Page 23 of Bound to a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #8)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
S omething pulled Tiernan out of his deep sleep. It took him a few moments to realize it sounded like the creaking of a door, its hinges rusty, the wood groaning as it was pushed open. It took him even longer to realize the sound was coming from the door of their room as it was pushed open, but when he looked over to see who it was, he could see nothing but shadows.
His vision swam as he stood, the darkness cut through by flashes of orange light. It had to be late at night still, he reasoned, and he knew his eyes were open, but it all felt like a dream. There was a hazy quality to his surroundings, a strangeness that disoriented him, and when he tried to stand, he felt as though he was floating.
Before he knew it, his face met the floor with a thud and though a sharp pain coursed through him upon impact, he could hardly make a sound other than a muffled groan. His limbs felt like lead, his head like a rock over his shoulders. He couldn’t move from where he was, even as he desperately tried to crawl towards his belongings to retrieve his knife.
But what good would a knife be when he couldn’t even move his hands?
His heart raced in his chest as two sets of heavy footsteps approached him. Tiernan tried to focus his gaze on them but no matter what he did, they seemed shapeless, like ghosts in the night. There was nowhere for him to run, nothing for him to do—not even to protect Isabeau.
He could hear her behind him, struggling as she tried to get out of bed, but she was in as bad a shape as he was. And then, just as he began to wonder what it was that had brought them both to this state, he saw it—the bottle of wine, sitting half-empty on the bedside table.
And then, just like that, everything went dark.
This time, when Tiernan opened his eyes, he knew precisely what it was that woke him—a flask of water to the head, drenching his hair, his shoulders, and his chest, dripping off him as he stood there, tied against the trunk of an oak.
He gasped as the water hit him, the wind that whipped his wet skin chilling him to the bone. Once again, he was disoriented, his vision swimming as he looked around, trying to place his surroundings, only to find that he was not in the room at the inn.
The men had taken him to the woods, deep into them from the looks of it. To his left, Isabeau was already awake, fighting against the ropes as she tried in vain to free herself. When she noticed him moving, her head whipped to the side to look at him, wide-eyed and frightened, a sob escaping her lips.
“Tiernan!” she called. “Are ye hurt?”
“How touchin’,” a familiar voice said and Tiernan couldn’t claim to be surprised by its presence. He dragged his gaze over to Constantine, who was standing near a small fire, its flames the only thing illuminating the woods around them. “Dinnae fash, nae one is hurt. The wine only makes ye a wee… drunk.”
To Tiernan it seemed more than that. He and Isabeau had been a more than simply drunk, like Constantine claimed. There had been poison in that wine, plain and simple, and Tiernan could still feel its effects every time he tried to move his eyes, each movement making his forehead ache and his temples pound.
“Why did ye bring us here?” Tiernan demanded. “Why nae kill us in the room when ye had the chance if ye already suspected us?”
“Because I want ye tae tell me everythin’ first,” said Constantine, walking towards Tiernan with a cold, cruel smile on his lips. It was the first time Tiernan had seen him look like this. He had always seemed dangerous to him, always with a bit of an edge, but this open viciousness was new. It was as though he had dropped his mark, revealing the real self underneath. “Ye’re workin’ fer someone else, right?”
“Aye,” said Tiernan. He didn’t really see a point in lying or trying to protect Beag. Constantine was going to kill the man anyway now, so Tiernan figured he might as well give him one more reason. Beag was the one who had gotten them into this mess in the first place, after all. “Beag Sinclair. He wants ye dead because he kens ye’re searchin’ fer him tae kill him.”
Constantine frowned, tilting his head to the side as though the information surprised him. “I see… an’ he’s such a coward that he couldnae even come tae me himself. Ach well, it is what it is, I suppose. What did he promise ye?”
“What he promised me,” Tiernan said glaring up at Constantine through lowered lashes, his words coming out through gritted teeth, “was that if I failed, he would kill Isabeau. An’ then me.”
For a moment, Constantine seemed even more confused, but then his gaze fell on Isabeau and he hummed in understanding. “So that’s yer name, wee lassie.” Then, he looked back at Tiernan as he unsheathed a small dagger from his waist, pressing the tip of it against a finger as he twirled the handle in his other hand. “Why ye? Ye’re nae one o’ his men.”
Tiernan shrugged a shoulder, or at least tried to, tied as he was. “He felt I owed him fer tryin’ tae steal a sword from him… and a ring of his. He wanted his revenge, so he tracked me down an’ told me I had tae kill ye if I wished fer me debt tae be repaid.”
