Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,10

spent here,” Draco insisted. He wasn’t letting this matter drop so easily. “The English could attack at any time.”

“We have scouts out watching the approach from the south,” Cassian replied. “Worry not. We’ll have advance warning of their arrival.”

Draco muttered a curse. “We should be focusing on that riddle … rather than trying to pacify Irvine.”

Maximus cocked an eyebrow. “There’s nothing you or I can do here for the moment. Perhaps we’ll meet your ‘White Hawk’ on our travels.”

Draco glared at him, although he realized there was little point in arguing with these two. He knew he sounded petulant, but the last thing he wanted was to become Lady Gavina’s personal protector—even for a couple of days. The woman’s haughty manner brought out the worst in him.

“This journey is pointless anyway,” he muttered. “Shaw Irvine isn’t going to drop his claim, just because his sister pleads with him. Surely, the lady realizes that?”

“I think you underestimate Lady Gavina,” Cassian answered, his gaze narrowing. “The woman has a sharp mind … if anyone can convince that warmongering laird to stand down, it’s her.”

IV

A PATH OF PEACE

IT WAS QUIET in the chapel, so much so that the rasp of Gavina’s breathing seemed to echo in the stillness. Kneeling before the altar, she shifted position, closing her eyes as she whispered the last of her prayers.

It was growing late, yet she’d wanted to pay the chapel a visit, for there would be no time tomorrow.

“God guide me with yer wisdom,” she murmured. “Please discipline me with yer justice.”

The words gave her solace, balanced her after a day of conflict and hard decisions. She’d been on edge all afternoon following the meeting in the solar.

In truth, she was nervous about seeing her brother again.

She hadn’t set eyes on Shaw since before her wedding to David—over six years ago now—and wondered if he’d changed much. He’d always been a rash, out-spoken youth, and had bullied her when they were bairns. It worried her that as soon as he’d taken on the mantle of laird after their father’s death, he’d set about causing conflict with his neighbor.

Gavina needed to make him see sense. She’d wed a De Keith in order to keep the peace. They all had to do their part, and Shaw had to honor the pact his father had made with Robert De Keith. While Scot fought Scot, they’d always be easy pickings for invaders. The thought of the De Keiths and the Irvines at war made a weight settle upon her chest.

She would do all she could to avoid that eventuality.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “The time has come for me to lead … to make decisions for the greater good. Help me keep those within these walls safe.”

With a sigh, she opened her eyes. She dearly hoped that God was listening to her this evening. But even if He wasn’t, her time in the chapel had allowed her to focus on the task before her. Men always seemed intent on drawing swords against each other—but it was a woman’s role to weave peace.

Rising to her feet, she brushed off her skirts and turned to see Father Finlay standing behind her.

“Father!” she gasped, one hand flying to her breast. “I hadn’t realized ye were there.”

“Don’t mind me, My Lady,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve only just stepped inside … and wouldn’t have done so if I’d realized ye were praying.” He motioned to the banks of tallow candles that flickered down either side of the chapel. “I like to check on the candles before bed.”

Gavina nodded and moved toward the narrow aisle between the rows of wooden benches. “Then I shall leave ye to it … Goodnight, Father.”

“My Lady,” he said, stepping closer then. “I apologize for my presumption, but I heard a little of what ye were just saying … and I wanted to assure ye that ye do indeed have the wisdom to do what’s right. The path of peace is always the right one to take, in my view.”

Gavina’s step faltered, and she turned to face the chaplain once more. Father Finlay was a kind man, a good one; she only wished she could say the same for her brother. “I certainly hope so, Father,” she murmured. “The future of Dunnottar depends on it.”

Gavina was in a pensive mood the following morning when she sprang up onto the back of her palfrey and adjusted her charcoal-colored skirts. Her time in the chapel, and her short conversation with the chaplain, had