Page 21 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)

CHAPTER TWENTY

M usic and laughter permeated every inch of the village square. A large bonfire burned in the middle, brightening the night sky, and the villagers danced and feasted on roasted meat and ale. It was a rare kind of celebration, though Isabeau didn’t know what the occasion was. She didn’t ask as she and Tiernan made their way to their inn, slipping up to their room undisturbed. The entire building seemed empty, save for an older woman Isabeau had never seen before, who was sitting behind the counter, waiting for travelers like her and Tiernan, and who only greeted them with a tilt of her head.

Once in the room, Tiernan was quick to light a fire in the fireplace, moving silently about. Isabeau watched him; ever since the ridge, they had exchanged few words, but she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Besides, it seemed to her that Tiernan was in no mood for conversation, something that was solidified in her mind when he sat on the floor by the fire and pulled out his knife to sharpen it.

His movements were slow, methodical; pass after pass of the stone over the blade, its edge catching the orange glow of the fire and reflecting it into the room. With the sleeve of his tunic pushed up, Isabeau could see the flex of muscles in his forearm, the rhythmic ripple of movement that spoke of years of experience.

It was almost like a strange dance. Isabeau couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. He seemed to glow under the incandescence of the flames, the scars on his skin silver, his dark hair shifting into a deep, shimmering red where the light touched it. He looked to be entirely focused in his task, but Isabeau knew better than that. She had no doubt that his mind was racing as he tried to think of all the ways their task could go wrong—all the ways they could be hurt or struck dead, all the ways they could lose each other.

With a sigh, she approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tiernan halted his movements, the stone coming to a stop over the blade with one final hiss, but he didn’t look up at her. He only stared at the flames, still and silent.

“Ye dinnae have tae dae this,” she said. “Ye dinnae have tae be this man anymore. Me braithers will help; I ken they will.”

There was no doubt in her mind that Ewan and Alaric were already looking for her. She only needed to find a way to contact them without being caught by Beag and then they were bound to send help.

For a while, Tiernan remained silent and Isabeau feared that he would immediately reject her suggestion without even giving it the thought it deserved. But then, he placed his dagger on the floor and pushed himself up to his feet, turning around to face her with a pained, pinched expression.

When he kissed her, it lacked all the hurry of their previous kisses, all the maddening intensity. It was a soft kiss, little more than a brush of his lips, and his hands came up to cradle her cheeks gently as he pulled her closer to his chest.

It felt like a promise, like all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say to her.

When they parted, Tiernan took her hands in his and held them tightly as his gaze met hers.

“Until now,” he said, his voice quiet but his eyes filled with such raw intensity that it took Isabeau aback for a moment, wondering what it was that had suddenly shifted in him, “I didnae care what would happen tae me. I didnae care if I lived or died because… well, I had naethin’ fer which I desired tae live. All me life, I was a brigand an’ then, when yer braither took me in, me life was better, but I still had naethin’.”

“Tiernan… dinnae say that,” Isabeau said as she detangled one of her hands from his and reached for him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sure it isnae true.”

“It is,” Tiernan insisted. His eyes fell shut and once again, he seemed pained, but then he shook his head and continued, “it doesnae bother me. It’s the truth. I woke in the morn only because I had tae an’ I went about me day because… well, I was alive. But I wasnae livin’. I wasnae livin’ until I met ye. Until I fell in love with ye. An’ now every new day is another day I can be with ye.”

A soft gasp escaped Isabeau, one she couldn’t suppress. It was the first time Tiernan had spoken that word, the first time either of them had openly acknowledged their feelings like this. Tears of happiness stung her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. The enormity of Tiernan’s admission stunned her, rendering her speechless for so long that Tiernan opened his eyes and pulled back from her a little, as though he feared he had said too much.

