Page 37 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
T he familiar path back to Duart wound through dense woodland, the canopy above filtering the afternoon light into dappled patterns on the forest floor.
Beside Rowena, Constantine rode with his usual watchful calm, but she caught him glancing her way more than once, something almost protective in his gaze.
“The trees are thicker here than I remembered,” she said, noting how the oaks and birches pressed close to the path, their branches creating a tunnel of green shadow.
“Aye,” Constantine agreed, but there was something in his tone that made her look at him more closely. His posture had shifted, tension creeping into his shoulders, and his hand had moved to rest near his sword hilt.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
“Probably naethin’.” But his eyes were scanning the treeline, as if he was cataloging shadows and possible threats. “Just... stay close.”
The path curved sharply ahead, following the natural bend of a rocky outcropping that forced travelers into a narrow passage between stone and forest.
Constantine slowed his mount, every instinct screaming warning. The forest was too quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. Even the horses seemed to sense it, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring.
That’s when the first arrow whistled past his head.
“Down!” Constantine’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he threw himself from his saddle, grabbing Rowena and pulling her with him. They hit the ground hard, rolling behind a massive fallen oak just as more arrows thudded into the woods.
“Stay low,” he ordered, already drawing his sword. “Whatever happens, dinnae move from behind this tree.”
Armed men poured from the forest like wolves, at least eight of them, maybe more. Their faces were hard, scarred, the kind of men who killed for coin and asked no questions.
Constantine rose from behind the log with fluid grace, his blade catching the filtered sunlight. The first raider reached him with an axe raised high, confidence written across his brutal features. That confidence died with a gurgle as Constantine’s sword opened his throat in one clean stroke.
Rowena pressed herself against the rough bark of the fallen tree, her heart hammering against her ribs. She’d seen Constantine fight before, but this was different. This was life and death, brutal and immediate.
The second man came at Constantine with a spear, thrusting for his chest. Constantine sidestepped, caught the weapon’s shaft, and drove his pommel into the raider’s temple. The man dropped like a stone, and Constantine spun to meet the next threat, his movements economical and deadly.
But there were too many of them. Even as he cut down a third man with a vicious backhand slash, two more flanked him from either side. A sword scraped along his ribs, drawing blood, and he stumbled backward, giving ground he couldn’t afford to lose.
Rowena watched in growing horror as the raiders pressed their advantage.
Constantine was skilled—more skilled than any fighter she’d ever seen—but he was only one man against many.
Blood stained his shirt where the blade had found its mark, and she could see the strain beginning to tell in the set of his shoulders.
One of the raiders broke away from the main fight, heading straight for her hiding place. His eyes were cold, calculating, and she realized with sick certainty that they hadn’t come here to kill. They’d come to take her.
“There ye are, lassie,” the man said, his voice rough with a lowland accent. “Been looking fer ye.”
Rowena scrambled backward, her hand closing around a broken branch. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. “Stay back.”
The raider laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Come, and we’ll nae hurt ye more than necessary. Fight us, and... well, the man paying us didnae say ye had tae be unmarked when we delivered ye.”
Rowena backed away from him, and as his hands stretched the grab her, something wet suddenly sprayed her in the face.
She gasped and opened her eyes to find Constantine standing behind the man who was gurgling blood as it poured out of his mouth.
She looked down, and Constantine’s blade was buried deep in the man’s guts.
“Stay low behind the tree Rowena,” Constantine urged as he pulled his knife out of the man and watched him tumble to the ground dead.
Rowena was speechless, but before she could move, the thunder of hoofbeats filled the air. Theo burst through the trees at the head of a half-dozen MacLean warriors, their battle cries echoing off the rocky walls of the pass. The tide of battle turned in an instant.
“Constantine!” Theo’s voice boomed across the clearing as he drove his sword into the back of one raider.
“Dinnae kill them all. Leave one alive fer me.”
“Aye, me laird.”
The remaining raiders tried to scatter, but they were caught between Constantine’s deadly precision and the fresh fury of the MacLean men. It was over quickly after that, bodies littering the forest floor, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air.
Constantine stood among the carnage, breathing hard, blood on his hands and seeping through his shirt. But his eyes were already moving, counting bodies, assessing threats. One raider remained alive, pinned beneath Theo’s boot, a gash across his forehead painting his face red.
“This one’s still breathing,” Theo reported, pressing his sword point to the man’s throat.
Constantine approached with slow, deliberate steps, his blade still drawn. There was something terrifying in his calm, in the way he looked down at the wounded raider like a wolf studying wounded prey.
“Who sent ye?” His voice was quiet, conversational even, but Rowena could hear the steel beneath it.
The raider spat blood. “Go tae hell.”
Constantine knelt beside him, the tip of his sword finding the hollow of the man’s throat. “I’ve been there, lad. It’s naethin’ compared tae what I’ll dae tae ye if ye dinnae start talking.”
