Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,68
kill me thrice, and I survived … he discovered my secret.”
Dread closed Gavina’s throat. The edge to his voice now warned her she wasn’t going to enjoy the story that would follow. Yet she didn’t dare interrupt, didn’t dare prevent the words that now flowed out of him.
“I’ve always enjoyed cheating death, Gavina.” How bleak his voice sounded. “It doesn’t matter how many times I die, I never fail to rise with the next dawn. I’ve been thrown off cliffs, burned at the stake, hanged, and chopped into pieces at various times over the centuries. I don’t enjoy the pain of being ‘killed’ … but during my long life, I’ve experienced agony in all its facets.”
Gavina winced at the brutality of his words, but Draco continued, relentless now.
“I should have stayed away from Edinburgh, but I’d grown reckless after losing Magda … and Henry and his bruised pride amused me.” Draco sucked in a deep breath then before slowly releasing it. “One afternoon, he and his men finally caught me again.”
The wind whistled across the beach, catching at the strands of Gavina’s hair that had come free from the braid. Pushing them aside, she waited, her gaze riveted upon the man who sat a few yards distant.
“They dragged me up to the castle and took me to the chapel of Saint Margaret … which had recently been built in honor of the king’s mother. There, Henry revealed a stone tomb under the floor. He buried me alive.”
Gavina’s breathing caught. “How long were ye there?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Draco’s gaze glinted in the moonlight. “One hundred and five years.”
Gavina gasped. “No?”
Draco dragged a hand down his face. “I screamed, begged, and shouted, but to no avail. I clawed and kicked at the stone till my fingers were bloody, till my bones cracked, but no one heard me … no one came to my aid.”
Gavina’s hand went to her throat, horror cloaking her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful it had been. Mother Mary, what had the poor man suffered?
And yet, he kept it all in. He’d never told a soul.
“I suffered in that tomb, Gavina,” he said after a pause, his voice cracking. “Thirst takes a man before hunger does … it was slow agony … and I weathered it again and again.”
XXVIII
JUST FOR ONE NIGHT
GAVINA BREATHED AN oath. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs now. She really didn’t want to hear any more of this, and yet she couldn’t stop him. This memory had been poisoning him for too long.
However, Draco now fell silent anyway.
“Why haven’t ye said anything to yer friends?” she asked finally. “Maximus and Cassian would never have judged ye.”
He barked a harsh laugh. “They always wondered why I missed the last coming of the Broom-star, but I told them later I was too busy fighting in a clan-war to join them that year.” His features tensed. “I couldn’t bear to speak of it … to relive it … as I am doing right now.”
Gavina moved then. Rising from the boat, she climbed out and crossed to him, sinking to her knees upon the pebbles before Draco and reaching for his hands. Whenever he’d touched her before, his hands had been warm—yet they were ice-cold now.
“Tell me more, Draco,” she whispered. “Free yerself of it.”
And so he did. Nausea churned in Gavina’s belly as he spoke of the smothering darkness, his tears and despair. “I went mad,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp. “The tomb broke me … but the curse held me together … and forced me to suffer through it.”
Gazing up at him, Gavina saw that his cheeks now gleamed. He was silently weeping.
Her own vision blurred then. It was a terrible thing to see such a strong man cry. She was sorry to make him relive this—but instinct told her it had to be done.
He would never be able to cast off the terrible memories otherwise.
“How did ye get free in the end?” Her voice was husky as she struggled to keep her composure.
“A priest discovered me,” Draco replied, his fingers closing around hers. “He’d been swiving a maid in the castle, and was lying prostrate on the floor, begging for forgiveness from Saint Margaret. With his ear to the pavers, he heard something—the faint whisper of my screams—underneath him.” Draco paused there, his mouth twisting. “Father Macum fetched himself an iron bar and pried up the flagstones, freeing me from my prison.”