Chapter Thirteen
“Whatever the reason, ’tis nice to finally have ye here with us.”
Ismay looked up briefly to smile at Hilary while she pulled her needle with dyed saffron thread through a linen kerchief.
She was not sure what Hilary meant, as Ismay had been there twice already.
She could not help it if she enjoyed being with the Lochiel more than sewing, or anyone else’s company.
Even Hilary’s—and Ismay was quite fond of Geoffry and Fionn’s sister.
Hilary’s disputable wedding was fast approaching and she was full of excitement about the event.
She was also worried about what was to come after the celebration and filled with doubt that she was being selfish and may be the cause of another feud.
She was happy one moment and a ball of sobbing tears the next.
Ismay helped her as much as she could, which was not much since she had never been in love. She tried to at least be there with Hilary and listen, but she often felt her thoughts drifting to the Cameron chief.
When she left him in the Great Hall this morning, just a sennight after he was stabbed, he seemed stronger and all his color had returned. But she could not forget the blade the castle physician had to pull from his guts. His body was still a wee bit weak.
Did he need her right now and she was off embroidering some useless thing? Should she excuse herself from her friend and hurry off to find him?
She scoffed out loud, unknowingly drawing Hilary’s attention. She had never chased a man in her life, and she would not begin now.
“What troubles ye, Ismay?” Hilary asked, as Joan stepped into the sewing chamber with refreshments.
“Och, Joan,” Ismay dropped her work in her lap. “Did ye happen to see the Lochiel?”
Joan threw a conspiratory glance to Hilary. “Nae, I didna see him, lady.”
Ismay smiled and shrugged as if it did not matter to her. No one believed it.
“Anyway,” she said pleasantly and picked up her needle and kerchief to continue working, “Hilary, ye know ye are no’ to see yer betrothed the day before the wedding.”
“The whole day is too long!” Hilary lamented, forgetting Ismay’s obvious preoccupation with the chief quickly enough.
Fionn and Geoffry’s sister went on for most of the afternoon, drawing Joan into their mostly one-sided conversation.
Ismay liked Joan. The gel’s fascination with Lachlan was understandable, for the young Cameron, with his golden halo of curls and pleasant, laid-back nature enchanted many.
Joan was not oblivious to his roguish ways.
She did not care who he spent time with, if he made time for her.
It was an arrangement Ismay could never ascribe to.
If she were in love with Constantine—She stuck the needle into her index finger and drew back with a cry.
“Ismay, what did ye do?” Hilary went to her and pulled Ismay’s finger out of her mouth.
Joan hurried to get a wet rag.
What had she done? She had been embroidering long enough not to prick her finger.
“This is why ye should come every day to practice,” Hilary lamented.
“I will live through it,” Ismay assured her.
“Aye, ye will,” Hilary agreed. “’Tis the Lochiel I fear ye willna live through.”
Ismay pulled her hand from Hilary’s grasp. “What are ye saying?”
“I know ye care fer him,” her friend clarified. “Ye spend all yer days and many nights at his bedside, nursing him. ’Tis clear yer heart is lost to him.” At her side, Joan nodded in agreement.
“I dinna know what ye are talking about,” Ismay defended. “And if I did, why would ye say that I will not live through it? What do ye all think is so terrible about him?”
Hilary looked at her as if she had never seen Ismay before. “He is like a dead man. ’Tis frightful. Ye do know that he is a thief, aye? And a cattle raider? He has killed hundreds both in battle and oot of it.”
Aye. Ismay was reminded of him kicking in the door of where the MacKintosh’s son had taken her. She saw Constantine run him through in one fell strike. She knew he was no hero. He was her guardian angel, always keeping her safe. That’s what she knew. And it was enough.
“Aye, his expressions can be subtle,” Ismay told them in a quiet, calm tone. “But I think he is letting himself feel more lately.”
Her two friends blinked at her.
Joan looked to be thinking about it and then nodded. “I have seen him smiling.”
Hilary’s wide blue eyes settled on Ismay. “Is it because of ye?”
Ismay shook her head. “I dinna know. But he is the least frightful man I have ever met.”
Her friends stared at her for a moment and then both of them burst into laughter. Ismay laughed with them since it felt so good.
“Och, tell us everything, Ismay!” Hilary threw down her embroidery and clamped Ismay’s hand.
“Aye, everything!” Joan joined in.
Ismay was not going to at first, but she felt as if she would burst with emotions she had never felt before. She had to tell someone. “Well,” she began, “he slept by my door at the Doomsday Inn and Tavern two nights in a row to keep me safe.”
