Page 77 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
Constantine shook his head. “Nay. I need every sword close at hand, and Finlay kens how tae move unseen. If anyone can slip through MacKenzie lands unnoticed, it’s him. We give him time.”
“A week perhaps?” Theo pressed.
“A week,” Constantine agreed. “If he’s nae returned by then, we’ll send a handful o’ our best tae find him. Till then, we trust him tae dae what he set out tae dae. Now, ye get some sleep,” Constantine told Theo as they entered the castle’s warmth. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Theo nodded and, after he departed for his chambers, Constantine found himself climbing the stairs toward his own rooms with slow, deliberate steps.
His mind should have been occupied with matters of defense—troop positions, weapon stores, escape routes if the worst came to pass. Instead, he found his thoughts drifting inexorably toward Rowena, toward the woman who would become his wife in just a few hours.
This wasn’t just about clan politics anymore, or even about the lairdship that had been thrust upon him. Those considerations had brought them together, yes, but what had grown between them transcended mere political convenience.
He paused outside his chamber door, one hand resting on the heavy wood as he listened to the sounds of the sleeping castle around him. Tomorrow, she would become his wife, his partner, his responsibility. And if Alpin thought to take her from him, the man would learn exactly what kind of enemy he had made.
Constantine had built his reputation on violence, had survived by being more ruthless than those who opposed him. If protecting Rowena required him to embrace that darkness again, so be it. He would paint the Highland hills red with blood before he would let anyone hurt her.
Dawn crept across the sky like spilled honey, golden light filtering through the narrow windows of Duart Castle and painting the stone corridors in warm hues. The castle was beginning to stir—servants moving quietly through the halls, guards changing shifts, the distant sound of activity from the kitchens where preparations for the wedding feast were already underway.
Constantine stood at the window of his chamber, fully dressed despite the early hour, watching the sun climb higher above the eastern mountains. He had managed perhaps two hours of restless sleep, his mind too active, too filled with plans and contingencies and the persistent awareness of danger lurking just beyond the horizon.
The soft sound of his chamber door opening made him turn, expecting to see Theo with some urgent report or perhaps Liliaswith questions about the ceremony preparations. Instead, he found Rowena slipping quietly into the room, closing the door behind her with careful precision.
She was dressed in a simple morning gown of deep blue wool, her red hair loose around her shoulders. But it was her expression that caught his attention, composed on the surface, but with something turbulent beneath, like deep water disturbed by hidden currents.
“Rowena,” he said, his voice filled with surprise and concern. “What are ye daein’ here?”
She didn’t answer immediately, instead she moved toward him with steps that seemed both purposeful and uncertain. When she stopped just within arm’s reach, Constantine could see the storm in her hazel eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly despite her outward calm.
“I needed…” she began, then stopped, shaking her head as if the words weren’t adequate. “I needed tae see ye.”
Constantine felt something tighten in his chest at the vulnerability in her voice. Today she would marry him, would bind herself legally and spiritually to a man she’d known for less than a month, trusting that he would keep his promises, that this fragile thing they’d built between them was real and lasting.
“I’m here, lass,” Constantine said, reaching out to her. “After today, ye’re never goin’ back tae yer uncle. I swear it on me life, Rowena.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from the solid warmth of his presence. When she opened them again, there was something different there—not the absence of fear, but the presence of determination stronger than fear.
“I love ye,” she said simply, the words falling between them like stones dropped into still water. “I need ye tae ken that. I have fallen in love with ye, Constantine MacLean.”
The words sent a shock through Constantine’s system more profound than any blow he’d ever taken in battle. Instead of responding with words, Constantine slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer, guiding her against his chest as she lifted her face to his.
When he kissed her, it was with all the tenderness and fierce protectiveness that her confession had awakened in him.
But Rowena kissed him back with something deeper, something desperate. Her hands pulled him closer as if she could merge their bodies through sheer will. When she broke away, both of them were breathing hard, and her eyes were dark with need.
Without breaking eye contact, Rowena reached for the ties of her gown, her fingers working with steady determination despite their slight tremor. The fabric loosened and fell away, pooling at her feet like water, leaving her standing before him in nothing but the golden morning light.
Constantine’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen her before, touched her, but this felt different, more significant. This was the woman who would stand beside him in just hours, offering herself to him out of love.
“Rowena,” he said again, his voice rough with emotion.
“I need ye,” she whispered, stepping into his arms. “I need tae feel ye, tae ken this is real.”
Constantine needed no further invitation. He lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed where they fell together in a tangle of limbs and whispered endearments. Constantine took his time undressing, his eyes never leaving her face as he shed his clothes and joined her among the soft furs and linen.
When he touched her, it was with reverence, with the kind of careful attention that spoke of worship rather than mere desire. His hands mapped every curve and hollow of her body, his lips following the path his fingers blazed, until she was arching beneath him, gasping his name like a benediction.
“Please,” she whispered, her hands threading through his dark hair. “Constantine, please.”
He moved over her then, settling between her thighs with careful precision, his dark eyes holding hers as he joined them together with one slow, deliberate thrust. Rowena’s back arched, a soft cry escaping her lips, and Constantine stilled, giving her time to adjust, to accept the fullness of him.
