Draco: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 3) Read online

  Find out more about the hero and heroine of Book One of THE IMMORTAL HIGHLAND CENTURIONS

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  The centurion with a heart of stone. The lady who scorns him. A marriage that will end the curse. Enemies to lovers in Medieval Scotland.

  Draco Vulcan stopped caring about anything or anyone years ago. Cursed to live forever, he only finds joy on the battlefield. But in order to break the curse upon him and his friends, he must wed a woman he can’t stand.

  The lady in question has just escaped a loveless marriage. The last thing she wants is to enter another one—especially to the cold, brutal warrior who fights at William Wallace’s side.

  When the English king hears that Wallace is hiding at Dunnottar Castle, and lays siege to the fortress—Draco and the widow must band together against this common foe. But are they prepared to take things a step further and sacrifice their own happiness to break an ancient curse?

  Book #3 in The Immortal Highland Centurion series, DRACO is the dramatic conclusion to a high-octane romance trilogy about three cursed Roman soldiers and the brave-hearted Scottish women who love them.

  Historical Romances by Jayne Castel

  DARK AGES BRITAIN

  The Kingdom of the East Angles series

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  Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)

  Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)

  The Deepening Night (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series

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  The Breaking Dawn (Book One)

  Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)

  Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of Mercia: The Complete Series

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  Wind Song (Book Two)

  Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)

  The Kingdom of Northumbria: The Complete Series

  DARK AGES SCOTLAND

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  Blood Feud (Book One)

  Barbarian Slave (Book Two)

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  Warrior’s Heart (Book One)

  Warrior’s Secret (Book Two)

  Warrior’s Wrath (Book Three)

  The Pict Wars: The Complete Series

  Novellas

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  MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND

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  Fallen (Book Three)

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  Maximus (Book One)

  Cassian (Book Two)

  Draco (Book Three)

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  Epic Fantasy Romances by Jayne Castel

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  The Lost Swallow (Book Two)

  Path of the Dark (Book Three)

  Light and Darkness: The Complete Series

  All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  Draco, by Jayne Castel

  Copyright © 2020 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-473-55114-8 (Kindle)

  Published by Winter Mist Press

  Edited by Tim Burton

  Cover design by Winter Mist Press

  Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com

  Roman Imperial image courtesy of www.shutterstock.com

  Visit Jayne’s website and blog: www.jaynecastel.com

  ***

  To Tim—love you forever.

  ***

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

  I

  THE DRAGON

  II

  THE LADY OF DUNNOTTAR

  III

  TRAITORS AND PROTECTORS

  IV

  A PATH OF PEACE

  V

  ASSUMPTIONS

  VI

  MEETING IN THE STRATH

  VII

  THE WHITE HAWK

  VIII

  GRASPING AT SHADOWS

  IX

  CHASING ANSWERS

  X

  LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE

  XI

  THE HAMMER STRIKES

  XII

  THE PARLEY

  XIII

  BLOOD WILL BE SPILLED HERE

  XIV

  WITH THE DAWN

  XV

  TO WHATEVER END

  XVI

  DESPERATE MEASURES

  XVII

  MAN AND WIFE

  XVIII

  NOT A GOOD MAN

  XIX

  DESPAIR

  XX

  UPON THE WALL

  XXI

  A CANDLE IN THE DARKNESS

  XXII

  AN UNLIKELY ALLY

  XXIII

  SEEKING ANSWERS

  XXIV

  NOTHING AT ALL

  XXV

  TO THE ROCKS

  XXVI

  SHADOW AND STARLIGHT

  XXVII

  A MAN WITH SECRETS

  XXVIII

  JUST FOR ONE NIGHT

  XXIX

  HEART AND SOUL

  XXX

  NOT SIMPLE AT ALL

  XXXI

  ALL MEN BLEED

  XXXII

  IN FLAMES

  XXXIII

  AWAITING THE DAWN

  XXXIV

  FADING

  XXXV

  TOO LATE

  XXXVI

  SECOND CHANCES

  XXXVII

  THE BEST GIFT OF ALL

  EPILOGUE

  ALL I’LL EVER WANT

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  CHARACTER GLOSSARY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MORE WORKS BY JAYNE CASTEL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “The only thing people regret is

  that they didn't live boldly enough,

  that they didn't invest enough heart,

  didn't love enough.

  Nothing else really counts at all.”

  ―Ted Hughes, Letters of Ted Hughes

  PROLOGUE

  CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

  Edinburgh

  Scotland

  Summer, 1135 AD

  THEY WOULDN’T CATCH him, not this time.

