Page 28 of Bound to a Highland Beast
“Ye’re talking tae him,” he said. “Now come in.”
Isabeau couldn’t believe her own eyes. She had heard many things about Constantine, and none of it was flattering, so to see a man like that claim that he was, in fact, him was a shock for which she had not been prepared.
How could he be the fearsome mercenary who had killed more men than anyone else in the Highlands? He looked nothing like what she expected a mercenary to resemble, nor did he act like a mercenary at all. There was something intimidating about him, that much was true, but it was less in the way that a criminal is intimidating and more like a man who would belong in her brother’s council could be frightening.
She wondered if he had once been a noble who had somehow lost his fortune, but had retained his mannerisms, unable to blend in with his new companions. The rest of them, the three men he had revealed by opening the door and the two more Isabeau saw once she stepped inside, seemed to have nothing in common with this man. They were all rugged, covered in scars from head to toe, and Isabeau could hardly bring herself to look them in the eye. With Constantine, it was different; it felt as though she was with one of the people she normally frequented at balls, the kind she had to navigate with grace and hostility camouflaged with politeness, applying diplomacy to put those who were after her brother’s power and riches in their place.
Isabeau lingered by the door as Constantine ushered her inside, waiting for Tiernan to fetch the swords. She was reluctant to part with him for too long near these men, though she doubted they would attempt to hurt her while Tiernan was so close. Still, a weight was lifted from her shoulders when he joined her again, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside and keep her close.
She didn’t need any urging; she couldn’t peel herself away from him if she wanted to.
“Come, sit,” said Constantine, smiling with the kind of warmth that seemed as genuine as it was practiced. Isabeau glanced around at his prompting only to find that there were no chairs for either her or Tiernan, but Constantine was quick to rectify the issue, barking at his men. “Where are yer manners? Give our guests yer seats. They’re weary after a day’s travel.”
“We didnae travel that long,” said Tiernan, waving a hand dismissively. Still, as the men scrabbled to obey Constantine’s orders, all five of them standing from their chairs to give their seats to the two of them, Tiernan took a seat and pulled Isabeau next to him, once again keeping her close. “But thank ye, Mr. Constantine. We appreciate it.”
“Just Constantine,” said the man with a shrug as he took a seat across from them. Behind him, the men shuffled closer, forming a wall with their bodies and attracting Isabeau’s gaze. They all seemed to gravitate towards him, as though he was an irresistible force and they were caught in his orbit, never to escape. “It’s nay bother. It’s me men who have forgotten their manners, an’ fer this, I apologize. Now, I suppose ye’re braither an’ sister? Workin’ together? This isnae a proper line o’ work fer such a lovely young lass as yerself.”
“She’s me wife,” Tiernan grumbled before Isabeau could say a thing. Shocking as it was to hear him speak those words, she was glad he had taken the lead. She didn’t enjoy the way in which Constantine stared at her, like she was a prey he would love to devour. At least with her role as his wife, neither Constantine nor his men would be as eager to touch her, knowing that they could bring forth his wrath.
“Ach,” said Constantine in disappointment. “Is she, truly? A lovely wife, tae be sure.”
“Thank ye,” said Tiernan through gritted teeth, all but spitting out the word. “But I think I’m here tae talk about the swords an’ the plan, nae about me wife.”
For a moment, Constantine only looked at him and Isabeau with a thin smile, head tilted to the side once more as he carefully examined them. For just that moment, Isabeau feared that the two of them would attack each other, throwing themselves at each other like wild animals, but then Constantine only drew in a deep breath and smiled.
“O’ course,” he said. “Ye’re right, ye came all this way fer the swords. May I see them?”
It was a request as much as it was an order, Isabeau could tell. Tiernan reached for the sack and dragged it over towards Constantine, leaving it by his feet, so he could inspect them all. Constantine’s men gathered even closer to take a better look at the blades as he pulled them out one by one, dragging his fingers over the sharp edge before handing them off to his men.
It seemed like a ritual to Isabeau as she watched them. The men treated the blades with reverence, and though she couldn’t exactly say the same for Constantine, there was care in his movements, as though he wanted to keep them pristine and spotless.
These blades will be bathed in blood.
Was it worth it, Isabeau wondered? Beag had forced Tiernan to do this, but Constantine’s life would not be the only one lost in the end.
“This one reminds me o’ a sword I had as a young lad,” said Constantine, though he didn’t seem that old to Isabeau. Perhaps it was his unblemished complexion and the striking features of his face that kept him looking young, but she would have guessed he was around Tiernan’s age. How long had he been in this line of work? How long had he been killing people, taking their lives with no remorse? “A bonnie blade. I used tae be down in Wiltshire back then, I lived there fer a few years. Have ye ever been?”
“Cannae say that I have,” said Tiernan drily.
“Bonnie place, but the Sassenachs… well, I’m sure ye can understand,” said Constantine with a chuckle as he passed another blade back to his men. “Ye’re nae missin’ anythin’. I always said our parts are the bonniest place in the world. But I was there an’ I was workin’ fer this man, some noble or other, an’ he gave me that blade as part o’ me payment. Eventually, I lost it in a storm an’ could never find it again. Fell off me horse or perhaps was washed away when I was in me camp.”
Constantine had a way of speaking that drew everyone around him in. Though Tiernan and Isabeau had only just met him, he was talking to them as though they were old friends, with the same casual air and warmth that Isabeau would give to her family. His charm was infectious, the honeyed baritone of his voice carrying through the air around them and settlingcomfortably over those who listened to him. It was awfully pleasant to be around him, and that was precisely what Isabeau feared the most.
She could see right through him. There was no doubt in her mind that all of this was a performance, but she didn’t know if he was trying to ensnare them, to pull them into some sort of trap, or if he was trying to charm them just to hold their favor. Either way, she and Tiernan had to be cautious, stay alert. Constantine didn’t strike her as a fool. There was no doubt in her mind that he didn’t trust either of them and that he would be watching them closely. Fooling him would be no easy task.
“Finlay!” Constantine shouted then, making Isabeau flinch in surprise. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tiernan’s hand twitch, as though he was eager to reach for his dagger and only just managed to stop himself in time. “Get Tiernan an’…”
Neither Isabeau nor Tiernan made any effort to provide Constantine her name. The silence stretched in the room, but in the end, Constantine only smiled and continued.
“Tiernan an’ his wife some food an’ ale,” he said. “They’re our guests. Remember yer manners.”
One of the men in the group, the youngest one by the looks of it, was quick to obey. He walked over to the other end of the small room, where the men had set up a makeshift kitchen, and began to pile food on two plates with no complaint, making sure that there was plenty of it. Isabeau didn’t miss the way Tiernan watched him, too, like a hawk preparing to dive at the firstsign of danger. He was right to mistrust them all; though they appeared welcoming and civilized, Isabeau knew better than to be fooled by appearances.
The plates of food the man placed in front of them were far more appetizing and plentiful than what they had found at the inn where they had stayed and in any village they had visited in their quest. Still, Isabeau glanced at it with some apprehension, wondering if there was any chance the men had somehow tampered with it, unlikely as it seemed. Tiernan grabbed the cup of ale placed in front of him, taking a tentative sip, and nodded subtly as if to let her know it was safe to drink.
“This one seems tae me that it needs some sharpenin’,” said Constantine as he ran his hand over one of the blades. To Isabeau, it seemed sharp as any other, but when he handed it to Tiernan, he stood without complaint.
“Dae ye have a whetstone?” he asked him.
