Cassian: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 2) Read online

  Jean’s grief enveloped them all.

  “I loved him.” The words ripped out from Jean in a high, keening wail, and then she buried her head in her hands and began to weep in deep, rending sobs that echoed through the clearing.

  Instinctively, Aila moved across to Jean and put a gentle arm around her shoulders. But the lass didn’t notice. She was too lost in misery.

  Aila glanced then back at Lady Gavina. She’d expected to see her mistress still angry, her eyes full of self-righteous rage, but the look upon her face made Aila still.

  Her heart-shaped face had drained of color, and her mouth trembled. She watched Jean weep, her eyes glittering—not from rage this time, but from sadness.

  Supper was a tense, somber meal.

  The party ate in silence. Jean refused to touch the pieces of roast grouse that Cassian handed her, so he laid them on a piece of moss next to her. The girl would likely want some later.

  The grouse was tough and very gamey, but nobody complained.

  Across the fire, Aila ate hungrily. Cassian did his best to keep his gaze off her, yet when she licked the grease off her fingers, he couldn’t help but stare.

  His belly clenched.

  What was it? Lust? Loneliness? Regret? Perhaps a blend of all three.

  Wariness settled over Cassian then. Aila De Keith, with her sweet face and guileless eyes, had done something to him, had woven an enchantment around him.

  He’d once dismissed her as a bashful lass. But that had all changed once they left Dunnottar. And their escape from Stirling had shown that she was courageous. Her soft speech and gentle manners hid a core of iron.

  He’d underestimated her.

  Aila’s attention cut to him then, and she caught him watching her.

  Face rigid, she stared back. And as the moment drew out, he saw anger shadow those smoke-grey eyes, turning them hard and flinty.

  She hated him now—and rightly so.

  Cassian broke eye contact. Leaning forward, he fed some sticks onto the fire.

  It’s better this way, better she thinks I’m a heartless rogue, he reminded himself. Anger is easier to deal with than sorrow.

  Cassian’s mouth compressed. Who was he trying to fool?

  He’d seen her reaction that morning in the alcove, had watched her happiness splinter into a thousand pieces by his hand.

  Her rage was a shield, as was his indifference.

  The party finished their supper of grouse in silence and waited while the shadows lengthened further and dusk settled over the woodland.

  Finally, Cassian rose to his feet, kicked dirt over the embers of the fire, and swept his gaze over the faces of his companions.

  All four women were tense, their expressions guarded. This would be a subdued journey.

  “We’ll set off now,” he informed them, his voice splintering the silence. “Sound travels at night so keep your voices low—if you need to say anything at all.” Looking at their pale faces, Cassian knew he didn’t have to worry about that last warning. None of them looked in the mood to chatter amongst themselves.

  They left the birch-lined glade and headed through the press of trees. Cassian had deliberately taken them cross-country, away from open land, any villages, and the roads that wound their way through the wooded hills and valleys that spread north of Stirling.

  The good weather continued, and as the last of the daylight faded and the stars came out to play, Cassian was able to use them to check their position.

  While he’d been out scouting, he’d discovered they were a little farther west than he’d thought, and so he angled a path north-east through the trees. The Highlands rose up to the west, and he didn’t want to take them in that direction. Dunnottar lay on the eastern coast.

  The Broom-star was clearly visible in the night sky, and the sight of it brought Cassian solace.

  It may not be long now.

  Despite everything, they were still the closest they’d ever been to breaking the curse.

  The events of the last day had pushed all thoughts of the riddle from his mind—something that rarely occurred. But seeing the bright star with its fiery tail brought everything back.

  Ironically, he should be grateful to De Keith. He’d been concerned, after speaking with John Comyn, that the Hammer of the Scots wouldn’t attack soon. But after the attempted assassination, an assault was likely not far off. Fate had swung events back in their favor.

  The ‘Hammer’ would indeed strike the fort upon the Shelving Slope—and the attack wasn’t likely far off.