Something in Constantine’s tone, in the absolute certainty of his words, broke the raider’s defiance. His eyes darted between the sword at his throat and the cold fury in Constantine’s face.
“The MacKenzie laird,” he gasped. “Paid us well tae bring back the woman. Said she belonged tae him.”
Rowena felt the blood drain from her face. Alpin was actively hunting her. Sending hired killers into MacLean territory to drag her back like a runaway horse.
“How many others has he paid tae find the lass?” Constantine asked.
“This was it. Just us. But he said... he said if we failed, he’d send more. Said he’d keep sending men until she was back with him.”
Constantine studied the raider for a long moment, then rose to his feet. The sword remained at the man’s throat, steady as stone.
“Tell yer employer,” he said quietly, “that Rowena MacKenzie is under the protection of Clan MacLean. Tell him that any man who comes fer her again will die. And tell him…” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Tell him that Constantine MacLean sends his regards.”
The blade moved in a quick, efficient stroke. The raider’s eyes went wide, then empty.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Ye dinnae let him live long enough tae carry a message.”
“Dinnae I?” Constantine’s expression was unreadable as he cleaned his blade on the dead man’s shirt. “Must have been an accident.”
Rowena pushed herself to her feet, her legs unsteady. The violence of it all, the casual efficiency with which Constantine had ended lives, should have horrified her. And part of it did. But a larger part of her only felt grim satisfaction.
“They would have taken me back tae him.”
“Aye.” Constantine sheathed his sword and moved to her side, his hands gentle as they checked her for injuries. “But they didnae. They couldnae.”
“There will be others. Ye heard what he said—Alpin will keep sending men.”
“Then we’ll keep killing them.” The matter-of-fact way he said it, as if discussing the weather, sent a shiver down her spine. “But we’re nae going tae wait fer the next group.”
Constantine turned to Theo, his expression shifting into the mask of command she’d seen him wear in the council chambers. “How many men can we muster within the day?”
“Fifty, maybe sixty if we call in the outer patrols. Why?”
“Because we’re nae going tae sit behind Duart’s walls and wait fer Alpin tae make his next move.” Constantine’s eyes found Rowena’s, dark and determined. “And because there’s been a change of plans.”
Something in his tone made her pulse quicken. “What kind of change?”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to something almost intimate despite their audience.
“We cannae wait any longer, Rowena. Every day we delay, gives Alpin more time tae organize, more opportunities tae strike. And after today…” He gestured toward the bodies scattered around them.
“After today, he’ll ken exactly where ye are and we ken how far he’s willing tae go tae get ye back. ”
Alpin had somehow tracked her to MacLean territory, had sent professional killers to drag her back to a marriage she’d rather die than endure.
“When?” she asked quietly.
“As soon as possible, a matter of days.” Constantine’s answer was immediate, brooking no argument.
“We’ll send word tae the surrounding clans taenight, call in whatever allies we can muster.
That’s why I need more men. By tomorrow evening, ye’ll be me wife in the eyes of God and man, and Alpin will have nay legal claim tae ye. ”
“And if he decides legal claims dinnae matter?” Theo’s question was practical, soldier to soldier.
Constantine’s smile was cold as winter steel. “Then we’ll remind him why they should.”
The ride back to Duart passed in tense silence, every shadow potentially hiding another threat, every bend in the path a possible ambush point. But no more attackers emerged from the forest, and they reached the castle gates without further incident.
Word of the attack spread quickly through the castle. By the time they’d reached the great hall, Lilias was waiting with wide, frightened eyes and a dozen questions. Servants hurried to tend Constantine’s wounds while runners were dispatched to summon the priest and gather the household.
Rowena found herself swept along in the sudden urgency, pulled into chambers where seamstresses waited with measuring tape and bolts of fabric. The wedding would be hasty by necessity, but it would not lack for ceremony.
“Are ye certain about this?” Lilias asked as the women bustled around them. “It’s so sudden…”
“It has tae happen soon.” Rowena met her friend’s eyes in the looking glass. “Alpin willnae stop. Today proved that. The only way tae end this is tae make it impossible fer him tae claim me.”
Rowena thought of the way Constantine had thrown himself between her and danger without hesitation, the cold fury in his eyes when he’d realized what the raiders intended.
However she wasn’t quite ready to admit, even to herself, that her trust had grown into something deeper. Something that had taken root during their night at the inn, had bloomed during their morning confessions, and had crystallized into certainty when she’d watched him fight for her life.
She was falling in love with Constantine MacLean; perhaps had already fallen, irrevocably and completely in love with him. In a few days, God willing, she would bind herself to him not just in name but in truth.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, as she watched the sun set over Duart’s walls and felt the castle prepare for both war and wedding, she found herself looking forward to the kind of future they might build together.
If they survived long enough to have one.