Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,23
she needed to dismiss.
And yet, she knew the curse wasn’t a lie.
She’d seen Cassian Gaius stab himself in the heart and then heal with the rising sun. The man who stared at her across the fire pit was the same.
Unnatural, immortal.
Nonetheless, the urgency she’d seen written over Maximus’s face the night before had pained her. She knew what was at stake for him, Cassian, and Draco. But he asked too much. His aggression had made her withdraw and put up walls. She wouldn’t be bullied into this.
Tearing her gaze from Draco’s, and breaking the spell he had cast over her, Gavina picked up her skirts and strode over to where Maximus had just finished saddling her palfrey.
“Morning, My Lady,” Maximus greeted her coolly. Gavina noted that he avoided her eye. “Your gelding is ready.” He stepped back then, dipped his head, and moved on to saddle his own mount.
Gavina watched him go, pressure mounting in her chest.
She’d expected things to be awkward in the aftermath of that discussion. Nonetheless, she hadn’t expected Maximus to be unable to even look at her.
“My Lady … some bannock and cheese to break yer fast?” One of the escort approached her.
Gavina favored the man with a brittle smile. “Aye … thank ye.” She took the food from him and began to eat. Around her, the rest of the party appeared almost ready to depart. Mac and Finian had dismantled her tent swiftly, and were now rolling up the hide and fur. She’d been the only one to sleep in a tent; the rest of them had taken turns keeping watch before stretching out in front of the fire. It made packing up easy.
The bannock was stale, yet she was hungry this morning. Traveling always gave her a hearty appetite. However, the dry griddle scone caught in her throat when she spied Draco Vulcan striding toward her.
He’d gone off to saddle his horse, but now reappeared.
Gavina coughed in an attempt to dislodge the bannock crumbs, before reaching for the bladder of ale tied to the back of her palfrey’s saddle. She unstoppered it and took a gulp, blinking rapidly as her eyes watered.
And when she glanced up, Draco was standing right before her.
Like earlier, his gaze was searing. This close, Gavina was struck by just how handsome he was: the man had near perfect coppery skin, and his features, although sharp, were beautifully sculpted. His mouth mesmerized her. The man was usually sneering or scowling, but his lips were sensual. This close, he smelled of leather and wood smoke.
A groove creased between his finely arched brows as he watched her. “My Lady … are you well?”
Gavina nodded, taking another gulp of ale. “Aye … just a crumb went down the wrong way.” She met his eye once more. There was a challenge in his gaze; he was daring her to look away, to take a step back from him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Did ye want something?”
Draco inclined his head. “About last night …”
Gavina tensed. She’d hoped he’d let the matter be—as Maximus had. She wanted to tell him she’d prefer not to speak of it, but her tongue wouldn’t comply. She merely waited for him to say his piece.
After a long moment, Draco’s beautiful mouth quirked. “It’s not easy … being immortal, My Lady.”
Gavina cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose it is.”
“We were cursed in the year one hundred and eighteen of Our Lord,” he replied. “I was twenty-seven winters old at the time.” Draco shrugged then. “We’ve been chasing the answers to that riddle for well over a thousand years. Maximus finds it a strain at times … it’s really taken its toll on him—on all of us, to be honest.”
Gavina wet her lips. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t this. The only exchanges they’d had until now had been cutting. Yet he was trying to explain things to her. “Surely, this … riddle has nothing to do with me?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
His mouth twisted. “Maximus is convinced it does … just as he believes I am the ‘Dragon’ the riddle speaks of.” His obsidian gaze shuttered then. “Sometimes desperation makes men believe anything if it’ll set them free.”
“So … ye don’t think it’s true?”
He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “No … it seems most unlikely. I’d put it out of your mind, My Lady. Forget last night’s words were ever spoken.”