Cassian: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Immortal Highland Centurions Book 2) Page 7

  Not anymore.

  “Ye can’t keep shielding me,” Aila continued, dogged now that her mind was made up. “I’m no longer that sickly bairn ye used to fret over … these days I’m no more fragile than Heather is.”

  Her mother sniffed. “Heather is a lot stronger than ye, Aila … she always has been. She takes after me.”

  X

  HIGH SPIRITS

  AILA TIGHTENED THE palfrey’s girth and knocked aside the horse’s nose when it took a nip at her.

  “That’s enough, Dusty,” she chastised the dainty dun mare. Even her ill-tempered mount couldn’t dim her excitement this morning; she’d awoken long before dawn with a wide smile upon her face that still hadn’t faded. “I know ye don’t like this, but it’s necessary … or I’ll end up hanging under yer belly.”

  In response, the palfrey flattened her ears back and took another swipe, teeth snapping.

  “Careful there.” An amused male voice cut in as a hand took hold of the reins and pulled Dusty’s snaking head back. “She’ll take a bite out of your arm if you don’t watch out.”

  Warmth flowed over Aila, and her breath caught.

  Turning, she met Cassian’s frank gaze.

  “Thank ye, Captain,” she murmured, lowering her eyelashes in a way she’d seen other women do. Jean said that men found it attractive. “Dusty’s in an ill-temper this morning.”

  “This mare always is,” he replied evenly, not responding to her demure look. “Go on … finish tightening the girth while I hold her still.”

  Aila did as bid, cinching the girth up another two notches before turning to the captain once more. ‘Thank ye,” she repeated, offering him a gentle smile.

  He returned the smile, handed her the reins, and stepped back. “Ready yerself, Aila,” he said with a brisk nod. “We’re about to ride out.”

  Aila watched him walk off, checking the other horses and riders amassed at the western end of the lower ward. Her gaze feasted on him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, emphasized by the plaid cloak he wore, and the way the wind ruffled his short hair.

  Gusts tore across the bailey, snagging at the manes and tails of the horses and making them skittish. Around Aila, the warriors were dressed for travel in quilted tunics, chainmail leggings, and iron helmets. Each man carried a circular wooden shield, and a dirk at his hip. Many bore heavy broadswords. They all wore cloaks and sashes of the De Keith plaid.

  A crowd had gathered around the party in the lower ward. Their faces pale and anxious, men and women watched De Keith and his escort ready themselves to ride out. Despite that many warriors—including the Wallace and his men—remained behind, the folk here were still nervous to see their laird depart for Stirling.

  Aila didn’t share their anxiety. The laird had increased the Guard, and had men tirelessly strengthening the stronghold’s defenses, both inside and outside the walls: a deep ditch filled with iron spikes now snaked around the landward side. Every day, more wagons arrived from Stonehaven—the village located just a few miles north of Dunnottar—with stacks of lead and slate, and barrels of pitch to use against any who dared besiege the walls. De Keith had also built up the food stores—just in case Shaw Irvine failed to bring the gates down with his ‘Battle Hammer’ and tried to starve them out instead.

  Shaw Irvine won’t attack while we’re away, Aila reassured herself. And if he does, Dunnottar will be well prepared. Indeed, Lady Gavina wasn’t convinced her brother would ever lay siege to Dunnottar. She believed Irvine was merely testing David De Keith.

  Comforted by these thoughts, Aila turned back to her mount.

  Cassian had been right about Dusty. Her father had gifted her the palfrey, but Aila had never warmed to the mare. She was spirited and willful, and seemed to sense Aila’s diffidence. Twice in the past months, she’d tried to throw her. Aila had hoped to ride another horse to Stirling, but it appeared none could be spared.

  She would just have to wrestle with her mare.

  Aila adjusted the stirrup nearest and turned to face Dusty’s rump. She was just about to mount when she spied Heather weaving her way purposefully through the crowd toward her.

  Smile fading, Aila waited for her sister. She’d been hoping Heather wouldn’t come out to see her off. She just wanted to get away from Dunnottar for a while and forget about her family. After weathering her mother’s response the day before, she didn’t feel like another scene.

