Page 14 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
T he door opened with a creak that was mostly masked by the lilting birds that flew over their heads in the woods and the bubbling sound of a nearby stream. Tiernan didn’t know what he had expected to see—a savage, perhaps, or someone who resembled a mythical creature more than he did a man, someone who would look as though he could eat him and Isabeau in one chew, bones and all. But what the door revealed with its gentle swing was not a terrible creature from a fairytale nor was it a savage man, used to living as an outlaw in the woods.
It was, instead, an incredibly handsome man.
Tiernan frowned to himself; he couldn’t help it. Surely, this couldn’t be Constantine, he thought. This man, with his clean-shaven face, his neat hair, so dark that it was almost black, and a perfectly balanced face of striking features could only be noble-born, someone who had never experienced the hardships of life. He didn’t even bear any scars, at least as far as Tiernan could see. Neither his face nor his arms were marred by the distinctive, silvery lines that everyone in Tiernan’s gang had. He didn’t know of a single brigand who wasn’t at least partially scarred, let alone someone who was as infamous as Constantine.
“Good afternoon,” said Tiernan, though it was almost evening by then, the sun quickly sinking into the horizon. “I’m lookin’ fer Constantine.”
The man at the door peered at them carefully, his gaze flitting back and forth between Tiernan and Isabeau. He didn’t like the way he was looking at Isabeau one bit, so he immediately tried to gauge how easily he could fight a man like him, along with the three men he could see inside the hut from the partially open door.
The man was tall and lean, yet even his forearms were swollen with muscles. Every movement he made only served to highlight them. Still, Tiernan would take his odds, even if he ended up dead, as long as Isabeau had a chance to escape.
“An’ who are ye?” asked the man, tilting his head to the side curiously.
“Me name’s Tiernan,” he said, and then, just to see what the man would do, he added, “I was sent by the Eagle.”
The man’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but nothing else in his expression gave anything away. Tiernan couldn’t read him with ease and that unsettled him even more than his strange, too perfect appearance. There was something about the man that made him frightening in a way few men were, and certainly none Tiernan had met before. His intimidating nature didn’t come from his size or his willingness to throw himself into a fight without a second thought. It came from the measured, level-headed way he was looking at Tiernan and Isabeau, his dark eyes peering straight through them, as if he could truly read their minds.
Who is this man?
“The Eagle?” the man asked, clearly not convinced. Briefly, Tiernan couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he had been mistaken or he had believed rumors that were untrue, the villagers telling him the same lie, spread from person to person. But no, it couldn’t be; if everyone agreed the Eagle was real, then he had to be. “An’ why did the Eagle send ye here? With a lassie none the less.”
From the corner of his eye, Tiernan glanced at Isabeau, who was standing next to him, but a little farther back, as though she was trying to keep as much distance as she could from the man. Tiernan was relieved to see it; at least it meant that she still had some common sense and would not risk her well-being for no good reason.
“The lassie is simply with me,” said Tiernan, avoiding saying her name. The less this man knew about Isabeau, the better. “We came tae bring ye swords. He said ye an’ yer men might need them fer yer next mission.”
“And what is this mission supposed tae be?”
It was a test, and Tiernan was failing. So, he muttered the first thing that came to his mind, praying it’d do. “Tae kill Beag Sinclair.”
That seemed like the right thing to say. The man gave Tiernan a small smile, nothing more than a twitch of the corner of his lips, but it was enough to offer Tiernan some peace of mind.
“I see,” said the man. “An’ ye have those swords with ye?”
Tiernan nodded towards his horse, which he had left a few paces behind. The hilts of the swords were peeking out from a sack that was tied to it, and Tiernan watched as the man followed the movement with his gaze and nodded approvingly.
“Alright,” he said. “Bring them in.”
Isabeau made to walk over to the horse, but Tiernan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Where is Constantine?” he asked the man, who turned to look at him over his shoulder with a chuckle.
“Ye’re talking tae him,” he said. “Now come in.”
Isabeau couldn’t believe her own eyes. She had heard many things about Constantine, and none of it was flattering, so to see a man like that claim that he was, in fact, him was a shock for which she had not been prepared.
How could he be the fearsome mercenary who had killed more men than anyone else in the Highlands? He looked nothing like what she expected a mercenary to resemble, nor did he act like a mercenary at all. There was something intimidating about him, that much was true, but it was less in the way that a criminal is intimidating and more like a man who would belong in her brother’s council could be frightening.
She wondered if he had once been a noble who had somehow lost his fortune, but had retained his mannerisms, unable to blend in with his new companions. The rest of them, the three men he had revealed by opening the door and the two more Isabeau saw once she stepped inside, seemed to have nothing in common with this man. They were all rugged, covered in scars from head to toe, and Isabeau could hardly bring herself to look them in the eye. With Constantine, it was different; it felt as though she was with one of the people she normally frequented at balls, the kind she had to navigate with grace and hostility camouflaged with politeness, applying diplomacy to put those who were after her brother’s power and riches in their place.
