Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,85
butterflies to dance in her belly. How long had she wished for Cassian Gaius to look at her like this? It had seemed a dream, but somehow it had come true.
Nodding, she accepted the goblet he offered her and took a sip before passing it back to him. Holding her eye, he took a drink, a smile creasing his face.
“To fortune and happiness,” he murmured, his eyes glinting, “Although I’d say we’re already blessed with both.”
Reaching out, she entwined her fingers with his. The rest of the hall faded as she gazed up at him. She could drown in the warmth of his hazel eyes. “We are,” she whispered.
EPILOGUE
BLIND
BLAIR GALBRAITH crossed the lower ward, pausing as the sound of laughter and merriment drifted down from the open window of the hall above.
Mouth twisting into a sneer, he spat on the cobblestones before him.
“Curse ye all,” he muttered. “Ye won’t be making merry soon.”
Blair winced. His face was a mess; he didn’t need a looking glass to know it. Captain Gaius had pummeled it into a pulp. It hurt to talk, to eat, or drink—and even that sneer had cost him. He stifled a groan of pain and continued on his way across the bailey toward the gates.
And with each step, the heavy bag of silver pennies—all the coin he’d saved in the years he’d worked at Dunnottar—clinked against his hip.
He was leaving this fortress and taking nothing but the clothes on his back.
But he wasn’t done with the De Keiths.
It was time to have his reckoning upon those who ruled this fortress.
Galbraith’s belly cramped. He hated them all.
The only one he’d had any time for was dead—but even David De Keith had disappointed him in the end. He’d been useless after Iain went missing. He’d let Wallace bully him. Maximus Cato should have been strung up for killing his brother, but no one cared.
No one except Blair.
The guards at the gate greeted him. “Where are ye off to, Galbraith?” one of them enquired.
“To find myself a whore in Stonehaven,” he growled. “My balls are tight.”
They roared at that, pulling the gates open so he could pass through. “A wedding will do that to ye,” another guard quipped. “Although the way yer face looks at the moment, ye’ll frighten a woman off.”
Galbraith muttered something crude in response, a comment that had them slapping their thighs with mirth, and made his way out onto the steep path that wound its way down from the gates.
As always, it was a lot windier out here. Briny sea air rushed past his face. It was bracing, a balm to the dull throb in his jaw and nose.
Gabraith made his way down the path to the bottom of the steep defile. Breathing hard, he then climbed to the cliff-top, reaching the edge of the wide green hills that stretched around Dunnottar. And then, casting one lingering look of spite over his shoulder, he strode away.
Stonehaven wasn’t his destination though. He’d just said that to the guards so they wouldn’t question him further. Instead, he was headed toward another fortress. For the moment though, he walked north—but would turn south as soon as the guards on the walls could no longer see him.
He was traveling to Stirling.
Edward of England was still there.
The news of how David De Keith had tried to plunge a dirk into Longshanks’ neck continued to be the main topic at mealtimes in Dunnottar. Blair couldn’t help but be impressed when he heard, but the castle’s residents were now understandably nervous.
It wasn’t a matter of if Edward’s reckoning would come, but when. Two weeks had passed since the assassination attempt, yet there hadn’t been a whisper from the south.
Blair Galbraith’s swollen lips pressed together, and he flinched.
Maybe he needs a little extra persuasion.
How would the Hammer of the Scots react when he learned that William Wallace was sheltering at Dunnottar?
He’ll march straight here without delay and smash down Dunnottar’s walls.
Squaring his shoulders, Blair Galbraith lengthened his stride and didn’t look back at the fortress again.
They watched the sun set over the sea in a blaze of red and gold, arms wrapped around each other. Below them, a man bellowed foul curses at the warriors sparring with wooden swords in the lower ward bailey.
“Sounds like Draco is making the lads work hard,” Cassian murmured, his mouth quirking.
Aila huffed a laugh, snuggling close to him. She was glad Cassian wasn’t overseeing sword practice this evening. Let Draco put the new members of the Guard through their