Page 19 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
R owena stood frozen as the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. The only eligible noblewoman under Duart’s roof, the only one who could fit Niall’s announcement, was her.
It cannae be…
“Nay,” she whispered, but the word was lost in the celebration around her. She felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath her feet, as if she were falling into a pit she hadn’t seen until it was too late to save herself.
“Rowena?” Lilias grabbed her arm, concern creeping into her voice as she saw the color drain from her friend’s face. “What’s wrong? Are ye okay?”
Rowena felt sick, betrayed, manipulated in the cruelest possible way. All those moments with Constantine, all those stolen glances and careful conversations, the growing sense of safety and perhaps something more—had it all been part of some elaborate trap?
The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound.
Constantine had saved her, sheltered her, made her feel safe for the first time since fleeing her uncle’s control.
Had every moment of understanding between them been calculated?
Had his kindness been nothing more than bait in a snare she’d been too foolish to see?
She had allowed herself to grow relaxed, had welcomed the attention and care Duart Castle had offered her and now it seemed like her folly was catching up to her. Rowena turned and fled from the room, and heavy upon her heart was the weight of betrayal.
I need tae get away from here.
Rowena drew a breath that did little to steady the tumult in her breast. She excused herself and freed her arm from Lilias’ grasp.
Without another word, she slipped from the press of bodies and started walking with no destination in mind.
She went where her feet would carry her, anywhere the walls didn’t hem her in like a gaol.
Constantine felt the blood drain from his face as the announcement crashed over him like a winter wave.
This was political maneuvering at its most vicious, and he recognized his father’s hand in every calculated word. The public declaration made it impossible to refuse without seeming ungrateful, while the timing—in front of the entire assembled clan—made any objection appear treasonous.
Some people applaud, but Constantine heard it as if from a great distance. His vision narrowed to his father’s triumphant face, and fury surged through his veins.
“What did ye say?” The words came out of Constantine’s mouth before he could stop them. He would not lash out at his father before an audience for something they had never agreed upon. That would be a fool’s move, and he had no doubt Niall was counting on his temper to betray him.
He drew a slow breath and wrapped his hand around his ale cup, letting the motion ground him, the strain in his grip betraying what he would not show in his face.
“I said,” Niall replied with false joviality, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction, “that ye shall be betrothed soon. Surely ye remember discussin’ this with me, son?”
The old man’s smile was sharp as a blade, and Constantine recognized the look. He’d seen it on the faces of commanders who’d sent good men to die for political gain, on nobles who’d traded lives for territory, on allies who’d revealed their true nature only when the daggers were already drawn.
Constantine took a slow draught of wine, bracing himself against the tempest rising within before he gave voice to words he would regret. The wine tasted like ash in his mouth as his father’s words echoed in his ears.
“Did ye ken about this?” Theo appeared at his elbow, voice low and concerned.
“Nay,” Constantine replied, his voice tight. “I had nae idea.”
Theo’s brows drew together. “But surely?—”
“I’ve rejected every marriage arrangement he’s tried tae foist upon me since I arrived,” Constantine cut him off, watching as his father basked in the clan’s approval. “Political alliances, dowry negotiations—I’ve refused them all.”
“Then who—" Theo began, but Constantine was already scanning the crowd, a cold dread settling in his stomach. His gaze found Rowena across the room, and his heart clenched at what he saw.
Her face had gone white as fresh snow, her eyes wide with the kind of shock that came from having the ground ripped out from beneath one’s feet. She stood frozen among the celebrating crowd like a deer that had just spotted the hunter’s arrow.
“Rowena,” he breathed, understanding crashing over him like a cold wave.
He watched as she whispered something to Lilias, her expression shifting from shock to something far worse—betrayal. Constantine’s chest tightened with guilt he hadn’t earned.
She thinks I’ve planned this. Of course she daes.
“I need tae—” Constantine started, but Rowena was already moving, pushing through the crowd with desperate urgency.
“Go,” Theo said quietly. “I’ll handle things here.”
