Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,83

them is dead,” Cassian replied.

“I wanted to be the man to end Shaw Irvine’s life,” Wallace muttered, “right before I slammed my dirk into Longshanks’s belly.” Bitter disappointment laced the outlaw’s voice. He’d remained at Dunnottar, not only to defend the fortress, but in order to have his reckoning with Edward of England.

But the English king was now riding away.

“Something must have drawn his eye,” Cassian murmured, watching the last of the red and gold Plantagenet banners flapping in the morning breeze. “I’d say he’s returning to Stirling.”

“You think the castle is under attack?” Maximus asked.

Cassian turned to him, running a tired hand over his face. “Maybe.”

William Wallace said nothing at that—instead, his gaze remained focused upon the retreating English army. An army that had been so close to taking them.

“Maximus … Cassian … ye are needed in the infirmary.”

Hearing Heather’s voice, Maximus swiveled around to find his wife standing behind them. Her eyes widened when she realized what the men on the wall had all been staring at.

The retreating enemy.

“What?” she gasped, rushing forward. “Why?”

“Yer guess is as good as ours, lass,” the Wallace grumbled.

“What’s this about the infirmary?” Maximus cut in.

Heather jolted, her attention snapping back to her husband. Her throat bobbed. “It’s Draco … he’s dying.”

“His wounds haven’t healed … see for yerselves.” Elizabeth drew back the bloodied bandages and allowed Maximus and Cassian to draw close to the pallet. Sunshine filtered into the crowded infirmary, pooling on the bed where Draco lay.

Following the centurions’ gazes, Gavina looked upon the twin arrow holes. They were swollen, red, and weeping.

The dawn had long risen, and with it those terrible wounds should have vanished.

But they hadn’t—and Draco hadn’t yet awoken. A worrying pallor lay upon his skin, and his breathing was shallow, labored.

Elizabeth straightened up from examining Draco’s wounds. “He’s fading.”

Fading.

Gavina’s throat closed, an ache rising deep in her chest.

“So, it’s broken then.” Maximus’s voice was soft, awed, his peat-brown eyes glittering. “We can all die.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It seems so.”

“I thought I felt different this morning,” Cassian murmured. He too hadn’t taken his gaze from Draco. “My limbs are heavy … I feel … old.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up within Gavina, yet she forced it down. They’d wanted this for so long, and yet neither Cassian nor Maximus looked overjoyed right now.

Next to Cassian, Aila placed an arm around his waist and squeezed tight. “That’s because ye are, my love,” she whispered. Her attention shifted to Gavina then, realization dawning. “This means the pair of ye are …” Her voice trailed off there.

Gavina’s hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “Aye,” she whispered. “It does.”

She couldn’t believe it. Despite that he’d told her he wasn’t capable of it, Draco loved her too.

Gavina’s vision blurred. Life was cruel indeed.

They moved Draco up to Gavina’s bed-chamber, where he would be more comfortable. Although Maximus and Cassian were as careful as possible, their friend groaned every time the litter jolted.

Draco was in a strange state—halfway between waking and sleeping. He didn’t appear to notice his surroundings, yet he was clearly suffering.

No one spoke when Maximus and Cassian eventually got Draco onto the bed. Instead, they merely stood over him, their brows furrowed, their faces strained.

“I can’t believe it,” Maximus finally muttered. “All these years the bastard chased death … and now it’s standing over him with its scythe.”

“Yesterday on the wall … do you think he knew?” Cassian asked.

Standing behind them, Gavina tensed. She hoped not—the thought that Draco might deliberately throw himself into the sights of Edward’s archers made her belly churn.

Surely, loving her wasn’t so terrible?

“I don’t think he did,” Maximus answered with a sigh. “He was just doing what he always does … playing the idiot.”

The centurions eventually left the bed-chamber, exhaustion and worry etched upon their faces. The breaking of the curse had made both men weary; they needed to sleep, needed to come to terms with how their bodies had changed.

Breaking the curse should have been a moment of great relief—and Maximus and Cassian would soon be able to celebrate with their wives—but Draco’s grave injuries had soured everything.

Watching them go, Gavina realized that these three were far more than just friends. They’d weathered the centuries together. They were closer than brothers.

Alone in the bed-chamber with Draco, Gavina approached the bed. His leathers were sweat-stained and dirty. He needed to be undressed and washed, and then she’d tend his wounds. She carried a small basket with some healing herbs Elizabeth had managed to salvage