Page 12 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I sabeau woke with the leisure, stretched her legs, luxuriating in the warmth of her chambers, the softness of the bed covers, the mattress that was like a cloud under her body.

And then she realized that neither the covers were soft nor was the mattress like a cloud. And most importantly, she was not alone.

Opening her eyes, she came face to face with Tiernan only to find that he was already awake and staring at her. The sudden sight of his face startled her and she jumped a little, not expecting to see him so close. But she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the firmness of his shoulder under her head.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, their limbs had tangled together, their bodies so close that Isabeau didn’t know where hers ended and Tiernan’s began. She was surrounded by his warmth and the security she felt in his arms was like nothing she had experienced before.

It didn’t last long. When she started, Tiernan did as well, pulling back from her so abruptly that he almost fell right off the bed, legs dangling over the edge.

Under any other circumstances, Isabeau would have laughed, but now her heart fluttered like the wings of a frantic bird, her stomach twisting itself into knots.

How did I allow this tae happen? We shouldnae have shared a bed!

Isabeau could still feel the lingering heat of Tiernan’s body, the ghost of his touch. She craved it, longed to feel it again—longed to kiss him, even, to feel the tender touch of his lips on hers. But such acts didn’t become a lady of her station. She was the laird’s sister and so she had to remain entirely pure, the perfect, unspoiled bargaining chip for a beneficial marriage.

She knew that her brothers, though protective, never truly considered her a bargaining chip. It was the council, with the elders and their rigid ideas of right and wrong, who would rather see her hang than wedded to a man like Tiernan. She couldn’t disobey them. Even Ewan, as the laird of the clan, had to listen to them. What power did she have against such influential men?

She was glad that Tiernan had pulled away so fast. There was no denying the desire that coiled deep in her core the closer she got to him. There was no denying that she wanted him, and she was quite certain he wanted her, too. She knew what it meant to be desired; many men had approached her ever since she had made her debut at sixteen years of age, noble hopefuls looking for a suitable wife, wealthy merchants and their sons, and even peasant men with little sense. In Tiernan, she saw the same desire, the same heat, though none of the ambition or entitlement. For all he seemed to want her, Isabeau doubted he would ever try his luck with her.

An’ if he did? What would I dae?

She didn’t want to ponder it for too long, fearful of the reply. She wished her self-control would be sufficient to keep her pure, but deep down, she knew well that if Tiernan kissed her, she would not pull away.

“It’s a… very small bed,” Isabeau managed to say, just to have something with which to break the silence. Tiernan let out a chuckle, but the sound was sharp and dry, cut off a little too soon..

She didn’t know what else to say or what to do. And then, suddenly, as though he was urged by an unseen force, he quickly sprang up off the bed and headed to the door, grabbing his things along the way. Looking over his shoulder at her, his hands firmly over his lap where he was holding all his clothes, he said, “I’ll let ye dress.”

With that, he was gone and Isabeau was left staring at the space he had just occupied, wondering what had gotten into him.

There’s nae tellin’ with him.

Isabeau tried to push it all out of her mind. It would do her no good, thinking about this over and over until she drove herself insane with all the doubt and the questions she wanted to ask Tiernan but would never dare.

Instead, she began to think about what was ahead of them: finding Constantine, figuring out a way for Tiernan to complete the job—Isabeau didn’t like to use the term killing —and then going home safe and sound.

It was that last part which frightened her the most, and the possibility that despite their best efforts, they would both end up dead.

After she was dressed, she made her way out of the room and down to the bottom floor of the inn, where Tiernan had already claimed a table for them. He seemed calmer now, some of his previous embarrassment fading, much to Isabeau’s relief.

Breakfast was already laid out for them—porridge and dried fruit, along with some bread and cheese. A modest offering, but one Isabeau gratefully tucked into, starving from the exertion of the past few days.

As she ate, Tiernan nervously tore the bread apart into tiny pieces in his plate.

“I asked around some more,” he said, leaning close over the table to keep his voice quiet. “Dae ye see that man there?”

As he spoke, he nodded towards a man who sat in the far corner of the room, by the window. He seemed to be staring outside, at the passing crowd, but Isabeau had the feeling he was, in fact, keeping a close eye on the interior of the inn. Whether they or someone else were the object of his attention, she could not tell.

“What about him?” she asked, mid-chew.

“I ken him,” said Tiernan. “Well, I used tae. We had… an understandin’ back in the day so I spoke tae him an’ he said Constantine is in a hut deep in the woods. The same woods where everyone else claims tae have seen him.”

Isabeau brightened up a little at the news. “Then that means the information must be correct!” she said. “He has tae be there if everyone claims he is!”

In her excitement, her voice had risen enough for her to be heard by those around them, and Tiernan was quick to shush her. Her mouth snapping shut, Isabeau looked around to see if anyone had heard her, but no one seemed to be paying either her or Tiernan much mind.

Tiernan leaned even closer, the gap between them lessening. “Aye, it must be,” he said. “An’ I also heard he is workin’ fer a laird.”

Isabeau’s breath caught in her throat. “A laird?”

Who could it be? Why would a laird be workin’ with a brigand and mercenary?

“That’s what he said,” Tiernan confirmed. “But he says he doesnae ken his name. People only ken him as the Eagle.”

Isabeau nodded, her brow furrowing as she was deep in thought. “An’ how shall we approach him? Surely, he willnae simply allow us near him.”