  “Were ye going to leave without saying goodbye?” Heather greeted her.

  “I knew ye’d find me,” Aila replied airily.

  Heather frowned. Her expression was guarded this morning. “Take care in Stirling.” She stepped forward and enfolded Aila in a hug. “Keep yer eyes and ears open … and trust no one.”

  Aila’s mouth twitched, and she swallowed the nervous laugh that bubbled up inside her. She was merely accompanying her mistress to Stirling. Most likely, she and Lady Gavina would spend an uneventful week there, while the men discussed important matters, before returning to Dunnottar.

  Heather made it sound like she was a spy.

  Nonetheless, she didn’t bother to contradict her sister, not when she looked so serious.

  “I’ll be careful,” Aila assured her.

  Heather’s lips parted then, as if she wanted to say something more. But the moment passed, and she stepped back, favoring her sister with a strained smile. The expression was forced, and Aila wondered why her sister’s eyes were suddenly so grave.

  “Has Ma been talking to ye?” Aila asked, her suspicion rising.

  Heather sighed. “She blames me for ye going. Says I have set a poor example.”

  Aila tensed. Of course, their mother would say that; she didn’t seem to think that Aila had a will of her own.

  “Ye are all making a storm out of a summer’s breeze.” Aila leaped nimbly onto Dusty’s back and adjusted her skirts. “I’ll be back before ye know it.”

  Cassian led the way out of Dunnottar, next to the warriors carrying the De Keith banner: a long swath of blue, green, and turquoise plaid that snapped and billowed in the strong wind. The North Sea was rough and grey this morning, the surf thundering against the cliffs below the headland. And despite that they had just passed into summer, the air had a sting to it.

  The company snaked its way down the winding path and then up the steep slope to the cliff-top opposite the fortress. They then emerged onto the rolling, green hills that stretched away from the castle. As he urged his courser into a trot, Cassian glanced behind him at where the grey curtain wall of Dunnottar reared up against a wild sky.

  Before leaving, he’d spoken to Maximus and Draco in the lower ward bailey, and repeated the need for them to remain vigilant—not that either of them needed reminding.

  When the hammer strike came, they’d all be ready. Cassian had sent out scouts to keep an eye on the Irvine-De Keith border. Maximus and Draco would send word to Stirling should ‘The Battle Hammer’ come their way.

  Cassian frowned. Despite his precautions, he really didn’t want to be away from Dunnottar.

  Pushing aside his misgivings, he urged his courser into a brisk canter. Beside him, the banner-men did the same, and suddenly the ground trembled as the party of twenty warriors and their charges joined them.

  As always, being on horseback made Cassian feel better; it calmed the urgency within him. The feel of the powerful horse under him—the beast’s strength as it lengthened its stride, its black mane rippling in the wind—made him feel connected to the world and everything in it. No matter how many years passed, his love of horses and the joy of galloping across wind-swept hills had never dimmed.

  Of late, as much as he enjoyed living at Dunnottar, those great stone walls had started to feel like a cage. It was good to have Maximus and Draco, his blood brothers, nearby once again—but the tense wait while the Broom-star traveled across the sky, the English marched north, and De Keith’s war-mongering neighbor readied his ‘Battle Hammer’ put Cassian on edge.


  It felt good to take action of some kind.

  The events of last night’s Beltaine banquet had also made him uneasy.

  The look on Aila De Keith’s face when he’d come to her aid with her palfrey this morning had only added to his tension. She was usually so shy, barely able to catch his eye, but she’d actually batted her eyelashes at him.

  Poor lass.

  Nonetheless, he had to admit she’d looked comely standing there in the midst of his warriors, wrestling with that ill-tempered dun beast of hers. Aila had exchanged the becoming surcoat for a more practical blue kirtle and woolen cloak. She’d braided her long brown hair into a thick plait that hung over one shoulder. The morning light highlighted the strands of gold in it, as well as the milky softness of her skin. Like Heather, she had a round face, although her features were more delicate, and she had her father’s smoke-grey eyes.

