Page 42 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T he night air bit sharp against Constantine’s face as he moved along the upper battlements of Duart Castle. The moon hung full and bright overhead, casting everything in stark silver and shadow, while the wind carried the scent of heather and the distant salt of the sea.

The quick patrol earlier in the day had revealed more than he liked.

He and Theo had tracked the so-called merchants near the southern boundary and found signs they had been lingering for days.

That meant they were learning their patrol routes and testing their defenses.

Constantine had given the order at once to double the patrols and increase the guard at the keep, and now, on the eve of his wedding, he and Theo were walking the walls themselves to be certain all was as it should be.

The Highland mountains rose like sleeping giants in the distance, their peaks touched by moonlight, while the forests that surrounded Duart’s walls whispered with the movement of wind through bare branches.

“Third watch post,” Theo murmured, nodding toward a section of the wall where a guard stood with his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. “MacLeod’s lad. Good instincts, but he’s leanin’ too far forward.”

Constantine followed his gaze, noting the guard’s posture with the critical eye of a commander who understood that small lapses could lead to large disasters.

The young man was alert enough, his eyes scanning the terrain below, but his position left him exposed, silhouetted against the sky in a way that would make him an easy target for any archer hiding in the treeline.

They approached the guard station with quiet steps, and Constantine cleared his throat to announce their presence without startling the young man into dropping his weapon.

“MacLeod,” Constantine said, his voice low but carrying clear authority.

The guard turned quickly, his hand instinctively moving to his sword hilt before recognizing his laird. “Me laird,” he said, straightening to attention. “All quiet on this section.”

“Good,” Constantine replied, moving to stand beside him at the wall’s edge.

“But ye’re standin’ too far forward. Step back intae the shadow of the merlon.

If there are archers in those trees,” Constantine explained, “ye’re givin’ them a clear target.

Stay in the shadows, use the stone fer protection, but keep yer eyes on the ground below. ”

The guard looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned in the young man’s eyes, and he immediately adjusted his position, stepping back into the protective shadow of the battlement. “Aye, me laird. Thank ye.”

Constantine nodded approvingly. “Good. And MacLeod… if ye see anything, anything at all that seems out of place, ye send word immediately. Dinnae wait tae be certain.”

“Aye, me laird.”

They continued their patrol, moving from one watch post to another with methodical precision.

At the eastern tower, they found a guard whose attention had drifted toward the warmth of his brazier instead of the landscape he was meant to be watching.

Constantine’s correction was swift and effective, leaving the man properly chastened and fully alert.

At the southern wall, they repositioned a watch post that had been placed too close to a section where the moonlight created deep shadows—blind spots that an approaching enemy could use for concealment.

The guard there, an older man named Duncan who had served under Niall for decades, accepted the adjustment with professional grace.

“Ye think they’ll come tonight?” Duncan asked quietly as they surveyed the adjusted sightlines.

Constantine was silent for a moment, his dark eyes scanning the rolling hills that stretched away from the castle.

Logic said no—Alpin would need time to gather forces, to plan his approach, to coordinate whatever strategy he had in mind.

But Constantine had learned long ago not to rely solely on logic when it came to matters of life and death.

“I dinnae ken,” he admitted honestly. “But if they dae, we’ll be ready.”

Duncan nodded grimly, his weathered hands adjusting his grip on his spear. “Aye, me laird. That we will.”

As they moved away from the watch post, Theo fell into step beside Constantine. “The men are nervous,” Theo observed as they paused at a section of wall that overlooked the main approach road. “They ken somethin’s comin’, even if they dinnae ken what.”

Constantine nodded, unsurprised. Experienced warriors developed an instinct for danger, a sense that went beyond mere observation. The men who guarded Duart had felt the shift in the air, the tension that came with the knowledge that enemies were gathering in the darkness beyond their walls.

“Good,” Constantine said. “Nervous men stay alert.”

They completed their circuit of the walls in thoughtful silence, each man lost in his own tactical considerations. By the time they returned to the main keep, the moon had begun its descent toward the western horizon, and the first faint hints of dawn were beginning to touch the eastern sky.

Theo hesitated, then asked, “Should we send men tae look for Finlay?”

Constantine shook his head. “Nay. I need every sword close at hand, and Finlay kens how tae move unseen. If anyone can slip through MacKenzie lands unnoticed, it’s him. We give him time.”

“A week perhaps?” Theo pressed.

“A week,” Constantine agreed. “If he’s nae returned by then, we’ll send a handful o’ our best tae find him. Till then, we trust him tae dae what he set out tae dae. Now, ye get some sleep,” Constantine told Theo as they entered the castle’s warmth. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Theo nodded and, after he departed for his chambers, Constantine found himself climbing the stairs toward his own rooms with slow, deliberate steps.

His mind should have been occupied with matters of defense—troop positions, weapon stores, escape routes if the worst came to pass. Instead, he found his thoughts drifting inexorably toward Rowena, toward the woman who would become his wife in just a few hours.

This wasn’t just about clan politics anymore, or even about the lairdship that had been thrust upon him. Those considerations had brought them together, yes, but what had grown between them transcended mere political convenience.

He paused outside his chamber door, one hand resting on the heavy wood as he listened to the sounds of the sleeping castle around him.

