Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,5
her, Draco thought. However, he didn’t share the words. They were too bitter, even for him.
II
THE LADY OF DUNNOTTAR
THE CHAIR WAS too big for her.
Made of oak with roebuck heads carved into the arm-rests, it had been crafted for a man; Gavina felt like an errant child perched in it. She was barely sitting high enough to eat her meal, although she resisted the urge to call for a cushion to be brought.
Such a request was hardly dignified.
Gavina cast a glance left at where her sister-by-marriage, Lady Elizabeth, sat. The lady looked so pale and tense these days. Since their return from Stirling, she feared for her husband’s life. Robert De Keith, the true laird of the De Keiths, was currently residing in an English prison. If Robert never returned, his son would one day become laird—but since wee Robbie De Keith was only three summers old, that wasn’t going to happen for a while yet.
At present, Gavina ruled here, and she would have to get used to being dwarfed by her seat.
Even so, she was surprised by how easily she’d stepped into her new role. For years, she’d waited in her husband’s shadow. Yet David had shown no interest in the more mundane tasks involved in running the keep. Gavina was already used to working closely with Donnan, Dunnottar’s steward, when it came to ordering supplies for the castle and organizing servants.
But now, she was in charge of the more important decisions as well.
Cutting off a piece of hogget with her eating knife, Gavina took a small bite and chewed slowly, her gaze traveling around the laird’s table—where she, her kin, and important retainers and guests sat.
Ever since his arrival, William Wallace had joined them at the laird’s table. And as always, his right-hand sat with him.
Draco Vulcan.
Gavina’s gaze rested upon the Moor, taking in his haughty features, tightly-curled, short black hair, and hooded gaze.
If the man wasn’t so unpleasant, she’d have found him attractive. As it was, on the few occasions they’d interacted, Vulcan had proved himself to have the manners of a goat.
There had been that incident at Beltaine recently, when he’d dared reprimand her for asking Cassian to dance with Aila. The lass had been sick with love for Dunnottar’s handsome captain, and Gavina had only been doing her part to bring them together. However, Vulcan had scolded her like she’d been a misbehaving bairn.
Although, now that she knew the three men’s secret, she understood his reticence to her match-making. Cassian had possessed a valid reason for keeping his heart walled off.
She’d never forget that moment, a few weeks earlier, when she’d witnessed Cassian Gaius stab himself in the heart in that oak glade. He should have died instantly, yet he’d held on, and then as the sun rose, the light filtering through the trees, he’d miraculously healed before their eyes.
She didn’t like it, didn’t understand it—but the foreigners seated at this table were all immortal.
Honestly, despite that Gavina didn’t begrudge Aila or Heather their happiness, she worried for both women.
If the curse isn’t broken, they will both have to leave Dunnottar eventually … or folk will notice their husbands never seem to age.
Aye, she shared Draco’s misgivings, yet all the same, the Moor had overstepped.
There had also been the occurrence on the journey home from Stirling—an incident that had cemented her dislike toward him. Draco and his men had come to their rescue, saving them from a group of King Edward’s men who’d hunted them down.
One of the English soldiers—a youth barely old enough to grow whiskers—had thrown down his weapons, fallen to his knees, and begged for mercy. But Draco Vulcan had shown him none, and had killed the lad in cold blood.
And when Gavina confronted him about it, he’d dismissed her rudely.
Gavina’s jaw tightened at the memory of how his mouth had twisted with scorn.
It was only out of respect for the Wallace that she suffered the man to sit at her table.
“No word from Edward yet.” Elizabeth spoke up, intruding upon Gavina’s introspection. “I wonder what game he’s playing.”
Gavina frowned. Like Elizabeth and everyone else in the keep, she’d been on tenterhooks of late, waiting for the English king to turn his attention north.
John Comyn, the current Guardian of the Realm, who’d been forced to surrender Stirling, had assured them that The Hammer of the Scots didn’t plan to attack the northern strongholds as yet. But her husband’s assassination attempt would most likely have changed Edward’s plans.