Chapter Eleven #2
Should she confess even more? She felt as if she was a geyser ready to blow. She had not told anyone what she felt or what she thought in months. Now Constantine Cameron knew.
She gazed into the chief’s eyes. She wanted to tell this man. “I dinna know what my future looks like anymore. I dinna know what is best fer me, or if I even care if ’tis good fer me or not.”
She didn’t realize she wanted him to say something reassuring like, stay here with me behind my castle walls. When he said nothing, it trumpeted much. He didn’t want the same thing she wanted. He was not over his wife.
“Mayhap,” she began, “I do know and that is what is darkening my face.”
He stood up. “Ye are still considerin’ leavin.”
“Should I not?”
He looked down at her and then looked up and away at the castle turret looming overhead. “I’m goin’ home soon. I have things to get in order.”
She stared at him. …His home. He did not want her to tag along.
She swallowed back a rush of emotion and disappointment. She would not stand in his way then.
Nodding, she let him know she understood, then laughed softly.
“My belly just cried out fer food. I told Hilary I would eat with her.” She leaped off the stump and hurried away before she was tempted to beg him to stay by her side.
She had no right to expect more from him than what he had already given her.
She would never forget him. No matter if she spent the rest of her life in a convent, or if she was killed on the road by some madman. She would carry her memories of the Cameron Lochiel, her protector, with her. He was the first man in her life she ever let her heart beat for.
She felt tears spill over the rims of her eyes and swiped them away. When she could see clearly, she saw Bethia in her path.
The older woman did not say anything but put her arm around Ismay when Ismay reached her. Bethia led her away and brought her to her chambers, patting her shoulder as if she understood all about it.
Such a man.
Once again, Ismay thought of asking the head chambermaid what she meant by such a comment spoken in a tone that would surely spark Lewis’s ire.
“He canna give ye what ye need, gel.”
Ismay stopped and stared at her. “What is it ye think I need?”
“The same thing we all need,” Bethia answered and opened the door to her chambers. “A tender heart to treat us well.”
“The Lochiel has a tender heart,” Ismay insisted, letting Bethia lead her to her small sitting chamber.
Bethia did not agree or disagree. She sat Ismay down and then took a seat next to her. “If he is called to battle, he will go. He is a staunch supporter of the exiled king.”
“What has that to do with me?” Ismay asked her. “It isna as if he is going to take me as his wife—”
“Och, goodness,” the chambermaid threw her hand to her chest and laughed. “I know that!!” She gave another short laugh as if she had never heard of anything so preposterous.
Ismay bristled. This woman surely knew how to insult a soul. “What do ye find so humorous about that?”
Berthia’s smile faded and she gave Ismay a pitying look. “Child, he was already a husband.”
“Aye, I know.”
“Then ye should also know that he still loves her. Can ye fight a beloved ghost?” She did not wait for Ismay to answer but shook her head and continued. “Ye willna secure his heart. He will never give it up again. Ye may have his favor but unfortunately, ’tis temporary.”
Ismay held her breath hoping there was no more to hear. It was difficult, almost impossible to take in such hopeless words. But—she did not want a man in her life. Did she? “He is changing me.”
She did not realize that she had spoken out loud until Bethia reached over and took her hand. “Do ye want to be changed, Miss Drummond?”
Ismay pondered the question for a moment and then shook her head. “’Tis safer to remain impervious to the Lochiel’s wiles.”
“His wiles?” Ismay heard the chambermaid ask under her breath.
“Aye, he is charming, all right,” Ismay said more to herself than to the older woman, who was still casting her an incredulous look. “He is verra handsome when he smiles. He is handsome when he is scowling too. He is fair and slow to lose his temper.”
“Slow to—”
“He cares fer his kin, and everyone at Tor. Aye, his affections run deep, but they are locked behind a wall of stone.”
“Aye, and that wall was built fer his wife,” Bethia interrupted before Ismay went any further.
“It may have been built fer her and fer the scars of battle. But that wall is doing him harm. He needs to heal.”
Even before he knocked, Ismay felt the chief outside her door. An ache in the air, familiar and unspoken.
When the chambermaid pulled open the door, Ismay was not surprised to see Constantine.
Seeing Bethia first, he scowled, making Ismay wonder what happened between them.
“Chief,” the older woman said in a low voice. “I was just leaving.”
He did not turn to look after her, but kept his gaze on Ismay.
When they were alone, he took a step closer to her.
Ismay wondered if the sitting room was always this small, his shoulders this wide, his legs so long. His presence filled the entire space.
She felt her belly going warm and then remembered him waiting to go home. Away from her.
“Chief,” she asked tersely, “what are ye doing here?”
