Page 11 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)

CHAPTER TEN

D ay one of gathering information had gone about just as well as Tiernan had imagined. The people were unwilling to talk, sharing as little as they could without disappointing Isabeau or enraging him. Little of what they said was helpful.

Tiernan began day two with more determination. If they weren’t going to talk, he was going to make them.

Stalking around the streets of the village, he looked for anyone who seemed they would know something about Constantine’s whereabouts. He knew there was no better source of information than older ladies. They had a knack for knowing anything and everything, who came and went, who stayed in the village, who was who. Gossip, it turned out, was the best source of information, though one had to sift through what was true and what was exaggerated for the amusement of the locals, fantastical stories spun by clever minds who wanted to make everything more scandalous than it truly was.

He could only imagine what people were saying behind his back about him and Isabeau.

But even he wasn’t keen on intimidating old ladies, so it was better to leave them to Isabeau, he thought. She had that patrician air, that gentle way of speaking and that radiant smile that appealed to old ladies.

Through all of it, he made sure to stay close to Isabeau. She was an incredibly charming woman, her charm stemming not only from her beauty, but also from the way she acted and spoke to all the villagers. Pretty faces were not uncommon, but the charm she displayed was, and Tiernan didn’t want to let her out of his sight after what had happened the previous day. Besides, it was interesting, watching her go from one person to the next. He couldn’t help but wonder how she chose her targets and what, precisely, she was telling them, since he was always too far from her to hear.

Whatever it was, her method seemed to work. His method, however, worked too. There was no motivation like that provided by the threat of a knife to the throat, and Tiernan had a very sharp knife.

He was focused on one of his targets, an older man, when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Isabeau. She had somehow crept up on him.

Though the touch was brief, the ghost of it lingered on Tiernan’s skin. He could still feel the warmth of her fingers, the light yet confident touch of them, casual as though they were used to being around each other, touching each other like that. The intimacy of it struck him in that moment. It was almost as though they were friends, as though Isabeau did not fear him anymore or was no longer repulsed by him and his past, and even liked him.

Tiernan could count his friends on the fingers of one hand, and half of them were dead. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him, even fleetingly like this, without the purpose of violence.

“Come,” she said, nodding subtly towards a small group of people who were gathered by a cart selling vials of what its owner claimed to be elixirs of vitality for all ailments. “I think they may ken somethin’.”

Tiernan followed her, falling behind a little as he stared at his arm. Being branded would have affected him less, he thought, just as they reached the group.

He let Isabeau do the talking and tried to focus all his attention on what the villagers were saying instead of thinking about her. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Beag had placed a terrible weight on his shoulders, and the more he allowed himself to be distracted, the more danger he and Isabeau would face. The last thing he wanted was for something to happen to her. He had already gotten her involved in all this, even if unwittingly.

And so, as he let her do the talking, he stood right behind her like a sentinel, arms crossed and brows furrowed, his gaze analyzing everything about the group of men before him. He didn’t like them very much. He knew the look of people who dealt in less than reputable enterprises without actually being brigands, and those men had just that appearance. They were not honorable but feared the life of the outlaw too much.

And they were precisely the kind of men he had learned to never trust, for there was a sort of honor, even between outlaws.

By the time Isabeau was done talking to them, Tiernan had already discarded half of the things they had told her as fiction.

Then, she dragged him towards another man, but the moment he spotted Tiernan, he fled. Isabeau turned to look at him, puzzled, before she raised a judgmental eyebrow.

“Stop scowlin’,” she said. “Ye’re scarin’ everyone off.”

“I’m nae scowlin’,” said Tiernan, scowling.

Isabeau simply stared at him, in that judgmental way of hers once again, until Tiernan rolled his eyes and stepped past her.

“Come, princess,” he said. “We have a lot o’ work ahead o’ us.”

Tiernan didn’t expect what came next. Isabeau barreled into him, and though her weight was slight, her momentum almost knocked him off his feet. He stumbled, arms reaching out to hold onto anything he could find only to grasp thin air, and he barely managed to steady himself before he could fall.

“What was that?” he demanded, arms flying up in exasperation.

“Fer callin’ me a princess,” Isabeau said with indignation. “I dinnae care fer yer mockery.”

Though there was no real bite behind her words and the playful nature of her revenge reassured him, Tiernan could tell there was truth behind what she told him. He wondered if it was something she heard often—being labelled a princess or other such terms which aimed to imply she was spoiled or haughty when she, in fact, was not.

“Me lady, then,” he said, giving her a deep bow, hoping his teasing would ease some of the tension. He watched her as she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to suppress a smile, and then gave her one of his own as he stood straight, turning to find his next victim.

She was a fierce thing, a proud creature, and the fact that she stood up for herself even when she feared him made something tighten in his chest. But did she still fear him, he wondered? These weren’t the actions of a scared woman, and perhaps after the short time they had spent together, she had come to be at ease around him.

He hoped that was the case. He hated seeing her frightened and knowing he was the cause of her distress.