Isabeau lingered by the door as Constantine ushered her inside, waiting for Tiernan to fetch the swords. She was reluctant to part with him for too long near these men, though she doubted they would attempt to hurt her while Tiernan was so close. Still, a weight was lifted from her shoulders when he joined her again, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside and keep her close.
She didn’t need any urging; she couldn’t peel herself away from him if she wanted to.
“Come, sit,” said Constantine, smiling with the kind of warmth that seemed as genuine as it was practiced. Isabeau glanced around at his prompting only to find that there were no chairs for either her or Tiernan, but Constantine was quick to rectify the issue, barking at his men. “Where are yer manners? Give our guests yer seats. They’re weary after a day’s travel.”
“We didnae travel that long,” said Tiernan, waving a hand dismissively. Still, as the men scrabbled to obey Constantine’s orders, all five of them standing from their chairs to give their seats to the two of them, Tiernan took a seat and pulled Isabeau next to him, once again keeping her close. “But thank ye, Mr. Constantine. We appreciate it.”
“Just Constantine,” said the man with a shrug as he took a seat across from them. Behind him, the men shuffled closer, forming a wall with their bodies and attracting Isabeau’s gaze. They all seemed to gravitate towards him, as though he was an irresistible force and they were caught in his orbit, never to escape. “It’s nay bother. It’s me men who have forgotten their manners, an’ fer this, I apologize. Now, I suppose ye’re braither an’ sister? Workin’ together? This isnae a proper line o’ work fer such a lovely young lass as yerself.”
“She’s me wife,” Tiernan grumbled before Isabeau could say a thing. Shocking as it was to hear him speak those words, she was glad he had taken the lead. She didn’t enjoy the way in which Constantine stared at her, like she was a prey he would love to devour. At least with her role as his wife, neither Constantine nor his men would be as eager to touch her, knowing that they could bring forth his wrath.
“Ach,” said Constantine in disappointment. “Is she, truly? A lovely wife, tae be sure.”
“Thank ye,” said Tiernan through gritted teeth, all but spitting out the word. “But I think I’m here tae talk about the swords an’ the plan, nae about me wife.”
For a moment, Constantine only looked at him and Isabeau with a thin smile, head tilted to the side once more as he carefully examined them. For just that moment, Isabeau feared that the two of them would attack each other, throwing themselves at each other like wild animals, but then Constantine only drew in a deep breath and smiled.
“O’ course,” he said. “Ye’re right, ye came all this way fer the swords. May I see them?”
It was a request as much as it was an order, Isabeau could tell. Tiernan reached for the sack and dragged it over towards Constantine, leaving it by his feet, so he could inspect them all. Constantine’s men gathered even closer to take a better look at the blades as he pulled them out one by one, dragging his fingers over the sharp edge before handing them off to his men.
It seemed like a ritual to Isabeau as she watched them. The men treated the blades with reverence, and though she couldn’t exactly say the same for Constantine, there was care in his movements, as though he wanted to keep them pristine and spotless.
These blades will be bathed in blood.
Was it worth it, Isabeau wondered? Beag had forced Tiernan to do this, but Constantine’s life would not be the only one lost in the end.
“This one reminds me o’ a sword I had as a young lad,” said Constantine, though he didn’t seem that old to Isabeau. Perhaps it was his unblemished complexion and the striking features of his face that kept him looking young, but she would have guessed he was around Tiernan’s age. How long had he been in this line of work? How long had he been killing people, taking their lives with no remorse? “A bonnie blade. I used tae be down in Wiltshire back then, I lived there fer a few years. Have ye ever been?”
“Cannae say that I have,” said Tiernan drily.
“Bonnie place, but the Sassenachs… well, I’m sure ye can understand,” said Constantine with a chuckle as he passed another blade back to his men. “Ye’re nae missin’ anythin’. I always said our parts are the bonniest place in the world. But I was there an’ I was workin’ fer this man, some noble or other, an’ he gave me that blade as part o’ me payment. Eventually, I lost it in a storm an’ could never find it again. Fell off me horse or perhaps was washed away when I was in me camp.”
Constantine had a way of speaking that drew everyone around him in. Though Tiernan and Isabeau had only just met him, he was talking to them as though they were old friends, with the same casual air and warmth that Isabeau would give to her family. His charm was infectious, the honeyed baritone of his voice carrying through the air around them and settling comfortably over those who listened to him. It was awfully pleasant to be around him, and that was precisely what Isabeau feared the most.
She could see right through him. There was no doubt in her mind that all of this was a performance, but she didn’t know if he was trying to ensnare them, to pull them into some sort of trap, or if he was trying to charm them just to hold their favor. Either way, she and Tiernan had to be cautious, stay alert. Constantine didn’t strike her as a fool. There was no doubt in her mind that he didn’t trust either of them and that he would be watching them closely. Fooling him would be no easy task.
“Finlay!” Constantine shouted then, making Isabeau flinch in surprise. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tiernan’s hand twitch, as though he was eager to reach for his dagger and only just managed to stop himself in time. “Get Tiernan an’…”
Neither Isabeau nor Tiernan made any effort to provide Constantine her name. The silence stretched in the room, but in the end, Constantine only smiled and continued.
