Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,79

and Cassian with the torches, gloves, and the pot of hot pitch.

Maximus swiveled round, his gaze meeting Cassian’s. “Ready?”

Cassian flashed him a feral grin. “Let’s rid ourselves of this cursed ‘Battle Hammer’.”

Maximus nodded, his fingers clenching around the torches while he readied himself to rise to his feet.

Once he did, he would be exposed.

The archers had noted movement above the gates, and so had focused their attention upon the area. Arrows clattered off the surrounding stone and clanged against the iron cauldron.

Maximus swallowed. Having seen Draco brought down by the archers, he was in no hurry to follow him.

However, this had to be done.

Gritting his teeth, he lunged to his feet and rose over the cauldron, lowering the flaming ends to the smoking pitch.

Ignite, damn you.

An arrow whistled past his left ear, so close he flinched.

Whoosh.

The pitch burst into flames.

Maximus reeled back, and then Cassian grabbed hold of him, hauling him to safety.

Together the two of them crouched behind the cauldron. A flaming pot of pitch atop the gates would attract attention. They had to act quickly or those below would draw back to avoid being doused.

“Now!” Maximus bellowed.

Together they reached out with their gloved hands and swung the pot hard against the wall. It wavered precariously on its iron frame, but held.

Maximus positioned himself as near to the base as he could, his gloved fingers gripping against the rough iron.

Mithras, it’s heavy.

Without the aid of the scaffold on which the pot hung, he and Cassian would never have been able to lift it. Leveraging the pot against the ramparts, they shoved hard, their grunts of effort mingling with shouts of alarm from below.

But it was too late.

The pot lurched and then up-ended, spilling its fiery and liquid contents over the wall.

Screams followed, terrible cries that made a man’s blood run cold. Yet, lying on his side next to Cassian under the lee of the ramparts, Maximus was too intent on recovering his breath to even notice them. His arms and shoulders burned from the effort it had taken to get that pot over the edge.

The screaming continued.

Dragging himself up, Maximus was greeted by a column of dark smoke. Shielded from the archers for the time-being, he dared lean against the ramparts, his gaze dropping to the ‘Battle Hammer’ directly below.

Next to him, Cassian muttered another oath.

It was chaos down there. The structure housing the battering ram was in flames, as was the wagon. Men ran around, beating at the flames upon their bodies, while others fell as the fire consumed them.

And as Maximus and Cassian watched, Shaw Irvine’s ‘Battle Hammer’ went up like a beacon, flames roaring high.

Breathing hard, Maximus shot Cassian a victory grin. “I wish Draco could see this.”

Gavina didn’t leave the infirmary; she didn’t leave Draco’s side. Around her, she was vaguely aware of Elizabeth, Aila, and the other women moving about the space. And all the while, the boom and shudder of the Battle Hammer’s assault rang in her ears.

Gavina waited for the crash of the gates giving way, and the shouts warning that the castle had been breached.

But none came.

And then, the keep went strangely quiet.

Shortly after, a lad rushed into the infirmary, face flushed. “The ‘Battle Hammer’ is in flames!” he gasped.

Glancing up from where she’d been sponging Draco’s fevered brow, Gavina took in the smiling faces of those around her, the gazes gleaming with relief.

The siege wasn’t over yet—but with that battering ram dealt to, Edward Longshanks would have to find another means of forcing his way inside the castle.

Warmth suffused Gavina then, relief uncoiling a little of the tension in her chest. Her attention returned to Draco. He lay upon his back before her, his ribs rising and falling shallowly. His eyes were closed, and a light sheen of sweat covered his face.

Gavina’s throat constricted. She hated to see him suffer so. Surely, the curse would be working its magic upon him now? Maybe suffering was all part of it. Even so, she couldn’t wait for morning to come.

For the first rays of dawn to wash away his hurts.

Body aching, Maximus climbed the stairs in the guard tower, to the quarters he shared with his wife. Dusk settled over Dunnottar now, bringing with it a welcome reprieve—a few brief hours before the fighting started anew.

Stepping inside the main chamber, Maximus’s attention went to the glowing hearth and the iron tub filled with steaming water before him.

A sigh gusted out of him.

“I thought ye would appreciate a bath tonight, mo ghràdh.” Heather