  Draco fled through the warren of narrow streets below Castle Rock. A stitch stabbed his side—a reminder that, with a belly full of ale and mutton, he wasn’t in the best state to escape the warriors who pounded the alleyways behind him. Nonetheless, the fear of being caught spurred Draco on.

  His feet flew over the slick cobbles, damp after an afternoon shower of rain. Ahead, a wagon laden with baskets trundled out onto the street, blocking Draco�
�s way.

  Spitting out a curse, he leaped up onto the wagon, causing the mule pulling it to give a shrill, grating whinny.

  “Hey, get off!” the man leading the mule bellowed.

  Draco ignored him. Nimble as a hare, he clambered over the mountain of wicker baskets and then jumped, landing lightly on his feet on the other side.

  Shouts echoed off the stone buildings behind him, but now Draco allowed himself a grin.

  Catch me if you can.

  The wagon would slow that lot down, giving him time to get away.

  Emerging into the wider thoroughfare of Grassmarket, Draco sprinted east. He knew Edinburgh well; he’d visited the town hundreds of times over the centuries, watching it grow from a Roman fort to a thriving Scottish royal center. The tangle of fetid alleys around the fish market would be easy enough to lose those idiots in.

  Still, despite that he was close to shaking off his pursuers, Draco regretted lingering in town on this visit. The White Horse was comfortable, and the serving lass there had shared his bed the night before. Instead of leaving that morning as he’d planned, he’d enjoyed a hearty noon meal before sauntering out to the stables to saddle his horse.

  Henry and his lads had been waiting for him.

  Henry, the king’s son, had been after reckoning with Draco ever since he cuckolded him three years prior. It would probably have been wise for Draco to avoid Edinburgh for the time being—but he wasn’t given to being wise.

  He liked to push things to the limit, every time.

  Losing his lover Magda had turned him reckless. He’d been part of the raid afterward that massacred those responsible for her death—but had learned first-hand that vengeance sometimes left a bitter taste in a man’s mouth. The years since hadn’t been easy, but he’d realized he had no choice but to move on.

  Draco left Grassmarket, diving into a dark lane and narrowly missing being doused by the chamber pot someone emptied overhead. Still grinning, as the fear of capture gave way to the thrill of escaping, Draco rounded the corner.

  And collided with a wall of leather-clad muscle.

  Henry’s thugs were on him in an instant. Heavy fists collided with his face, his stomach.

  Shit. He was sure he’d out-smarted them. How had the bastards caught up with him?

  Draco fought savagely—but to no avail. They had him cornered, and they weren’t going to let him slip their net again. Grunts and the sound of fists pummeling flesh filled the lane. No one came to Draco’s aid.

  Eventually, he hung between two of them, his head throbbing from the beating he’d just sustained, spitting out blood onto the cobbles.

  A tall figure stepped out of the shadowed recesses of a building that overhung the street. A thin, young man, with aquiline features and dark hair brushed back into a rakish widow’s peak, stood before him.

  Henry, son of King David of Scotland, had been waiting a while for this moment. “Finally … we have the freak.”

  Freak.

  The name made Draco’s mouth twist. Of course, Henry had discovered Draco’s immortality a year earlier, when he’d jammed a dirk into his guts in an Edinburgh ale house and seen his victim alive and well the following day.

  He’d caught and tried to kill Draco twice more after that.

  Really, Draco was a fool to come back to Edinburgh.

  Over the centuries, he’d made a point of keeping who he was a secret. Folk didn’t tend to respond well when they discovered an immortal walked amongst them. Draco was a Moor of Valentia, a town on Spain’s southern coast, and he’d been born well over a thousand years earlier. He’d joined the Roman Ninth legion at twenty winters, and had ended up in Britannia a few years after that. And then when the Ninth fell in northern Caledonia, he’d been one of three survivors cursed by a Pict witch to eternal life.

  Draco couldn’t die, although that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain.

  “How’s Suisan?” he slurred. They’d smashed his head repeatedly up against the wall, and he was finding it hard to think. Even so, his question hit its mark like a well-aimed quarrel.

  Henry’s smile slipped. “I broke the betrothal, and she wed another,” he growled. “Do ye think I wanted yer leftovers?”

  Draco grinned at him, aware that blood was trickling down his chin. “I did the lass a favor … sparing her a life shackled to you.”

  Henry went still, his heavy brows knitting together. A dangerous silence settled in the alleyway, and Draco’s skin prickled.

  He liked to push things, but had he gone too far this time?

  “I loved her.” Henry choked out the words. “But to ye, it was merely a game.”

  Draco’s goading grin slipped. He hadn’t realized Henry had actually been in love with the comely Suisan Boyd. He checked himself then. But would it have stopped him anyway? Likely not.

