Chapter Thirteen #2
Hugh stopped him to read a missive that had arrived.
It was written by Angus MacKintosh, Clan Chief of the Chattan.
He was writing in response to his cousin—the troublesome chief John MacKintosh’s last correspondence and list of grievances against the Cameron chief.
John MacKintosh wanted his cattle, twenty Cameron women, to pay for the death of John’s sons, and finally, the return of their land, mainly near Loch Akraig and Glen Lui.
The Confederation ordered a battle to end the 360-year feud.
No other clans from the Confederation would fight, but they wanted the feud over one way or the other.
“One way or the other?” Ismay asked, drawing his and Hugh’s attention. “Does that mean one chief or the other?”
“I willna lose to him,” Constantine assured her in a low voice—like a growl.
“The Chattan chief will help him. They are cousins,” she argued. “Do ye believe they will stand by while ye beat him?”
Hugh stared agape at her. “Miss Drummond, who taught ye such disrespect?”
“Ye are correct,” Constantine said to her as if Hugh had not spoken a word. “It gains them nothin’ if I win. They know I will beat him, and if I do, I will be bigger than the Confederation. They willna leave it to chance.”
Ismay agreed, relieved that he was strategic and not a prideful oaf that ignored sound advice because it came from a woman.
“Hugh, advise the men to meet me in the Great Hall after supper. There is much to be discussed.”
“Where should I tell them if they ask where ye are right now, Lochiel?”
“Tell them I want them all here after supper.”
That was all Hugh was getting, and knowing it, he backed up and then turned to do the Lochiel’s bidding.
“I dinna want to keep ye from yer duty, Chief…Constantine,” Ismay corrected herself with a shy smile.
“What duty? Och!” he exclaimed and pointed in the direction Hugh had taken. “Ye mean that.”
Ismay nodded and gave a poor effort to hide her smile. Had he forgotten the Confederation’s threat already? Did his absent-mindedness have to do with her?
He waved her concern away. “The Confederation willna dissolve if they dinna hear from me immediately. Unfortunately, they will still exist tomorrow.”
Ismay knew enough about them from her father’s involvement with them.
Her father, being a MacPherson baron, had defended them on a few occasions when penning missives to Oliver Cromwell, commander of the New Model Army of the English Commonwealth.
She knew enough about the Chattan Confederation to know MacPhersons stood on their side.
Well, not this MacPherson.
“Shall we go?” she asked, tightening her arm around his elbow.
He led her out without a look back.
“Does this mean ye will postpone yer visit to yer home?”
“Aye. Fer a wee bit.”
“Do ye plan on finishing the chief in a quick strike then?”
“The quicker, the better.”
He was utterly serious. He had no doubts in his ability to win. She found such confidence attractive and comforting.
“Tell me about yer home,” she said, wanting to end the topic of battle.
“It sits at the foot of Ben Nevis. I didna live there long. I was away fightin’ more than I was home.”
“Still, it holds a deep place in yer heart.”
He stared at her while they walked out of the courtyard. “I built it fer my wife and daughter. But they didna get to live in it either. So that she wouldna be alone, Alison remained at Tor with her parents while she carried Katie.”
Ismay remained silent while he seemed to relive something that brought shadows to his eyes. Ismay already knew his wife and child had died. But when he spoke again she was stunned by what he told her.
“I didna make it home to see Alison before she left the earth. I also missed welcomin’ my daughter into the world despite losing her mother. By the time I arrived, four days after wee Katie died, Alison’s kin had her and our babe buried.”
Ismay felt as if an arrow just pierced her heart. “I’m grieved that ye didna return to them in time, Constantine.”
His dark eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He offered her a smile filled with meaning despite its slight visual appearance. Then he turned away and continued walking.
Keeping pace with him, Ismay understood what had snatched away his happiness. All the amusement she brought him, all the humor in his eyes, and the warmth in his smiles, no matter how scarce, suddenly meant so much more. She wanted to bring more days of happiness to him.
Did she truly intend to remain here with him then? Would he ever want something more permanent with her?
“The loch is just aroond that bend,” he told her, pointing straight ahead.
They walked to it together, keeping their conversation lighter, with the somber Lochiel giving up smiles and even a low, almost horrified chuckle when she admitted to things she, Hilary, and Joan talked about in the embroidery room.
“So, ye are all convinced that I favor ye.” It was not a question.
She slanted her smoky gaze to him. “Is it so impossible?”
“Aye,” he answered in a deep, meaningful tone. “’Twas once, no’ too long ago.”
She held her breath. Was it possible that a man like him would favor her of all people?
“But…”
“Aye?” she pressed when he remained quiet. “But what?”
“Are ye always so bold, lass?” he said, not bothering to cover up his pleasure in her.
“Aye, my lord,” she countered with satisfaction glinting her eyes. “Nothing is gained by being a delicate flower.”