“Tiernan an’ his wife some food an’ ale,” he said. “They’re our guests. Remember yer manners.”
One of the men in the group, the youngest one by the looks of it, was quick to obey. He walked over to the other end of the small room, where the men had set up a makeshift kitchen, and began to pile food on two plates with no complaint, making sure that there was plenty of it. Isabeau didn’t miss the way Tiernan watched him, too, like a hawk preparing to dive at the first sign of danger. He was right to mistrust them all; though they appeared welcoming and civilized, Isabeau knew better than to be fooled by appearances.
The plates of food the man placed in front of them were far more appetizing and plentiful than what they had found at the inn where they had stayed and in any village they had visited in their quest. Still, Isabeau glanced at it with some apprehension, wondering if there was any chance the men had somehow tampered with it, unlikely as it seemed. Tiernan grabbed the cup of ale placed in front of him, taking a tentative sip, and nodded subtly as if to let her know it was safe to drink.
“This one seems tae me that it needs some sharpenin’,” said Constantine as he ran his hand over one of the blades. To Isabeau, it seemed sharp as any other, but when he handed it to Tiernan, he stood without complaint.
“Dae ye have a whetstone?” he asked him.
“Och aye,” said Constantine. “Outside.”
Isabeau exchanged a quick glance with Tiernan, reluctant to be left alone with those men in the room. Tiernan seemed just as hesitant, but he only shook his head and leaned in to press his lips against hers in a soft, familiar kiss, before he finally turned to head outside, and just like that, Isabeau was left alone.
She could hardly focus on the men in front of her, though. The touch of his lips still lingered, the ghost of it sending a shiver down her spine. The memory of it encompassed her mind, igniting inside her a fire that she didn’t even know could exist.
It was such a casual, familiar gesture that it shocked her even more than the act of the kiss itself. Though she had never allowed herself to truly hope for a kiss from Tiernan, she had imagined it plenty of times. But it had never been like this. In her mind, it had always been urgent, desperate, the two of them unable to keep away from each other anymore. This kiss, soft and intimate as it was, felt much more scandalous to her than anything else could have been.
But he only did it tae keep Constantine an’ his men away from me. Tae remind them that they cannae touch me.
“So,” said Constantine, pulling Isabeau out of her thoughts. “Ye look very young. How come ye’re already wedded?”
“I’m twenty-five years o’ age,” said Isabeau, sitting up a little straighter and assuming the commanding air she sometimes invoked when she needed to stand her ground without appearing rude. “Some would say I’m even too old.”
“Are ye?” Constantine asked, though he didn’t seem truly surprised by it. “An’ how long have ye been wedded tae Tiernan?”
“Almost a year now,” said Isabeau without missing a beat. She could only hope that Constantine wouldn’t ask him the same questions or that, at least, they would have some time alone to get their story straight. “Though it feels much shorter.”
“Och aye,” said Constantine. “Time runs through yer fingers when ye’re happy. An’ how is it that he brings ye tae these… jobs? Surely, he must realize it isnae safe fer a lass.”
“It isnae safe fer him either,” Isabeau pointed out. “An’ yet ye dinnae ask me why I allow him tae dae it.”
Silence fell over the table. All the men in the room turned to stare at her, wide-eyed, save for Constantine who gave her a small, conspiratorial grin.
“I suppose ye’re right,” he said. “Ye’re a clever lass.”
“So, I’ve been told.”
The two of them stared at each other in silence once more, but Isabeau wasn’t as frightened of Constantine anymore. She had the suspicion that if he had wanted to kill them, he would have done so already, and there would be nothing she or Tiernan could do to stop it. Rather, he was testing them both and she felt as though she had just passed his test.
Just then, the door opened and Tiernan walked in once more, stomping over to Constantine and handing him the sword. Once again, Constantine ran his fingers over the blade and hummed in satisfaction, passing it back to one of his men.
“Excellent,” he said. “Just excellent. Well, ye can sleep here fer the night if ye so wish. We have the space an’ ye must be weary.”
“Nay,” said Tiernan immediately, a little too abruptly for Isabeau’s taste. Even if Constantine didn’t want to harm them, they still had to be careful around him. “I think we will head tae the village. But we’ll be back on the morrow tae try out the swords with ye an’ yer men. Ye were right when ye said that one wasnae sharpened. I wish tae see if they are all sharpened an’ balanced.
“Very well,” said Constantine. “As ye wish.”
Just as Isabeau thought it was finally time to leave, Tiernan added, “An’ I would love tae spar with ye when I willnae be so tired.”
Isabeau’s eyes widened at the suggestion, wondering what it was Tiernan was thinking. Why would he provoke Constantine like that? Even a sparring session could be dangerous, no matter the weapons they used. But she didn’t dare say a thing; perhaps, she thought, Tiernan had a plan.
Constantine stood, bowing his head just so. “I would like that very much,” he said. “In fact, I look forward tae it.”
When Isabeau’s gaze met Tiernan’s, she found in it nothing but determination.