Chapter Six #2
“Chief,” she said softly, “I dinna want pity. The only time I ever wanted it, it was given to me by my father.”
The Lochiel nodded, but he still looked sickened. “I will make certain no’ to keep ye waitin’ again.”
No, she did not want a man who felt beholden to her because she was alone. “Truly, Chief—”
“Constantine,” he urged gently.
“Constantine,” she corrected herself with a slight smile.
“I didna mean to make ye feel so responsible fer me. Ye are not. I chose to leave my home where it was once safe until my father died. It was my choice. I am responsible fer it. Ye are not my father nor my husband—” Why, oh, why did her cheeks have to go up in flame now?
—“we hardly know each other. So please, let me release ye from any obligation pity has led ye to take up on my behalf.”
She stood up. It was better to leave his company now and go to bed. The more time she spent with him, the more she was tempted to throw caution to the four winds and trust him. Really trust him.
But he was not her father—the only man she ever completely loved and trusted even more. She’d vowed she would never love any man again.
“Please, stay where ye are,” she ordered gently when Constantine moved to stand with her. “I can manage alone. I have come to prefer it.”
He paused, taking the smile she offered him apart, seeing past it, through it. What did he see that made him stop? The truth? She preferred being alone?
She left the Hall and headed for the stairs. When she heard his footsteps behind her, she turned around to see him.
He looked to the west wall to examine the giant tapestry covering it.
“What are ye doing, Chief?”
He turned an innocent look on her that made the muscles in her lips ache.
“I’m heading to my chambers, as well,” he explained.
She remembered that he had put her in the chambers closest to his. She gave him a slight nod and continued on. He didn’t catch up to her to walk at her side, but stayed eight or ten steps back, and pretended to look somewhere else whenever she turned to look at him over her shoulder.
She suspected he still felt responsible for her and was escorting her to her chambers in his own subtle way—which was not subtle at all.
Oddly, it warmed her blood. She wanted to run the rest of the way when she saw her door.
What lies was her heart telling her head?
That there could ever be something between her and the Lochiel of the Camerons, kin to the MacDonalds?
That he was worthy of what she swore never to offer to anyone?
Her heart had learned too early the detriment of trusting anyone, especially a man.
She reached her door, and with the temptation to turn to see him too much to bear, she opened her door.
Before she stepped inside, she succumbed to temptation and turned to fill her vision with the sight of him, tall and lean in his silk-and-fur robe, watching her until she safely stepped into her chambers.
*
Ismay stared at the ceiling, where people moved around in her imagination. Their lips moved but she heard their words in her soul.
Good fer nothing sot!
What devil brought ye and yer gloomy cloud here?
All she does is cry!
That was the oldest memory she had. She had to be younger than five. She had stopped weeping when she was five. She had only cried twice after that. When her father died, and when she wept into her stew at the Doomsday Tavern and Inn.
The MacDonald chief was fat and old—at least fifty. His cheeks and jowls often reddened when he looked at her. He would watch her being struck by his wife and the other ladies of the castle, and then hurry to comfort her, reminding her that he was the only one who cared for her.
She saw herself as a child running across the ceiling. She was always dirty and uncared for, her unruly auburn curls tangled from scalp to tip. But she was caught and brought to his chambers.
“Why do ye always try to run, gel?” the MacDonald chief had asked her.
“I dinna like it here,” she told him. Let him kill her. It would be better than—
His thick fingers closed around her wrist. “I think ’tis time to punish ye in another way…”
Ismay closed her eyes and turned away from the last image of her slicing his dagger across his throat and running for her life, covered in his blood.
“Nae!” she cried out.
Almost immediately the door to her bedchamber opened and the Lochiel plunged inside.
He gazed at her leaving her bed. ““What is it? Why did ye cry oot?”
She lifted her hand to her temple. “I had a dream.” Was it a memory? “Wh…what are ye doing here?”
“I was…ehm…passin’ by yer door and heard ye cry out.”
“And ye have the key to my chamber?
“Of course,” he answered. “If ye need me I ought to be able to reach ye.”
She was so tempted to smile at him, though he looked and sounded more serious than a deadly plague.
“But I told ye, I release ye from—”
He waved his hand around her face. “Spare me that drivel. I will be released when I want to be released. And there is nothin’ to be released from.
I want to protect ye and I willna be stopped by yer stubborn notion that I want somethin’ in return.
That is no’ the kind of man I am. If I am drawn to helpin’ ye, stop wonderin’ why and just leave it to me to do so. ”
It was the most he’d spoken at a single time in three days. Could she do what he asked? She should at least try while she was here. If he wanted to keep watch over her, she would let him.
“Were ye guarding my door again, Chief?” she asked with a smile dancing around her lips.
“I wasna guardin’ it,” he explained, back to being wooden. “I told ye, I was passin’ by.”
“Walking the halls, were ye?”
“What? Nae, I was…that is, I couldna sleep.” For a breath he appeared rattled, but then he scowled at her. “Miss Drumond, do I need to remind ye that this is my castle? Do I need to explain to ye why I am awake and was guardin’ yer door?”
Her smile formed fully. She couldn’t help it. She turned away to hide her amusement and to stop herself from reminding him that he had already said he had not been guarding her door.
“Ye are the chief,” she said, growing serious, since being a power-seeking chief was no laughing matter. “Ye dinna have to explain yerself to anyone. Surely, I havena made ye ferget that.”
She knew she was provoking him. One of the reasons she remained unmarried at the age of four and twenty was because she often provoked her suitors, letting her mistrust and dislike of men chase them away.
Chief MacRae needed no provocation to become riled up, chopping off her tresses in the sight of her mother.
The Cameron chief was different. For the most part, he remained unruffled by whatever was taking place around him. She enjoyed watching him try to remain unaffected by her, and failing.
“Chief?” she asked, waiting for his reply that did not seem to be coming. “If ye are going to insist on guarding me then accept my gratitude.”
He waited for more but she remained silent.
Finally he nodded and headed for the door. When he reached it, he turned to look at her. “Miss Drummond, tomorrow I may ask ye fer the name of the clan chief who hurt ye. Will ye give it to me?”
How could she? There were MacDonalds in the castle, in the Lochiel’s bloodline. Geoffry and Fionn, and also Hugh to name a few. There was Hilary, Arabelle, Margaret, and Ann, just some of his female MacDonald cousins who Ismay had met at supper. They would hate her, mayhap kill her.
She shook her head. She could not tell him. She would never tell him.