  Her lips had parted as she gazed up at him, and for a moment, Cassian had found himself wondering what she’d be like to kiss.

  He’d then caught himself.

  He knew Maximus had visited a brothel in the past whenever the urge to bed a woman overwhelmed him. But brothels held little appeal to Cassian these days. There was something about such places that depressed him.

  Maybe I should visit a brothel in Stirling anyway, he thought idly.

  Cassian’s lips flattened, and he let his courser have its head as it thundered onward, kicking up sods of dirt and grass behind it. He needed a woman, but Draco’s suggestion that he should satiate himself with Aila was crude and callous.

  She was no longer a lass, and had to be in her early twenties at least. But her family had sheltered her, and thus there was a girlishness and innocence to her that made him inwardly cringe.

  The wrong man could ruin a woman like that.

  “Yer mount is in high spirits today,” Lady Gavina commented, casting Aila a concerned look over her shoulder. “Can ye manage her?”

  Aila cast her mistress a tight smile. It was an effort to keep Dusty in line behind the ladies and Jean. The other women rode quiet mounts, and Aila envied them. They could just enjoy the journey without fighting their horses all the way. Dusty kept tossing her head, champing at the bit, and even tried to dislodge Aila with a buck or two.

  “Aye … she’ll calm down eventually,” Aila replied. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Dusty this morning. Someone must have given her too many oats last night.”

  “Maybe she just needs to stretch her legs,” Elizabeth suggested. “Some horses like to be out front.”

  Aila nodded, fighting with Dusty once more when the mare tossed her head and side-stepped. She knew her mount liked to lead. The women rode in the midst of the column, while the laird had urged his courser farther up the line. It was a deliberate snub of his wife, although Lady Gavina didn’t seem to mind.

  In fact, her mistress looked in much lighter spirits than usual this morning. Her pale cheeks had a blush to them for once, and her eyes were bright. Like Aila, she was keen to leave the confines of Dunnottar for a few days.

  Catching Aila’s eye, Lady Gavina flashed her a smile. “Elizabeth is right. Why don’t ye ride up to the head of the column? I’m sure Captain Gaius won’t mind. Let Dusty run a little.”

  Aila glimpsed the knowing look in her mistress’s eyes. “Are ye sure ye don’t mind?” she asked meekly.

  “Of course not.” Lady Gavina waved her on.

  Not hesitating further, lest her courage fail, Aila steered Dusty out of the column. She slackened the reins just a little, and the mare was off, racing up to the head of the line, kicking her heels behind her.

  The horse’s exuberance nearly unseated Aila. When she reached the head of the column, where Cassian and the banner-bearers led the way just in front of the laird, her arm muscles were burning from preventing Dusty from careening forward in a flat gallop.

  Cassian glanced her way as she drew Dusty up next to his magnificent liver-bay courser. “Aila … what are you doing up here?”

  It wasn’t a warm welcome. His tone was clipped, and a frown accompanied the question.

  “Apologies, Captain,” Aila gasped. “My mount has a mind of her own this morning.”

  “She really is too much for you,” Cassian observed, his frown deepening. “I’ll have to speak to your father about getting you a quieter horse upon our return home.”

  His words stung. Aila wanted to be respected as a competent rider. She wanted Cassian to look upon her with admiration, not with barely concealed frustration.

  Suddenly, the plan to force them into closer proximity through riding up the column to join him seemed foolish.

  I’m not sure I should have heeded Lady Gavina.

  Captain Gaius took his role seriously, as any warrior would. He didn’t need a goose-brained woman distracting him.

  “I’m sorry,” Aila murmured, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. “I’ll pull back.”

  “No need,” he replied, his tone abrupt now. Unfastening a lead-rope from behind his saddle, he guided his horse up next to Dusty and fastened the rope to her bit. “This should help keep her in check.”

  Heat rose to Aila’s cheeks. She now heartily wished she’d stayed with the other women farther back in the column. He was going to lead her like a child. And not only that, but he looked irritated about it.

  XI

  PROGRESS

  “DO YE ENJOY living at Dunnottar, Captain?”

