Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,46
left the chamber.
XIX
DESPAIR
DRACO FOUND IT difficult not to break into a run as he left the keep. After what had just transpired in Gavina’s bed-chamber, he felt as tightly wound as a crossbow. Coupling usually provided a release of tension, but this hadn’t.
He needed to fight, to kill. He had to do something to ward off the unwelcome feelings of tenderness and protectiveness that had swept over him inside that room.
He hadn’t wanted to leave her. When he’d wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and looked down into those luminous cornflower-blue eyes, an ache had risen deep his chest.
She looked so small, so fragile standing there. So alone.
He’d wanted to gather her up in his arms and kiss away her loneliness. He’d wanted to pick her up, carry her over to the bed, and spend the rest of the day making love to her.
Draco’s jaw clenched.
This wouldn’t do at all. He’d wed Gavina De Keith in order to break the curse, and for no other reason.
And now, he and his friends would find out if the riddle was true after all—or just a cruel game set in motion by a long dead bandruì.
Draco’s belly twisted.
It had always been his fear over the years. The woman who’d cursed them had been cruel, and to make this whole thing a farce would be her final revenge upon them all.
The lower ward bailey was in chaos. Warriors and guards rushed by, carrying armloads of longbow arrows, crossbow quarrels, and stones to hurl at the attackers. And all the while, debris rained down upon them.
Just a few yards from Draco, a flying shard of slate felled one of the Wallace’s men. The man sprawled, his skull cracking upon the cobbles, the quivers of arrows he’d been carrying scattering.
Draco rushed to him, but one look at the back of his head, caved in where the slate had hit him, told him the man was dead. Scooping up the quivers, Draco turned and made for the postern door that would take him up onto the walls.
He stepped out of the stairwell to see one of the guards aflame. Blood-curdling wails rang out across the wall, as the men around him dried to douse the flames with their cloaks. Water didn’t work with Greek fire—it only made the inferno burn hotter. But the fire had taken hold now.
Screaming, the guard stumbled to the walls and threw himself off it.
His cries echoed through the smoky air before abruptly cutting off.
Jaw set, Draco strode along the walls to where Cassian was bellowing orders. Maximus was at his side, firing a crossbow. Despite that the weapon was heavy and cumbersome, Maximus made it look easy. As Draco looked on, his friend placed his foot in the stirrup at the front of the bow, pulling the string back to cock it. He then set a bolt in the barrel, nocked it securely into place, sighted his target on the ranks of soldiers now flooding up the defile below the castle, and fired.
Not even pausing for breath, his face set in hard lines, Maximus repeated the action. Cock, load, aim, and shoot. Cock, load, aim, and shoot.
Draco drew near to Cassian and Maximus, his attention shifting behind them to where the Wallace was overseeing a line of catapults. Wooden trebuchets had been set up along the wall, and they were firing chunks of lead, slate, iron, and stones—anything they could get their hands on to use as missiles.
A hail of arrows hit their defenses then, clattering against stone and wood shields.
Draco’s gaze shifted to the cliff-top opposite, settling upon the rows of men wielding longbows there. He then spat a curse.
Edward was famous for his archers, fierce Welshmen who wielded elm longbows. They let forth further volleys, bringing down two men loading the catapults.
The English had reached the gates now, although their spears were useless against the heavy iron and oak. Instead, they had carried a large oaken battering ram up the slope, and were starting to drive it into the gates.
Even at a glance, Draco could see the battering ram wasn’t heavy enough to break down the gates, especially since they’d been reinforced with iron bars.
An arrow whistled past Draco’s right ear, and he ducked. It wasn’t wise to be peering over the walls at present. Moving past Cassian, Draco handed out the quivers to their own archers before returning to his friends.
Cassian gave him a quick look. A shard of something had cut him across the forehead earlier in the