Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,50
chin so that their gazes met. “When ye finish here, please come to my quarters … I will have a bath drawn for ye.”
XXI
A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS
IT WAS LATE when Draco finally dragged himself from the walls. Fatigue pulled down at him, and his eyes stung. He longed to return to the barracks and sprawl out onto his narrow cot amongst his snoring chamber companions. But he’d told Gavina he’d go to her after his shift ended.
The hallways and stairwells of the keep were deserted at this hour, apart from the odd sleepy guard. Bleary-eyed, they greeted Draco with a nod as he walked by. Reaching Lady Gavina’s quarters, Draco knocked on the door.
Surely, the woman would be fast asleep by now. If she didn’t respond, he’d return to the barracks.
“Come in.” A soft voice from within greeted him.
With a sinking heart, Draco pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Surprise filtered over him then—when he saw that an iron tub stood in the center of the solar, steam rising from the water. The lady herself sat a few feet away, wrapped up in a blanket upon a chaise longue.
Rubbing her eyes, Gavina pushed herself upright and favored him with a sleepy smile.
Draco’s breathing hitched. The Great Bull-slayer strike him down—the woman was full of contradictions. One moment haughty and cold, the next soft and vulnerable. Her pale hair was unbound and tumbled messily over her shoulders. Draco’s throat constricted at the sight of it, remembering how he’d tangled his fingers in those silken strands.
A strange ache welled within his chest at the memory.
Ignoring it, he cocked an eyebrow at Gavina. “The bath’s still hot?”
Gavina’s sleepy smile widened. “Aye … the servants kindly just filled it. I thought ye’d be finishing up about now.” She rose to her feet, pulling the woolen robe she wore over her night-rail about her. “I’ll leave ye to bathe.”
“Please … stay,” Draco found himself saying. He then caught himself. What was he doing? Best to let Gavina go to bed. After his bath, he could stretch out on that chaise longue and sleep. It looked comfortable enough.
Gavina stilled, her smile fading. “Really?”
He crossed to the tub and started to unfasten his vest. His skin itched, and smoke and dust felt ingrained in his hair and eyes. He needed this bath. As he undressed, he caught Gavina’s eye once more. “You’ve already seen me naked, after all.”
A pretty blush rose to her cheeks then, and Draco found himself smiling. Despite that she’d been a widow, and previously wed for years, the lady was charmingly innocent.
“Aye … but that was … different,” she murmured, keeping her gaze firmly fixed upon his face as he stripped off the rest of his clothes.
“How so?” He stepped into the steaming water and sank into it with a sigh. Hades, how he needed this.
“I don’t know … it just was,” she replied weakly.
Draco huffed a laugh. “What kind of answer is that … could you pass me the soap?”
Gavina’s throat bobbed, her gaze narrowing slightly. She then moved stiffly over to where the servants had left a stack of cloths and a cake of lye soap upon a nearby table. She picked up the soap and a wash cloth and moved over to the tub, holding the objects out to him.
“How did the watch go?” she asked.
“Uneventful … the English are all sleeping tonight it seems.” His mouth quirked. “Wrecking Dunnottar tires a man out.”
Gavina gave an unladylike snort, settling down upon the chaise longue while Draco began to wash. He’d barely started when she spoke up once more. “Aila told me that Cassian used to have another name … before he enlisted in the Roman army,” she began, curiosity lacing her voice. “Did ye?”
Draco glanced up, surprised by the question. He then nodded. “I was born Amestan, the youngest son of a wealthy merchant in Valentia.”
Gavina considered his words, a groove appearing between her finely arched brows. “It must have felt odd … to be given a new name.”
Draco shrugged. “Not really … I’ve always thought Draco Vulcan had quite a ring to it.”
“How old were ye when ye enlisted?”
“Twenty … they didn’t take men younger than that.”
“So, ye liked being a soldier of Rome?”
He met her gaze. It felt odd to be questioned like this; Draco rarely spoke of his past. In truth, most of his old life was little more than a hazy memory. “I loved it,” he admitted softly. “I wasn’t interested in becoming a spice