  As soon as the question left her lips, Aila cringed. All the things she could have asked Cassian, and she’d chosen the blandest question of the lot.

  However, Cassian had the manners to at least favor her with a polite smile. “Yes … I’m fortunate indeed to live in such a beautiful part of Scotland,” he replied.

  “Ye are from Spain though,” she said, drinking in the handsome, if stern, lines of his face. “I have heard that it’s a bonny place where the sun shines all year.”

  Cassian’s smile widened at that, and Aila’s embarrassment eased.

  “I’m from Galicia … in the north,” he replied. “It still gets cold winters.”

  “What’s it like … yer home?”

  Cassian’s smile faded, and he shifted his gaze to the road ahead. They’d left the rolling hills surrounding Dunnottar and Stonehaven behind and now rode into the wooded foothills. The bulk of large, forested mountains reared up to the west—marking the beginning of the Highlands. A chill wind buffeted the party, cold for the time of year.

  “I don’t really remember,” he murmured.

  Aila frowned. What an odd response. “Have ye been away a long while?”

  Cassian nodded. “I became a soldier when I was twenty and left my homeland as soon as I was able.” He paused there, glancing back at her. “I had no one left in Spain anyway. I was an orphan … my parents died of a pestilence when I was barely five winters old.”

  Aila’s breathing hitched, her chest aching at the thought of losing one’s parents so young. “What happened to ye after they died?”

  “I lived wild … scavenging and thieving like a rat until I was old enough to enlist.”

  “And what brought ye to Scotland?”

  Aila knew she was interrogating the man, yet it was hard to stem the questions that poured forth. For years now, she’d been awaiting this conversation. And after a frosty start, when she’d appeared at the head of the column, he’d eventually thawed.

  Cassian’s gaze met hers. “I came here as a mercenary.”

  “And ye decided to stay?”

  His mouth quirked. “It would seem so.”

  Aila held his gaze, even though shyness suddenly rose up within her and she had to fight the urge to look away. Jean—who seemed so much more worldly than her—had said that eye contact was a clear signal to a man that a lass was interested in him.

  The moment drew out, and still they looked at each other.

  Eventually, it was Cassian who glanced away first.

  Heart racing, Aila allowed herself a small sm
ile of victory. She couldn’t believe it; she was actually conquering her fears and talking to the man she longed for. It was a small step forward, but progress nonetheless.

  They camped outside the village of Kirriemuir that night. The men erected a tightly-packed circle of tents, just as a vicious squall swept across the hills. It turned the sky the color of slate. The harsh weather made the horses clump together, heads bowed and tails tucked between their hind legs, as rain lashed the company.

  Aila untied the saddlebags she and Lady Gavina had packed, her fingers fumbling in haste. Head bent against the icy splinters of rain and ice that howled down from the north, she carried the bags into the large tent that she would be sharing with her mistress, Lady Elizabeth, and Jean.

  Her companions were already inside. The ladies were shaking rain off their mantles while Jean bustled about, unrolling furs for everyone to sleep on. One of the men had brought in a brazier and a lump of peat, but it was still unlit. Digging out her flint, steel, and a small bag of tinder, Aila set about lighting a fire. The day hadn’t been warm, and the icy rain had made their clothes damp.

  Outdoors, the wind and rain hammered the tent, its hide sides billowing and snapping. Aila found it hard not to cringe at the storm’s fury. She hoped the men had bashed the tent pegs in well—otherwise they could lose their shelter overnight.

  However, the tent seemed to withstand the tempest, and a short while later, the peat started to smoke, sending a choking column of blue-grey fug up through the hole in the roof. Eyes watering, Aila nursed the fire until tender flames took hold. Meanwhile, the ladies had settled themselves on a makeshift seat, made from their saddlebags, as Jean set out a supper.

  “It’s not much of a meal,” Jean sniffed, raising her voice to be heard over the howling wind and drum of the rain above their heads. She was a sweet-faced lass. Aila envied Jean her small, curvy frame and mass of wild red curls that won her much male attention. “Bannock, cheese, and eggs is meagre fare for ladies.”