Tomorrow, she would become his wife, his partner, his responsibility.

And if Alpin thought to take her from him, the man would learn exactly what kind of enemy he had made.

Constantine had built his reputation on violence, had survived by being more ruthless than those who opposed him. If protecting Rowena required him to embrace that darkness again, so be it. He would paint the Highland hills red with blood before he would let anyone hurt her.

Dawn crept across the sky like spilled honey, golden light filtering through the narrow windows of Duart Castle and painting the stone corridors in warm hues.

The castle was beginning to stir—servants moving quietly through the halls, guards changing shifts, the distant sound of activity from the kitchens where preparations for the wedding feast were already underway.

Constantine stood at the window of his chamber, fully dressed despite the early hour, watching the sun climb higher above the eastern mountains.

He had managed perhaps two hours of restless sleep, his mind too active, too filled with plans and contingencies and the persistent awareness of danger lurking just beyond the horizon.

The soft sound of his chamber door opening made him turn, expecting to see Theo with some urgent report or perhaps Lilias with questions about the ceremony preparations. Instead, he found Rowena slipping quietly into the room, closing the door behind her with careful precision.

She was dressed in a simple morning gown of deep blue wool, her red hair loose around her shoulders. But it was her expression that caught his attention, composed on the surface, but with something turbulent beneath, like deep water disturbed by hidden currents.

“Rowena,” he said, his voice filled with surprise and concern. “What are ye daein’ here?”

She didn’t answer immediately, instead she moved toward him with steps that seemed both purposeful and uncertain. When she stopped just within arm’s reach, Constantine could see the storm in her hazel eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly despite her outward calm.

“I needed…” she began, then stopped, shaking her head as if the words weren’t adequate. “I needed tae see ye.”

Constantine felt something tighten in his chest at the vulnerability in her voice.

Today she would marry him, would bind herself legally and spiritually to a man she’d known for less than a month, trusting that he would keep his promises, that this fragile thing they’d built between them was real and lasting.

“I’m here, lass,” Constantine said, reaching out to her. “After today, ye’re never goin’ back tae yer uncle. I swear it on me life, Rowena.”

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from the solid warmth of his presence. When she opened them again, there was something different there—not the absence of fear, but the presence of determination stronger than fear.

“I love ye,” she said simply, the words falling between them like stones dropped into still water. “I need ye tae ken that. I have fallen in love with ye, Constantine MacLean.”

The words sent a shock through Constantine’s system more profound than any blow he’d ever taken in battle. Instead of responding with words, Constantine slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer, guiding her against his chest as she lifted her face to his.

When he kissed her, it was with all the tenderness and fierce protectiveness that her confession had awakened in him.

But Rowena kissed him back with something deeper, something desperate. Her hands pulled him closer as if she could merge their bodies through sheer will. When she broke away, both of them were breathing hard, and her eyes were dark with need.

Without breaking eye contact, Rowena reached for the ties of her gown, her fingers working with steady determination despite their slight tremor. The fabric loosened and fell away, pooling at her feet like water, leaving her standing before him in nothing but the golden morning light.

Constantine’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen her before, touched her, but this felt different, more significant. This was the woman who would stand beside him in just hours, offering herself to him out of love.

“Rowena,” he said again, his voice rough with emotion.

“I need ye,” she whispered, stepping into his arms. “I need tae feel ye, tae ken this is real.”

Constantine needed no further invitation. He lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed where they fell together in a tangle of limbs and whispered endearments. Constantine took his time undressing, his eyes never leaving her face as he shed his clothes and joined her among the soft furs and linen.

When he touched her, it was with reverence, with the kind of careful attention that spoke of worship rather than mere desire. His hands mapped every curve and hollow of her body, his lips following the path his fingers blazed, until she was arching beneath him, gasping his name like a benediction.

“Please,” she whispered, her hands threading through his dark hair. “Constantine, please.”

He moved over her then, settling between her thighs with careful precision, his dark eyes holding hers as he joined them together with one slow, deliberate thrust. Rowena’s back arched, a soft cry escaping her lips, and Constantine stilled, giving her time to adjust, to accept the fullness of him.

“All right?” he murmured against her ear, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“Aye,” she breathed, her hands sliding down his back to grip his shoulders. “More than all right.”

They moved together then, finding a rhythm that was both tender and passionate, both desperate and reverent. Constantine watched her face as pleasure built between them, memorizing every expression, every sound she made, storing them away like treasures against an uncertain future.

When release finally claimed them both, it was with an intensity that left them clinging to each other, breathing hard against sweat-dampened skin. Constantine rolled to his side, pulling Rowena with him so that she lay curled against his chest, her red hair spilling across his shoulder like silk.

“Are ye alright?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Rowena was quiet for a long moment, her breathing slowly returning to normal as she traced lazy patterns on his chest with one finger. “Aye,” she said finally, tilting her head to look up at him. “Much better.”

Constantine smiled, tightening his arms around her. “Good. Because in a few hours, ye’ll be me wife, and I intend tae spend the rest of me life makin’ sure ye feel happy and secure lass.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Constantine said, and meant it with every fiber of his being.

They lay together in comfortable silence. Today, Rowena MacKenzie would become Rowena MacLean. And Constantine would finally have something worth fighting for that went beyond mere survival.