Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,33
of wine, Aila,” Gavina greeted her, motioning to the sideboard. “I think we could both do with something to calm our nerves.”
Aila paused a moment, before nodding. She helped herself to a cup and crossed to where Gavina sat at the window, perching upon a stool.
“I hear Longshanks will indeed attack tomorrow?” Aila murmured, raising the cup to her lips and taking a sip.
“Aye … unless I deliver him the Wallace.”
“Which ye would never do.”
The certainty in her maid’s voice made Gavina huff a bitter laugh. Of course she was never actually going to hand Wallace over to Longshanks—but helping him escape would be a different matter.
She met Aila’s eye then, favoring her with a tired smile. “I apologize, Aila … I haven’t been myself of late.”
It was true. She’d barely spoken to her maid since her return, and hadn’t spent afternoons with Heather either as she usually did.
Guilt weighs too heavily upon me.
Aila offered her a wan smile in return. “I know what happened … Cassian told me all.”
“I imagined he did.”
“Ye don’t have to look so worried, My Lady. I don’t judge ye … I too wouldn’t want to wed a man I didn’t love.”
Gavina stiffened, surprised by Aila’s response. “But the curse—”
“Ye forget … I was with ye all those years while ye were wed to David. I saw how unhappy ye were. Why would I wish ye to enter a loveless union again?”
A lump rose in Gavina’s throat at these words. Aila’s selflessness made tears prickle the back of her eyes. “But I know how much it means to ye all … that the curse is broken,” she said huskily. “Maximus, Cassian, and Draco may never get another chance. I feel as if I’m robbing ye all of a normal life … of a family.”
Aila stared back, her own eyes glittering as tears rose. “Nonsense, My Lady … the curse is stronger than all of us,” she murmured. “Please don’t take such responsibility upon yer shoulders.”
XIV
WITH THE DAWN
ALL HE COULD hear was the roar of his own breathing, the thunder of his own heart. All he could see was pitch-black, smothering darkness.
He clawed at his stone tomb. He tried to kick it, to elbow his way out. But the stone wouldn’t give an inch. It bruised and bloodied his fingers and toes, and all the while, the ragged sound of his breathing mocked him. Sweat coursed down his face. Hunger gnawed at his belly. His throat was so dry that he could barely swallow, barely breathe.
Panic assailed him then, mounting in sickly waves till it couldn’t be borne. Sometimes the darkness and stone walls surrounding him on every side felt as if they were closing in.
Alone in the dark, he began to scream.
Draco sat up, heart pounding. He was panting as if he’d just sprinted up ten flights of stairs.
For a few instants, he was disoriented. The horror of the nightmare still clung to him. He was still interred in the stone tomb: forgotten, alone, and silenced.
Sweat bathed his naked body, and despite that it was warm inside the barracks, a shiver went through him.
Draco dragged a hand down his face. He needed to get hold of himself.
It is only a bad dream.
He hadn’t had a nightmare like that in a long while. In the years following his escape from that tomb, he’d awoken often in the night, dripping with sweat, heart pounding like a battle drum. But as time drew out and the years passed, the dreams gradually grew less vivid.
Only, some things could never be forgotten.
He might be occupied with other matters, but sometimes he felt as if there were still a part of him that was locked underground, screaming to be freed.
Enough of this nonsense.
The barracks, and the snoring of the other men in the cots around him, suddenly felt oppressive. It was an effort to drag in each breath. Draco needed fresh air; he had to get outside. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now anyway.
He reached for his clothing in the darkness, pulling on his braies and a leather vest. He then scooped up his boots and carried them with him out of the barracks, stopping to pull them on once he reached the steps outdoors.
Mist wreathed into the lower ward, snaking fingers drifting across the sea of glistening cobblestones. The air was damp and cool out here, and Draco sucked in deep, steadying lungfuls of it.
That’s better. The horror of that dream was drawing back now. His heartbeat was slowing