Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,7
laird with relative ease, these conversations sometimes made her feel out of her depth.
Diplomacy and negotiation were her strengths. She didn’t know how to talk about warfare and strategy. Violence made her queasy. Nonetheless, these men sought to include her in all the decisions regarding the defense of this fortress.
“Thank ye,” she said, reaching for the scroll the guard now brought to her.
Looking down at the wax seal upon the missive, Gavina’s breathing quickened. She recognized the Irvine crest immediately: a banded sheaf of holly leaves.
“It’s from my brother,” she murmured as the guard went on his way. She glanced across at the Wallace then. His brow was furrowed, his dark gaze upon the scroll she held. “I wrote to him recently, requesting that the two of us meet to settle things,” she continued. “This will be his answer.”
The Wallace’s frown deepened to a scowl. “Ye don’t want to be wasting time on the likes of him, My Lady … not with Longshanks threatening the north.”
Stubbornness rose within Gavina. “He’s my brother, William. I will do what I can to mend things between us … especially since we need to be friends with our neighbors at a time like this.”
Beside the Wallace, Draco Vulcan snorted. Maximus cast his friend a quelling look, but the Moor ignored it.
Gavina cut Draco a glare. She wished he hadn’t been invited to this meeting. However, Wallace rarely met with her without Vulcan at his side.
“Well, let’s see what your brother has to say,” Cassian said, breaking the tense silence that descended in the solar.
Shifting her attention back to the missive, Gavina broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. At the top, in her brother’s spiky handwriting, was the Irvine motto. Sub Sole Sub Umbra Virens: flourishing both in sunshine and in shade. Underneath it was a short message.
Gavina cleared her throat. “My dearest sister,” she began, her voice turning brittle at the empty words. It was a mere formality, for Shaw had never shown any affection for her, not even when they were bairns. “I thank ye for yer letter and am heartened that ye wish to meet with me to discuss our situation. Congratulations also on yer new position as laird. In the interests of both parties, it is best we meet in a neutral spot. As such, I will await ye on the eve of the twenty-first of June in the Strath of Muirskie, upon Gordon lands. Yer ever-loving brother, Shaw Irvine.”
Silence followed Gavina’s reading of the letter. She lowered the parchment to see that opposite her Donnan De Keith was now frowning. “What did ye promise him, My Lady?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with concern.
Gavina frowned. Did he really think she’d promise her brother anything, especially after he threatened to lay siege to Dunnottar? He’d even bragged about his new siege weapon, ‘The Battle Hammer’, which he threatened to bash down the castle gates with if land wasn’t ceded to him.
“Nothing,” she said, her tone sharpening. “I merely requested that he and I meet to see if peace could be forged between the Irvines and the De Keiths once more.”
“You do realize that the twenty-first of June is tomorrow?” Draco Vulcan drawled, speaking up for the first time since entering the solar.
Gavina ignored him, her gaze still upon the steward. “I will not make an enemy of my brother unless I’m left with no choice,” she continued. “Shaw is a potential ally we shouldn’t ignore … especially with Edward of England focused upon us.”
“It’s not safe for you to be traveling beyond these walls at present, My Lady,” Cassian spoke up, a pained expression flitting across his ruggedly handsome features. “I suggest you send me to speak on your behalf.”
Gavina shook her head, determination rising within her once more. “Shaw expects me. He won’t treat with anyone else.”
“Captain Gaius is right, My Lady,” Wallace rumbled. “This is not the time for a lady to be making such journeys.”
“I will be perfectly safe,” Gavina replied, raising her chin as she met the Wallace’s eye. “All I need is an escort.”
III
TRAITORS AND PROTECTORS
“YOU HAVE COME from Dunnottar?”
Edward of England observed the man before him. With wild auburn hair and a thick beard, the newcomer’s face was in a state—swollen and bruised. His nose was badly misshapen and both eyes blackened. One look at the Scot, with his heavily-muscled physique, and Edward could see he was a blacksmith. One didn’t acquire muscles like that from working the fields or even wielding a