Page 21 of Bound to a Highland Beast
“I’m nae scowlin’,” said Tiernan, scowling.
Isabeau simply stared at him, in that judgmental way of hers once again, until Tiernan rolled his eyes and stepped past her.
“Come, princess,” he said. “We have a lot o’ work ahead o’ us.”
Tiernan didn’t expect what came next. Isabeau barreled into him, and though her weight was slight, her momentum almost knocked him off his feet. He stumbled, arms reaching out to hold onto anything he could find only to grasp thin air, and he barely managed to steady himself before he could fall.
“What was that?” he demanded, arms flying up in exasperation.
“Fer callin’ me a princess,” Isabeau said with indignation. “I dinnae care fer yer mockery.”
Though there was no real bite behind her words and the playful nature of her revenge reassured him, Tiernan could tell there was truth behind what she told him. He wondered if it was something she heard often—being labelled a princess or other such terms which aimed to imply she was spoiled or haughty when she, in fact, was not.
“Me lady, then,” he said, giving her a deep bow, hoping his teasing would ease some of the tension. He watched her as she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to suppress a smile, and then gave her one of his own as he stood straight, turning to find his next victim.
She was a fierce thing, a proud creature, and the fact that she stood up for herself even when she feared him made something tighten in his chest. But did she still fear him, he wondered? These weren’t the actions of a scared woman, and perhaps after the short time they had spent together, she had come to be at ease around him.
He hoped that was the case. He hated seeing her frightened and knowing he was the cause of her distress.
By the time the sun set in the horizon, he and Isabeau had spoken to most of the people in the village who seemed like they would have any sort of information. They returned to their roomat the inn and Tiernan brought up a tray of food and drink for them, which they desperately needed after the long day of work. He sat across from her at the small, round table that stood under an equally small window, the two of them sharing the bannocks and cheese and dried meat he had brought.
“That old woman told me she’s seen Constantine often in the village at night,” Isabeau said. “She said he visits a house here often. She says she thinks he has a mistress.”
“Aye, but how much can we trust o’ this?” Tiernan asked. “Old women always talk a lot. How can we ken she’s tellin’ the truth?”
“We cannae,” said Isabeau with a small shrug. “But I think she was tellin’ the truth, at least about seein’ him. She wasnae the only one tae say it.”
That was true, Tiernan thought. Many claimed to have seen Constantine in the village, but again, he couldn’t know how much of it was exaggerated. The general consensus seemed to be that he was somewhere nearby, up north, living in a hut. Others claimed he lived in a cave in the woods. Others still claimed to have never seen him, and others that he was dead.
Those last ones were certainly wrong.
As Isabeau reached for a piece of bread, her hand brushed against Tiernan’s and it was like earlier that day, when her fleeting touch had sent a shiver down his spine. She wasn’t flinching away from him anymore. Talking to her was easy, andhe found himself not only gazing at her like a fool, but even laughing softly every now and then, enjoying her company.
It was his turn to be frightened. He had spent so long building walls around himself to safeguard his vulnerable side. Isabeau had somehow infiltrated them, worming her way inside, just like she had done with everyone else in the village.
Tiernan didn’t like it. His walls were there for a reason and the fact that someone—even Isabeau, who he doubted had any insidious purposes—could penetrate them left him feeling unmoored, like a ship lost to the tide.
Once they finished their dinner, Tiernan wanted nothing more than to sleep. Isabeau shared his sentiment, and as he began to remove the uppermost layer of his clothes, she did the same, turning her back to him to undo the laces. Tiernan turned around, too; he wasn’t going to look. He had more self-control than that.
It lasted approximately five seconds. Then, he peeked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Isabeau’s bared neck, the soft skin there as inviting as a siren song. Her shift covered the rest of her body and she was more modest now than when she had appeared before him with her dress half-done, but the sight of her still made his stomach twist in a knot and his heart race. She was truly beautiful, and it was difficult for him to look away when he had already caught a glimpse.
At least until she turned and caught his gaze, the two of them staring at each other in a weighted silence for what seemed liketoo long to Tiernan. Time stretched, discomfort settling heavy in his stomach, and he tried to come up with an excuse for looking at her like this, when Isabeau simply turned around again and finished taking off her shoes.
She got under the covers without saying another word and Tiernan considered sleeping on the floor, thinking that perhaps it would make the situation less awkward. But when he dared to glance at Isabeau, she occupied only one side of the bed, as if to leave the other for him, and it was then that he decided it would, in fact, be more awkward if he kept his distance.
Slipping under the covers gingerly, Tiernan turned his back to Isabeau and closed his eyes. Thankfully, exhausted as he was, his embarrassment didn’t keep him up for long.
Tiernan woke with a start, bolting upright on the bed. At first, he didn’t know what it was he had heard in his sleep, but he knew something was wrong, and his hand had reached for his knife on the floor, swiping it up and holding it tightly in his grip.
Then, he heard it again; a pained gasp coming from right next to him, as though Isabeau was in agony.
He dropped the knife to the floor with a clattering sound, trying to turn her gently towards him even as his hands were shaking frantically, thinking that something terrible had happened.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s goin’ on?”
Isabeau looked up at him, curling in on herself. “It’s naethin’. Dinnae fash.”
“It doesnae look like naethin’. Tell me.”
