Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,72

just told her that he didn’t love her; admitting her own feelings would just make things awkward, would make him feel pressured.

Love couldn’t be forced.

The curse would know the difference—and so would she.

When the first glow of dawn lightened the eastern sky, they rose from the cloaks and pulled on their clothing.

After their lovemaking, they’d fallen asleep awhile, drained by the night’s events. But eventually, Draco had stirred.

“It’s time to go back,” he’d announced softly.

Pulling on her lèine, Gavina glanced around. The shingle beach was still deserted, although the fishermen in Stonehaven would already be up and about. Indeed, it was time to leave.

Her gaze shifted south, toward the rooftops of Stonehaven. Dunnottar was just out of sight, and Longshanks would be readying himself for the next assault.

It would be so easy never to go back, the thought arose unbidden, and Gavina clenched her jaw. Aye, it would be. She could turn and flee, run north, and leave Dunnottar to fall.

But she never would.

She hadn’t been happy with David De Keith, but when she became his wife, she’d also become part of his clan. After a while, she’d grown to love Dunnottar and its people.

She’d not abandon them to their fate.

Slinging her cloak about her shoulders, she joined Draco, and together they pushed the boat down into the water.

Gavina climbed in first, and then Draco leaped on board. Grabbing the oars, he propelled the small craft out through the rolling surf. However, once they were beyond the waves, Gavina realized there was something amiss.

Cold seawater was soaking through her boots.

She tensed, remembering the sound the hull of the rowboat had made when they’d dragged it out of the water the evening before.

“We’re taking on water,” she announced.

Draco, who’d been occupied till now with rowing, glanced down to see an inch or two of water in the bottom. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Let’s hope she holds until we get back to Dunnottar. I don’t fancy a swim. The North Sea is frigid … no matter the time of year.”

A chill feathered across Gavina’s skin, and she swallowed. “I can’t swim,” she murmured.

Draco’s face tensed. “Well then … another reason why we can’t sink.”

Although he did his best not to let Gavina see his worry, Draco tensed when he saw the boat was taking on water. The approach through the breakwater to the cliffs was perilous enough at the best of times—navigating it with a sinking boat would likely spell disaster.

Clenching his jaw, he rowed on, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort.

He couldn’t let Gavina come to any harm.

His gaze strayed to her then, despite that his focus needed to be on rowing. Perched at the stern of the rowboat, her hair newly braided, she’d never looked lovelier to him.

It was difficult not to stare, not to drink her in.

Draco yanked his attention away and glanced down at his feet. The ice-cold North Sea was now creeping over his boots. Soon it would reach his ankles.

This was the last journey the wee boat would ever make.

Draco rowed on, ignoring the protesting muscles in his shoulders and upper arms as he pushed himself.

The exertion felt good. It was a distraction from his own thoughts, and from the strange ache deep within his chest.

An ache he didn’t understand.

Last night would be etched on his eternal soul. No matter what came now, he’d never forget it.

Edward of England was close to taking Dunnottar, and when the ‘Battle Hammer’ bashed down the gates, everything would change. Gavina would be taken from him—whether by death or incarceration, he’d lose her.

The thought made Draco’s gut twist.

He clenched his fingers around the oars, forcing himself to concentrate. What was wrong with him? He’d actually wept last night—when he’d told Gavina his story. He hadn’t cried since his entombment, since the smothering dark had finally ripped away the last of his defenses.

Last night had been strange, a moment out of time. He certainly hadn’t felt like himself.

But now, as the first rays of dawn warmed his face, reality crashed back down upon him. With a jolt, he realized that he no longer felt numb. Instead, an odd sort of grief gripped his chest.

A loud rumbling sound filled Draco’s ears then, distracting him.

“We’re approaching Dunnottar,” Gavina informed him, for she faced the direction of travel. “Edward’s resumed his attack.”

Draco nodded, his fingers tightening around the oars.

And as they inched closer to the fortress, the water in the bottom deepened, rising to their ankles now and making the boat sink