Page 46 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER THIRTY

T he column moved like a blade through the Highland morning, horses breathing mist into the cold air as they followed the winding path toward MacKenzie territory.

Constantine rode at the head, his dark cloak streaming behind him, every line of his body radiating the controlled tension of a predator approaching its prey.

Behind him, hidden among the ranks of warriors, Rowena kept her head down and her hood pulled low. The borrowed armor sat strangely on her frame. To any observer, she was just another MacLean warrior riding to battle. Only the guards Constantine had positioned nearby knew the truth.

Constantine seemed to sense the terrain’s shift even before they reached the border. His hand moved to his sword hilt with practiced ease, and Theo and Finlay closed ranks beside him, their own weapons loose in their sheaths.

The trees pressed closer here, ancient pines that had witnessed generations of clan warfare, and the narrow path forced them into a tighter formation.

“Something feels off,” Finlay murmured, his scout’s instincts prickling.

The forest was too quiet, the birds too still.

Constantine’s jaw tightened because he felt it as well.

As a mercenary, he’d learned to trust that feeling above all else.

It had kept him alive through countless battles, and it was screaming warnings now.

Constantine cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Rowena rode where they had agreed, toward the rear, keeping herself hidden. Still, he had to make sure with his own eyes. When she caught his look and gave the smallest nod, steady and unshaken, some of the tightness in his chest eased.

“Steady,” he called back to his men, his voice carrying just far enough to reach them without alerting potential enemies. “Eyes open.”

The words had barely left his lips when the ridgeline exploded into motion.

Alpin’s forces erupted from their concealment like wolves from cover, blades glinting as they poured down the hillside.

Arrows whistled through the fog, finding gaps in armor with deadly precision.

The peaceful morning shattered into chaos as steel met steel and men’s screams echoed off the stone walls of the narrow pass.

“We’ve been discovered!” Theo roared, his sword already in his hand as he wheeled his horse to meet the first wave of attackers.

Constantine’s reaction was instantaneous, born from years of mercenary warfare where hesitation meant death. “Form ranks!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the din of battle. “Shields up! Drive them back!”

The MacLean warriors responded with disciplined precision, their training evident as they shifted from column to battle formation despite the chaos erupting around them. But the narrow pass limited their mobility while giving the men attacking them the advantage of higher ground.

At the rear of the column, Rowena watched the battle unfold with clenched fists, every fiber of her being screaming to join the fight.

She could see Constantine in the thick of it, his sword a silver blur as he cut down raiders with the mechanical efficiency that had made him legendary.

Theo fought beside him, his massive frame serving as a shield for the younger warriors, while Finlay darted between enemies with the quick grace of a born warrior.

But it was Constantine who drew her eye again and again. Even in the midst of slaughter, he moved with a deadly beauty that took her breath away. Every strike was calculated, every movement purposeful. He was conducting a symphony of violence.

The battle raged for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes. Blood soaked into the frozen ground, and the metallic taste of it hung heavy in the air. Then, through the press of bodies, Rowena saw him—Alpin—mounted on a black destrier, his sword raised high as he charged forward.

Her uncle looked nothing like the polished nobleman who’d tried to force her into marriage. His face was twisted with rage and desperation, his fine clothes stained with mud and blood. But then his gaze swept the field and found her. Rowena felt the recognition strike him like a blow.

“There ye are, ye treacherous wench!” he bellowed, spurring his horse toward her. “Ye’ll nae escape me this time!”

Before Constantine could grasp what was happening, Alpin was cutting through the chaos, a dark shape moving straight for Rowena with grim purpose.

He cared little for the battle surrounding him, his gaze fixed on Rowena.

She yanked hard at her reins, her mare rearing as steel clashed all around, but Alpin was too quick.

His hand shot out, iron-strong, seizing her wrist with a grip that showed no mercy.

One brutal jerk and she was torn from the saddle.

The ground rose up to meet her, icy and merciless, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Before she could recover he was hauling her to her feet.

Alpin swung down from his destrier in a single, practiced motion.