Constantine didn’t wait for further permission. He cut through the celebrating crowd, ignoring the congratulations called out to him, the slaps on his back from clansmen who thought they were witnessing a joyous occasion.
The library doors stood ajar, candlelight spilling into the dim corridor like a beacon.
Constantine paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the worn wood as he watched Rowena pace before the hearth.
Her red hair caught the firelight with each sharp turn, and the rigid set of her shoulders told him everything he needed to know about her mood.
She hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by her fury to sense his presence. It was a mistake he’d seen cost men their lives, but here, in the safety of Duart’s walls, it only made her look vulnerable.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The soft click made her spin toward him, her hazel eyes blazing with the kind of fire that could burn a man alive.
“What was yer faither talking about Constantine?” Her voice was sharp as any blade he’d ever carried.
Constantine didn’t move closer, but he said nothing in answer and kept his hands loose at his sides.
She seemed to take his silence for confirmation, and a bitter laugh escaped her. “So ye ken.”
“Nay.”
“Then what are ye daeing here?” She crossed her arms, the gesture pulling her dress tight across her chest. He forced his gaze to remain on her face, though the effort cost him more than he cared to admit.
“I came tae offer ye an explanation because I didnae want ye tae get the wrong idea.” He kept his tone level, the same voice he’d used to broker deals in smoky taverns and blood-soaked battlefields. “The announcement was Niall’s daeing, nae mine.”
Her laugh was bitter, cutting through the space between them. “And I suppose ye had nay knowledge of it? Nay part in the planning?”
“I ken the logic behind it.” He took a measured step forward, watching her tense. “A noble marriage solidifies me claim. Makes me more than just a bastard playing at being laird.”
“How convenient fer ye.”
“Aye, it is.” The blunt admission seemed to catch her off guard. Her pacing stopped, and she studied his face. “But I didnae help ye with such a promise in mind, Rowena.” He moved closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of lavender that clung to her skin.
“I think ye’re a man who sees opportunity and takes it.” She stepped back until her shoulders hit the stone mantel, trapped between his advancing presence and the wall. “Just like every other man who’s tried tae use me fer his own ends.”
The comparison stung. “I am naethin’ like yer uncle.”
“Enlighten me.”
He saw her flinch at the mention of Alpin, but the challenge in her voice remained, making him continue.
He stopped just within arm’s reach, close enough that he could see the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her breathing had quickened. “I’m offering ye partnership, nae ownership,” he said, voice low.
“Aye, I’ll gain legitimacy through the match, none would deny that. But this could be yer way tae stop runnin’ from yer uncle.”
Rowena’s brow furrowed, her mind likely racing over every option, weighing each cost. Constantine watched her closely, knowing she hadn’t missed the truth in his words, even if she hadn’t yet decided what to do with it.
“But I need something in return.”
“What would that be?”
“Transparency. I willnae move forward blind, lass. If I’m tae protect ye, tae bind me fate tae yers, I need tae ken what I’m facing."
Her eyes searched his, realization forming in her gaze. “Ye want tae ken why I’m running.”
“Aye.” He lifted his hand slowly, moving as he might with a skittish horse, and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, her breath halting. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips. “Tell me about yer uncle. What drove ye intae those woods with death on yer heels?”
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting to the fire crackling in the hearth, then back to Constantine’s face. He saw the uncertainty in her gaze, the defiance in her bearing as though it alone might keep her walls intact.
When she spoke again, her voice was steady but hollow. “Alpin isnae me blood. He’s me stepmaither’s braither.”
Constantine waited, recognizing the careful way she parceled out information. He’d done the same countless times, revealing only what was necessary to survive.
He let his hand fall, though every instinct urged him to keep touching her, and nodded for her to take a seat by the fireplace.
“When me faither died in battle last spring, Alpin saw his chance.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as she took a seat opposite from Constantine.
“The clan needed a leader, and he presented himself as the solution. A temporary guardian until a proper marriage could be arranged. And then suddenly, I found meself being hauled tae a chapel tae get married.”
“Tae him?”