Page 36 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
Rowena looked up, offering him a slight smile that felt more natural than it should have. “Good morning, Constantine.” There was something about his presence that should have made her wary—he was larger than most men, with the controlled stillness of someone accustomed to violence. Yet instead of the familiar dread her uncle had inspired, she felt... safe. The realization was both comforting and deeply unsettling.
“I was just telling Rowena about the festival preparations,” Lilias said brightly. “The harvest celebration is only a fortnight away, and?—”
“Perhaps that can wait,” Constantine interrupted, his attention fixed on Rowena. “I thought ye might like tae see more of Duart today. Get a proper sense of what... what life here entails.”
The unspoken words hung in the air between them.What life as his wife would entail.
Rowena felt heat rise in her cheeks. This wasn’t a courtship. Constantine had never presented it as such. This was a political alliance, pure and simple. Yet the fact that he wanted her to understand what she’d be choosing, that he cared about her decision being informed... it warmed something inside her.
“Aye, I’d like that,” she said, setting down her cup.
“Excellent.” Lilias clapped her hands together. “I can show ye the herb gardens, and the weaving rooms, and?—”
“Actually,” Constantine’s voice carried an authority that made his sister pause, “I thought tae give the tour meself.”
Understanding flickered in Lilias’s dark eyes, followed by a knowing smile that made Rowena’s cheeks burn hotter. “Of course. I have duties of me own tae attend tae anyway.” She rose, kissing Rowena’s cheek with a conspiratorial whisper. “Enjoy yerselves.”
Once they were alone, Constantine gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
Rowena stood, smoothing her skirts. She’d chosen a practical dress of deep green wool deliberately—beautiful but suitable for walking. It was merely a coincidence that Constantine was there, but she was glad she had dressed well.
“Where would ye like tae start?” she asked as they stepped into the corridor.
“The great hall, I think. ‘Tis the heart of any castle.”
It took a few minutes to get there, and the silence between them hung heavy.
Rowena wondered, if she agreed to this marriage, would Constantine truly help her reclaim her birthright? Would he honor his word, or would she simply be trading one form of captivity for another, albeit a more pleasant one?
She moved into the center of the hall, turning slowly to take it all in. The great hall was magnificent, with morning light pouring through high windows and banners hanging from the rafters. Long tables arranged in precise rows spoke of order and tradition. “How often dae ye hold court?”
“Twice a week, usually. More during planting and harvest seasons when land disputes are common.”
Rowena nodded, then frowned as she studied the acoustics. “Anyone speaking from the far end would struggle tae be heard clearly from the dais.”
Constantine’s eyebrows rose with interest rather than offense. “How dae ye ken that?”
She felt a flush of pride at his genuine curiosity as she walked to the far wall, studying the stone. “The sound bounces off these bare walls and scatters. Hanging tapestries along the sides would help absorb the echo and direct voices toward the dais.” She moved closer to the platform, aware of Constantine following her. “And if the petitioner stood here instead of there, the natural curve of the ceiling would carry their voice better.”
When she turned, she found Constantine watching her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. There was something predatory in his gaze, but not threatening; he seemed fascinated.
“Ye have experience with hall acoustics?” he asked, and she could hear the slight roughness in his voice.
“Me faither held court regularly. I learned tae listen from the shadows before I was old enough tae sit beside him officially.” Pain flickered through her at the memory, but she pushed through it. “Shall we continue?”
The next hour proved both enlightening and confusing. Constantine showed her the armory, and when she examined the organization system, she caught him watching her with that same predatory interest. It made her wonder if this was a simple obligation for him as the laird, or if he wanted her to get comfortable around him.
“Ye have the swords with the spears,” she observed carefully. “Wouldnae it be more efficient tae group by function rather than size?”
Constantine’s mouth quirked upward. “Tell me why, lass.”
The endearment sent warmth spiraling through her, and she had to focus to answer. “When men are arming for battle, they think in terms of their role. An archer wants his bow, quiver, and backup dirk together. A swordsman wants his blade, shield, and throwing knives in one place.”
“Clever,” Constantine murmured, moving closer until she could smell leather and steel on his skin. “Very clever. Though I’d wager ye’ve never organized an armory yerself.”
“Nay,” she admitted, trying to ignore how his proximity affected her breathing. “But I’ve watched men arm fer battle. The ones who survive gear up fastest.”
“Aye, that they dae.”
