Why, Ismay wondered. What would he do if… “He is no longer a part of this world.”
She didn’t tell him how Chief MacDonald had left the world or how relieved it made her to know that he no longer shared air with her.
Constantine Cameron gave her a look that was like the one her father, John MacPherson, had given her when he came upon her about to be stoned to death by the MacDonald clan for killing their chief.
“Chief,” she said softly, “I dinna want pity. The only time I ever wanted it, it was given to me by my father.”
The Lochiel nodded, but he still looked sickened. “I will make certain no’ to keep ye waitin’ again.”
No, she did not want a man who felt beholden to her because she was alone. “Truly, Chief—”
“Constantine,” he urged gently.
“Constantine,” she corrected herself with a slight smile. “I didna mean to make ye feel so responsible fer me. Ye are not. I chose to leave my home where it was once safe until my father died. It was my choice. I am responsible fer it. Ye are not my father normy husband—” Why, oh, why did her cheeks have to go up in flame now?—“we hardly know each other. So please, let me release ye from any obligation pity has led ye to take up on my behalf.”
She stood up. It was better to leave his company now and go to bed. The more time she spent with him, the more she was tempted to throw caution to the four winds and trust him. Really trust him.
But he was not her father—the only man she ever completely loved and trusted even more. She’d vowed she would never love any man again.
“Please, stay where ye are,” she ordered gently when Constantine moved to stand with her. “I can manage alone. I have come to prefer it.”
He paused, taking the smile she offered him apart, seeing past it, through it. What did he see that made him stop? The truth? She preferred being alone?
She left the Hall and headed for the stairs. When she heard his footsteps behind her, she turned around to see him.
He looked to the west wall to examine the giant tapestry covering it.
“What are ye doing, Chief?”
He turned an innocent look on her that made the muscles in her lips ache.
“I’m heading to my chambers, as well,” he explained.
She remembered that he had put her in the chambers closest to his. She gave him a slight nod and continued on. He didn’t catch up to her to walk at her side, but stayed eight or ten steps back, and pretended to look somewhere else whenever she turned to look at him over her shoulder.
She suspected he still felt responsible for her and was escorting her to her chambers in his own subtle way—which was not subtle at all.
Oddly, it warmed her blood. She wanted to run the rest of the way when she saw her door. What lies was her heart telling her head? Thatthere could ever be something between her and the Lochiel of the Camerons, kin to the MacDonalds? That he was worthy of what she swore never to offer to anyone? Her heart had learned too early the detriment of trusting anyone, especially a man.
She reached her door, and with the temptation to turn to see him too much to bear, she opened her door.
Before she stepped inside, she succumbed to temptation and turned to fill her vision with the sight of him, tall and lean in his silk-and-fur robe, watching her until she safely stepped into her chambers.
*
Ismay stared atthe ceiling, where people moved around in her imagination. Their lips moved but she heard their words in her soul.
Good fer nothing sot!
What devil brought ye and yer gloomy cloud here?
All she does is cry!
That was the oldest memory she had. She had to be younger than five. She had stopped weeping when she was five. She had only cried twice after that. When her father died, and when she wept into her stew at the Doomsday Tavern and Inn.
The MacDonald chief was fat and old—at least fifty. His cheeks and jowls often reddened when he looked at her. He would watch her being struck by his wife and the other ladies of the castle, and then hurry to comfort her, reminding her that he was the only one who cared for her.
She saw herself as a child running across the ceiling. She was always dirty and uncared for, her unruly auburn curls tangled from scalp to tip. But she was caught and brought to his chambers.
