Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,11

made her resolve to come to a peaceful resolution with her brother even stronger.

She’d risen from her bed just before dawn and watched the sun rise from her window over the sea, while she rehearsed in her head all the things she’d say to Shaw. However, her musings had been cut short when Aila had arrived to help her dress and prepare for the journey.

Her maid stood on the steps of the keep now, next to her husband, her face tense with worry.

“Ye shouldn’t be traveling without a maid, My Lady,” she’d murmured earlier as she braided Gavina’s hair into a long plait and coiled it around the crown of her head. “Who will attend to ye this eve?”

“I will look after myself for once, Aila,” Gavina had replied with a small smile. “It’s only one night, and I’d prefer ye remained here with yer husband.”

It was the truth. High-born lady or not, Gavina was sure she’d be able to survive without Aila for such a short trip. Nonetheless, it did feel strange to be riding out without her maid this morning. Her escort was entirely male.

Gavina glanced over at where Draco and Maximus were sharing a few words before mounting their coursers. Of course, she knew why Cassian had chosen those two to accompany her.

He wanted to provide her with an escort he trusted unreservedly. Clearly, despite Gavina’s assurances, Cassian was concerned her brother would try and harm her.

She tensed then, her gaze settling upon Draco Vulcan’s broad shoulders. Yesterday the man had looked as if he’d just been struck across the face when the captain announced that the two of them would be her personal guards.

He’d managed to hold his tongue, although she’d seen how he bristled.

However, orders were orders.

Gavina’s mouth thinned. She wasn’t looking forward to traveling with him either.

“Max!” Heather rushed across the cobbled bailey and threw herself into her husband’s arms. “Hurry back … I miss ye already.”

Maximus grinned down at her. “I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone, carissima.” The pair kissed passionately then, oblivious to the crowd of horses and men around them.

Gavina glanced away, embarrassed. Heather wasn’t usually a clingy woman, but this was likely the first time the two had been parted since their wedding. They’d been virtually inseparable since that day.

Loneliness twisted within Gavina, catching her by surprise. She clutched at the supple leather reins she held. If only she’d felt that way about David De Keith. Unfortunately, she never had.

His death had brought a strange storm of emotions—regret being the strongest, and guilt swiftly following after. Maybe if she’d been a better wife, he wouldn’t have sought solace in the arms of other women. She’d been harsh with Jean, Lady Elizabeth’s hapless maid. The lass had been hopelessly in love with David, and had lashed out at Gavina for being dry-eyed over his death.

Jean’s grief was short-lived, however, for she’d died on the journey back from Stirling. Nonetheless, the lass’s rebuke had stung.

David had never given Gavina much reason to love him. Perhaps she was as cold as Jean accused—incapable of love.

Swallowing, Gavina shifted her attention back to the happy couple, who were still kissing. Maximus and Heather had such a strong bond, as did Cassian and Aila. It was hard not to envy them their happiness.

And yet, the threat of that curse cast a long shadow over their joy.

“Lady Gavina.” William Wallace approached then. “Take care on the road.”

The wind tangled his long dark hair, the bright sunlight highlighting the leathery skin on his face. Wallace was only in his mid-thirties, yet he looked older. He had the features of a man who’d lived—a man who’d known much joy and sorrow.

One evening a few days earlier, the pair of them had shared a cup of wine after supper, and he’d told Gavina of Marion, the woman he’d lost. “I’ll never love like that again,” he’d said, a faraway look shadowing his dark eyes. And Gavina had believed him.

Unlike Cassian, who’d grieved deeply after losing his love, but had centuries to recover, the Wallace’s sorrow was still raw. Marion’s death had unleashed something within him, a hatred for the English that couldn’t be tempered. Wallace would give his life for the cause in a heartbeat, Gavina knew it.

“I will, William,” she said with a half-smile. “And I do so knowing that Dunnottar is in safe hands.”

He smiled back, the expression lifting years off him. “Aye, ye need not worry about that.” His smile faded as quickly as it