Page 38 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
T he gates of Duart closed behind them as Constantine dismounted from his horse.
His movements were sharp and controlled despite the blood still drying on his sword. The ambush had been swift, brutal, but what lingered wasn’t the violence. It was the certainty that this was only the beginning.
Rowena slid down from her horse, her face pale but resolute. She hadn’t spoken much during the ride back, but Constantine had felt the tension radiating from her, the weight of understanding that her uncle’s reach was nearer and more dangerous than either of them had anticipated.
“Go tae yer chambers,” Constantine said, his voice low but firm. “Stay there until I come fer ye.”
Rowena’s hazel eyes flashed with something between defiance and exhaustion. “I’m nae a child tae be tucked away?—”
“Ye’re a target,” Constantine cut her off, stepping closer. “And until we ken how many more of Alpin’s men are out there, ye will nae leave the castle Rowena.”
For a moment, she looked ready to argue, but then her shoulders sagged slightly. The events of the day had worn at her usual fire.
“Aye,” she said quietly. “But Constantine…” She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Be careful.”
The simple touch, and the genuine concern he could hear in her voice, sent something unfamiliar through him. He nodded once, watching as she disappeared into the castle, Lilias rushing to meet her halfway.
Constantine turned toward the keep, his jaw set with grim determination, and quicky reached his father’s chambers.
It was dimly lit, the smell of herbs and sickness hanging heavy in the air.
The man who had once commanded absolute authority over Duart now lay propped against pillows, his skin sallow and his breathing labored.
But his eyes, dark and calculating, were as sharp as ever.
“Ye look like ye’ve seen battle,” Niall observed as Constantine entered, his voice hoarse but carrying its familiar edge of authority.
“An ambush on the western pass,” Constantine replied, moving to stand beside the bed. “Hired men. They were after Rowena.”
Niall’s gaze sharpened. “Alpin?”
“Aye. The man we spared confessed before he died.” Constantine’s tone was flat, matter of fact. “This isnae over. He’ll send more.”
For a long moment, Niall studied his son’s face. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Then ye ken what must be done.”
“The marriage will proceed,” Constantine said. “As soon as possible.”
“Good.” Niall’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile. “Have yer men summon the Council. ’Tis time tae fully take over. Ye’ve secured a noble bride. Ye’ve proven yer leadership. There’s nay more waitin’ tae be done.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried absolute authority. “Tomorrow, ye’ll be named Laird of Duart before God and clan.”
The weight of Niall’s words settled deep in Constantine’s chest. He’d known this moment would come, had been preparing for it since he’d arrived at Duart. But hearing it spoken aloud, seeing the finality in his father’s eyes, made it real in a way that left him breathless.
‘Tis time tae take what I came here fer…
The great hall buzzed with tension the next morning.
The Council had been hastily assembled, men who had served under Niall for decades now forced to confront the reality of his successor.
They sat around the massive oak table, their faces ranging from skeptical to openly hostile, while Constantine stood at his father’s side.
Niall had insisted on being helped from his bed, supported by Constantine and two of his most loyal men. The effort had cost him—his breathing was labored, his skin gray—but his presence commanded the room with the same authority it always had.
“Great men of Duart,” Niall began, his voice carrying despite its weakness. “We gather today tae address the future of Clan MacLean.”
Murmurs rippled through the assembled men. Constantine kept his expression neutral, his hands clasped behind his back, but he could feel their judgment like a weight pressing down on him.
“Me son Constantine has proven himself in battle and in leadership,” Niall continued.
“The wedding with the MacKenzie lass, one who will bring strength and alliance tae our clan, is set tae happen in four days’ time.
For that, I name Constantine MacLean as Laird of Duart,” Niall declared, his voice ringing through the hall.
“He will rule with the authority granted tae him by blood, by right, and by the strength of his arm. Any who oppose this decision may leave now, with their honor intact but without their place at this table.”
The silence stretched long and tense. Then, slowly, one by one, the men around the table bowed their heads in acknowledgment. It wasn’t enthusiastic acceptance, but it was acceptance nonetheless.
‘Twill dae fer now.
