Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,84

for her.

Setting down the basket on the bedside table, Gavina moved to Draco. She pulled off his boots and started to unlace the ties on his braies.

Draco groaned in his sleep, his long dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. The sheen of sweat upon his skin worried her. If the wounds soured, he would surely die, for he was in a weakened state after losing so much blood.

A soft knock on the door behind her sounded, and a moment later, Aila entered carrying a large bowl of warm water, and clean cloths.

Aila’s shadowed gaze took in Draco’s prostrate form. She then placed the bowl and cloths down on the table and drew close to the bed. “Can I help ye, My Lady?” she asked.

Gavina shook her head. “Not at present … but thank ye, Aila. I shall tend to my husband.”

My husband.

Aye, he was hers, body and soul.

Six long years she’d been wed to David De Keith, but he’d never once touched her heart or eased the ache of loneliness inside her. If anything, he’d made her feel more alone. But Draco Vulcan had truly seen her.

He was the last man she’d have thought to fall in love with—but the heart knew what it wanted. What a terrible irony that he was now dying.

Tears blurred her vision then, obscuring Aila’s pained face. Gavina felt them escape, scalding her cheeks. Heaving in a shaky breath, she placed a hand on Draco’s naked chest, over the fluttering beat of his heart. “I won’t leave his side.”

XXXV

TOO LATE

DRACO AWOKE TO pain.

It felt as if a beast were tearing at the left side of his body, rending his flesh with its deep fangs. Yet, when his eyes fluttered open, he saw that he was alone upon a large bed.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and Draco attempted to swallow it down. “Water,” he croaked.

“Ye are awake!” Gavina’s lovely face hove into view. She was pale, her blue eyes red-rimmed and hollowed, yet he’d never seen a lovelier sight.

“Water,” he repeated, desperate now. His tongue felt too big to fit in his mouth.

Great Lord of Light—he felt terrible.

“Of course.” Gavina disappeared from view before reappearing with a wooden cup. “Take small sips,” she instructed. “In case ye choke.”

Draco did as bid. She’d propped him up on pillows, which made drinking easier. But despite the solace of sweet boiled water upon his tongue and throat, the agony in his torso was almost unbearable.

He let out a groan between clenched teeth. “The fiery pits of Hades,” he finally grunted. “How far off is dawn?”

He’d suffered many injuries over the years, some of them horrific. But never had he looked forward to the new day like now.

Mortality be damned, he just wanted the pain to stop.

But Gavina now wore an odd expression on her face, her cornflower-blue eyes clouded.

“What?”

“Three dawns have come and gone since ye were injured, Draco,” she said softly. “But ye have remained close to death. The curse is broken.”

Draco stared up at her, shock distracting him momentarily from the fiery pain that pulsed down his left-hand side. It rose and fell like lapping waves. It was hard to bear, but Gavina’s news made the agony ebb just a little.

“You mean … all three of us are mortal?”

She nodded.

“And the English … surely they’ve broken through the gates by now?”

“Maximus and Cassian destroyed the ‘Battle Hammer’ on the afternoon ye took those arrows. The following morning, the English packed up and left. Word has just reached us that Comyn and Bruce have taken back Stirling … Edward’s gone off to deal with them.”

Draco let out the breath he’d been holding—slowly, for it hurt to breathe.

No wonder he felt as if he was on death’s door.

He was.

A sickening realization filtered through him, chilling his limbs and making the pain return with such force that he groaned. “I’m done for … aren’t I?”

Gavina’s throat bobbed. She didn’t need to answer him; he could see the truth in her eyes. He glanced down at his bandaged torso, at the dark stains that seeped through the linen.

“Yer wounds have soured,” she whispered. “I’m doing my best to tend them … to heal ye … but nothing I try does any good.”

The pain, the vulnerability in her voice, cut him deeply. It hurt as much as his body did, to see the grief in this woman’s eyes, to hear the quiver in her voice.

Reaching out, he entwined his fingers through hers upon the coverlet. “If the curse is broken,”