Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,1

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 stand 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