Page 73 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
Constantine nodded, but she could feel his attention on her, the way his gaze tracked her movements with that particular intensity he reserved for things that mattered to him. It should have made her self-conscious, but instead it made her feel seen, valued in a way she’d never experienced before.
“Ye’re missin’ somethin’,” he said suddenly.
Rowena paused in her work, one hand still resting on the saddle. “What dae ye mean?”
“Yer necklace.” Constantine stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the bare column of her throat. “The one ye never take off. With the silver pendant.”
Rowena’s hand moved instinctively to her neck, fingers brushing the spot where the delicate chain had rested since her father had died.
“I tucked it away,” she said simply, her voice steady despite the weight of what that small action represented.
Constantine’s brow arched, the gesture so slight another person might have missed it entirely. But Rowena had learned to read the subtle language of his expressions, the way his eyes sharpened when something caught his full attention.
She stepped closer, close enough that his scent filled her senses. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth as she looked up at him.
“It didnae want tae wear somethin’ that ties me tae the past,” she said, her voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper, something that spoke of choice and commitment and the deliberate act of letting go.
She wasn’t staying at Duart out of necessity anymore. She was choosing to belong there, choosing to build something new rather than preserve something old.
She watched as the realization sent something fierce and possessive coursing through him. Constantine stepped forward and he kissed her with all the intensity of his realization. She kissed him back without hesitation, her hands grabbing him as she pressed closer, and he could taste her smile against his lips.
When they broke apart, both breathing slightly harder, Rowena looked up at him with eyes that sparkled with mirth and affection.
“Possessive,” she said, the word carrying a note of fond accusation. “And sentimental.”
“I am neither,” Constantine replied, but his voice lacked conviction, and the way his hands lingered on her face, the way his eyes tracked every nuance of her expression, contradicted his words entirely.
Rowena laughed, the sound light and musical in the quiet of the stables. “Of course ye’re nae.”
Constantine stepped back reluctantly, his hands falling to his sides but his gaze remaining fixed on her as she mounted her mare with fluid grace. She settled into the saddle and flashed him a smile, before leaving.
“Be careful,” he said, his voice echoing around the stables.
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky when Rowena returned from the village, her heart light with the satisfaction of a successful day. The birth had gone well, mother and child both healthy and strong, and the grateful tears of the new father had reminded her why she’d always felt drawn to helping others. There was something pure about it, something that connected her to a larger purpose.
She brushed down her mare and ensure she was properly cared for. When she was finished, instead of heading directly backto the castle, Rowena found herself drawn toward the small meadow that lay just beyond Duart’s outer walls.
It was a peaceful spot, sheltered by ancient oak trees and dotted with wildflowers that somehow managed to bloom even in the harsh Highland winter. She’d discovered it during one of her early explorations of the grounds, and it had quickly become a place she retreated to when she needed to think or simply breathe.
The grass was damp beneath her feet as she knelt among the scattered blooms, gathering the hardy flowers that had survived the cold. There were delicate white snowdrops, their petals like tiny bells, and purple heather that added splashes of color against the brown earth. She worked slowly, methodically, letting the simple task ground her in the present moment.
The flowers were beautiful in their resilience, thriving despite the harsh conditions, finding ways to bloom even when the world around them seemed barren.
There was something poetic about that, something that spoke to her own journey from the frightened girl who’d fled her uncle’s grip to the woman who now knelt in a meadow, gathering wildflowers for her new home.
She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until Constantine’s shadow fell across her. She looked up to find him standing at the edge of the meadow, his expression unreadable as he watched her work.
Without breaking the comfortable silence between them, Constantine moved behind her, his boots silent on the damp grass. Rowena felt him settling behind her, his presence warm and steady at her back.
When his arms came around her waist, drawing her back against the solid wall of his chest, she didn’t startle or pull away. Instead, she leaned into him with an instinct that felt as natural as breathing.
They fit together perfectly, her smaller frame nestled against his larger one, her head falling back to rest against his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, not possessively but protectively, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety in the cooling evening air.
Rowena could feel the steady rhythm of Constantine’s breathing, the solid beat of his heart against her back. His chin rested against the top of her head, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to simply exist in the moment, surrounded by the scent of wildflowers and the man who had become her anchor in a world that had shifted beneath her feet.
“Ye shouldnae be alone out here. Ye ken yer uncle’s nae done,” Constantine finally spoke, his voice low and careful, vibrating through his chest and into her body. “The ambush was just the beginnin’. He’ll come again, and next time he’ll bring more men.”
Rowena’s eyes opened, but she didn’t tense or pull away from his embrace. She’d known this conversation was coming andhad felt it hovering between them since they’d returned from the attack on the western pass. Alpin wouldn’t give up easily, she was well aware of that. He had too much to lose, too much invested in his plans to simply accept defeat and retreat.
