Page 65 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rowena woke to the sound of Constantine moving quietly about the room, already dressed and preparing their things for the journey back to Duart. She lay still for a moment, watching him through lowered lashes, remembering with a flush of heat everything that had passed between them the night before.
He must have sensed her wakefulness because he turned, his dark eyes finding hers in the dim light. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she replied, her voice still rough with sleep. The memory of his hands, his touch, his whispered praise hung between them like smoke, impossible to ignore yet too intimate to acknowledge directly.
Constantine’s expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away of his thoughts. “We should leave soon if we want tae make good time.”
Rowena nodded, pulling herself upright and reaching for her dress. The practical concerns of the day felt strange after the intimacy of the night, but perhaps that was for the best. She needed time to think, to understand what had shifted between them and what it meant for their future.
They broke their fast in the inn’s common room with little conversation. Other guests filtered in and out but Rowena barely noticed them. Her attention kept drifting to Constantine’s hands as he ate, remembering how gentle they’d been, how skillfully they’d coaxed pleasure from her untried body.
The innkeeper appeared with their horses, already saddled and ready. “Fine morning fer traveling,” she said cheerfully. “The roads should be clear all the way tae the loch.”
Constantine helped Rowena mount, his hands steady on her waist. The brief contact sent awareness skittering through her, and from the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, she suspected he felt it too.
They rode out of the village as the sun climbed higher, burning away the mist and revealing the familiar Highland landscape stretching before them. The path was wide enough for them to ride side by side, but for the first hour, they traveled in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
“This was never supposed tae be mine, ye ken,” Constantine said suddenly, his voice so quiet she had to strain to hear it over the wind. “Duart. The lairdship. None of it.”
Rowena waited, sensing that he needed to speak more than he needed her to respond.
“I had a braither, as ye have heard,” Constantine continued, his hands firmly on the reins. “Fergus. Born legitimately, raised tae be laird from the cradle. Everything I wasnae.”
Rowena’s chest tightened at the pain carefully hidden in Constantine’s voice. She’d heard mentions of his brother’s death, of course—Lilias had told her as much during one of their conversations.
“After he got killed, me faither had nay choice but tae send fer me,” Constantine continued, his voice growing harder. “His precious legitimate heir was dead, and he was left with the bastard son he’d cast aside. The one reminder of his own weakness, the living proof that even lairds can make mistakes they’d rather forget.”
Rowena felt a surge of anger at the casual cruelty in Constantine’s words, the way he spoke of himself as if he truly believed he was nothing more than an unwanted burden. “Ye’re nae a mistake,” she said fiercely.
Constantine finally turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in something that might have been amusement. “Me very existence is proof that me faither couldnae keep his hands tae himself when it came tae a bonnie healer who had the misfortune tae catch his eye.”
“That’s nae yer fault,” Rowena protested. “Ye had nay say in the circumstances of yer birth.”
“Nay,” Constantine agreed. “But I’ve had plenty of say in everything that came after. The mercenary work, the blood on me hands, the reputation I built with sword and strategy rather than honor and nobility. Dae ye think that the clan cares why I became what I am, or dae they only see what I am now?”
The question hung in the cold air between them, weighted with years of rejection and carefully buried pain. Rowena studied Constantine’s profile, seeing past the controlled facade to the boy who’d been cast out before he was old enough to understand why.
“Why did ye come back?” she asked quietly. “If ye believed they’d never accept ye, if ye think the lairdship was never meant tae be yers, why did ye return when yer faither summoned ye?”
Constantine was quiet for so long that Rowena began to think he wouldn’t answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully measured, as if he was choosing each word with deliberate precision.
“Because I’d be a fool tae turn down such power,” he said simply. “Whatever else I am, whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’m nae stupid enough tae walk away from the chance tae have a name people look out fer in times of need. ‘Till now people came tae me tae finish jobs they didnae dare tae or that their reputation couldnae afford. I gained coin, yet here I can have much more.”
He paused. “When me faither offered me the chance tae change that, tae claim what should have been mine by blood if nae by birth... aye, I took it. And I have tae admit, the clan has had strength and unity even under me faither’s... difficult leadership.”
There was wonder in his voice now, as if the realization surprised him. Rowena felt something warm unfurl in her chest as she watched his expression soften, saw the careful walls he kept around his heart crack just slightly.
“And ye want tae be part of that,” Rowena said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“Aye,” Constantine admitted, and the single word carried more vulnerability than she’d ever heard from him. “God help me, I dae. I want tae be part of something larger than meself.”
Rowena felt tears prick at her eyes as she watched this proud, controlled man lay his deepest fears bare. She understood now why he’d been so careful with her, so patient despite his growing frustration. He was terrified of losing something he’d never really believed he could have.
“Constantine,” she said quietly, moving her horse to come to the side of Constantine. “Look at me,” she said and placed a hand on his arm.
He met her gaze reluctantly, as if expecting to see judgment or, worse, pity in her expression. Instead, he found fierce determination and something that looked remarkably like pride.