  But for now, Cassian had to set the curse and its enigmatic riddle to one side. His sole focus was to get these women home.

  Aila picked up her skirts and traversed the burn. Cold water seeped through her boots and chilled her feet, but it couldn’t be helped. Even with the moon lighting their way, it was impossible to pick her way across the stream without getting wet.

  Ahead, Cassian made his way up a slope, moving like a shadow between the dark outlines of pines.

  Gritting her teeth as her leg muscles ached, Aila scrambled after him.

  Behind her, she heard Jean mutter something under her breath. However, Gavina and Elizabeth had been impressively stoic. Aila expected both ladies to complain of aching feet and tiredness, yet they pressed on without a word.

  They’d just stopped for a brief respite, and had drunk from a cool spring. Generally, it wasn’t wise to drink from springs and streams in the wilderness, for many folk sickened after doing so, but thirst made the choice for them. They’d never make it back to Dunnottar otherwise. Fortunately, Cassian seemed confident he knew the watering holes that were safe, and those that were to be avoided.

  Aila did her best to avoid making eye contact with Cassian during the times she was forced to interact with him. His presence was a constant reminder of her foolishness. Yet she was aware just how dependent they all were on him.

  Even so, when she’d caught him staring at her just before dark, frustration had welled up within her. His expression had been shuttered, yet she’d seen the heat in his eyes.

  And curse him, he’d kindled the same response within her.

  Knave! He has no right to look at me like that, she railed to herself as she marched up the slope, the scent of pine enveloping her. Not after he cast me aside.

  The thought made her so furious—both at him and herself—that her belly started to hurt.

  She really needed to have it out with him; she wanted some honesty. She was tired of avoiding eye contact, of acting as if nothing had happened between them. When they reached Dunnottar they would resume their old roles, but tonight she longed to speak her mind.

  Aila tripped over a stump and stumbled forward, catching herself on a pine branch. Up ahead, Cassian plowed on, oblivious to the storm growing within her.

  Clenching her jaw, Aila staggered up the hill after him. Things can’t go on this way, she thought grimly. I’m going to have to face him.

  The night stretched on, seemingly endless. And all the while, the moon traveled across the sky before setting behind a wall of towering pines.

  Cassian led them away from the steep valleys carpeted in conifers, to a woodland of oak and ash. Aila was starting to stumble from exhaustion, her breathing labored, when he finally halted.

  They stood in a shallow valley, where a creek trickled over mossy rocks. A line of ancient oaks, their boughs stretching toward the earth like supplicating arms, surrounded them.

  Cassian swiveled on his heel and cast a gaze over his exhausted companions. “Dawn isn’t too far away.” They were his first words in hours. “We’ll rest here awhile.”

  Too tired to even respond, Gavina flopped down on the ground near the creek. She then pulled off her boots, so that she could inspect her feet. Likewise, the others sat down, their breathing loud in the predawn stillness. Above, the sky had changed from black to indigo.

  Cassian moved away from the women, taking a seat under one of the spreading oaks.

&nbs
p; Aila watched him go.

  Her belly tightened. This was how it would be for the rest of the journey: him leading the way and them hurrying after him like frightened ducklings.

  Her desire for confrontation still smoldered, and although her body cried out for rest, the need to clear the air with Cassian grew stronger.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Aila picked up her skirts and followed him to the mighty oak.

  Cassian spied her approach, although his expression was difficult to read in the dim light. “What is it, Aila?” he asked, his tone guarded. “You should really rest … while you can.”

  Aila frowned. His cool manner just strengthened her resolve. It unfettered the last of her reserve. It was time for some plain speech; she needed to say this before her courage deserted her.

  “I’ll rest in a moment,” she said, facing him, hands on hips. “But there are things that must be said.” She broke off, aware of his steady gaze upon her. Aila sucked in a deep breath. “Firstly, I want to apologize.”

  He visibly stiffened. “Look, Aila … I don’t think—”

  “I threw myself at ye, and I’m sorry for it.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” he replied, his voice strained.

