Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,77

in Dunnottar. Her brother wasn’t the greatest immediate threat now, but sooner or later Shaw Irvine would likely have to be dealt with.

No, Aila’s bruised and battered heart didn’t matter. And neither did her shredded pride. She’d learned a valuable lesson, and although Heather had tried to soften the disappointment, she’d unwittingly just driven the blade in deeper.

After all, Maximus had bound himself to Heather knowing that there was a real risk he might never break the curse.

His love for her overcame his fears.

Obviously, Cassian didn’t feel the same way about Aila. She couldn’t blame him for it, for he’d made his position clear.

It was time to bury her broken heart.

All the same, it had been an effort to attend this supper. She’d wanted to avoid Cassian. Nonetheless, she couldn’t skulk in the shadows now they’d returned to Dunnottar. This was her home too. In the end, she’d agreed to go just to keep her mother’s nagging at bay.

Aila glanced up from her stew to see Lady Gavina was watching her. The Lady of Dunnottar had taken the laird’s carven chair. It dwarfed her, although her mistress sat proudly upon it, her chin held high. Dressed in a charcoal-colored woolen kirtle, her pale hair tightly braided and wrapped around her crown, her mistress cut a regal, yet somber, figure. David and Gavina’s relationship had been so strained it was sometimes easy to forget that the lady was now a widow in mourning.

“Are ye well, Aila?” Gavina asked, raising her voice to be heard over the clamor of nearby conversation.

Aila tensed. Was her unhappiness so easy to read upon her face? “Aye,” she replied, forcing a bright smile. “I’m still reeling from it all, I suppose.” She paused then, keen to turn the conversation away from herself. “Ye look like ye belong in that chair, My Lady.”

Gavina cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t look like a bairn sitting in my father’s seat?”

Aila gave a snort. “No.” The two women’s gazes held for a few moments before Aila continued. “I think ye’ll make a fine laird. Ye rule these lands now, My Lady … and I wager ye’ll do a much better job of it than yer husband.”

Gavina’s gaze widened. It was a bold statement—the boldest Aila had ever made to the woman she served, but Aila meant every word. She dared her mistress to contradict her.

Gavina drew in a deep breath, a smile curving her lips. “I appreciate the faith ye have in me, Aila,” she replied. “We live in dark times indeed …but I swear to ye that I’ll do my best to keep this castle and all living within its walls safe.”

Cassian rose from the table, ignoring something that Draco had just said to him. Instead, his gaze was upon the young woman a few yards away.

Aila De Keith had studiously avoided his gaze all evening. Seated to the right of her mother and sister, eyes downcast, she had said little to anyone besides Lady Gavina. Her lovely face, which was usually so frank, was shuttered and strained.

He didn’t like seeing her like this. Withdrawn. Detached.

This is my doing.

On the journey home, just before the English soldiers had caught up with them, he’d apologized. He couldn’t let Aila shoulder the blame. She’d been gracious, yet reserved. He’d broken the trust between them.

Watching Aila now, as she exchanged a few words with her sister and raised her pewter goblet to her lips for a last sip, he tensed.

She’d changed since their trip to Stirling.

Gone was the shy smile and laughter that had once come so easily to her. Gone was the girlish enthusiasm. This evening—their first at home after the fraught journey—she was reserved and poised, yet aloof.

Tearing his attention from Aila, Cassian made for the door.

Enough of being sociable. He’d suffered through that supper, when he really just longed to be alone. But upon leaving the hall, he didn’t go back to his chamber. He’d slept the afternoon away and now felt relatively rested. Instead, he made his way out into the upper ward bailey and then climbed the steps to the ramparts.

Dusk had just settled over the hills to the west. The North Sea was now flat and dark, and the first of the stars twinkled into existence in the sky. Finally, after a day of frenetic activity, the lower ward below had quietened. However, preparations for the anticipated conflict would begin again at dawn—Cassian intended to get the men out into the bailey for sword-practice. Thanks to