Isabeau was quick to pull him into another kiss, only to feel him trembling in her arms. It scared him, this truth; she could tell. But it also scared her, the knowledge that they both loved each other dearly but so many circumstances threatened to tear them apart. It wasn’t only Beag and Constantine, the threat of harm and death. Those were only the immediate fears, the ones that had to be at the front of their minds. But there were other threats, too—threats that they would have to face if they managed to get out of this alive.

As much as Isabeau insisted her brothers would listen to her, she didn’t know if that would be true for the council, as well. Would they ever allow her to wed a man beneath her station? Would her brothers, protective as they were, accept Tiernan? They were good, kind men, but even for them, presenting Tiernan as her betrothed would be a shock from which they might not recover.

But that was a worry for another day. For now, they had to focus on what was right ahead of them—the plan to kill Constantine and get Beag off their backs.

“Whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” Isabeau promised him. “Let me write tae me brothers. I ken they can help.”

Tiernan nodded, if a little reluctantly. “Alright,” he said. “But I fear there truly may be nae time fer them tae come. Constantine suspects, I ken it. He may even ken the truth.”

Isabeau’s blood ran cold at that, but what else was there to do other than persevere?

“Promise me ye’ll stay here when the time comes,” Tiernan said, his hand tightening around hers. “Promise me. I cannae bear the thought o’ somethin’ happenin’ tae ye.”

Isabeau let out a long breath, considering it for a moment. It would be more prudent for her to stay there; safer, not only for her but for Tiernan as well. But she couldn’t bring herself to stay away. No matter what happened, she wanted to be by his side.

“I’m nae leavin’ ye alone,” she said. “Never. We’re in this together.”

She expected him to argue, to try and convince her that this was the best course of action, but after a brief moment of hesitation, Tiernan only nodded, surrendering himself to the fact that no matter what he said, she would never agree to be left behind.

With a deep, steadying breath, Isabeau forced a smile to her lips. Neither she nor Tiernan were in the best of spirits, of course, but if she could alleviate at least some of his concerns and his fear for a short while, then she would do anything to achieve it.

“Come,” she said. “Let us go tae the feast. It will help us take our minds off this.”

Even as she tugged him along, though, Tiernan refused to budge. “I dinnae ken if that’s a good idea. I dinnae feel like seein’ all those people.”

“Trust me,” Isabeau insisted. “It will help. We can have some food an’ some wine an’ ye’ll feel much, much better. Besides, I’ve never been tae such a feast. It would make me feel so… normal.”

She didn’t know if it was her insistence or the promise of wine that finally got Tiernan moving, but soon, the two of them were back outside, joining the peasants in their feast. It truly was unlike anything else Isabeau had experienced; all the feasts had ever been to were at the castle, far away from villages and the peasants’ customs. There was something carefree about the way they all talked and danced and sang here, in this small village, like they were all good friends. The feasts back home always had an air of formality about them, Isabeau and her brothers sitting at the head table in the great hall and barely participating in what she believed was the true spirit of a feast. She was never allowed much wine; she was never allowed to dance unless it was with someone the council and her brothers had already approved or if her partner was a female friend—the daughter of a general, a visiting noble girl, anyone but a man.

Here, she was free to do as she pleased, and she looked around with wide eyes, trying to take everything in. The bonfire still burned bright, but not the rest of the square and the side streets were also lit, glowing under the light of lanterns. The music was even more joyous now, a band of musicians playing merrily as the people danced. The scent of roasted meat and mulled wine was sweet in the air, and even the nipping cold didn’t bother Isabeau, though her fingers had begun to tingle with it.

Looking around, she spotted a cart where a stocky man sold mulled wine and she thought that was the best way for her and Tiernan to warm up, so she turned to him, giving him her most charming smile.

“Shall we have some?” she asked, nodding her head towards the cart. “I’m so, so cold, Tiernan… I dinnae ken how I will take it fer even one more minute.”

Tiernan rolled his eyes at her antics, but Isabeau saw the small smile that played in the corners of his lips. That was all she needed. Even if what it took to raise his spirits was a bit of clowning, she was willing to do it.

