Chapter Ten
Constantine sauntered away from Miss Drummond’s door, wearing the hint of a smile that widened the farther he moved away from her chambers.
Her fire sparked something in him to life.
Other lasses shied away from him, afraid to touch the bear.
All the men, including his closest cousins, would never think of betraying him and rarely disobeyed him.
But this wisp of lass, who journeyed on foot for a month to Tor, was not afraid of him. He almost breathed out loud with relief.
He enjoyed getting her angry by giving her exactly what she wanted: the freedom to leave. Of course, he didn’t fancy the idea of her leaving, nor was he certain he would let her go so easily. If her betrothed or her mother were after her, a convent would not stop them.
He would. But that meant she would have to remain at Tor Castle. There were plenty of folks living here who weren’t necessarily kin, but Miss Drummond was different. Was she not? He thought about her…often. He didn’t think about anyone else in the castle.
She made him want to smile—and a few times, he had. The only other people he felt any inclination to smile with were Lewis, Geoffry, Fionn, and Lachlan—and even with the four men he’d grown up with, he didn’t do it often.
Miss Drummond kept him occupied watching to see what she was up to next.
Even in the silence of the misty morning, she had gone traipsing about in the thistle, marveling at purple flowers while he marveled at her.
She hummed often. It was mostly done just under her breath, but he could hear it.
How did she still sing after being so mistreated by a man and finally killing him as a child?
After losing her beloved father, being hated by her mother, and treated cruelly by her betrothed, her resilience shone like a beacon.
She had an unwelcome effect on him and he had no idea how to stop it. He could send her away, but he didn’t want to do that.
He was acting like a fool. He’d never put himself in the path of deliberate danger before. But Miss Drummond was making him feel and do things he had not done in years.
He felt the beginnings of another smile, then stopped when he saw Bethia hurrying toward him. He stopped and waited for her to reach him.
“Fergive me, Lochiel. I heard ye were looking fer me.”
“Aye,” he said, picking up his steps again. “Where did ye disappear to withoot tellin’ a soul? Ye know ’tis dangerous to go oot alone.”
Truly, he thought of the lass he just left at her door, did he want another foolishly fearless woman on his hands?
“We needed some supplies from the market and I took Fionn with me.”
He paused, then nodded. At least she had some sense—unlike a certain lass who had run into a coyote.
“Lochiel, if ye dinna mind me saying,” the head chambermaid said, “ye seem ill at ease. Is it the lass who darkens yer countenance?”
He looked at her, sincerely surprised. “Is my countenance dark? I feared I was smiling too much.”
Now Bethia was the one who appeared utterly astonished. “Smiling too much, Lochiel?”
“Aye,” he confessed. He’d often confessed to Bethia, who was the one who tended to him through the quiet times and the times when nightmares covered him in blood and he woke up crying out into the night, when he drank too much and told her too much while she undressed him and put him to bed.
He didn’t remember her ever cowering from him after his drunken confessions of the men he had killed fighting in the royalist army, and how he’d felt killing them.
How he’d tried to kill one hundred a day.
A hundred for every one of his kins’ lives they had taken.
She’d never admonished or judged him outright, but she thought he was a monster. She didn’t have to say it.
“I have been feelin’ more…light-hearted,” he said after a moment of pondering it.
“Light-hearted?”
She moved slightly closer and gave the air around him a sniff. “I havena been drinkin’, woman.”
She contemplated him for another moment. “Hmm, come to think of it, ye havena been drinking at all since ye returned with her.”
He thought about it, continuing onward. She was correct.
“Chief,” his trusted chambermaid said, stopping him again, “is she making ye ferget Alison and Katie?”
“What?” His heart thrashed wildly. “Nae! I could never ferget them! But am I to pay fer my sins fer the remainder of my days?”
It was the first time he had ever complained about feeling responsible.
He was not surprised by Bethia’s slack-jawed stare.
She loved Alison and doted over her. She even left her home with the MacMillans and came to live here with Alison when she married Constantine.
It was because of her devotion to his wife that he’d grown close with her.
But he did not appreciate her trying to hold his guilt up to his face.
“That is between ye and the Good Lord, Lochiel,” the head chambermaid told him.
