Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,48

suffered, he couldn’t die.

“Great God Mithras,” Draco finally managed to choke out the words, his voice rough. “Slayer of the Bull. Lord of the Ages. The wheel turns, and the Broom-star is again in the sky. Draw back the mists and grant three men of the lost legion peace … at last.”

XX

UPON THE WALL

GAVINA LOOKED DOWN at the bowl of mutton stew in front of her, before reluctantly reaching for her wooden spoon. It was a late supper. Darkness had long since fallen, but after the events of the day, her belly had closed. However, since she’d been too nervous that morning to break her fast with porridge, as she usually did, she knew she should eat.

Seated alone at the large table in the laird’s solar, she felt on edge, brittle.

The day’s drama hadn’t ended with Draco’s departure from her bed-chamber. Shortly after, Elizabeth had stormed into her solar and demanded to know if the rumors flying about the keep were indeed true.

Had she wed Draco Vulcan?

Gavina stared down at the rapidly cooling bowl of stew. Indeed, she had.

As she’d expected, Elizabeth had been livid. “I know ye want to help Heather and Aila, but this is too much!” she’d railed. “Ye can’t remain laird now.”

“Aye, and maybe that’s for the best,” Gavina had replied, too emotionally drained by events to even argue with her sister-by-marriage. “Ye’d make a better laird than me anyway.”

Elizabeth’s face had gone white and pinched at that proclamation. For a moment, Gavina thought she might even slap her. But, instead, the woman had muttered a curse, turned, and stormed from the solar.

They both knew the truth of it; this fortress would eventually fall. It wouldn’t matter then who was laird of Dunnottar.

Gavina had spent the rest of the day alone. Mercifully, Heather and Aila hadn’t sought her out. They would want to leave her be, let Gavina and Draco spend time together.

Only, he wasn’t here. Gavina hadn’t seen him since he’d stridden from her bed-chamber.

Of course, most newly wedded couples spent the evening together after their union. There was usually a banquet held to celebrate, and then husband and wife would retire to bed together.

Gavina pushed the spoon around the bowl of stew. But her and Draco’s union had already been consummated.

They had no use for each other now.

Even so, a strange loneliness had settled over her as the day stretched on.

This is what ye wanted, she reminded herself, irritated by the turn of her thoughts. Ye should be relieved he’s left ye alone.

She was, but all the same, her mind had traitorously turned to Draco all afternoon. Her breathing quickened whenever she recalled how he’d taken her against the wall.

Gavina squeezed her eyes closed. Stop it.

She had to stop thinking about it. Lust had taken her by surprise, yet it was a distraction, especially now with Longshanks poised to slaughter everyone in this keep.

Drawing in a ragged sigh, Gavina tightened her grip on the spoon. She wondered if the curse was now broken. If it was, wouldn’t Aila come and tell her?

She hated not knowing. Draco could have returned here to give her the news at least. But none of them had.

Instead, she sat alone, in this stark, masculine space, with her supper. Despite the crackling hearth, it was oppressively silent in the laird’s solar.

Gavina took a spoonful of stew and forced it down, and then another. She then cast the spoon aside, frustration exploding within her. Pushing back her chair, she rose to her feet.

Supper be damned, she wanted answers—and she was going to get them.

A misty rain was falling when Gavina stepped out of the keep and wrapped a cloak about her shoulders.

“My Lady?” A guard keeping watch at the keep doors cast her a wary look. “It’s not a night to be outdoors.”

“I’m looking for Draco Vulcan.” she replied, brushing off his concern. “Do ye know where he is?”

The guard’s wary expression deepened. Most likely, he had no idea of what had taken place in the chapel while he and the other men kept the English army at bay.

However, he’d discover it soon enough.

“Vulcan,” Gavina repeated her husband’s name, her gaze steady. “Where is he?”

The guard cleared his throat. “He’s up on the western walls, My Lady.”

With a nod of thanks, Gavina drew her cloak tighter still and set off across the lower ward bailey. Torches burned around her, hanging on chains from the walls, some of them smoking a little in the gentle rain. Their golden light reflected off the