Chapter Twenty #2
We know why ye might refuse to release her, but she is our kin and we willna stand idly by while ye punish the woman.
She was, at the time of her killing Chief Roderick MacDonald of Glencoe, just a wee child.
The death was an accident, we are certain.
If ye harm a single hair on her head, we will go to battle with all of ye.
Release her or we will come take her from ye. ”
When the messenger finished, Constantine understood why some kings killed their messengers.
This one before him couldn’t be speaking the truth.
She was a MacPherson? Daughter of Baron John MacPherson, the man rumored to have harbored the Chief MacDonald’s murderer?
He turned to her, as her words echoed in his head.
I became a murderer.
She was the wee gel in the stories told around the fires about the mighty Chief MacDonald.
She’d lied to him all along. Why? Fear most likely. She was a Highlander. She knew Highlanders held long grudges. For killing their chief, they might demand her blood as payment.
She had lied to him about her name. She knew MacPhersons were part of the Chattan and enemies to the Camerons. He could understand her deceit in it all.
Still, hadn’t she claimed to trust him?
Her deceit proved she didn’t.
He wanted to tell her he didn’t believe it, but her face was drained of color. He thought she might fall to the ground and took a step closer to her.
She moved away, breaking his heart.
It was true then.
He turned to look around at his kin. Empty stares, void of any emotions met his gaze. Then, as the truth dawned on them the way it had on him, anger, betrayal, and silent accusations filled the void.
She was an enemy of his clan. She had deceived them, pretending to be a Drummond. What should he say? He hadn’t known the truth either.
Surely, they would not turn on her just because she bore the name of the man who adopted her. It wasn’t that she was born a MacPherson.
He snatched up her hand and pulled her forward to the castle. “Come with me.”
This couldn’t be, he thought while pulling her along. So, she was a MacPherson in name only. But she was not just any MacPherson. She was the MacPherson lass who had killed Roderick MacDonald.
Constantine knew the chief had abused her. He knew she had been a child, but his kin, or at least some of them, would not forgive her for killing one of their chiefs.
When they entered the castle, Constantine still didn’t say a word to her. He held her hand while he climbed the stairs and then led her to his private solar.
“Ye killed Roderick MacDonald,” he said after he closed the door.
“I didna know that was his full name. I knew him only as ‘Chief MacDonald.’”
“Why did ye no’ tell me the man ye killed was a MacDonald?” he pressed. He kept his voice neutral, despite the fear of his kin’s revenge. He’d vowed to protect her, but could he end any one of his kins’ lives?
“I would likely have been killed if yer kin found out,” she defended. “At the verra least, I would have been thrown out of Tor Castle.”
“I thought ye wanted to leave all along.”
She wrung her hands together and didn’t answer right away. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to tell her not to fear. He would speak to his kin. All would be well. But he wasn’t sure of it.
“Ye deceived me, lass,” he said softer, more quietly than he intended. It was the worst part of it all. He thought she trusted him. It was the light that pushed everything else forward. “Did ye believe I would harm ye?”
“Fergive me fer deceiving ye, Constantine. I didna know ye well enough to assume how ye would react.
“Whatever I wanted before is no’ the same anymore,” she went on. “I want to stay here. With ye. I dinna want to have to run anymore, or lose someone I love again.”
He wanted to go to her, but his feet would not let him. Was there anything else she hadn’t told him?
Someone rapped on the door. Before Constantine could give entry, his cousin Hilary threw open the door. When her eager gaze found Ismay, her expression darkened.
“Is it true, then?” she demanded. “Did ye kill my great uncle Roderick MacDonald?”
Ismay’s color drained again, and it was like seeing the sun through a cloak of charcoal clouds.
“Hil,” Constantine warned her in a low voice.
His cousin threw him a stunned glare. “Does it not matter to ye, Cousin?”
“Do ye know what ’twill do to everyone when they find out ye have sold yer soul to the enemy?”
“Hilary,” Ismay interrupted quietly, her voice tainted with guilt. “I dinna want to be yer enemy. I—”
“Are friends deceitful to each other, Ismay?” Hilary snapped at her. “Aye, we are enemies—no matter what my traitor cousin feels fer ye.” She turned for the door, giving up her fight and leaving in a hurry.
“Roderick MacDonald’s servants took me in when I was two summers old,” Ismay’s words stopped her. “I was raised in the kitchens with the other scullery maids.”
“Why did ye not tell me before this?” Hilary asked her, sounding less angry.
“The chief began striking me when I was four,” Ismay told her, continuing on.
“If I was slow to a task, I was punished. Many times I had to eat a taste of his food before he did to ensure that I would die rather than him if ’twas poisoned.
If I refused, I was punished. I only refused once.
Most times I wished ’twas poisoned. I was punished fer everything. I grew wishing I would die.”
Hilary turned her stricken gaze to her cousin, but Constantine was quiet, hearing the full weight of Ismay’s tale.
“When I was eight years old, he dragged me to his room, but he didna hit me.
I would have rathered he killed me. He threw me to his bed and when he came near, I took hold of his dirk and sliced it across his neck.
When I fled his room covered in blood, it was quickly discovered what I had done.
I was promptly dragged outside and tossed into the square.
More and more people were hearing of what happened and they gathered with the rest until there was a crowd.
A few picked up stones, and then the rest followed, shouting that I was a murderer.
They were going to kill me. But no rock was thrown.