By the time the sun set in the horizon, he and Isabeau had spoken to most of the people in the village who seemed like they would have any sort of information. They returned to their room at the inn and Tiernan brought up a tray of food and drink for them, which they desperately needed after the long day of work. He sat across from her at the small, round table that stood under an equally small window, the two of them sharing the bannocks and cheese and dried meat he had brought.

“That old woman told me she’s seen Constantine often in the village at night,” Isabeau said. “She said he visits a house here often. She says she thinks he has a mistress.”

“Aye, but how much can we trust o’ this?” Tiernan asked. “Old women always talk a lot. How can we ken she’s tellin’ the truth?”

“We cannae,” said Isabeau with a small shrug. “But I think she was tellin’ the truth, at least about seein’ him. She wasnae the only one tae say it.”

That was true, Tiernan thought. Many claimed to have seen Constantine in the village, but again, he couldn’t know how much of it was exaggerated. The general consensus seemed to be that he was somewhere nearby, up north, living in a hut. Others claimed he lived in a cave in the woods. Others still claimed to have never seen him, and others that he was dead.

Those last ones were certainly wrong.

As Isabeau reached for a piece of bread, her hand brushed against Tiernan’s and it was like earlier that day, when her fleeting touch had sent a shiver down his spine. She wasn’t flinching away from him anymore. Talking to her was easy, and he found himself not only gazing at her like a fool, but even laughing softly every now and then, enjoying her company.

It was his turn to be frightened. He had spent so long building walls around himself to safeguard his vulnerable side. Isabeau had somehow infiltrated them, worming her way inside, just like she had done with everyone else in the village.

Tiernan didn’t like it. His walls were there for a reason and the fact that someone—even Isabeau, who he doubted had any insidious purposes—could penetrate them left him feeling unmoored, like a ship lost to the tide.

Once they finished their dinner, Tiernan wanted nothing more than to sleep. Isabeau shared his sentiment, and as he began to remove the uppermost layer of his clothes, she did the same, turning her back to him to undo the laces. Tiernan turned around, too; he wasn’t going to look. He had more self-control than that.

It lasted approximately five seconds. Then, he peeked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Isabeau’s bared neck, the soft skin there as inviting as a siren song. Her shift covered the rest of her body and she was more modest now than when she had appeared before him with her dress half-done, but the sight of her still made his stomach twist in a knot and his heart race. She was truly beautiful, and it was difficult for him to look away when he had already caught a glimpse.

At least until she turned and caught his gaze, the two of them staring at each other in a weighted silence for what seemed like too long to Tiernan. Time stretched, discomfort settling heavy in his stomach, and he tried to come up with an excuse for looking at her like this, when Isabeau simply turned around again and finished taking off her shoes.

She got under the covers without saying another word and Tiernan considered sleeping on the floor, thinking that perhaps it would make the situation less awkward. But when he dared to glance at Isabeau, she occupied only one side of the bed, as if to leave the other for him, and it was then that he decided it would, in fact, be more awkward if he kept his distance.

Slipping under the covers gingerly, Tiernan turned his back to Isabeau and closed his eyes. Thankfully, exhausted as he was, his embarrassment didn’t keep him up for long.

Tiernan woke with a start, bolting upright on the bed. At first, he didn’t know what it was he had heard in his sleep, but he knew something was wrong, and his hand had reached for his knife on the floor, swiping it up and holding it tightly in his grip.

Then, he heard it again; a pained gasp coming from right next to him, as though Isabeau was in agony.

He dropped the knife to the floor with a clattering sound, trying to turn her gently towards him even as his hands were shaking frantically, thinking that something terrible had happened.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s goin’ on?”

Isabeau looked up at him, curling in on herself. “It’s naethin’. Dinnae fash.”

“It doesnae look like naethin’. Tell me.”

She seemed to be in terrible pain and Tiernan didn’t know what to do. How could something have happened to her in the safety of the room? There were no signs of invasion, nothing to suggest someone had been there. Besides, he would have woken up had there been an intruder. After years watching over his shoulder for an attack, Tiernan was used to sleeping lightly, waking up with the barest sign of threat.

“It’s only me stomach,” Isabeau said. “It happens sometimes.”

Tiernan wasn’t exactly relieved by that but the fact that it was something that had happened before gave him some peace of mind, as it hadn’t harmed her in the past.

“I’ll call a healer,” he said, already making to stand, but Isabeau was quick to stop him.

“Nay,” she said. “I’ll be fine. It’s late an’ I dinnae wish tae be an inconvenience.”

“It’s nae an inconvenience, Isabeau,” Tiernan said. “Ye’re in pain. Allow me tae help.”

“It’ll pass,” Isabeau insisted.

When she tugged him back down, he allowed it, though his worry still threatened to bubble over.

Reaching over to the chair that stood near the bed, he grabbed an extra blanket that he had thrown there earlier that day and wrapped it around Isabeau, hoping the heat would do something to help with the pain. Then, hesitantly, he reached for her, rubbing small, firm circles on her back, just like he had seen mothers do when they comforted their children.