“Then let me feel the weight of His decision. Not yers.”
She bowed her head slightly. He kept walking.
He descended the stairs, then, sensing her behind him, he turned at the last step. “Find Joan. Remind her this is her last chance and tell her to tend to Miss Drummond.”
“I will tend to the lass—”
“Nae,” he said, cutting Bethia off. “Have Joan do it. Yer feelin’s are too raw. Ye may say things ye should keep to yerself.”
“I would not—”
“Send Joan,” he cut her off again and went on his way.
He found Lachlan and Fionn in the courtyard, practicing with their heavy swords. When they spotted him, they exchanged a nervous look. No one wanted to practice with him. He had no idea why. He had not killed anyone during practice.
He waited and bit into an apple he’d plucked from a bowl in the kitchen when he passed it. He watched his cousins while he ate, calling to Lachlan when the younger Cameron should have blocked left, doubled around, and struck from behind.
Then, shouting at Fionn to strike with more purpose.
If his opponent did not block, parry, or evade, let him suffer the consequence.
He did not care if the one to suffer was Lachlan.
They could not keep him from fighting forever because he did not know how to keep himself alive other than with an arrow. He had to learn.
He watched until Lachlan seemed to be doing better against Fionn, then Constantine called them to a halt, tossed his apple to Fionn and stepped into his place.
Facing Lachlan, he pulled his sword free from the scabbard at his side. “Get ready,” he said ominously.
“I am not ready to face ye yet, brother,” the younger of the two admitted nervously.
It hurt Constantine to be so cold toward him. But how much worse would the pain be if Lachlan were ever to be killed in battle?
So, giving his cousin no further reply, he advanced and swung hard.
Lachlan had no choice but to block, crashing his blade into Constantine’s and shooting sparks above their heads.
The lad paled. Constantine swung again from the other direction.
Their swords clashed again, and then again, and then, yet again.
Lachlan made a painful expression when he lifted his arms again. He was weary and likely in some pain. An opponent on the battlefield would not give him time to rest.
Constantine jabbed and nodded when Lachlan leaped back and blocked.
They practiced until Lachlan fell back on his arse and begged for mercy.
With a heavy sigh, Constantine reached down to help him to his feet. “Ye did well.”
That seemed to be all the accolades Lachlan needed to restore him. He grinned at Constantine and thanked him.
“Where is yer lady?”
“She is no’ my lady,” Constantine assured him with a scowl. Mayhap he was not hard enough on the lad.
“Ye must admit,” Fionn chimed in with a smile, “she is bonnie with all them red curls tumblin’ ’round her face.”
Immediately. Constantine imagined her hair like a wild lion’s mane around her bonnie face. Aye, of course she was bonnie. He was not blind.
“Since she isna’ yer woman,” Lachlan pressed, “would ye mind if I—”
“Aye, I would mind,” Constantine said through his teeth. “Are ye rested now? Should we continue our lesson, then, whelp?”
Lachlan cast him a loving grin. “That willna be necessary, Lochiel. I will consider her—”
“—my guest, whose favor ye willna try to win.”
“Aye,” Lachlan agreed and looked at his boots.
Constantine gave him one last look of disgust and then sheathed his sword and left the courtyard.
His lady. He almost laughed but then a shadow drifted across his eyes.
What was he doing that made Bethia and his men—because while Lachlan was going on into territory that could have gotten him trounced, Fionn was smiling—believe he fancied Miss Drummond?
He’d left her alone for the afternoon, had he not?
It was not as if he kept her by his side an instant longer than he needed to.
Unbidden thoughts of his guest filled his head as he strode back inside the castle. Was she resting? Had Joan tended to her needs this time or had Hugh—
Before he realized where he was heading, he stopped on the stairs.
Why was he about to check and make certain Hugh was not with his la—guest. What did he care?
He had not cared when Hugh spent time with Alison.
Why would he care about a strange lass who was on the run?
Had she run? Was she still here? She spoke often of leaving for some convent God knew where.
He was too busy fighting in the courtyard to notice if she had slipped out.
He thought her departure would be welcome because he no longer had to worry about her.
But he found himself taking the stairs two at a time.
When he stepped onto the second landing, he looked around for Hugh. His steward was nowhere to be found.