Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,4
late husband.
The day before, the Wallace—never one to hold back his opinion—had told Gavina so. “Ye are loved here, My Lady,” he’d rumbled, holding his cup of wine up to her in a toast. “The folk of Dunnottar favor ye far more than they ever did David.”
It dawned on Draco then that he was staring at De Keith’s widow. Irritated at this realization, Draco shifted his attention from Lady Gavina to where a steaming platter of hogget sat before him. The greasy odor of the meat made him feel faintly nauseated.
It was a fine meal, yet Draco hadn’t lied to his friends earlier. He had little appetite. Seated at the Wallace’s side, he watched as the big man piled his platter with roast meat.
William Wallace had a big enough appetite for both of them.
Draco drew in a slow breath as he tried to regain his equilibrium. It wasn’t just being forced to spend time in the chapel, and endure the memories it roused, that had closed his stomach—but also their most recent discovery.
They’d solved another part of the riddle that Pict witch had given them all those years earlier.
They’d learned the identity of the ‘Dragon’.
Cassian was now convinced Draco was part of all of this. His name did mean ‘dragon’ in Latin, but Draco found the theory far-fetched to say the least.
Especially since, if that was the case, Draco needed to find himself a wife.
The riddle had mocked them for over a thousand years now. Just five lines, and yet their meaning had remained frustratingly elusive. Once more, the lines whispered in his mind.
When the Broom-star crosses the sky,
And the Hammer strikes the fort
Upon the Shelving Slope.
When the White Hawk and the Dragon wed,
Only then will the curse be broke.
They knew now that the Broom-star was the fiery star that reappeared in the sky every seventy-five years or so, and that the Hammer referred to Edward Longshanks, ‘The Hammer of the Scots’. The fort upon the Shelving Slope was the old name for Dunnottar—which just left the identity of the White Hawk and the Dragon to solve.
Ridiculous. Draco helped himself to some bread and cheese before holding his pewter goblet up for a passing servant to fill. Desperation has made Cassian draw a long bow indeed.
He glanced right then, at where Cassian was serving Aila some roast hogget. Cassian gazed down at his wife with such love that Draco felt a sting of embarrassment for him.
Where was his reserve, his caution?
Shifting his attention across the table, Draco watched Maximus and Heather laugh together, before she playfully slapped her husband’s arm, grey-green eyes gleaming.
What is it about these De Keith sisters? Draco’s lips thinned. Heather and Aila had indeed bewitched his friends. Despite all the pain both men had suffered in the past, they were still willing to throw themselves into the breach once more.
Idiots.
Draco took a deep gulp of wine. It was sloe—full-bodied yet with a sharp tang.
“Try not to look too miserable,” Cassian interrupted his brooding. Draco had thought his friend was too distracted by the winsome Aila to notice him, but he glanced up to see Cassian had fixed him with that level look he’d come to know well over the centuries. “The sun is shining, and we have only one thing left to solve in the riddle.”
Cassian had uttered this last line in Latin, lest anyone should overhear them.
Not that there was any risk of that. Men and women now filled the narrow hall, their voices echoing off the stone. The wide windows, which looked both north and south, had been opened, allowing the rumble of surf against the rocks below and the cry of gulls to enter.
“You make it sound so easy,” Draco growled. “I just need to find a White Hawk, and then we’ll fly off into the sunset together.” Draco muttered a curse before taking another gulp of wine. “I don’t want to wed anyone.”
Cassian’s gaze widened. “You’ve been in a foul mood ever since I shared the news with you,” he observed. “Don’t you want to break the curse?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why the sour face?”
“Because I don’t share your optimism. We’ve always known what my name means … but suddenly you think I’m part of the riddle.”
“Aila pointed out we’ve been so focused on looking elsewhere that we ignored what was right beneath our noses,” Cassian replied with a rueful smile. “And my gut tells me she’s right.”
And, if the lass told you the moon was made of sheep’s curd, you’d believe