Slowly, she began to relax, leaning closer to him until they were pressed close together. Tiernan stiffened a little for a moment, uncertain of what to do. He had never expected to be this close to Isabeau, to feel the warmth of her body around him, to have her practically in his arms. Was he being too forward, he wondered? Should he pull back and pretend this never happened?

But Isabeau had come to him on her own accord, without hesitation, and she needed the comfort. She was in pain, he reasoned. His proximity and his touch seemed to help.

“Does it happen often?” Tiernan asked.

“It depends,” Isabeau said. “When I’m very nervous fer a long time, it happens. But if I’m calm, it never daes.”

“Ach,” was all Tiernan could say.. “I’m sorry. Are ye certain there is naethin’ I can dae tae help?”

“This is more than enough,” Isabeau said. It helped him relax a little, his arms wrapping a little more securely around her, hoping it would give her some comfort. “When I was a wee bairn, me maither would come tae me chambers at night when I wasnae well an’ she would hold me an’ tell me stories until I could fall asleep. She was a great storyteller, me maither…”

“She sounds like a very good maither,” Tiernan said.

“She was,” Isabeau said. “An’ a good woman.”

The mood around them seemed to shift into something morose, a cloud of grief passing over Isabeau’s face. Tiernan feared her pain would worsen, so he let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“Would ye like me tae tell ye a story?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m nae very good at them.”

“Could ye?” Isabeau asked, tilting her head to look up at him with pleading eyes. “It’ll help take me mind off the pain.”

Tiernan truly meant it when he said he wasn’t a good storyteller, so he took a deep breath and gave it a try.

“Well, shall I tell ye about the time I almost got lost at sea?”

“How did that happen?” Isabeau asked, her interested piqued.

“There was a storm, a terrible storm,” said Tiernan, allowing the memories of that journey to wash over him. It had been early in his days as a brigand, when he was still the lowest ranking runt in the gang, barely more than a child. “We were goin’ tae Jura tae?—”

He cut himself short. He was certain Isabeau could understand very well what it was he and the gang were doing in Jura, but that didn’t mean he had to say it out loud. He didn’t like talking about the pillaging, the stealing and killing he had done in his past. But Isabeau was looking at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the story, and so he carried on.

“We were goin’ tae Jura tae look fer a treasure,” he said, turning his story into more of an adventure than a tale of violence and pain. “We were all promised much gold. As much as our hands an’ our pockets an’ our chests could carry, our captain told us. An’ jewels an’ drink?—”

“An’ lasses?” Isabeau teased, drawing a surprised chuckle out of Tiernan.

“Aye, an’ lasses,” he admitted. “An all-around good time.”

“But ye didnae reach Jura?”

Tiernan shook his head. “We were two, three days at sea when the storm came. Such winds! Such rain! It was as though someone was whippin’ us, so strong the rain was. The sky was dark, the day turned into night. An’ the night…”

“The night?” Isabeau asked, hooked on the story.

“The night turned… even darker,” Tiernan said rather lamely. Isabeau let out a disappointed hum, but she was not deterred.

“An’ then what happened?”

“Then… then this great beast rose from the waves,” Tiernan said, deciding it was time to embellish his story a little. “Twice the length o’ our boat an’ three times as wide.”

Isabeau laughed softly, clearly not believing him but playing along nevertheless. “A whale?”

“Nay,” said Tiernan. “Nae whale has such teeth. Ten rows o’ them an’ sharp like spikes.”

“A shark!”

“Nay. It had a hundred eyes. Terrible, vicious eyes an’ skin like a snake.”

Tiernan had no idea where all this was coming from. Some deep part of his imagination had been activated and he felt like a boy again, playing make-believe in his grandmother’s garden with the other children—pirates, brigands, great explorers of the world.

“There is nay such creature,” said Isabeau with a teasing smirk.

“There is,” said Tiernan. “I saw it with me own eyes.”

“There isnae.”

“There is.”

In their mock argument, they kept coming closer and closer to each other, until their noses were almost touching. Tiernan could feel Isabeau’s soft breath on his skin, the almost imperceptible movements of her body under his arms, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

When their gazes met in the dark of the room, his breath was cut short. Time stretched once again, running slow as molasses, with every moment slowly bleeding into the next. Isabeau’s gaze fell to his lips, and Tiernan found himself doing the same, glancing at that plump mouth that he would have loved to kiss. He could.

If only he closed the distance between them, he could kiss her.

His heart beat so loudly he was certain Isabeau could hear it in the quiet of the room. He felt as though he was about to say something entirely stupid, something that he should never utter to a woman like her, whom he couldn’t have.

“We should rest,” he said instead, muttering the words as he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He didn’t know what he expected Isabeau to do; if he expected her to pull away or say something or even accuse him of leading her on, but she only sighed and settled against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Slowly, her breath evened out as she fell back asleep. Tiernan, though, had no such luck. All he could do was stare at the ceiling, lying there in silence as doubt and fear crept into every crevice of his mind, chilling him to the bone.