Swinging open the doors of the Great Hall, Constantine found her almost immediately with her short curls shimmering in all the colors of autumn in the morning. He felt such great relief that it made him feel lightheaded. What in blazes was the matter with him? Who was this lass who no longer wept into her stew but now laughed into her hands?
She laughed. With the handsome devil.
Chapter Six
Ismay laughed whereshe sat next to Hugh MacDonald at one of the long trestle tables in Tor Castle’s Great Hall. She would much rather find Constantine Cameron and hit him over the head with something for leaving her alone for so long. She’d waited for him to show up all through their supper filled with some entertainment from musicians and jugglers. Hugh stayed with her the entire time. He was quite nice, but he behaved oddly, ofttimes alluding to a prior meeting between them. He also barely took his eyes off her, which made eating uncomfortable.
Lachlan and Geoffry came by several times, as if keeping an eye on her. Did they think she would bolt? Why would any of them care if she did? She wasn’t a prisoner here. Was she?
“I take it from yer laughter,” Hugh said with mild amusement, “ye are not watching the doors fer any sign of the Lochiel.”
“’Tis a silly assumption.”
“Aye,” Hugh agreed all too easily. “Though I will say, he rarely sleeps this long. Two hours a night at the most.” He turned to Geoffry sitting opposite them. “Ye are sure he hasna left his chambers?”
“I’m not dull-witted,” Geoffry said woodenly. “Go check fer yerself.”
Hugh began to answer, then looked toward the doors and stopped.
Ismay followed the direction of his gaze. It was Constantine. TheLochiel, she corrected silently. Her eyes poured out on him, her heart beat erratically, her mouth went dry. Barefoot and disheveled, he was wonderfully, irresistibly handsome in his floor-length, blue velvet night robe, edged in black ermine. He stood in the doorway, staring at her table…at her, like a dark dragon ready to pillage.
Seeing her seemed to propel him forward. He took long, determined strides that fanned his robe out behind him.
He looked majestic and virile, and he made her blood go warm in her veins.
She had tried to learn more about him from his friends while he made her wait, but no one would say anything either good or bad about him. She’d seen him kill, and she had been told that he killed his wife. She could almost believe it since he was a chief. Unlike the chiefs before him though, he had not made any advances towards her. He kept his hands and his smiles to himself. Andthischief was also a thief and a cattle raider.
She hated herself for being the least bit attracted to him. He offered protection. Not kindness. Not warmth. Just silence and steel.
“Miss Drummond.” His greeting was heavy with unspoken relief. “I fell asleep.”
She almost laughed again. This time it would have been kinder and more genuine than what she’d offered Hugh. She didn’t know why his direct excuse sounded like the most innocent thing in the world. He fell asleep. According to Hugh, the Lochiel rarely slept. Yet she believed the chief. Partly because his eyes were sleepy. He looked as if he’d just rushed out of bed.
She felt a smile forming on her lips.
“I’m relieved to find ye settling in so well.” His dark gaze slid to Hugh for just an instant. “Ye may go.”
“Ye dinna look relieved,” she interrupted when Hugh rose from his seat and promptly left.
Ismay wasn’t bothered by Hugh leaving. She washappy about it. The steward’s eyes lingered on her a wee bit too long—as if he were trying to see all her secrets. She had tolerated him because she wanted to wait for the chief. Fool that she was. “Ye look angry,” she continued. “Did ye not wish fer me to settle in here—at least fer a few days?”
His eyes hardened further and he looked away. “No’ angry. Nae.”
He fell into a chair near her and motioned for a drink to be brought to him. With his brooding glare fixed on no one in particular, he remained quiet, speaking to no one, though no one remained but Lewis. When his drink came, he lifted the cup to his lips and guzzled its contents.
He set the empty cup down on the table and turned his gaze to Ismay. “I would know what ye mean by a few days? Where do ye intend to go when ye leave Tor?”
“Dinna concern yerself, Lochiel,” she said, waving his questions away.
He stared at her, slack-jawed. He seemed to be deciding who spoke to him in such a disrespectful manner.
“Fortunate fer ye, lass,” he said, “Iamconcerned.”
Fortunate? Ismay decided then and there that, although everyone else considered Constantine Cameron a detached outlaw, uncaring whose son he killed—and they were all correct in their consideration—very few of his kin saw any other side of him.
She guessed she was fortunate indeed that he had shown her the man behind his mask of indifference. A man with a heart beating slowly and with its last shreds of warmth for a runaway bride with nowhere to go.
“Where will ye go, Miss Drummond,” he repeated, proving her right about him. “I know ye have traveled a far distance alone and ye lived to tell me aboot it, but I dinna think yer luck will last withoot a plan. Do ye have one?”
