grateful for yer assistance,” Gavina replied stiffly.” Her face had gone taut. “But when a man goes down on his knees and surrenders … it is honorable to spare his life.”
Draco’s mouth twisted. “Honorable?”
“That’s enough, Draco,” Cassian cut in, a warning edge to his voice.
Draco snorted, yet heeded his friend.
Another silence settled upon the hill-top—this one fragile. Gavina turned her attention away from Cassian and Draco, her gaze traveling toward the north-eastern horizon. The Lady of Dunnottar’s expression was now shuttered. Aila sensed she wished she were already home—far away from all this brutality and bloodshed.
The hush drew out, and then Cassian and Draco resumed speaking once more. Aila had overheard them exchange a few words earlier, and once again she realized they conversed in another tongue.
She watched them for a few moments before stillness crept over her. Her breathing slowed, suspicion flowering.
Cassian. Draco. Maximus. Latin names. Friends who’d come together at Dunnottar. Foreign men who’d made Scotland their home.
Aila’s breathing quickened. Her thoughts started to whirl. “Cassian,” she gasped. “Ye aren’t the only one who’s immortal … are ye?”
Cassian’s attention cut to her, his face suddenly strained. Next to him, alarm flared in Draco’s dark eyes. He flinched,