Page 67 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
The familiar path back to Duart wound through dense woodland, the canopy above filtering the afternoon light into dappled patterns on the forest floor. Beside Rowena, Constantine rode with his usual watchful calm, but she caught him glancing her way more than once, something almost protective in his gaze.
“The trees are thicker here than I remembered,” she said, noting how the oaks and birches pressed close to the path, their branches creating a tunnel of green shadow.
“Aye,” Constantine agreed, but there was something in his tone that made her look at him more closely. His posture had shifted, tension creeping into his shoulders, and his hand had moved to rest near his sword hilt.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
“Probably naethin’.” But his eyes were scanning the treeline, as if he was cataloging shadows and possible threats. “Just... stay close.”
The path curved sharply ahead, following the natural bend of a rocky outcropping that forced travelers into a narrow passage between stone and forest.
Constantine slowed his mount, every instinct screaming warning. The forest was too quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. Even the horses seemed to sense it, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring.
That’s when the first arrow whistled past his head.
“Down!” Constantine’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he threw himself from his saddle, grabbing Rowena and pulling her with him. They hit the ground hard, rolling behind a massive fallen oak just as more arrows thudded into the woods.
“Stay low,” he ordered, already drawing his sword. “Whatever happens, dinnae move from behind this tree.”
Armed men poured from the forest like wolves, at least eight of them, maybe more. Their faces were hard, scarred, the kind of men who killed for coin and asked no questions.
Constantine rose from behind the log with fluid grace, his blade catching the filtered sunlight. The first raider reached him with an axe raised high, confidence written across his brutal features.That confidence died with a gurgle as Constantine’s sword opened his throat in one clean stroke.
Rowena pressed herself against the rough bark of the fallen tree, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’d seen Constantine fight before, but this was different. This was life and death, brutal and immediate.
The second man came at Constantine with a spear, thrusting for his chest. Constantine sidestepped, caught the weapon’s shaft, and drove his pommel into the raider’s temple. The man dropped like a stone, and Constantine spun to meet the next threat, his movements economical and deadly.
But there were too many of them. Even as he cut down a third man with a vicious backhand slash, two more flanked him from either side. A sword scraped along his ribs, drawing blood, and he stumbled backward, giving ground he couldn’t afford to lose.
Rowena watched in growing horror as the raiders pressed their advantage. Constantine was skilled—more skilled than any fighter she’d ever seen—but he was only one man against many. Blood stained his shirt where the blade had found its mark, and she could see the strain beginning to tell in the set of his shoulders.
One of the raiders broke away from the main fight, heading straight for her hiding place. His eyes were cold, calculating, and she realized with sick certainty that they hadn’t come here to kill. They’d come to take her.
“There ye are, lassie,” the man said, his voice rough with a lowland accent. “Been looking fer ye.”
Rowena scrambled backward, her hand closing around a broken branch. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. “Stay back.”
The raider laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Come, and we’ll nae hurt ye more than necessary. Fight us, and... well, the man paying us didnae say ye had tae be unmarked when we delivered ye.”
Rowena backed away from him, and as his hands stretched the grab her, something wet suddenly sprayed her in the face. She gasped and opened her eyes to find Constantine standing behind the man who was gurgling blood as it poured out of his mouth. She looked down, and Constantine’s blade was buried deep in the man’s guts.
“Stay low behind the tree Rowena,” Constantine urged as he pulled his knife out of the man and watched him tumble to the ground dead.
Rowena was speechless, but before she could move, the thunder of hoofbeats filled the air. Theo burst through the trees at the head of a half-dozen MacLean warriors, their battle cries echoing off the rocky walls of the pass. The tide of battle turned in an instant.
“Constantine!” Theo’s voice boomed across the clearing as he drove his sword into the back of one raider.
“Dinnae kill them all. Leave one alive fer me.”
“Aye, me laird.”
The remaining raiders tried to scatter, but they were caught between Constantine’s deadly precision and the fresh fury of the MacLean men. It was over quickly after that, bodies littering the forest floor, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air.
Constantine stood among the carnage, breathing hard, blood on his hands and seeping through his shirt. But his eyes were already moving, counting bodies, assessing threats. One raider remained alive, pinned beneath Theo’s boot, a gash across his forehead painting his face red.
“This one’s still breathing,” Theo reported, pressing his sword point to the man’s throat.
Constantine approached with slow, deliberate steps, his blade still drawn. There was something terrifying in his calm, in the way he looked down at the wounded raider like a wolf studying wounded prey.
