Chapter Twenty-Two
Constantine came to with the coming of dawn a day later. Beneath him, a soft bed cushioned his back. Ismay! He opened his eyes and leaned up on one elbow to have a look around.
The room was rustic, more like the room of an inn but with ceiling rafters of oak and spider webs. He tried to move and leave the bed, but pain shot up his side and through his belly.
He didn’t give a damn about the pain. Every moment that Ismay was with MacRae, the danger to her increased. Clenching his teeth, he slid his legs off the bed. The wooden floor was cold on his bare feet.
Who took his boots off?
He closed his eyes against the pain and stood to his feet.
The door to the room opened. Molly Frazier, one of the elder villagers from Gairlochy entered the room carrying a tray. When she saw Constantine awake and standing, she nearly dropped the food she carried.
“Lochiel! Return to yer bed this instant!” she ordered—but gently. “Do ye want to pass oot again?” She hurried inside, set the tray on the wide seat of a nearby chair, and then went to him.
“How did I get here?” he asked her while she tugged on his shirt.
“Ye should be worried about yer wound opening again. The good Lord was surely on yer side when old Andrew the healer crossed the loch on his way to Craigmor Hamlet and stopped here. He was able to patch ye up, but he worries ye will tear it open again.”
“I canna stay here—”
“But ye must, Lochiel,” she insisted and gave him a gentle push down.
“Molly, I have known ye fer over two decades,” he said on a warning growl. “Let me up or I will push ye oot of my way.”
She moved aside immediately, and Constantine secretly felt terrible about frightening her.
“I have to find her.”
“Ismay Drummond?” Molly asked.
Word hadn’t reached Gairlochy that Ismay was the famous child who slew the mighty chief MacDonald. If MacRae didn’t hurt her, someone else taking revenge would.
“He went to search fer her. Ye are to stay here and recover some. Please, Lochaber needs ye.”
Constantine gritted his teeth. Then, finally, shook his head. “I have to—Who went to find her?”
“Och, Lochiel,” she admonished, finding her courage to place her hands on his shoulders to push him back down. “Ye were in such a poor state. We all thought we lost ye. But he….”
Constantine hated himself for passing out again.
Who in blazes went to find his wife?
“Ismay,” his voice echoed in the darkest chamber of his heart. Where are ye, my love. Please…“Come back to me.”
The silence of his dream drove him mad until—he opened his eyes. Golden firelight softened the blare of his solemn wakefulness. Outside the window, moonlight shone into the room.
Ismay.
He felt someone’s presence and looked into the shadowed corner. He put his hand to his side, where he usually carried his dirk. It wasn’t there. “Step forward,” he commanded like a king from his bed.
A man stepped into the candlelight.
When Constantine saw his steward, confusion fogged his sleepy thoughts. All but one. “Did ye find her?”
Hugh shook his head. “Not yet.”
“How hard are ye lookin’?”
His steward came closer and pulled a chair with him. “I am only able to travel as far as it takes to be able to return here to ye at night and make certain ye live.”
“Dinna worry over me, Hugh!” Constantine couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Didn’t Hugh dislike him? “Go and find her. We are losing her trail by letting time pass by while we do nothin’!”
He swung his legs off the bed and ignoring a wave of dizziness, stood to his feet. “I will find her myself.”
“Lochiel—”
“What is it with ye, hmm, Hugh? What were ye doin’ in that house the night Ismay escaped with her life from the nearby barn? If ye were innocent, why did ye run?”
Hugh frowned at what he was hearing. “I left the study after an argument with the man at the desk. I didna even see ye until I spotted ye and Ismay on the road. I knew she was safe, so I left.”
“What were ye doin’ there?”
Hugh squirmed in the chair and looked up at the rafters. “Lochiel…the owner of that house is my uncle, Padrig MacDonald.”
“Why does that cause ye such affliction?” Constantine asked him.
His steward sighed and continued. “He wanted me to bring her to him, so I did. But then…I regretted my decision. I was trying to talk him out of his plans, but he wouldna listen. That’s when ye showed up.”
“What were his plans?”
“To kill her. Stone her at dawn as she should have been stoned the first time, to be precise.”
Constantine stopped wrapping his plaid around himself. His heart stopped. He was sure of it. His thoughts faded. They knew. The MacDonalds knew who she was. He stared at Hugh wanting to kill him. “I should have killed him,” he said of Hugh’s uncle Padrig.
“Aye, ye should have.”
