Page 32 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
“Naethin’ good,” Constantine replied, his eyes fixed on his father’s face.
Niall savored the attention for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until every eye in the hall was fixed on him. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the theatrical grandeur of a man who understood the power of timing.
“As ye all ken, these have been dark times fer our clan. The loss of me beloved son Fergus left us all wounded, uncertain of what the future might hold.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. Even in death, Constantine felt as if the the golden heir’s shadow was still looming over him. The familiar resentment burned in his chest.
“But taenight,” Niall declared, his voice rising with practiced oratory, “taenight I can announce that I have decided tae formally recognize me son Constantine as me legitimate heir and the rightful laird of Duart.”
Α low murmur rippled through the room, noisy in its restraint. Glances passed between Niall and Constantine, who sat on opposite sides of the table, the space between them filled with whispers that moved like wind through dry grass.
“Furthermore,” Niall continued, clearly reveling in the drama he’d orchestrated, “I’m pleased tae announce that Constantine has found himself a noble lass tae wed, worthy of our name!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rowena stood frozen as the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. The only eligible noblewoman under Duart’s roof, the only one who could fit Niall’s announcement, was her.
It cannae be…
“Nay,” she whispered, but the word was lost in the celebration around her. She felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath her feet, as if she were falling into a pit she hadn’t seen until it was too late to save herself.
“Rowena?” Lilias grabbed her arm, concern creeping into her voice as she saw the color drain from her friend’s face. “What’s wrong? Are ye okay?”
Rowena felt sick, betrayed, manipulated in the cruelest possible way. All those moments with Constantine, all those stolen glances and careful conversations, the growing sense of safetyand perhaps something more—had it all been part of some elaborate trap?
The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound. Constantine had saved her, sheltered her, made her feel safe for the first time since fleeing her uncle’s control. Had every moment of understanding between them been calculated? Had his kindness been nothing more than bait in a snare she’d been too foolish to see?
She had allowed herself to grow relaxed, had welcomed the attention and care Duart Castle had offered her and now it seemed like her folly was catching up to her. Rowena turned and fled from the room, and heavy upon her heart was the weight of betrayal.
I need tae get away from here.
Rowena drew a breath that did little to steady the tumult in her breast. She excused herself and freed her arm from Lilias’ grasp. Without another word, she slipped from the press of bodies and started walking with no destination in mind. She went where her feet would carry her, anywhere the walls didn’t hem her in like a gaol.
Constantine felt the blood drain from his face as the announcement crashed over him like a winter wave.
This was political maneuvering at its most vicious, and he recognized his father’s hand in every calculated word. The public declaration made it impossible to refuse without seeming ungrateful, while the timing—in front of the entire assembled clan—made any objection appear treasonous.
Some people applaud, but Constantine heard it as if from a great distance. His vision narrowed to his father’s triumphant face, and fury surged through his veins.
“What did ye say?” The words came out of Constantine’s mouth before he could stop them. He would not lash out at his father before an audience for something they had never agreed upon. That would be a fool’s move, and he had no doubt Niall was counting on his temper to betray him.
He drew a slow breath and wrapped his hand around his ale cup, letting the motion ground him, the strain in his grip betraying what he would not show in his face.
“I said,” Niall replied with false joviality, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction, “that ye shall be betrothed soon. Surely ye remember discussin’ this with me, son?”
The old man’s smile was sharp as a blade, and Constantine recognized the look. He’d seen it on the faces of commanders who’d sent good men to die for political gain, on nobles who’d traded lives for territory, on allies who’d revealed their true nature only when the daggers were already drawn.
Constantine took a slow draught of wine, bracing himself against the tempest rising within before he gave voice to words he would regret. The wine tasted like ash in his mouth as his father’s words echoed in his ears.
“Did ye ken about this?” Theo appeared at his elbow, voice low and concerned.
“Nay,” Constantine replied, his voice tight. “I had nae idea.”
Theo’s brows drew together. “But surely?—”
“I’ve rejected every marriage arrangement he’s tried tae foist upon me since I arrived,” Constantine cut him off, watching as his father basked in the clan’s approval. “Political alliances, dowry negotiations—I’ve refused them all.”
“Then who—" Theo began, but Constantine was already scanning the crowd, a cold dread settling in his stomach. His gaze found Rowena across the room, and his heart clenched at what he saw.