  “All the same, I should have heeded ye.” Her jaw firmed. “I admit my part in this mess, Cassian. Despite yer warnings, I said I was comfortable just spending the night with ye—but it was a lie … I’d hoped for more. Now all I ask in return is the same honesty from ye.” She swallowed as tension crackled between them. “Tell me the real reason why ye spurned me.”

  XXVIII

  THE SUN RISES

  CASSIAN WASN’T SURE how to respond. His first instinct was to make some excuse, as he had back in Stirling, but as the moment stretched out, the words wouldn’t come. He was weary, both in body and soul—and the angry woman standing before him deserved the truth. “It seems I underestimated you, Aila,” he said softly. “You aren’t an easy woman to fool.”

  Aila folded her arms over her chest and stared down her nose at him. “Why would ye want to fool me?”

  Cassian heaved a sigh. “Sit down … I’d prefer not to explain this with you looming over me.”

  Aila didn’t move.

  “Please. You’ll want to be sitting down when I tell you this.”

  Silently, she did as he asked, sinking into a cross-legged position a few feet back from him. “Go on,” she said stiffly. “I’m listening.”

  Cassian watched her shadowed face. It was too dark for him to make out the details of her features, yet he could sense just how on edge she was.

  You don’t need to tell her everything.

  Was it too late to make up a plausible story? Aila wouldn’t know any different. He could tell her an altered version of his tale, yet keep the immortality out of it. He could make her pity him, weep for him even.

  Cassian’s throat constricted. No. He wouldn’t do that. It would be disrespectful to both Lilla and Aila. She demanded honesty, and his conscience wouldn’t let him have a moment’s peace until he spoke the truth.

  Of course, it would be the death-stroke between them. She’d recoil once she knew what he really was. But that would be for the best.

  Clearing his throat, Cassian inhaled slowly before speaking. “I’m not who you believe me to be. I’m not like other men.” His gaze fused with hers. “I can’t … die.”

  “Excuse me?” Aila’s voice hardened; she clearly thought he was toying with her.

  “Over a thousand years ago, I marched into Caledonia with the Ninth legion of the Roman imperial army,” Cassian pushed on. He’d set himself on this course now. He wouldn’t stop until she knew the whole story. “We’d been sent to put down the Picts, but in the end, they bested us … and after the final stand in the far north of this land, I was taken captive.”

  Aila had gone dangerously still, but she said nothing.

  Cassian continued. “A Pictish druidess cursed me to an immortal life. I cannot leave the boundaries of Scotland, I cannot father children … and I cannot die.”

  Aila made a soft, choked sound. “May the devil blind ye,” she finally managed. “I can’t believe ye would make up something like this … just to rid yerself of me.”

  Cassian shook his head. “I know it sounds far-fetched … but it’s true. Every word.”

  “Far-fetched? That’s a pretty word for a filthy lie!” Aila’s voice rose as she scrambled to her feet.

  “Wait, Aila.” Reaching up, Cassian undid the leather vest that covered his chest and opened it to reveal the faded design of the eagle above his right nipple. Even in the murky light, the inked mark was clear. “I am a centurion of the Ninth … this is the mark of my legion. I had it carved into my flesh on my twenty-first birthday.” He swallowed hard. “As I told you on the journey from Dunnottar, I grew up an orphan, running wild on the streets of Brigantium in Hispania. When they let me join the legion, it was the proudest moment of my life. I lived to serve Rome … but that empire fell long ago, and here I remain. Cursed. Immortal.”

  Aila stared down at him for a long moment before her lip curled. “I can’t believe I have wasted all this time longing for a deceiver such as ye.” Her voice shook as rage seized her.

  Cassian held her eye, something deep within his chest twisting. She didn’t believe him—which called for drastic measures.

  He drew the pugio from his belt.

  The large, leaf-shaped blade of his dagger gleamed in the dull light. To the east, the first glimmers of dawn were teasing their way through the trees. The timing was perfect. He didn’t want to do this—not least of all because it would hurt—but she wouldn’t believe him otherwise.

