Page 31 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
“Constantine,” Malcolm nodded. “Quite the celebration. Yer faither seems in fine spirits taenight.”
“Aye, he daes,” Constantine’s replied.
“Any word on when we might expect news from yer scouts?” Malcolm pressed, settling uninvited into the vacant chair next to Scott. “The Council is growing restless fer answers about our... guest.”
“When there’s news worth sharin’, ye’ll hear it,” Constantine replied. “Until then...”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened slightly, a reaction Constantine filed away for future reference. “Of course. Though some might wonder at the wisdom of sheltering potential threats without kennin’ their true nature.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge. But this wasn’t a battlefield, and Malcolm wasn’t truly an enemy.
He’s just a man testing boundaries, trying tae provoke me.
“Some might,” Constantine agreed, his voice deceptively calm as he reached for his ale cup. “But those would be wise tae remember that decisions about Duart’s security rest with me now.”
Malcolm’s color rose slightly, but he nodded. “Aye, they would. I meant nae offense.”
“None taken,” Constantine replied, though his eyes remained cold. “We all want what’s best fer the clan.”
“Indeed we dae.” Malcolm rose from his chair, the movement sharp with barely controlled irritation. “I’ll leave ye tae yer evening, then.”
With Malcolm making his way across the hall, Constantine’s gaze drifted again and found Rowena. She was laughing at something Lilias had said, her face brightening in a way that made his chest tighten. The sound carried across the hall like music.
For a moment, he found himself wondering what it was that amused her. And whether he’d ever be able to draw that same sound from her.
Theo, sitting next to him, seemed to notice. Without looking directly at him and careful to keep his voice low enough that Scott wouldn’t catch it, he leaned in. “Ye’re walking dangerous ground,” he murmured.
Across the hall, Rowena felt the familiar flutter in her stomach as Constantine’s attention settled on her again. The sensation was becoming troublesome in its consistency, keeping her mind away from her main focus, which should have been finding alliances she could leverage against her uncle.
Yet the way her pulse quickened when Constantine entered a room and how her skin seemed to burn wherever he’d accidentally brushed against her, didn’t help her.
“Ye’re distracted again,” Lilias observed, following Rowena’s line of sight with knowing eyes. “And dinnae try tae tell me ye’re just tired. I’ve seen tired, and this isnae it.”
Since the day Lilias had brought her the warm pie, the girl had begun to seek her out more often in those quiet hours around the keep. Rowena found she didn’t mind it. Lilias was sharp, kind without being cloying, and her presence made the place feel a shade less unfamiliar.
Still, Rowena tried to maintain a careful distance. She would not remain there long, and forming attachments would serve no purpose. Whatever bond was beginning to stir between them, it was not reason enough to confess the thoughts she had no business entertaining about her half-brother.
“I dinnae ken what ye mean,” Rowena replied and looked at her, but the protest sounded weak even to her own ears.
“The way ye keep lookin’ at Constantine when ye think nay one’s watchin’,” Lilias said with the brutal honesty of youth.
Heat crept up Rowena’s neck. “That’s ridiculous.”
Hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere, she cast one last glance toward Constantine. He was sitting with ease, speaking to the man she recalled as Theo. His posture was composed and his presence impossible to ignore. For someone who, from what she’d gathered, had not been there for long, he looked as though he belonged.
“Why did he come here?” she asked Lilias.
“When Fergus died, Faither sent word that Constantine was needed at home, that the clan required an heir since Faither has been struggling of late.” Her voice grew bitter. “Though he’s made it clear enough that Constantine’s legitimacy comes with conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
Before Lilias could answer, the hall began to quiet. Rowena looked up to see Niall MacLean rising from his chair, one hand gripping his walking stick while the other lifted his ale cup high. The laird’s eyes swept the room with the satisfaction of a man about to spring a carefully laid trap.
“Friends, kinsmen, loyal MacLeans,” Niall’s voice carried across the suddenly hushed hall with surprising strength. “Gather close, fer I have news that will warm yer hearts on this cold winter night.”
Constantine straightened in his chair, every instinct suddenly alert. Something in his father’s tone sent warning bells clanging in his mind. The sensation was familiar, like the moment before an ambush when the very air seemed to hold its breath.
“What’s the old bastard up tae now?” Theo muttered under his breath, moving slightly closer in the unconscious protective formation they’d perfected.