He slapped the horse’s flank, sending the beast barreling into the nearest men, scattering them, before he grabbed Rowena by the hair, yanking her head back with force and dragging her across the frozen ground.

A cry tore through her chest and her fingers clawed at his wrist, but she only felt his grip tighten.

“Move,” he growled in her ear, no triumph in his tone. Just resolution.

That was when Constantine broke through the press, his blade already wet with blood, eyes black with fury. His stride was unerring, inexorable.

The two men collided with a force that seemed to shake the earth.

Steel rang, sparks leaping as if the mountains themselves bore witness.

Constantine fought with the same lethal precision he brought to everything else, like a storm in human form, his blade weaving patterns of death in the air.

Alpin, however, fought like a cornered animal, wild swings driven by a refusal to be cast aside, fury and the knowledge that failure meant his death.

God, help us get away from this madman.

“Ye bastard!” Alpin spat, bringing his sword down in a vicious arc meant to end the fight with a single stroke. “She is mine! The clan is mine by right! I will nae allow ye tae take everything from me!”

Constantine parried the blow with contemptuous ease, the shock running up his arms, his counter-strike opening a line of blood across Alpin’s cheek.

“Naethin’ was ever yers,” he replied with deadly calm, his voice quiet despite the chaos around them.

“Least of all her. Ye will die fer daring tae touch her.”

Alpin bared his teeth, then his arm snapped back, dragging Rowena hard against him.

Blood streaked his fingers as he ripped the dirk from her belt.

She felt the blade kiss her throat and she stiffened, a sound mixed between anger and fear.

“If I fall,” Alpin rasped, “then she falls with me! I’ll nae allow her tae take me lairdship! ”

Rowena struggled against his grip, her nails once more scoring his wrist, her eyes wide but fierce, but he did not let go, the dirk biting enough to draw a bead of crimson.

Constantine’s knuckles whitened on his, his fury leashed by a single, fragile thread. One wrong move, and Alpin would end her.

“Alpin,” he said, low and deadly calm. “Dinnae dae this.”

But although Alpin’s desperation made him dangerous, it also made him careless. He lunged, dragging Rowena forward like a shield, the dirk thrusting out in a savage arc. Constantine flowed aside like water, his blade flashing once, twice, and then burying deep into Alpin’s side.

The usurper staggered, his breath leaving him in a choked gasp, his eyes wide with shock.

The dirk fell first, then his grip loosened on Rowena.

She stumbled free as he sagged to his knees, staring down at the steel protruding from his body, then up at Constantine.

His lips moved but no words came. Only a flicker of defiance, dulled by the shadow falling across his eyes.

“She was never yers,” Constantine said quietly, twisting the blade before drawing it free.

Alpin crumpled to the ground, his life’s blood pooling dark onto the frozen ground. The body fell at Rowena’s feet.

Constantine was at her side in an instant, his hand closing around her arm to steady her. His gaze swept over her quickly, searching for blood. “Are ye hurt?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Rowena shook her head, breathless but unbroken.

The battle still roared around them but there, something had ended and something new had begun.

“Stay behind that tree,” he said and didn’t linger. He turned to rally his men, his voice cutting through the chaos with renewed authority.

“Alpin’s dead!” he roared. “Their leader has fallen! Press the attack!”

The effect was immediate. Alpin’s raiders, seeing their leader’s body on the ground, began to waver.

Some threw down their weapons and fled. Others fought on with the desperate fury of men who knew they faced death either way.

But the tide had turned, and the MacLean warriors pressed their advantage with ruthless efficiency.

When the last raider fell, an eerie quiet settled over the battlefield. The fog seemed thicker now, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smoke from scattered torches. Constantine stood in the center of it all, his sword still in his hand, breathing hard but steady.

His dark eyes found Rowena again, scanning her for injuries once more. Only when she saw him coming toward her did Rowena feel the tight band around her chest begin to ease at the realization that Alpin was dead.

Constantine mounted his horse in one smooth motion, then reached across to steady her as she climbed on her own. His hand lingered at her arm for a heartbeat, before he straightened in the saddle. “We ride on,” he said, his voice firm. “Time tae reach the MacKenzie keep.”

