Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,67
can’t lead anywhere good.”
“I wish I could leave it,” Gavina countered, her temper fraying, “but my fate is entwined with yers now. This isn’t just about ye, Maximus, and Cassian anymore. Heather, Aila, and I are all part of this too. Tell me what happened to ye!”
Draco snarled a curse, lunged to his feet, leaped from the boat—and stormed away.
Gavina watched him go, but made no move to follow.
He’d be back. And when he did return, she’d resume her questioning. Gavina’s heart pounded as she waited, her belly clenching with nerves. Damn Nessa—she’d known this task would fall upon her.
And it was no easy one, for the walls that Draco Vulcan had built around him were as tough as five feet of granite. Nonetheless, she would try to break through them.
Dawn was still a few hours off, and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight anyway.
He did return—sooner than she’d anticipated.
Gavina knew why.
For all his arrogance and careless attitude, Draco was protective of women. She’d seen that when she’d met with her brother. He’d defended her from Shaw as he’d raised his hand to strike her.
Draco didn’t like leaving her out here alone in the dark, even if the look upon his face told her he’d rather spend the night with a rabid dog for company.
He didn’t climb back into the boat though; instead, he perched upon a log of driftwood a few yards back—a dark, silent presence.
The hiss of waves lapping upon the shingle and the whisper of the breeze encircled them, and Gavina gathered her courage once more. It was time for her to change tack. She needed to tackle the subject from a different angle.
“Was it a woman?” she eventually asked. Her belly tightened when she asked the question, as unexpected jealousy stirred within her. “Cassian told Aila that ye had a lover once … who was killed in a raid. He said ye were never the same afterward.”
A beat of silence followed, before Draco replied. “Cassian’s got a big mouth.”
“Cassian loves ye like a brother,” she countered, her voice hardening. “He worries about ye … although I sometimes wonder why he bothers, for ye are a mulish bastard.”
Gavina’s voice died off there, and she cursed herself. She was supposed to get answers out of the man, not insult him. He’d never open up to her now.
Is this how lovers speak to each other? The pair of them were supposed to be besotted with each other for the curse to break.
Gavina’s throat constricted, tears prickling her eyes.
Examine yer own feelings.
She felt knotted up inside, queasy with misery. What a mess this was. She’d done her best to help of late, but all she’d done is make things worse.
Silence drew out, and Gavina was about to apologize for insulting him when Draco spoke up. “My lover did die in a raid,” he admitted, his voice rough as if he was literally forcing himself to speak. “Many years ago. Her name was Magda … and I helped slaughter the men who killed her and her kin.” He paused then, letting the rumble of the surf intrude. “But that didn’t make me this way. I let Max and Cass think that … because it’s an easy explanation.”
Gavina’s breathing quickened. She leaned forward, her gaze dragging over him. Sitting there, bathed in moonlight, he appeared carved of ice. Yet the pain in his voice betrayed him.
“So, what’s the real reason, Draco?” Suddenly, she wanted to go to him, wanted to sit by him on the log and take his hand in hers. Yet she sensed that wasn’t the right thing to do; he needed this physical distance from her at present.
He let out a heavy sigh. “One hundred and sixty-six years ago, I fell foul of the King of Scotland’s son.” Draco’s voice was odd, brittle, as if the wrong word would shatter him. “His name was Henry, son of King David.”
Gavina didn’t respond. Instead, she slowed her breathing, her fingers clasping the sides of the boat while she waited for him to continue.
“I was a guest at Edinburgh castle … and I came upon Henry forcing himself upon a lady. I intervened and made sure I humiliated him at the same time.” Draco heaved in a deep breath then, as if steeling himself, before he continued. “The story should have ended there, but I worsened the situation when I became the woman’s—his betrothed’s—lover. I soon discovered that Henry wasn’t a forgiving man … and when he tried to