“Fine,” he said. “Stay here.”

Isabeau watched Tiernan as he wove his way through the crowd and then dragged her gaze over to the dancing villagers. They all looked so happy, with reddened cheeks and huge smiles on their faces, and Isabeau didn’t know how they could do it. From the little she had seen of their lives, they were far from easy. And yet, they still managed to find the beauty in the small things, letting go even if it was for one night.

Until then, she hadn’t realized how truly lucky she was to have been born the daughter of a laird. But her blessing was also a curse. Sometimes she thought a simple life would be better than what she had.

Safer, at least.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a movement and turned to see what seemed to her at first like a shadow but was, in fact, a man cloaked in black, wearing an odd black cloth mask that covered most of his face. There was no doubt in her mind regarding his identity, though; there was only one man she knew who moved so distinctly, deliberately and confidently, as though he owned the entire space around him.

Constantine? What is he doin’ here?

Perhaps Tiernan was right, Isabeau thought, and he had come there to kill them. Perhaps right as he was approaching her, he had a knife in his hand, ready to attack her.

But when he came close, Isabel freezing where she stood, he was only holding a bottle of wine in his hand. His smile, the only thing Isabeau could see under the mask, was more like a baring of teeth.

“Good evenin’,” Constantine told her. “Are ye enjoyin’ yerself?”

Isabeau swallowed in a dry throat. “Aye,” she managed to say, though it sounded weak.

“Are ye here alone? Where is Tiernan?”

“He’s… he’s over there,” Isabeau said, her gaze searching for him. She couldn’t find him by the cart, though, and her heart stopped for a moment, the worst scenarios speeding through her mind. What if Constantine had already killed him? What if he had come there now to taunt her, knowing Tiernan would never come back?

“Ach, there he is,” Constantine said, and Isabeau followed his gaze to find him at another cart, trying to balance two cups of wine as he paid for some food. “A nice feast, dinnae ye think?”

“It’s very nice,” Isabeau agreed, just to be polite, but then she didn’t know what else to say and the silence that followed was so heavy, so uncomfortable that she desperately searched for another topic of conversation. She was masterful at finding the right thing to say, after all, even when the other person involved was a terrifying criminal.

Soon, her gaze fell on the bottle Constantine was holding in his hand and her mind latched onto it, finally breaking the oppressive silence. “Are ye fond o’ wine? I cannae say I drink much meself but when I dae, it is always wine.”

“Is that so?” Constantine asked, his tone making it seem as though he was truly curious and interested in her preferences. “Here, ye can have it. I was given it fer the feast, but I never drink when I’m… huntin’.”

As he spoke, Constantine handed her the bottle and Isabeau, after a moment of hesitation, took it reluctantly from him, holding it in one hand. It was still corked and a little dusty, dirtying her hands.

The choice of words didn’t go past her unnoticed. Hunting , Constantine had said. So, he was there for someone, but whether that someone was her or Tiernan, she could not tell. Perhaps he had an entirely different mission, looking for an entirely different person, but that, too, was not much of a relief.

She couldn’t help but fear that someone would die that night.

“Yer husband shouldnae leave such a bonnie lass like ye here alone,” Constantine advised her, though it sounded more like a threat. “So many bad people around these days.”

“He didnae leave me alone,” said Isabeau through gritted teeth. “He’s right there.”

“Ach aye. So he is.”

Constantine stared at her in silence, once again giving her that smile that chilled her to the bone. It didn’t take long for Tiernan to appear, pushing himself between them, into the small gap Constantine had left, and it was only then, when his shoulder brushed against the tip of her nose, that she realized just how close Constantine had come.

“Excuse me,” he said. “If there is somethin’ ye want from me, we can speak on the morrow. But now I must speak with me wife.”

He, too, had recognized Constantine, and before the other man could protest or try to convince them to stay, Tiernan was already guiding her back to the safety of their inn—or at least the illusion of it.