“An’ ye believed him?” Constantine asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I had nay choice,” said Tiernan. “Whether I believed him or nae was inconsequential. He still had Isabeau.”
“Young love,” Constantine said wistfully, and Tiernan found it a small blessing that at least he didn’t seem to know Isabeau’s real identity. If he could hide that from him, then perhaps he could somehow convince him to let her go and she could return safely to the castle. “Alright, thank ye fer tellin’ me, Tiernan. It’s a relief tae ken it’s only Beag who’s after me.”
Tiernan didn’t know if he, personally, would call it a relief, but he supposed it may have been for Constantine. It was easier for him, after all, if the only man after him was his own target. What struck Tiernan the most, though, was how Constantine had switched back suddenly to the man he and Isabeau knew—calm and polite, with no hint of that malicious intent in his gaze anymore.
He didn’t know what to make of it. Someone else may have thought him insane, but Tiernan knew that would be false. Constantine was far too controlled, far too logical to be insane. To Tiernan, he simply seemed like the kind of man who was willing to do anything, as long as he could get what he wanted—and what he usually wanted was gold.
“Why did ye go tae all the trouble o’ druggin’ us?” Tiernan asked then. If he was going to die there, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity, at least. “How did ye ken we would drink the wine?”
“I didnae,” said Constantine with a small, nonchalant shrug. “But it didnae matter if ye did. I wanted tae bring ye here quietly, but I could have easily killed ye in yer room if ye decided tae nae drink it.”
Tiernan couldn’t help the humorless chuckle that escaped him at that. He shook his head, but he realized there was no real reason for his disbelief; Constantine seemed like the kind of man who would do such a thing.
“An’ now ye have me,” Tiernan said.
“Aye, I have ye.”
His only regret was that Isabeau had been caught up into this. From the very start, Tiernan regretted every decision he had made that had led Isabeau to be a part of his. personal troubles, but he wouldn’t allow this to go on any longer. If he could convince Constantine in any way to let her go, then he was willing to do whatever it took.
“Please,” he said, now looking at him with wide, pleading eyes, putting as much of his humility as he could into his expression. “If ye wish tae kill me, then dae so. I willnae fight. But please let Isabeau go. She daesnae deserve any o’ this. She was never a part o’ this.”
“Tiernan!” Isabeau said, finally breaking her silence. All this time, she had said nothing, melting into the background much to Tiernan’s relief. That was precisely what he wanted—for her to be invisible, for Constantine’s attention to slide right over her. “Nay, dinnae listen tae him. I willnae leave him.”
Constantine eyed Isabeau curiously, but Tiernan was quick to draw the man’s attention back to himself.
“It’s ye an’ I, Constantine,” he told him. “Dinnae listen tae her. Listen tae me. All I’m askin’ is that she is freed an’ can return home. I’ll dae anythin’ ye ask in return… anythin’.”
Constantine considered that for several moments, while Isabeau begged him not to listen to Tiernan. Tiernan didn’t acknowledge her, though. He knew that if he so much as glanced at her, he would cave in and do as she pleased, for he could not bear to see her like this, so desperate and in so much pain. This was for her own good, even if she didn’t like it, even if she couldn’t understand it. Tiernan would never let anything happen to her, even if it meant giving his own life.
It was a small price to pay for everything he had done. He deserved an end like this and though he wouldn’t welcome it, he could accept it. He now knew true love, the best that life had to offer, and it was more than he ever could have hoped for. He could die without any regrets if only he knew that Isabeau was safe—or at least with not too many regrets. There were some things that would always haunt him, even in death.
The look Constantine gave Tiernan turned more and more curious by the second, and as he approached him, coming to stand right in front of him, Tiernan felt like an animal in a trap. Next to him, Isabeau had fallen silent, but from the corner of his eye, Tiernan could see her lips still moving, still quietly begging Constantine.
Crouching down in front of Tiernan, Constantine nodded. “I see,” he said and it sounded as though he had reached a point of revelation, simply because Tiernan was willing to make such a sacrifice. Was it so strange, Tiernan wondered? Did Constantine find it so odd that he was willing to sacrifice himself for someone he loved?
Had Constantine never loved?
Tiernan’s heart drummed against his ribs, fearing what was to come. A part of him expected Constantine to mock him for it, to taunt him, perhaps even to kill Isabeau in cold blood just because he could—just to prove a point. But in the end, he only stared into Tiernan’s eyes and patted his knee in a gesture that felt not only painfully familiar but also oddly fraternal.
“Ye have a deal,” Constantine said. “The lass can go.”