“I should kill ye fer tellin’ him who she is.” Constantine’s threat was spoken on a clenched growl.
“Aye, ye should,” Hugh agreed. “But I plead with ye fer my life, Lochiel. I cared fer ye and yer brother fer sixteen years. I am not so much older than ye, but I was always loyal to ye. When ye wed Lady Alison, I loved her as I loved ye. I never even thought about my kin in other parts of the Highlands. But when I first saw Ismay, I knew who she was. I knew my clan had never stopped looking fer her. I thought I was doing the right thing by delivering her to them.”
“What?” Constantine asked, in stunned disbelief. “Ye knew who she was? How would ye know that?” he demanded, then continued with a clenched jaw. “Ye expect me to believe ye willna hand her over this time?”
“I already had the chance,” Hugh said with remorse lining his voice.
“I have come to care fer her well-being. She is kindhearted and she smiles often and with ease. I willna let anyone or anything hurt her. But…ye are here in dire straits and I find myself caring fer ye too much to leave to go find her.”
Constantine wasn’t sure what he should say or how he should react to such words. Aye, she smiled often and with ease.
He almost lost his senses completely for a moment when he wanted to smile thinking of her. He could decide what to do about Hugh later. For now, he had one purpose and as long as he was breathing nothing would stop him.
“I have to find her.”
“I will find her,” Hugh tried to assure him.
But Constantine already started for the door, albeit grimacing as he went. “Ye are here and we are wastin’ time.”
*
Ismay sat propped in the saddle of MacRae’s horse while they traveled closer to Beauly.
Where was Constantine? She thought, looking up. What was taking him so long to come to her? Mayhap he was dead, after all. Tears blurred the stars and she wiped her eyes quickly. She wouldn’t let such terrible thoughts fill her head. Constantine was alive. He was coming.
MacRae was terrified of him. It enraged him that he should run like a frightened rat in the dark and in his rage, he often struck her. She didn’t care. His terror was the one thing that made Ismay happy in the last few days. She made sure to remind him that the Lochiel was coming for him.
They traveled mostly at night to avoid being spotted by the “cursed Camerons.” But Ismay left something small behind every time they stopped.
Yesterday, when her captor saw that one of her shoes was missing he slapped her hard in the face.
He promised to strip her naked and bury her clothes if she tried it again.
She didn’t. At least, not with her clothes.
An hour later, just before the sun came up and MacRae was busy looking out for the Golden Crow Inn, or an abandoned stable—or a certain Cameron, she saw a large patch of thistles growing in the middle of the early winter frost. She stopped the horse and slid out of the saddle, then hurried towards the vivid purple flower heads.
Fancifully, she told herself the thistle was always there to remind her how strong she was.
“What do ye think ye are doing running away from me?” MacRae demanded, catching up with her. “Why are ye smiling?”
She couldn’t keep her smile from deepening. She knew he would get angry that she was happy. She was counting on it.
Without answering him, she bent and started plucking the stems from the earth. She was sorry for not leaving the thistle alone, but she needed help. When she held a small bouquet in her hands and lifted them to her nose, he smacked them away. They went sprawling to the ground.
“Get back on the horse,” he commanded, giving her a shove between her shoulder blades. “I dinna trust ye not to drop yer under garments as a means to guide him on our path. If ye do,” she heard the smile in his voice behind her, “I will be sure to freely take what ye exposed.”
“I can assure ye,” she said under her breath, “’twillna be free.”
“What?”
“Hmm?” She looked at him over her shoulder, and then a hair’s breadth passed him to the thistle scattered on the ground.
Dolt.
Find me, Constantine.
They entered Cannich, a village a little over eight leagues west of Beauly and stopped at the Golden Crow Inn to sleep for the day.
So far, the dolt hadn’t tried to have her in his bed. She suspected it was because she warned him if tried to have his way with her, the Lochiel would likely cut him to pieces—if she didn’t snatch one of his knives and do it herself.
The MacRae chief didn’t get a room or share one with her. Instead, he set up a chair outside her door and slept there. Unlike Constantine, he didn’t guard her door to keep others out, but to keep her in. The only window in the room had shutters that were nailed shut.
She didn’t sleep long when the sound of the lock keeping her captive opened. She sat up, struggling to see through her tired eyes. But she didn’t need eyes to recognize the delicate footfall of her mother.
“Ismay, ye look ghastly,” Marjorie MacPherson remarked, entering the room. MacRae was behind her, but she slammed the door shut in his face.