I was rescued by a man passing through the burgh.
He took me away from my would-be executioners and raised me as his own.
His name was John MacPherson, Baron of Raigmore.
He left the earth and his bereaved daughter four months ago.
“After being promised to another cruel man, I fled my father’s home and my betrothed. And ended up here.”
Hilary wiped her eyes and sniffed deeply. “Och, Ismay, I didna know yer life had been so…”
“’Tis better now,” Constantine’s bride told her.
“Fergive me fer being so cruel and cold to ye,” Hilary cried and ran into Ismay’s arms.
Watching them, Constantine prayed the rest of his kin would be so forgiving.
He quickly got rid of his cousin by practically pushing her out the door.
Locking the door behind him, he turned to Ismay and motioned for her to have a seat on one of the carved chairs facing the hearth.
He poured them both a cup of spiced mead from the clay jug on the small table behind her chair.
“If ye hadna killed him, I would have ridden oot to do it myself,” he told her, coming around her and handing her a cup. “He didna deserve…” He stopped himself, biting down on his teeth. His Creator knew what kind of man Constantine could be. Constantine preferred that Ismay remain ignorant of it.
“I intend to help ye ferget those days,” he promised, debating whether or not he should fall on his knees before her or sit in the chair facing hers.
“Ye already have,” she told him softly and with warmth spreading to the depths of her eyes while he sat. “I could never love ye as I do if ye didna make me ferget the past. Ye brought yer radiance and lit up those dark corners, exposing them, and helping me vanquish them.”
Hearing this, he slipped out of his chair and bent his knees before her.
“Bonnie Ismay, we may be facin’ difficult days ahead from some of my kin. But I will protect ye from all. I will stay by ye and destroy anyone who tries to take ye from me.”
She nodded and he knew she believed him. It made his desire to protect her even more passionate.
“What shall we do about everyone out there?”
His gaze revealed another promise. One more inviting and intimate. “Let them wait.”
He moved up her body until their lips met in an eager, urgent kiss that left them both breathless.
*
Ismay stood at the door to Constantine’s solar, ready, after tidying her appearance and blushing when Constantine cast her scandalous smile. She smoothed her skirts and patted her hair, then nodded. Whatever was to come from the Camerons and the MacDonalds, she would face head on.
When he opened the door, she stepped out with him close behind. Would he protect her from his kin? She didn’t want him to have to.
Joan appeared on the other side of her when she stepped into the hall. Her friend did not say anything. She simply smiled and gave Ismay more courage to continue on.
Ismay was thankful that Hilary had forgiven her, and more thankful for Joan’s silence.
She cut her glance to Constantine walking on her right.
His first reaction was quiet rage—the kind that made so many of his enemies drop their weapons and run.
His subsequent reaction was vowing to continue to protect her.
She loved him. There was no point in denying or doubting it. She loved how he felt like a mountain—her Ben Nevis, mayhap—beside her, and how his shapely mouth relaxed when he set his dark mahogany eyes on her.
He flicked his gaze to her now and grinned at her appraisal.
She giggled into her hand like a milkmaid who had attracted the most handsome man in the village.
When they stepped into the Great Hall, Ismay’s gaze fell to Constantine’s table.
There, Geoffry and Fionn MacDonald sat drinking as they usually did.
Lachlan’s smile widened on Joan when he saw her.
Lewis eyed her narrowly, and then, seeming to come to some conclusion in his head, he dipped his chin in repentance.
Hilary was there, sitting across from Geoffry. Her eyes were red and puffy when she waved at Ismay and beckoned her forward.
Almost everyone who set eyes on her offered her a pitying look. Hilary must have told them about their dear relative, Roderick MacDonald.
If it helped them forgive her, then good. Let them all know. But they did, and some of them glared at her as if she were an unwelcome intruder. But their Lochiel’s glare was darker and more dangerous, so they looked away.
She was happy to see Father Langley there and agreed with a joyful heart when he offered to finish their wedding ceremony.
That night, when the food and drinks stopped flowing and laughter turned to silence, Lewis asked if she was truly only eight when the incident took place.
She answered all their questions having nothing more to hide. They were her kin now and she loved the ones at her table.
“No one there came to yer aid?” Geoffry asked her with a distasteful slant of his lips.
“And find themselves at the end of his sword?” She shook her head. “Nae, no one came to my aid.”
Constantine let the others ask her questions because he knew she could take it. They had a right to know.
Twice, she met his gaze and smiled as if he were the only man in the world. He was the only one who mattered. She couldn’t wait for the night to be over so she could be alone with him and promise to love until thistles no longer bloomed.
But before they all retired and Constantine took his wife to bed, a guest appeared at the castle doors.
When Hilary saw her betrothed, John MacBain she ran to him, elated. “Darling, what brings ye here at this time of night?”
“May I enter?” he asked before coming inside.
Constantine took a step forward. John MacBain paled and stepped back. Almost out of the castle, but Ismay stayed his hand. This was the one Hilary loved. For that, Constantine needed to hear him.
“Fergive me, my love,” MacBain said softly to Hilary.
“What should I fergive, John?”
He pushed on the open door and pulled it wide. Immediately, two hundred men came rushing inside, weapons drawn. They were MacPhersons, MacKintoshes, and others from the Chattan Confederation.
Just as quickly, Ismay was pushed behind Constantine. They both looked up at the long sword descending on them.