Rowena’s breath caught.

At last. I’m goin’ home.

After everything, after all the blood and fear, she was going home. Anticipation thrummed through her, as the column began to move again. She lifted her gaze to the dark outline of the hills ahead, her heart pounding with the knowledge that soon she would stand before her clan once more.

Rowena felt her heart clench as they approached the keep’s gates. Guards lounged at their posts, clearly not expecting trouble from any quarter. Constantine’s small force rode through without challenge, their horses’ hooves echoing on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

Constantine dismounted with fluid grace. He’d cleaned the worst of the blood from his face, but his clothes still bore the stains of battle. When he spoke, his voice carried easily across the courtyard.

“I am Constantine MacLean, Laird of Duart,” he announced, his words cutting through the murmur of voices like a blade. “I’ve come as husband tae yer rightful heir.”

The sound drew people from the keep in clusters; servants, guards, elders, all curious about the unexpected arrival of the MacLeans. Constantine’s words sent a ripple of confusion through the crowd. Several of the elders stepped forward, their faces grave.

One of them, a gray-bearded man, was Rowena’s father’s old friend, Carson. He shook his head sadly.

But before he could speak, Rowena, still disguised as a cloaked rider, stepped down her horse.

Her gloved hands reached up to remove the cloak, revealing hair like flame.

“I am alive dearest Carson,” she said and stepped into the light of her ancestral home, dirt-streaked and travel-worn but unmistakably, gloriously alive.

The silence that followed was profound enough to hear a pin drop. Then Carson gasped, his weathered hand flying to his chest as if to still his racing heart.

“Rowena?” he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. “It’s truly ye, me child?” He asked and took a step forward. “But... but we thought ye were dead. Alpin showed us the proof. The blood, the torn clothes…”

“Alpin showed ye lies,” Rowena said, her voice carrying the authority she’d been born to wield. She stepped forward, and the crowd parted before her like water. “Fabricated proof tae steal what was never his. I’m very much alive, as ye can see.”

The reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Voices rose in excitement, joy, and confusion as the truth sank in. Women wept openly, men shouted questions, and children pressed forward to get a better look at the girl and heir they’d thought lost forever.

“Where have ye been, me lady?” someone called out. “We’ve grieved ye fer weeks!”

“Under MacLean protection,” Rowena answered, her eyes finding Constantine’s across the crowd. “Laird Constantine offered me sanctuary when I fled Alpin’s forced betrothal. He’s kept me safe while we planned tae reclaim what’s mine.”

An older warrior pushed through the crowd, his face hard with suspicion. “And what of Alpin? He’s been ruling in yer name, claiming tae protect the clan until a proper marriage could be arranged.”

Constantine stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding attention. “Alpin is dead,” he said simply. “Cut down fer his crimes. His body lies in the pass where he ambushed us, trying tae prevent the truth from reaching ye.”

The words sent another shock through the crowd. Some looked relieved, others worried about what would come next. But Carson stepped forward, his old eyes bright with tears as he looked at Rowena.

“Me lady,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “fergive us. We should have kent better than tae trust that snake. Yer faither would have seen through his lies in a heartbeat.”

Rowena’s own eyes filled with tears at the mention of her father, but her voice remained steady. “There’s naethin’ tae forgive, Carson. Alpin was clever, and ye had nae reason tae doubt him. But I’m here now.”

She turned to address the crowd as a whole, her voice rising so all could hear.

“Alpin’s rule is ended! I claim me rightful place.

I am married tae Laird Constantine MacLean will also rule as yer laird in all things along with me.

Together, we’ll heal the wounds Alpin’s deception has caused and build a future worthy of our clans’ names! ”

The cheer that rose from the courtyard echoed off the ancient stones, a sound of pure joy and relief that seemed to lift the very mist from the mountains. People pressed forward to touch her hand, to welcome her home, to celebrate the return of their true leader.

Through it all, Constantine stood at her side, his dark eyes watchful and proud. She’d done it—reclaimed her birthright, exposed Alpin’s lies, and united her people behind her leadership. But more than that, she’d done without being someone’s possession or pawn.