  They weren’t alone in the clearing. If he revealed who he was to Aila, the other women would discover his secret too. But it couldn’t be helped. Cassian’s breathing quickened. He was desperate for her to believe him now. To think he’d condemned Maximus for telling a mortal woman their secret—and he’d done the same thing. But now he’d revealed who he was, he’d take this to the bitter end. He had to show her who he really was.

  “This dagger has been with me since the beginning,” he said, running his finger along its whetted blade. The pad of his finger stung as it drew blood.

  Aila continued to stare at him, disgust written across her features. She clearly thought him raving now.

  Cassian’s fingers flexed around the handle of the pugio, and then he drew in a deep breath, bracing himself for the agony that would follow. “I’m sorry you have to see this … but it’s the only way you are going to believe me.”

  And then he turned the blade upon himself, gripped both hands around the hilt, and drove it straight into his heart.

  Aila screamed, the terrified sound echoing through the trees.

  The man had lost his wits.

  Unease had stolen over her when he’d drawn the odd-shaped dagger, and her belly had tightened when he’d run his finger along the exposed blade. But she’d never anticipated his next move.

  And now the dagger was buried to the hilt in the left side of his chest.

  In his heart.

  Bile surged up Aila’s throat as she staggered back from him.

  Cassian’s face contorted, his eyelids fluttering in agony. “Mithras,” he croaked, his jaw bunching as he arched back against the tree trunk. He then yanked the blade from his chest.

  Horrified, Aila watched dark blood ooze from the wound.

  “What have ye done?” Her words came out in a wail. “Cassian … why?”

  Panic surged through her, followed by a wave of nausea. Forgetting her horror, as fear for his well-being swamped her, she rushed back to him, her hands fumbling for his. Cassian had just dealt himself a mortal wound. He was about to die.

  Cassian’s gaze snared hers, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

  “It’s the only way you’d believe me,” he gasped, his fingers tightening around hers. “I’m sorry, Aila.”

  “Aila! What is it?” Lad
y Gavina appeared at her shoulder. Aila twisted around to see the others had rushed up behind her.

  All three women stared at Cassian, horror etched upon their faces.

  Still clutching Aila’s hands, Cassian lay back against the oak, panting. Pain glazed his eyes.

  “Ye stabbed him?” Jean demanded, horrified.

  “I didn’t!” Aila choked out, her gaze returning to the wound on his bare chest. “He did this to himself. I don’t—”

  “Watch me,” Cassian cut in, his voice a dull rasp. “I should be dead by now … but still I breathe. And with the rising of the sun, I shall be made whole once more.”

  Lady Elizabeth gasped. “What is the man raving about?”

  “He says he’s immortal,” Aila replied, her voice wobbling. “And he just stabbed himself to prove it.”

  “Cassian.” Lady Gavina moved forward, her gaze riveted upon the bleeding wound. “What possessed ye to do something so foolish?”

  Cassian favored Lady De Keith with a smile that was more of a grimace. “To prove a point, My Lady. Watch now … the sun rises.”

  Aila disentangled her fingers from his, swallowing down the urge to be sick. She was trembling now, for horror had chilled her blood.

  But as she looked on, her heart thudding dully against her ribs, the sun crested the tops of the woodland to the east and bathed the valley in golden light. It crept over Cassian’s prostrate form, and his eyes fluttered shut.

  To Aila, he looked on the verge of death.

  Why? The question was a silent scream within her. A boulder sat on her chest now, making it difficult to draw breath. Aye, she’d been angry and hurt that he’d spurned her, but she didn’t wish him dead.

  The moments drew out, and then before their eyes, the wound upon Cassian’s chest started to mend.

  Beside Aila, Jean gasped, while Elizabeth muttered a very unladylike oath.

  Indeed, the stab-wound was knitting.

  “I don’t believe it,” Gavina breathed. “He’s actually healing.”