“Come home with me,” he said with authority, though his eyes betrayed his unsure heart.
She nodded without hesitation and let a small smile curl her lips. What would Bethia think of this? Ismay did not truly care. “I willna be a bother,” she assured him, knowing he liked the silence.
“Who said ye were a bother?” He turned his scowl on the door from which Bethia had left.
“No one,” she let him know, tugging his sleeve to regain his attention. “What changed yer mind?”
“What changed yers?” he countered. “Ye let me know on more than one occasion that ye wanted to leave Tor.”
“Ye changed my mind, Lochiel. I will still leave if that is what ye want, but it isna what I want anymore.”
He stood stock still, staring at her until she began to squirm.
“I told ye because I know ye are not the kind of man who is influenced by anything.”
He nodded and looked away.
Ismay had the urge to pull her hair and let out a frustrated scream at his silence. But he had invited her to his home. That meant something, did it not? Did he have to actually say it? She definitely had his favor.
But was Bethia correct? Was his favor temporary?
What if she fell in love with him? The horror of it almost made her shiver. As it was, she liked being with him. She liked it very much. Was it more than that? How should she know? She’d never been in love before.
She let her gaze fasten to his when he looked at her again.
“I have meetin’s with the elders fer the next couple of days. After that, I will be free.”
She nodded happily. She would question if she were mad or not later. She still hated chiefs and men in power. But she liked Lochiel Constantine Cameron.
She was almost completely sure that he liked her too.
“About Bethia…”
“Hmm?” she urged when he paused.
“She loved Alison very much.”
“I am not concerned about that, Chief.”
“Yet ye revert to callin’ me chief.”
She smiled. “’Tis a habit.”
Another knock came to the door. The chief went to it and opened it to Geoffry. “A missive has arrived from Chief John MacKintosh.” He handed the parchment to Constantine.
The chief read this missive and Ismay felt a surge of pride that he could read. After a moment he crumpled the missive in his fist. “Prepare the men. If he wants to fight, let us go show him how ’tis done.”
Geoffry’s face lit up with a wide smile. He nodded and then hurried off to alert the others.
“What does the letter say?” she asked Constantine when they were alone.
“The clan chief threatens to attack if I dinna return his cattle along with two of my fingers fer killin’ his son.”
Horrified, Ismay threw her hands to her mouth. “Ye are not going to—”
“Nae,” he assured. “But he is more merciful than I. if ’twere my son, I would settle fer nothin’ less than his life.”
Ismay paled. Would the MacKintosh chief want Constantine’s life?
“Dinna go,” she said, doing her best to conceal her fear, but she failed.
“Lass,” he said huskily, taking a step toward her. “Are ye worried over me?”
She nodded.
“I should be insulted that ye think the MacKintosh worm can harm me.”
She returned his warm smile and let her gaze welcome him closer. “No man is unbeatable, Chief.”
“I am,” he boasted.
“Do ye promise?” she asked with a thread of demand tainting her voice. “Do ye promise to come back to me?”
She knew it was an unreasonable request, but his smile widened and he nodded. “I promise I will come back.”
His neglect of the last two words did not go unnoticed by her. He would come back…but not necessarily to her. Still, at least he promised. After all, she wanted him to live and not only for her selfish desires.
With a smile she suspected affected him more than he would admit, she gave his forearm a pat. “I shall see ye again when ye return.”
He suddenly clasped his hands behind his back, gave her half a smile that nearly buckled her kneecaps, then turned to leave.
“Constantine,” she called out, stopping him. He turned.
“Will ye be verra long?”
He shook his head, his gaze going soft. “Nae. No’ long.”
And then he left her chambers. She stared at the door for a few moments, without him for the first time in days.
She realized with a sinking heart that she relied too heavily on him.
Were her emotions deepening because her time with him reminded her of the last sixteen years of her life, when she had felt safe and cared for?
Did the Lochiel represent a time when she was happy?
Was she confusing her feelings of familiarity and happiness with something else?
She thought of his jaw, chiseled with determination to remain loyal to a ghost. His chin, slightly dimpled beneath the shadow of gruff, his nose, mayhap the first perfect thing she noticed about his face.
Straight but not sharp, a bit flatter at the soft contoured tip, his lips—oh, even now, the memory of them made her heart flutter.
They were decadently full, scandalously plump—almost always set in somber disregard.
Almost always.
When his eyes, her favorite thing about him, settled on her, his mouth softened and went from somber to curious and amused.
She liked having the power to bring warmth to his soul.
She liked him. She liked a man. A chief.
Impossible, she told herself, shaking her head and leaving her chambers. Impossible. But true.