Page 49 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
Constantine MacLean, Niall’s bastard son.
“Murdoch,” Alpin called one of his trusted men, his voice carrying the authority of a man accustomed to immediate obedience.
The scout emerged from the shadows near the library’s entrance, his weathered face impassive. “Aye, Laird Alpin?”
“Are ye sure this MacLean warrior took Rowena tae Duart?”
“Aye, me laird. The path that ‘tis rumored they took leads nowhere else.”
Alpin nodded slowly, dismissing the scout with a subtle gesture.
Alone again, he allowed his carefully controlled facade to crack just enough to reveal the calculating fury beneath.
If Rowena was indeed at Duart Castle, everything had changed. She was no longer a fleeing girl he could hunt down at his leisure. She was now under the protection of one of the most dangerous men in the Highlands, within the walls of one of Scotland’s most formidable strongholds.
The implications were staggering. Constantine MacLean was not some chivalrous knight who would shelter a maiden out of noble sentiment.
The man was a former mercenary, renowned for his tactical brilliance and utter ruthlessness. If he had taken Rowena in, there was a reason—a calculated, strategic reason that likely involved her value as the MacKenzie heir.
Alpin’s mind raced through the possibilities. Perhaps Constantine saw an opportunity to forge an alliance between the MacLean and MacKenzie clans through marriage.
Perhaps Niall MacLean, that cunning old wolf, had orchestrated the entire encounter to secure his bastard son’s legitimacy through noble blood.
Or perhaps, and this thought made Alpin’s blood run cold, Rowena had revealed the truth about his intentions, painting herself as a victim and himself as a villain.
He moved to the large oak desk that dominated one corner of the library, its surface covered with maps, correspondence, and the various instruments of clan leadership he had claimed for himself.
His fingers traced the borders of MacLean territory on the detailed map spread before him, calculating distances, considering approaches, and weighing risks.
A direct assault on Duart Castle was impossible. The fortress had never fallen to siege, and Alpin lacked both the men and the resources for such an undertaking.
More importantly, any overt attack would require him to explain to his own warriors why he was willing to wage war against a neighboring clan. The MacKenzie men who followed him believed Rowena was not fit to lead. They would not understand why their laird would risk their lives to assault an impregnable castle for a deadweight.
But Alpin had not secured his position through brute force alone. He had climbed to power with the hope to secure his place through a marriage with Rowena. Hunting her down alone was one thing, but fighting off possible matches she was out to find?
Alpin had no choice but to draw his occupants out.
He opened the leather-bound ledger where he kept his most sensitive correspondence and began composing a carefully worded message.
As he wrote, Alpin allowed himself to imagine the moment when his plan would come to fruition. Constantine MacLean would discover too late that sheltering Rowena MacKenzie came with a price higher than even his legendary skills could pay. The bastard warrior might be formidable within the walls of his castle, but every man had weaknesses, every fortress had blind spots, and every protector eventually had to venture beyond his stronghold’s safety.
The door to the library opened with a soft creak, admitting Malcolm MacKenzie, one of Alpin’s most trusted lieutenants. The older warrior’s scarred face was grim as he approached the desk, his heavy footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.
“Me laird,” Malcolm said, his voice low and respectful. “The scouts have returned from the northern borders. There’s been movement in MacLean territory—riders moving in formation, like they’re preparin’ fer somethin’.”
Alpin set down his quill and looked up, his expression betraying nothing of the satisfaction he felt. “How many riders?"
“Hard tae say fer certain, but more than a hunting party. Could be they’re strengthenin’ their patrols.”
“Or they’re preparin’ fer visitors they dinnae want,” Alpin mused, his tone conversational despite the deadly implications.“Tell me, Malcolm, what dae ye ken about the hiring of Highland raiders?”
The lieutenant’s eyes sharpened, recognizing the dangerous territory their conversation was entering. “I ken they’re men without honor or clan ties, me laird. Men who’ll dae any task fer the right price.”
“And if such men were tae encounter travelers on isolated roads? Perhaps a small party leaving Duart Castle fer business elsewhere?”
“Such encounters rarely end well fer the travelers, me laird. Especially if they’re carryin’ somethin’ valuable.”
“Indeed.” Alpin returned his attention to the correspondence before him, his pen moving with renewed purpose. “See that our northern scouts maintain their watch. And Malcolm?”
