Page 28 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
“Ye’re full of surprises,” she said as she moved away from his embrace just enough to look up at him. “What other hidden talents dae ye have?”
Constantine’s smiled. “Ye would like tae ken, would ye nae?”
The words were lightly spoken, but there was something in his tone that made Rowena’s breath catch. She moved away from him slowly, the hem of her now mended dress clutched in her hands, and found herself once again standing too close to him.
“Perhaps I would,” she said softly.
Constantine’s eyes darkened, and she saw his hands clench at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach for her. “Rowena…”
“Aye?” she whispered.
“Ye should go,” his voice rough. “Before I dae something we’ll both regret.”
The words were a warning, but they sent a thrill through her rather than fear. She wanted to ask what he meant, wanted to push against the boundaries he was trying to establish. But something in his expression, a mixture of longing and restraint, made her nod instead.
“Aye,” she said softly. “I should.” She moved toward the door, pausing when she reached it. “Constantine?”
“Aye?”
“Thank ye. Fer everything.”
He nodded, his jaw tight.
Rowena left the small chamber with her heart racing and her thoughts in a state of turmoil. She’d arrived at Duart Castle as a fugitive, seeking nothing more than temporary shelter. But in even a few days, with each interaction with Constantine, she found herself wanting things she’d never dared to want before.
As she made her way back to her chamber, she couldn’t shake the memory of his gentle hands mending her dress, of the way he’d looked at her in that charged moment before she’d fled. Constantine MacLean was a man of contradictions, deadly and gentle, commanding and tender, ruthless and kind.
And despite every logical reason to maintain her distance, she found herself drawn to him like a moth to flame, powerless to resist the pull of something that felt dangerously close to desire.
The thought stopped her cold in the corridor.
What am I daeing?
She pressed her back against the stone wall, her heart racing from the sudden, sharp reminder of her predicament. Constantine wasn’t courting her. And neither was she a foolish lass to fall for his commanding presence. This place was atemporary shelter for her, and she needed to leverage the coverage it offered.
Rowena pushed away from the wall and continued to her chamber, her mind now sharply focused. Her father had cultivated alliances throughout the Highlands, bonds of mutual respect and shared interests that might not extend to her uncle.
Some of those men would be uneasy under Alpin’s rising control, perhaps even suspicious of his sudden ascension to power. Writing letters to them could help Rowena have support.
And if it all came back tae marriage…
The MacDonalds had sons of marriageable age. The Campbells had always been wary of Alpin’s ambitions even before her father’s death. Even the MacLeods might prefer siding with her rather than with her uncle, despite their own political maneuvering. A strategic marriage alliance could provide her with the protection and, unfortunately, the manpower she would need to reclaim what was rightfully hers.
She reached her door and paused, her hand on the latch. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was considering marriage alliances while still warm from Constantine’s embrace. But survival demanded such calculations, and she had been her father’s daughter long enough to understand that the heart was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
Not when everything she had left to lose was still at stake.
CHAPTER NINE
There was no rush in Constantine’s stride as he stepped through the large oak doors, Theo matching his pace at his side. Their boots echoed against the worn flagstones, and five pairs of eyes turned toward him.
He’d chosen to arrive precisely when expected, neither too early to appear eager nor late to seem careless. The council members had arranged themselves around the long table as he’d anticipated: Scott claiming the seat of honor to his right, his weathered hands folded over his scarred knuckles; Tavish positioned where his ancient voice could reach every corner, his walking stick propped against his chair; Ewan centered to observe all reactions, rings glinting as he drummed his fingers; Malcolm sitting directly across, creating the natural tension Constantine had expected; and Dougal Stewart with his ledgers and documents spread before him like shields.
“Gentlemen.” Constantine took his place at the head of the table, not waiting for permission, signaling for Theo to take theseat next to him. The chair was meant to be his half-brother’s, Fergus, a man he’d never met. But now, it was his to claim.
He met each gaze in turn, reading the judgment that simmered beneath civility. Some made an effort to hide it—out of respect for Niall’s wishes, if not for Constantine himself—but he felt the weight of every unspoken doubt.
“Ye called this meeting, lad,” Scott said, his voice graveled from decades of shouting orders. “Best ye tell us why we’re here instead of tendin’ tae our duties.”