She enjoyed their breathless sighs at all she told them about the Lochiel saving her from her kidnapper—and a coyote—and mostly, her fears.
“Lachlan didna mention the Lochiel bein’ in love—” Joan told them.
“He is not in love,” Ismay quickly corrected.
“Not yet,” Hilary said excitedly.
“Now, stop it both of ye,” Ismay tried then laughed again with them.
Someone knocked at the door.
Joan leaped up to open it.
When they saw the Lochiel on the other side, they broke into hysterical giggles that held him at the door.
Ismay bounced up from her chair and offered him her most thankful smile. He’d come to her, saving her the mortification of chasing after him.
“What is so amusing about my arrival?” he demanded without any authority.
“Nothing at all,” Ismay assured him and led him back out of the embroidery room and into the hall.
“How are ye feeling? Are ye in pain anywhere? Let me have a look at ye.”
She grabbed hold of him and started feeling his arms first. She quickly realized what she was doing, and how irresistibly hard his arms were, coiled with muscle and sinew.
She lifted herself a bit and pressed her cheek to his chest. His heart sounded strong, beating a rapid litany in her ear.
She pushed away, staring up at him with repentance in the curve of her lips.
How had this man managed to pull such unabashed, shameless behavior from her? For twenty-four years she had been content without a man in her life. She had firmly believed it would always be so.
“Do ye need me?” she asked like some kind of blithering fool. Of course he didn’t need her. He appeared absolutely, perfectly fine. Perfectly.
He looked as if he wanted to say something other than what came out of his mouth. “Nae. I thought ye might be needin’ me.”
She shook her head, mayhap a bit too vehemently. “Nae, I was embroidering.” She really wanted to tell him that she might need him more than she would admit. Even here, where she was safe sewing flowers in a kerchief.
“Then, I will leave ye to finish,” he said politely and turned to go.
“Chief,” she called out, stopping him. “Now that ye are here with me, why dinna we take a walk? Are ye up fer it?”
Thankfully, he nodded, seemingly pleased with the idea, though he did not smile.
Since she had known him, he was not the kind of man who bared his emotions for all to see.
Like her, he was a master at hiding. Mayhap that was why she noticed the smallest nuances of change in his expressions more often than not lately.
She pleased him, and despite once being repulsed by the idea of belonging to a man, she thought it would not be so terrible to belong to Constantine Cameron.
“Let us go to the loch’s edge!” she said with an enthusiastic bounce in her step, close beside him. “Show me where ye bathe so I can join ye next time. Och! I mean,” she paused and felt her face go up in flames. “Not together! Goodness, what I meant was…”
“Verra well, I’ll take ye there now, and then in the mornin’, I’ll bring ye with Bethia and Joan so ye can bathe. I willna remain while ye bathe but I’ll stay close by in case there are any men in the area.”
Her cheeks cooled but her heart remained warm. “Do ye mean it?”
He looked a little insulted, even pouting his lips. “I wouldna have said it if I didna mean it.”
She ignored his insult and gave him her best, most happy smile. “Thank ye, Chief.”
“Constantine,” he mumbled and turned to look away. “Ye thank me fer nothin’, lass. Why would it be so difficult to please one who makes nae demands?”
“Me?” she asked, a bit surprised. “I make nae demands?”
“Nae.” He continued on his way down the stairs.
She followed, then caught up. “What about when I wanted to walk with ye in the mornings?”
“That was no’ a demand,” he pointed out in a gentle voice.
“When ye refused I followed ye anyway.”
He shrugged. “Nae harm came from it.”
Was this the Lochiel she was speaking with? What about obedience?
“And did I no’ demand that ye no’ return to battle while convalescing?”
“’Twas fer my benefit,” he defended her.
Well, he was certainly singing a different tune.
But she was not complaining. If he wanted to absolve her of her demanding ways, she was grateful.
In fact, she was so grateful she considered looping her hand through the crook of his elbow.
Not too long ago, she would never have done such a thing.
But now…she trusted this man. Like Fraya, his bonnie coo, he was winning her trust more every day.
With a sigh of resolution, she closed her eyes and took his arm, keeping pace with his steps.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t seem to mind in the least.
Finally, she stopped clenching her jaw and smiled. He didn’t mind her touching him. She felt her face go hot and then remembered to breathe when they ran into Lewis and Geoffry. The Lochiel exchanged words with them and then led her away.