The men around him all nodded. Some regarded her as if she was something other than a lass, something other than human. She caught a few of the female inhabitants looking at her with envy narrowing their eyes.
She wanted to crawl under the table. But she was afraid that even under the heavy wood, she would feel the irresistible pull to take the shelter he offered and hide behind his strong shoulders.
She did not hide, either beneath the table or behind his back, but she did keep her gaze lowered to her bowl.
His broad, scarred fingers filled her vision when he held his hand out to her. “Come with me.”
She was not hungry anyway. She went with him, but she did not accept the hand he offered. It was best not to touch a man. She watched him take an apple from a bowl by the doors and followed him out.
“Where are we going?” she asked, weaving with him through the halls.
“Ye are goin’ to the sewin’ chambers. The other women will join shortly.”
She shook her head. “I want to go with ye.”
His rich sable gaze warmed on her. “’Tis best if ye get to know—”
“What will ye be doing?” she insisted.
“I will be in the hills watchin’ fer any signs of weather, game, or potential trouble comin’ from across the glen. If all is well, I will sharpen my dirk and claymore”—she began to speak, but he spoke over her—“in silence.”
“I will keep silent,” she promised, eyes wide with hope. “I would much rather walk in the hills and sit in the peaceful quiet while ye sharpen yer weapons.”
He looked like he was about to deny her request, so she clutched his arm. “Please. ’Tis better than me following ye, is it no’?” she added when he still looked about to refuse.
“Miss Drummond,” he said with the slightest hint of amusement softening his expression, “are ye threatenin’ me?”
“I simply want to go with ye, Lochiel.”
“Why?” he asked, appearing sincerely perplexed. “Ye will need to be quiet or ye will chase away game, or give away my position, even in the mists.”
“My appreciation of ye dwindles knowing ye regard me as a woman who canna keep her mouth shut.”
“Perfect.” He stopped at a set of doors and openedthem to a large sewing chamber. Bright sunlight streamed in from the six high, pointed windows onto a dozen embroidery stands. “Then let us go our separate ways today.”
She stared after him as he strode away. Truly, he was an unfriendly oaf. She stood at the open doors deciding whether to go inside and embroidery something beautiful for her fa—She had not picked up a needle since her father died.
She looked down the hall in the direction the Lochiel had taken, and then took off after him.
Chapter Eight
Constantine looked behindhim twice. The lass had said she would follow him, and he believed her. She might be a fool to have traveled alone for a whole month, but she was courageous to do it, as well, and crafty to have made it this far.
It seemed she was not behind him while he made his way to the exit.
Hugh stopped him before he left to remind him he had to hold council with his tacksmen to discuss rents, the marriage between Ennis Cameron and Ellen Stewart, and the crofters wanted him to hear their grievances on the upcoming harvest shares.
“I will meet with the tacksmen in two hours,” Constantine told him. “After that, I will meet with the crofters in the Great Hall. Inform the cooks to have enough food prepared for everyone.”
“Everyone?” Hugh repeated.
“Everyone.” He began to leave but Hugh called to him. Constantine turned back to him. His eye caught the swift movement of a hem of a skirt edged in ladybugs disappearing around the far corner.
“Lochiel,” Hugh’s voice pulled his attention back, “my duty as yer steward is to manage and protect Tor’s coffers. Feeding everyone will drain some of the castle coffers.”
Constantine flashed him a quick, practiced, disingenuous smile. “Yer concern has been noted, Hugh.”
He left the castle and continued on toward the hills and the mist that would swallow him up and keep him unseen while he started many of his days looking out for his clan. Today was no different save that his day started later than usual.
