Page 24 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
“Fer what?”
“Fer looking at me as I am,” she said, her hazel eyes meeting his dark ones. “Nae just the trouble I bring, or what I’m worth in a game of power. But me.”
Constantine sensed his well-built defenses shaking. This woman, with her fierce spirit combined with a gentle heart, posed a threat beyond clan politics or family secrets. She was dangerous because she stirred in him desires he had never permitted—connection, trust, and something genuine and enduring.
Rowena smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes and transformed her entire face. For a moment, Constantine forgot about clan business, about his father’s expectations, about the precarious nature of his position. There was only this woman, this moment, this fragile thing growing between them.
“I should let ye get back tae yer work,” Rowena said, beginning to rise.
“Stay.” The word escaped Constantine before he could stop it. “If ye want tae, that is. I can finish this later.”
Rowena settled back into her chair, her heart doing strange things in her chest. “Aye,” she said softly. “I’d like that.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The clash of steel rang through the courtyard as Constantine moved among the MacLean warriors, his blade catching the pale winter light. Rowena stood at the edge of the training ground, ostensibly watching from the castle steps while she worked on mending a torn banner. Her needle moved absently through the fabric, her attention drawn instead to the deadly dance unfolding before her.
Constantine commanded the space with an ease that spoke of years of practice. His movements were sharp and measured, never wasted, each strike and parry flowing into the next with lethal precision. The warriors around him, all seasoned men who more likely had fought in countless battles, struggled to match his pace. He wasn’t merely skilled. He was in complete control, reading his opponents’ movements even before they made them.
“Again,” his voice cut through the morning air, calm and commanding. “Ye’re announcing yer strikes, Duncan. I can see them coming from across the courtyard.”
The younger warrior flushed but nodded, adjusting his stance. Constantine circled him like a predator, his blade held loosely at his side. When Duncan lunged forward, Constantine sidestepped with fluid grace, his sword coming up to tap the man’s ribs; a killing blow, had they been fighting in earnest.
“Better,” Constantine said, stepping back. “But ye’re still thinking too much. Trust yer instincts.”
Rowena found herself holding her breath as she watched.
The way he moves is mesmerizing… he is mesmerizing.
His shirt clung to his frame, damp with sweat despite the cold, and she could see the play of muscle beneath the fabric as he demonstrated a particularly complex maneuver.
“Focus on yer footwork,” Constantine called to another warrior. “Yer sword is only as good as yer foundation.”
He demonstrated the proper stance, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The movement was simple, but there was an elegance to it that spoke of absolute mastery. Rowena watched his legs, noting the way his muscles coiled and released with each step, as well as the rhythm of his breathing as he moved.
The training session lasted another hour, with Constantine pushing his men tirelessly but never harshly. He corrected mistakes patiently, demonstrated techniques accurately, and gradually improved each warrior’s performance. By the time he called an end to the session, the courtyard was filled with tired men, and the sound of metal clashing still echoed in the air.
“Well done,” Constantine said, sheathing his sword. “We shall practice again tomorrow.”
The warriors gradually dispersed, some heading to the kitchens for food, while others tended to their equipment. Constantine stayed behind, wiping down his blade with a cloth, his movements gentle. Rowena watched him from the steps, noticing how he handled his weapon with the same care he gave everything else.
She should have gone inside. But something kept her rooted to the spot even as the courtyard emptied out. When the last warrior disappeared through the archway, curiosity finally won out over propriety.
Rowena glanced around to ensure she was truly alone, then set down her mending and descended the steps. She positioned herself where Constantine had stood, trying to recall the sequence she’d observed.
Left foot forward, weight balanced, then that quick pivot he used tae avoid that lad’s blade.
She attempted the movement, stumbling slightly as she tried to mirror what she’d seen. Too fast. She tried again, slower this time, focusing on the way Constantine’s shoulders had remained level even as his feet moved beneath him.
“Yer stance is too wide.”
Rowena spun around, heat flooding her cheeks as she found Constantine leaning against the archway, arms crossed over his chest. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth, and she realized he’d been watching her fumble through his techniques. Rowena’s heart skipped. “I was only curious,” she said quickly. “I have never seen sword fighting up close before.”
“Never?” Constantine’s eyebrows rose. “Nae even demonstrations? Festivals?”
“Me faither believed in keeping me away from such things,” Rowena said, which was true enough. “He believed a lady ought tae concern herself with more... refined pursuits.”
Constantine nodded slowly.