  Henry’s gaze was wintry when it settled upon Draco once more. A nerve flickered under one eye. “Ye won’t slip away this time, Vulcan. There are ways of dealing with a man who won’t die.”

  And with these words, Draco felt the first flicker of fear tremble in his gut.

  They dragged him through the streets up to Castle Rock. The guards at the gate cast the party curious looks but said nothing as the king’s son led his men and their captive inside the walls.

  Draco’s ears were ringing, his legs stumbling, and yet he tried to fight off the two brutes who held him fast.

  He was a rash man, but not a dull-witted one. The look on his nemesis’s face had scared him. He needed to get free.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t strong enough. They’d beaten him soundly. It hurt with every intake of breath, a sign that a few of his ribs were cracked.

  That would be the least of his problems soon though.

  Will they torture me?

  Folk had tried that with him over the centuries, and the unpleasant memories still returned to Draco in his dreams. Although he awoke healed with every new dawn, he felt each cut to his flesh, each blow.

  Being burned alive was the worst.

  His belly cramped, sweat beading on his skin. Mithras, I hope it’s not fire they’ve got in store for me.

  But it wasn’t.

  Henry led the way to a small chapel inside the walls—a rectangular, stone building with a peaked roof. They entered through a Romanesque arch, into a sanctuary lined with low stone benches.

  “This chapel was built in my grandmother’s memory … Saint Margaret,” Henry announced, turning to face Draco. He favored his captive with a tight smile, waving his hand toward the altar at one end. “She was a pious woman, who died a few days after hearing of my grandfather’s demise in battle.” Henry motioned to one of the men behind them. “Pull up the flagstones,” he ordered.

  The two holding Draco tightened their grip upon him as they dragged him toward the altar. They and Henry looked on while three others used their blades to pry up the heavy slate stones covering the floor.

  And as he watched them work, Draco’s breathing quickened.

  He started to wish they’d planned to set fire to him after all.

  They raised a number of flagstones to reveal a tomb underneath.

  “Open it,” Henry commanded.

  The grating of stone against stone filled the chapel as the tomb eventually yawned open. Even from a few yards distant, Draco could see the dusty remains of a skeleton within it.

  He swallowed, fighting the sting of bile in the back of his throat.

  Henry caught his eye before flashing him a hard smile. “Scared yet?”

  Draco stared back at him. For once, a cutting response didn’t rise within him. Henry had outmaneuvered him, and they both knew it.

  The king’s son met the eye of the bigger of the two men holding Draco. “Put him in the ground.”

  Draco fought them. Dread rendered him vicious, and he gouged, kicked, and twisted in their grip. His reaction was so violent that in the end it took all five of the men with Henry to drag him into the tomb, and they had to sta
nd on him to keep him down.

  Snarling and spitting curses, Draco glared up through their legs at where Henry had moved close.

  The young man’s face was a pitiless mask, and through his rage, Draco realized that he’d made a grave miscalculation the day he’d cuckolded Henry. Some men never forgot a slight and wielded vengeance like a weapon.

  Henry’s hate had made him strong.

  “It took me a while to devise this end for ye,” Henry said while Draco panted and clawed at the sides of the tomb. “But now that I see ye lying there, I realize the wait has been worth it. Enjoy the long darkness … it’ll give ye ample time to think on how ye wronged me.”

  And with that, Henry motioned to his men. “Cover him up.”

  Panic seized Draco then—a wild madness that reared up within him. “No!” he roared. “I beg you … no!”

  But none of them paid him any heed.

  Henry watched his men seal the tomb, muffling the cries of the man inside. They worked swiftly, their faces pinched and pale. It was an unsavory task, but a necessary one. They all knew what this man was. This was the only way to deal with the demon.

  After sealing the tomb, the men dragged thick sacking over it, to muffle the captive’s cries and beating fists further. And once they’d replaced the flagstones, and stomped upon them to ensure they lay flat, Henry could no longer hear Draco Vulcan’s cries.

  Sending his men away, Henry lingered in his grandmother’s chapel for a few moments longer.

  Silence settled over the sanctuary, and Henry drew in a deep breath, his ears straining to hear the trapped man beneath his feet. Perhaps, if he listened carefully, he could catch the faintest whisper. But no one else would.

  The young man walked to the altar then and crossed himself. “Forgive me, grandmother,” he murmured. “Ye may have died of a broken heart, but I’m not going to martyr myself. Instead I choose vengeance.” He paused there, his gaze lingering upon the iron cross before him. “I didn’t wish to sully this place … but it was necessary.”