“We’ll pretend we were sent there by this Eagle ,” Tiernan said without missing a beat. Perhaps he had been hatching a plan all this time, thinking about all the ways they could approach Constantine without getting caught. Isabeau had little faith in her ability to keep up a cover. As good of an actor as she was when it came to other nobles, she was concerned her fear would keep her from giving a convincing performance.

I should let Tiernan dae all the talkin’.

“I hope ye’re nae plannin’ on infiltratin’ his group,” Isabeau said with a gasp, the thought occurring to her suddenly. Not only was it a dangerous plan, but it would also leave her all alone. She didn’t know how to live outside of a castle, and her social position was obvious in ways she couldn’t change—her mannerisms, which she could only conceal up to a certain degree; the softness of her hands, which had never seen manual labor; her rather obviously delicate disposition.

She wouldn’t survive a day out there without Tiernan.

“Nay,” said Tiernan, much to her relief. “We’ll pretend we’re there tae give him supplies. Swords, maybe. It isnae easy tae get yer hands on swords if ye’re in hidin’.”

That was a considerably better and safer plan, Isabeau thought. At least like that, they could stay together. Constantine might question her presence in such a transaction, but they could simply claim they were husband and wife if it came to it.

“Alright,” said Isabeau, visibly relaxing a little as she sagged in her chair. “How will we get swords?”

Tiernan glanced at his hands, grimacing as though whatever thought he was having was physically painful for him. Isabeau followed his gaze and saw the rings on his fingers; two of them, neither opulent, but hopefully enough to pay for the swords.

Isabeau couldn’t claim to know how much a sword even cost.

“Damnation!” Tiernan grumbled, his fist slamming against the table.

“Will ye stop scarin’ the people?” Isabeau hissed, eyes narrowing at Tiernan. “We’re the center o’ attention in this village as it is. We dinnae need more o’ it.”

“Curse Beag an’ all his line. I like these rings,” Tiernan said petulantly.

“That’s enough,” Isabeau decided as she stood and grabbed Tiernan by the arm. “Let us go. I’ve had enough o’ listenin’ tae ye.”

Tiernan, an immovable object, sat there and gaped at Isabeau, shocked by her sudden outburst. She, too, was shocked when her words sank in.

When did I get so comfortable around him?

It was that thought which unsettled her the most. Somewhere in the past few days, she had gone from fearing him to bossing him around.

The truth was, she no longer did fear him. She was confident Tiernan wouldn’t hurt her.

“Alright, alright!” Tiernan said, standing with a roll of his eyes. “When did ye get so... assertive?”

“When ye became blasphemous,” said Isabeau, to hide that truth.

Luckily, they were able to find a blacksmith in a village nearby who could help them with such a large order. But he was not willing to sell them the amount they had to offer.

“These are sturdy swords,” the blacksmith said, pointing an accusatory finger at the two of them. He was an older, stocky man, with ruddy cheeks and a white moustache that hung over his top lip, giving him the appearance of a kindly grandfather—at least until he opened his mouth and spoke. “If ye think ye can buy all me work with two measly rings, then ye’re sorely mistaken. Ye should go tae Douglas Paterson over in A' Chrìon Làraich if ye’re lookin’ fer cheap work an’ see how long they last ye.”

From the corner of her eye, Isabeau could see Tiernan getting increasingly agitated. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, his other hand curling up into a fist, twitching by his hip for a moment as though he was considering drawing out his knife.

In the end, he didn’t control himself. His fingers curled around the handle and in a motion so swift that Isabeau’s eyes couldn’t even track it, he was pressing the blade against the blacksmith’s neck.

“Perhaps ye wish tae rethink that,” he said, lips curling into a snarl.

The blacksmith didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all, as though he was not only used to that kind of behavior, but was also stubbornly confident that he could get out of the situation alive. With anyone else, Isabeau might have believed it, but with Tiernan as his opponent, she couldn’t help but worry they would both end up either wounded or dead, and neither of those options were appealing to her.

Before the blacksmith could say anything, Isabeau jumped into action, laying her hand over Tiernan’s and trying to pull him away.

“It’s alright,” she said, reaching into her pocket with her free hand to pull out her necklace. She was reluctant to part with it, her hand clutching onto it as if it had a mind of its own, but it was better to lose a beloved belonging than it was to have Tiernan hurt or dead. “Here. Take it. It’s worth a lot. More than these swords probably.”

The blacksmith eyed Isabeau wearily, but then he reached for it, the entire time keeping his head very still as Tiernan refused to move his blade. He examined the gold in the light, then closed his teeth around it, drawing a wince out of Isabeau. Her family’s precious heirloom, now stuck between the teeth of some blacksmith.

“Alright,” the man said eventually, but even so, Tiernan didn’t move until Isabeau pulled on him insistently. “Ye have a deal. Take them an’ leave, I willnae be as nice if I ever see ye here again.”

“Listen here?—”

Isabeau didn’t let Tiernan finish that sentence. “Let us get the swords,” she said. “We have plenty o’ work ahead o’ us.”

For a few moments, the two men were locked into a staring contest, reminding Isabeau of two rams insistent on fighting each other. When she stepped between them, though, the spell was broken and Tiernan turned around to gather the swords, piling them up in his arms.

It was only when they were out of there, riding away from the town, that Isabeau managed to breathe again.