Page 34 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

C onstantine sat in the dining hall watching Rowena as the servants cleared the table away. Two days after Rowena had caught him in what could only be described as a precarious position. With her acting like it had not happened, there hung in the air a tension he didn’t like.

I’ll talk tae her after this meal .

His breeches tightened as he pictured again how her eyes had glued to his hands. He hadn’t been able to help it, teasing her like that.

“Good day, Sir.” A maid said to him and he nodded at her.

Just then, a messenger arrived, mud-splattered and weary from his ride through the winter countryside.

Constantine received him in the great hall, Rowena standing quietly to one side as the young man delivered his request with the careful formality of someone unused to addressing nobility.

“Me laird,” the boy began, his cap clutched nervously in his hands, “the village of Kinloch sends their respectful greetings and a humble request fer yer wisdom.”

Constantine’s expression remained neutral, but Rowena caught the slight tension in his shoulders. This would be one of his first official acts as laird-in-waiting, and she knew he felt the weight of it.

“Go on,” Constantine said simply.

“There’s been a dispute, me laird. About land boundaries between two families; the MacBeths and the Campbells.

It’s been festering fer months now, and the village elders fear it might turn violent if left unresolved.

They’re asking if ye’d be willing tae come and mediate, tae lend yer authority tae whatever judgment ye see fit. ”

Constantine was quiet for a long moment, considering. Rowena could see him weighing the opportunity to establish his authority, but also the risk of making enemies if his judgment was seen as unfair.

“When?” he asked finally.

“Soon, if possible, me laird. The spring planting season approaches, and both families need tae ken which fields belong tae them.”

Constantine nodded decisively. “Tomorrow morning, then. Tell the elders we’ll arrive before noon.”

The messenger’s face lit with relief. “Aye, thank ye, me laird.”

After the young man had been fed and sent on his way, Constantine turned to Rowena. “Pack whatever ye need fer a day’s travel,” he said. “Ye’re coming with me.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Am I now? And why’s that?”

“Because if we’re tae be partners in this marriage, ye need tae see what that actually means. This is the work of a laird and his lady—settling disputes, maintaining peace, ensuring the people under our protection can live and work without fear.”

The casual way he’d said “our protection” sent a flutter of something warm through Rowena’s chest.

Constantine’s mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile. “Plus, I think the people deserve tae see what kind of woman will be standing beside me.”

The village of Kinloch sat in a valley between two rolling hills, its cottages clustered around a central green where a small market was in progress. Smoke rose from chimneys in straight lines against the clear winter sky, and the sound of children’s laughter carried on the crisp air.

As they rode into the village, Constantine could feel the weight of curious eyes upon them.

Word of their arrival had clearly spread.

People paused in their work to watch them pass, some offering respectful nods, others simply staring with the frank interest of those unused to seeing nobility in their midst.

The village elders were waiting for them at the small stone building that served as both meeting hall and occasional courthouse. Three men of advanced years, weathered by decades of Highland weather, greeted him with the careful deference due his rank while studying Rowena with obvious curiosity.

“Me laird,” the eldest said, bowing stiffly. “I’m James MacConnor, and these are Martin and Authur MacRoss. We’re grateful ye’ve come.”

“Tell me about this dispute,” Constantine said without preamble.

The elders exchanged glances before James began to speak.

The story that emerged was a familiar one—two families whose lands had been adjacent for generations, with boundaries that had grown unclear over time.

A stream had changed course, old markers had been lost or moved, and now both the MacBeths and the Campbells claimed the same fertile strip of ground.

Constantine listened with focused attention, interrupting the narrator to ask questions that ensured he had all the details right. He did not suffer fools, so he made sure his approach was methodical, logical, designed to cut through emotion and establish facts.

Constantine observed with growing entertainment at the growing frustration in the elders’ faces as his questions grew more pointed. These were men of the land, not scholars or lawyers. They dealt in tradition and memory, not written records and legal precedents.

“I’d like tae hear from the families themselves,” Constantine interrupted with a firm voice. The hall quieted so that a dropped pin would have echoed. “Both sides, separately at first, then together. Sometimes the heart of a dispute isn’t in the facts…”

“...but in the feelings behind them?” Rowena said shyly and he turned to see her searching his face for approval at her words. He gave her a slight nod. The smile she gave him in return made it very much worth it.

The elders looked uncertain, but Constantine gestured for them to proceed. Within minutes, they’d assembled both families in the meeting hall—the MacBeths on one side, the Campbells on the other, tension crackling between them like lightning before a storm.

Constantine noticed how Rowena moved among them, listening to each person’s story with patience.

She asked what the disputed land meant to each family beyond its mere economic value, as Constantine himself grilled them about harder matters, like if anyone of them had taken the land with blood. To which they both vehemently denied.

An elderly Campbell woman spoke tearfully about her late husband’s promise that their grandson would farm that particular field.

A young MacBeth man explained how his father had always said the land was their inheritance, their security against hard times.

Rowena listened to all of it with the same gentle attention, never interrupting, never dismissing.

“I’ve come take a verdict. Enough has been said about what each family has lost.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

“There is an olive tree standing at the center o’ the disputed ground.

That tree will serve as the boundary. The MacBeths, who fish the river, will take the side closest tae the water.

The Campbells, who trade most o’ their goods at the village, will take the east side leading toward the road.

Each family keeps what best serves their needs, and the boundary willnae be questioned again. ”

He let the words hang there, firm and final. Slowly, heads began to nod, relief softening tense faces.

“Aye,” James said finally. “Aye, that could work. That could work well.”

Both families agreed to the arrangement, and Constantine stepped forward to give it the weight of his official authority. But he knew, that the solution had been reached by him and Rowena working together.