“That is true,” he agreed, stepping in front of her and walking backward around the bend. “But in the right hands, a delicate flower will thrive and bloom.”
That was the instant Ismay knew she could love Constantine Cameron, one of the most powerful clan chiefs in the Highlands.
To prove his declaration true, he stepped out of her way and revealed an inlet arrayed in the colors of autumn, with a cascading waterfall, larger than the one at home that flowed into the clear loch.
Her eyes widened on the paradise as she stepped forward. She wanted to go to it and feel the cold water on her toes. “Is it deeper near the waterfall?”
“Aye,” she heard him tell her.
Perfect, she thought, moving closer to the edge.
“Miss Drummond…?”
She turned to cast him an anxious glance.
“If ye want to go in now, I willna look until the water covers ye.”
When she paused, he continued, “Trust me.”
Aye, she wanted to go in now. In a few more days, it would be colder.
She watched him turn away, and then she began to undress. She did not look his way again. He had asked her to trust him. She did.
She gasped and sucked in her breath as she stepped into the water. Exhilaration filled her as she waded deeper, closer to the waterfall. The sound of the water moving all about her was deafening. She dipped beneath the surface then came up to her shoulders and let her eyes search for him.
She found him watching her swim. From where he sat on the stump of a tree, she could see him smiling at her.
Her belly flipped, and her body followed, dipping under, then bobbing back up, soaking her hair and washing away a month of grime, grief, and fear.
When she was done, she motioned to him to turn away while she left the water.
He obeyed and her heart swelled when he gave her all the time she needed to dress without turning back to face her—even for a moment.
She knew, for she watched him the entire time.
Not to test him but because it was difficult to look away from him once her gaze had settled.
The back of him was no less virile and appealing than the front.
His long legs encased in woolen hose, his slender hips and flare of his shoulders all captivated her.
None of the suitors who had tried to win her favor were fashioned like the Cameron Lochiel.
Even if they had been, it would not have mattered to her if his heart were rotten or vile.
No one would ever convince her that he was either of those things.
She finished dressing and went to him. When he moved to face her, she turned her back on him and presented him the untied laces of her bodice.
“Tie them please,” she said. “I canna reach.”
She squeezed her eyes shut when his finger brushed her the nape of her neck.
She trembled. Did he feel it? She felt as if her feet might leave the ground.
He used gentle pressure to pull the laces tighter.
She held her breath as more of his fingers fell against her ribs.
She lifted her hand to her brow and wiped the bead of sweat that had gathered there at his touch.
If she were truly bold as he claimed, she would turn around and press her body to his and hope he would respond by taking her into his tender embrace.
But she was not sexually bold—the thought alone made her heart pound.
She stepped away when he finished tying.
“How was it?” he asked about the stream.
“Exhilarating,” she replied about his touch. “Thank ye fer keeping yer word.”
He nodded, slipping his hands behind his back. “Should we head back?”
“Nae,” she said without hesitation. “Let us sit here fer a bit.”
He bent his knees and sat back down on the tree stump. Ismay thought he looked like some fabled king on his throne.
She joined him on a nearby rock and ran her fingers through her wet hair. She felt his eyes on her but when she looked, he quickly averted his gaze.
“Ye are the color of autumn,” he said, finally giving away his fascination with her.
“And ye are like the winter, thawing in spring.”
He grinned from beneath his brows and Ismay was thankful he did not do it often.
If the simmering seduction that shaped his lips and sparked his eyes were not enough, he rose from the tree stump and went to her.
Without saying a word, he bent again, this time before her and leaned in close enough to kiss her.
He did not kiss her but reached up to touch her hair. “We should return to the castle and let Joan dry yer tresses.”
She shook her head. “I want to stay here for a wee bit longer.”
“Verra well,” he said with tenderness.
“Ismay,” he breathed her name. She responded as if he touched her. “May I—”
“There ye are!” Lewis called out with a smile. “I have been looking fer ye since we met in the Great Hall.”
Constantine clenched his jaw but said nothing in anger to his cousin.
“Is it true? Are we going to fight the Confederation?”
“’Tis possible if they side with John MacKintosh,” the chief told him, to which Lewis let out a boisterous shout of glee.
Constantine didn’t say what he had meant to tell her before their interruption. May he what?
They returned to the castle and Constantine left her to meet up with his kin in the Great Hall.
Ismay spent the rest of the afternoon with Hilary and Joan, the former lamenting that her kin were going to battle against the kin of her betrothed.
Ismay refused to think about Highlanders coming at Constantine with swords and axes.
He had been stabbed once already since she had known him. She prayed he didn’t get stabbed again.
Later, when word came the meeting was over, Constantine did not return to her, but Lachlan found her and let her know that the Lochiel waited for the elders to let them know his decision. He would fight.