Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,35
didn’t want to ask. Draco knew what it was. He had never spoken of those lost years under Saint Margaret’s Chapel to Maximus or Cassian. Draco had let them believe that losing Magda in the raid a few years before that incident had turned him cruel and bitter.
Cassian knew he was hiding something—but now, as in the past, his friend didn’t press him. Draco had always appreciated that about him. He knew when to let things be.
“Discovering Gavina and I are part of the riddle came as a bit of a shock,” Draco admitted after a pause, deliberately moving the subject of conversation on. “One I’m still struggling with to be honest. I’ve always known what my name means, but I thought the answer to the last line would be more complex than that.”
“We all did … but sometimes the easy answers are the hardest ones to accept.” Cassian flashed him a rueful smile then. “Plus … do you think I really want to put my fate in your hands?”
Draco snorted. His friend had turned into a bit of philosopher of late. In the past, Draco might have mocked him for it, yet tonight he held his tongue. He didn’t always need to be right, to always prove a point. Sometimes he could just let a comment pass.
Despite that he’d never openly admitted it, Maximus and Cassian meant more to him than anyone else. It was time he focused on breaking the curse that held them all captive. However, their success now hinged on the cooperation of a woman who didn’t like him, a woman who’d only been recently widowed.
Let’s see if I can get the Lady of Dunnottar to warm to me … just a little.
Gavina rose well before dawn. Wrapped in a fur mantle, she climbed the steps to the guard tower and joined the Wallace and Cassian as they stood waiting for the sun to rise. Draco and Maximus were present as well, shadowy figures in the murk.
“How far off is dawn?” Gavina asked. Her voice, although soft, sounded unnaturally loud in the eerie silence that had settled upon the castle. She stepped up next to the Wallace, lifting her chin so that she could meet his gaze.
“It will break soon,” he rumbled. “Longshanks is down there waiting.”
Gavina’s lips thinned. Indeed, the English king would be hoping she’d turn the freedom fighter over to him.
Her gaze shifted then to Cassian. The captain acknowledged her with a nod.
Not for the first time, guilt arrowed through Gavina, and her chest tightened. Her conversation with Aila the night before had discomforted her. Afterward, she’d lain in bed, staring up at the darkness, unable to get to sleep. Maybe if her maid had shown anger or frustration, it might have been easier to bear. But Aila believed in her, trusted her. She didn’t want her mistress to suffer another unhappy marriage.
Her kindness had humbled Gavina.
Friendship had always been something that had eluded her over the years. She’d lost her mother early, and hadn’t had any sisters to share things with. Her relationship with her sister-by-marriage, Elizabeth, was still oddly formal, and Gavina’s position here at Dunnottar had always isolated her.
But in Aila and Heather she’d found acceptance and companionship.
The pressure in Gavina’s chest deepened, making her catch her breath. It was hard to focus when guilt plagued her like this. At least she didn’t have the defense of Dunnottar to worry over too—she didn’t like admitting defeat, but she’d done all she could to prevent bloodshed. It was in the hands of the men now.
Maybe she should seek out Heather today? Aila’s elder sister was more plainspoken and had a fiery temperament. She likely wouldn’t be as understanding as Aila—and if she gave Gavina the sharp edge of her tongue, some of this gnawing guilt might ease a little.
The trouble was that Gavina liked Cassian and Maximus too. They were both good, honest men who’d fallen in love with wonderful women. They all deserved a future. Once again, Gavina swallowed down self-reproach at the thought that she and Draco appeared to hold the key.
The group of them waited on the walls, unspeaking, while the surrounding braziers died down and the torches started to gutter. And with the rising of the sun, a faint glow at first in the east, the fog started to shift. It rolled away, revealing the line of mounted soldiers that bristled along the length of the cliff-face.