Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,40
own whims, My Lady,” Father Finlay finally managed. “Ye and David made vows before God.”
“Aye, but he is dead now, and I must wed Draco.”
Outrage rippled through the chaplain’s tall, lanky frame. Her lack of propriety shocked him. She was standing before him like a harlot, demanding he wed her to her lover.
Humiliation prickled over Gavina. For that was what she’d told him—she’d professed that she’d fallen madly in love with the Wallace’s right-hand, had lain with him, and now carried his bairn. Dunnottar balanced upon a knife-edge, and she had to wed her lover before the end came.
The lies had slipped off her tongue with surprising ease, although she’d been unable to look Draco’s way as she’d said them.
The disappointment on the good Father’s face, and the indignation that swiftly followed, had cowed her a little. She liked Father Finlay and knew him to be a fair and kind man.
And her behavior was outrageous—worrying about her love life while Edward of England catapulted Greek fire over the walls.
It made her look self-centered and grasping.
The urge to laugh bubbled up within Gavina then. If only Father Finlay knew the truth behind this all.
“I love the lady.” Draco spoke up there. His voice was cool and clipped, at odds with the words he’d just spoken. “And wish to make our union right before God.”
The chaplain’s mouth twisted. “Ye should have stayed away from her,” he snarled. “What kind of man takes advantage of a widow?” He swiveled back to Gavina then, his cheeks reddening. “Yer husband has been barely dead a month! It is an offense to the Lord that ye wed so soon.”
Gavina clenched her hands at her sides and cast Draco a warning look. He wasn’t helping. It was an offense, she knew it. Here she stood in a house of God, clad in a sea-blue kirtle instead of her widow’s black, flouting her lover.
The chaplain wasn’t moving; she would have to humiliate herself further if this wedding was going to take place.
“My marriage with David was in name only,” she replied, holding Father Finlay’s eye with a boldness she didn’t feel. “We hadn’t shared a bed in years … and ye know as well as I about all the lovers he took. He’s rumored to have at least three bastards running about the streets of Stonehaven.”
It took all her will not to wince at these words. She sounded so bitter—and she was, for this wasn’t a lie at least.
Her union with the De Keith laird had been empty from its first days.
Even so, to admit such a thing—especially with an audience—made her flush hot with shame.
What a failure of a wife she was.
Gavina felt Draco watching her. Shoulders set, she refused to look his way. This was all too humiliating as it was; she didn’t need to see the scorn in her husband-to-be’s eyes.
The chaplain’s gaze shadowed. He knew she spoke the truth.
“Ye and David weren’t happy together, My Lady,” he said after a long pause. “But that’s nothing unusual. It is a cross ye must bear.”
Panic surged within Gavina, a deep chill that doused her burning embarrassment. He wasn’t going to soften. She had to do something.
“Please, Father.” She took a step forward and sank to her knees at his feet, grasping his hands. “I implore ye … grant an unhappy woman but a short reprieve. I fear we are all doomed here. Let me die as Draco Vulcan’s wife.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as she spoke. They weren’t feigned. She really was this desperate. She couldn’t save everyone in this keep—but she could give the three centurions of a lost legion the end to a terrible curse. She could grant Maximus, Cassian, and Draco freedom to live or die as they pleased.
Staring up at the chaplain, she saw him waver. He was a pious, righteous man, but a soft-hearted one. He hated to see a woman suffer.
Guilt returned, causing Gavina to swallow. Damn this mantle of remorse that she carried around—how she wished to be rid of it. Unfortunately though, in helping her friends, she would hurt others.
“I don’t understand ye, My Lady,” Father Finlay eventually rasped. “If ye wed him, ye will lose yer position here.”
It doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except helping her friends. Aila and Heather had both been shocked by her decision when she sought them out the evening before. But she’d managed to persuade them that this was her choice—a decision she’d made of her own free will.