Constantine stepped forward, his voice steady and clear. “I thank ye fer yer loyalty. I ken I have much tae prove, and I intend tae dae so through action, nae words. This clan will be strong under me leadership, and I’ll defend it with me life.”
As the Council dispersed, Constantine found himself seeking solitude in the library.
The recent events weighed on him—the ambush, the Council, the weight of leadership now officially resting on his shoulders.
He stood before the fire, a cup of wine in his hand, when the door opened softly behind him.
“I heard about the Council,” Rowena said with a soft smile on her face. “Congratulations, me laird.”
“’Tis done,” Constantine said and turned to face her. “Fer better or worse, Duart is mine now. All that’s left now is tae get the marriage behind us so that ye may be free of Alpin’s claim.”
Rowena moved closer, her expression serious. “Constantine, I need ye tae ken somethin’. This marriage—’tis nae out of obligation or fear. Aye, I’ll admit it was so in the beginning. But things have changed now. I want this union.”
He set down his wine cup, giving her his full attention. “Rowena?—”
“Nay, let me finish.” She stepped closer, her hands clasped before her. “I trust ye. Nae just tae protect me clan, but tae be the man I choose tae stand beside. I want this marriage because I want ye.”
The honesty in her voice, the vulnerability she was offering him, cracked something open in Constantine’s chest. He’d spent so many years armored against feeling, against hope, that her words left him momentarily speechless.
“I never wanted the lairdship,” he found himself saying, the admission surprising him with its rawness.
“Me years as a mercenary, they were about survival. About leverage and power, aye, but nae about belongin’.
I thought I could come here, take what was mine by right, and leverage it however it suited me. ”
He ran a hand through his hair, his usual composure fracturing. “But with ye... things are different. Ye make me consider what it might mean tae connect, build somethin’ that lasts.”
Rowena’s expression softened, and she took another step closer. Constantine found himself thinking of all the walls he’d built, all the careful distance he’d maintained, and realized that with Rowena, he wanted to let them fall.
He moved closer to her and backed her against the wall with glee. Rowena pressed her hands to the wall, and her bosom fell up and down as she breathed heavily. Constantine raised his hand up and traced a finger across her lips. The moan she let out was music to his ears.
“I dae hope,” he said, his mouth curving into a rare smile, “that ye’ll keep makin’ those sounds when we’re alone.”
Rowena’s eyes widened in shock, then she burst into startled laughter, her cheeks flushing pink. “Constantine MacLean, ye’re terrible.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “would ye want me tae stop?”
“Nay,” she whispered, her voice breathless as he cupped her face with a warm hand. “I dinnae.”
When Constantine kissed her, it was with all the honesty they’d just shared, all the trust and desire and hope wrapped into one moment. Rowena kissed him back without reservation, her hands fisting in his shirt as she pulled him closer.
With a swift movement, Constantine swept the books from the library table, earning a breathless laugh from Rowena as he lifted her onto its surface. She wound her arms around his neck, her eyes bright with laughter and desire.
“Here?” she asked, though she made no move to pull away.
“Here,” Constantine confirmed, his voice rough with want. “Nobody will dare enter without knocking.” He kissed her again, urgent and unrelenting, as he swept her onto the desk. She opened to him without hesitation, his body pressing close as he settled between her skirts.
“Rowena,” he said quietly, her name a question and a promise all at once.
She answered by closing the distance between them, her hands clinging onto the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him down to meet her kiss.
It was fierce and desperate, days of restraint finally breaking like a dam burst open.
They broke apart, Constantine’s hands framing her face as he studied her expression.
“Once again I ask ye, are ye certain?” he said, his voice rough with want but his eyes serious.
“I’ve been certain,” she interrupted, her own voice barely above a whisper. “since ye showed me what it felt like tae choose something fer meself.”
The admission broke something loose in Constantine’s chest. He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intensely, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection between them.
His hands slipped under her dress to cup her breasts.
Rowena moaned as he toyed at them with deft fingers. His fingers rolled her tight and hard nipples, and he swallowed the moans she let up with joy.
Rowena’s fingers worked at the ties of his shirt with trembling hands, her touch sending fire through his veins.