As they prepared to leave, several of the village women approached Rowena with shy smiles and small gifts—a loaf of fresh bread, a jar of honey, a small bundle of herbs.

She accepted each offering with genuine warmth, and Constantine could see how easily she could fit into that role, how naturally she connected with the people they would serve together.

The sun was setting by the time they finished with the dispute and started walking toward their horses, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose. As they prepared to mount their horses for the ride back to Duart, several villagers approached with obvious reluctance to see them go.

“Me laird, me lady,” James said, “‘tis getting late, and the roads can be treacherous in the dark. Would ye consider staying the night? We’d be honored tae offer ye what hospitality we can.”

Constantine opened his mouth to politely decline, they could easily make Duart before full darkness fell, but Rowena spoke first. “That’s very kind,” she said with a smile that lit up her entire face. “We’d be grateful fer yer hospitality.”

Constantine shot her a look that she met with raised eyebrows and a slight challenge in her expression. After a moment, he nodded his agreement, earning beaming smiles from the assembled villagers.

They were led to the village’s single tavern, a low stone building with thick walls and small windows that glowed warmly in the gathering dusk. Inside, the air was thick with the scents of roasting meat and ale, and every table seemed to overflow with food and conversation.

The tavern keeper, a stout woman with graying hair and kind eyes, bustled forward to greet them. “Me laird, me lady,” she said with a deep curtsy. “We’re honored tae have ye here.”

Neither Constantine nor Rowena corrected the woman that they weren’t in fact already wed, letting the fiction stand, feeling surprisingly natural.

They were seated at the long table near the hearth, surrounded by the warmth of the firelight and the comfortable chatter of people. Platters of food appeared before them; roasted lamb, fresh bread, root vegetables cooked with herbs, and ale that was surprisingly good for such a small village.

Rowena accepted a cup from their hostess and settled back in her chair with contentment and a soft smile on her face. Constantine noticed how Rowena looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen her since their first meeting near the loch.

“Ye look different,” Constantine observed, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.

“Different how?” Rowena asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Relaxed. Happy, even.”

He saw Rowena considering his words, her gaze drifting around the tavern’s warm interior. “I feel different,” she admitted. “This afternoon... working with ye tae help those families... it felt natural. Like something I was meant tae be daeing.”

Constantine felt something warm unfurl in his chest. “I understand the feeling,” he said simply.

Around them, the tavern’s atmosphere grew more festive as the evening wore on. Someone produced a fiddle, and music joined the mix of voices and laughter. Children darted between the tables, their parents calling after them with affectionate exasperation.

The ale had brought a flush to Rowena’s cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes, and she seemed younger somehow, less burdened by the weight of responsibility she usually carried.

“The mighty Constantine MacLean, brought low by a village celebration,” Rowena said, catching him staring.

“Is that what’s happened?” Constantine asked, leaning closer so he could hear her over the music.

“Ye tell me. Ye’re the one who looks like he’s been struck by lightning.”

Constantine felt his mouth curve in a smile that was becoming easier to summon in her presence. “Maybe I have been.” He took the cup from her hands. “I think ye dinnae need nae more.”

Rowena’s eyes widened slightly at the admission, then she frowned at him. “Ye cannae take me drink away just like that.”

“Cannae I?”

“Yes, ye cannae. Give it back.”

Constantine smirked. “I might, if ye tell me why ye’re guzzlin’ it so.”

Rowena thought hard about it, then she nodded. “It makes me feel at ease.”

“Dae I make ye feel uneasy?”

Rowena’s breath caught, and Constantine could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “Constantine…”

“Aye?”

“Are ye flirting with me?”

“I believe I am. Is it working?”

Rowena’s smile was answer enough, but she spoke anyway. “Perhaps. Though I should warn ye, I’m out of practice at being flirted with.”

“Then I’ll have tae be extra charming tae make up fer it.”

“Extra charming?” Rowena raised an eyebrow. “That suggests ye’re normally nae charming at all.”

Constantine felt a grin tug at his mouth. “Yer sharp tongue might cut a man.”

“Only if he’s nae quick enough tae dodge,” Rowena replied, her eyes dancing with mischief.

The easy banter felt like a revelation, as if they’d discovered a language they both spoke fluently without realizing it. Constantine had spent so many years being careful with his words, measuring every statement for political advantage, that this playful exchange felt like freedom.

“Dance with me,” she said suddenly.

Constantine blinked in surprise, then he smirked “Here? Now?”

“Why nae? The music’s good, the company’s willing, and I find meself curious about how ye move when ye’re nae pretending tae be some overlord.” She giggled as she said this.

“When ye put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Constantine stood and offered her his hand, the same gesture he’d made when they’d shared her horse that first day. But this time, Rowena took it without hesitation, letting him pull her to her feet and lead her to the small area that had been cleared for dancing.

The music was simple but lively, and Constantine found himself moving with an ease he hadn’t felt in years. Rowena was light in his arms, following his lead with natural grace, her skirts swirling around them as they turned.

Around them, other couples had joined the dance, but Constantine barely noticed them. His attention was entirely focused on the woman in his arms, on the way she moved, the way she smiled up at him, the way she felt pressed close against him.

“Ye dance well fer a warrior,” Rowena said as he spun her.

“Ye sound surprised.” Constantine pulled her closer as the music slowed. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Are ye now?” Rowena’s voice was breathless, whether from the dancing or from their proximity, Constantine couldn’t tell.

“Would ye like tae find out?”

The question hung between them, loaded with possibility and promise. Rowena’s eyes searched his face, and Constantine could see the exact moment when her usual caution began to crumble.

“Maybe I would,” she said softly.

Constantine felt his control slip another notch at the admission. Rowena was looking at him like he was something worth wanting and for the first time since he’d arrived at Duart, Constantine allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to enjoy a life there.

I could get used tae it…