Page 30 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
Scott’s scarred face showed grudging respect. “If the lass proves true and ye could win her willing consent, the alliance would benefit both clans.”
Dougal cleared his throat, his practical mind cutting through. “What provisions have ye made fer her maintenance? Noble guests require certain standards, and if her stay extends beyond a few days…”
“She’s proven useful already,” Constantine replied, grateful for the shift to practical matters. “She insisted on helpin’ in the kitchens as thanks fer our hospitality. The lass has skills beyond her noble birth.”
“A noblewoman in kitchens?” Malcolm’s eyebrows rose. “That suggests either unusual humility or recent desperation.”
“Perhaps, but it speaks tae character. She’ll nae sit idle while others provide fer her needs."
Tavish nodded approvingly. “Yer grandmaither was much the same. Noble-born but willing tae help alongside the common folk.”
The comparison sent an unexpected warmth through Constantine’s chest. Constantine didn’t know his grandmother, but of all the names his mother spoke after their departure, hers was the only one laced with affection. The stories of her kindness and strength had shaped his understanding of what a true lady could be. Parts of him wondered how such a woman could have raised a man like Niall MacLean, but he brushed the thought off.
“The question remains,” Ewan pressed, “what happens when other clans learn we’re sheltering the MacKenzie heir? Word will spread, especially if we’re seen supporting her claim.”
“Nay one kens Rowena is under our protection. We’ll deal with those consequences when they arise,” Theo pointed out.
“And if Alpin comes demanding her return?” Malcolm asked. “He’s her kin, after all. He could claim legal right.”
“Then we bargain with the man,” Constantine said. “Finlay should return within the week. When he daes, we’ll have facts instead of speculation. Until then, the MacKenzie lass remains under our protection, and anyone who questions that decision can bring their concerns tae me directly.”
The conviction in his voice seemed to surprise them, marking the end of debate. One by one, the council members nodded their acceptance, some more grudgingly than others, but acceptance nonetheless.
As the meeting began to dissolve, Scott lingered behind the others. “Ye handled that well, lad,” he admitted gruffly. “But dinnae think the marriage question will disappear just because ye avoided it today. If the lass proves legitimate and unmarried, the pressure will only grow.”
Constantine met the older man’s gaze steadily. “I ken that. But when that time comes, the choice will be mine tae make, nae the Council’s or me faither’s.”
The old warrior departed, leaving Constantine with the weight of leadership settling more firmly on his shoulders.
Outside, winter wind rattled the shutters, and somewhere in the castle, Rowena MacKenzie waited for word of her fate. Constantine found himself wondering what choice she would make when the time came, and whether his own will would hold any sway in it.
CHAPTER TEN
The following evening, his father had filled the great hall with councilmen, his household, and favored allies. Constantine surveyed the crowded room from his position near the high table.
Years of mercenary work had taught him to read terrain, and tonight the familiar stone walls seemed to press closer, the shadows deeper. His eyes automatically catalogued exits—the main doors, the servants’ passage, the narrow stair that led to the battlements—old habits from foreign courts where a careless moment could mean death.
“Quite the gathering yer faither’s assembled,” Scott remarked, settling his battle-scarred frame into the chair beside Constantine with a grunt that spoke of old wounds. “Havenae seen the hall this full since Fergus’s funeral feast, rest his soul.”
Constantine’s gaze drifted toward where Rowena stood with Lilias. Even in the crowded hall, he tracked her movements with the precision of a hunter. She looked regal tonight, dressed in agreen frock that was cinched around her waist in a manner that drew attention to her chest and hips.
The lass is striking without even trying.
It shouldn’t have made a difference to him. But his gaze kept tracking her all the same.
“Aye,” Constantine replied, his attention split between the conversation and the way candlelight caught the copper threads in Rowena’s hair. He wanted to run a hand over it and see if it was as soft as it looked.
Niall sat in his carved chair twenty paces away. Since their last conversation, the sickness had taken a clear toll on his father. He was worn down by constant headaches, sleepless nights, and little appetite. His eyes, visibly sunken, gave him the look of a man already half in the grave.
And yet, despite his worsening state, he had summoned this gathering, looking rather animated. That alone set Constantine on edge. Whatever his father meant to say that night, it wasn’t something he’d been willing to speak of in private. And that made Constantine wary.
“What purpose would ye suppose we’re gathered fer?” Constantine asked, though he suspected Scott already knew the answer. In his experience, dying men became either saints or devils, and Niall had never shown much inclination toward sainthood.
“Hard tae say. But when a sick man suddenly calls fer celebration…” Scott shrugged, the gesture pulling at the scar that ran from his left shoulder to his elbow. “Best prepare ourselves fer surprises.”
“I’ve had enough surprises tae last a lifetime,” Constantine muttered, thinking of old ambushes in mountainous passes and betrayals in foreign castles. At least there, he’d known his enemies by sight and could meet them with steel. Here, the daggers were hidden behind smiles and family obligations.
Constantine caught sight of Malcolm making his way through the crowd, his warrior’s bearing evident in every step. Constantine’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly, shoulders squaring in the automatic response he’d learned when facing potential challenges in hostile territories.
