He did not turn back to see if Miss Drummond was still following him. If she made it to the shrouded hills, he would go to her and scold her. He did not fancy anyone disobeying him, not because he wanted to feel powerful. He gave orders that were meant to keep his people safe. If everyone went around doing as they pleased, how could he protect them against their enemies?
And they had plenty of those.
There were the MacKintoshes, who were a part of the Confederation of the Clan Chattan, which included the Chattan Clan Chief, Angus MacKintosh, MacPhersons, MacGillivrays, and Davidsons. The Campbells, who sided with Parliament, came against the Camerons because of their Royalist sympathies. The Clan Fraser had tried to attack on several occasions.
He’d had much to prove since he had been fighting battles and hadn’t been here for years while his brother was Lochiel. Enemy clans had not been as familiar and afraid of him as he would like. But they had learned.
It wasn’t long after he entered the mist that he heard a sound, amplified in the silence. A soft grunt, a stifled cry. He should leave her alone for another moment or two—but she could get attacked by a wild animal.
With a scowl that did not reach his eyes, he turned and headed back the way he’d come. The sound of her shouting the words, “Get back!” caused him to break into a run. He found her wielding a large stick against a gray coyote, dripping saliva from its canines.
Constantine did not wait to see what the braw lass would do next against the beast. Without hesitating, he drew his dirk and in mid-run, leaped for the coyote.
The instant the animal spotted him, it turned and fled, leaving Constantine to look after it. He did not pursue the predator. If he didn’t have to kill an animal, he wouldn’t. Other than hunger, the coyote had no evil intent toward his clan.
Slightly out of breath, he turned to have a look at Miss Drummond. Damnation, she reminded him of a fierce warrior. He’d seen many. Never a lass though.
Some of her pins had fallen from her hair, leaving the fiery tresses to fall over her forehead and cheek. She blew them out of her face and stared at him, still clutching her stick.
He wanted to admonish her. He’d warned her not to follow him alone. What was he trying to keep her safe for if she was just going to do as she pleased?
But he remained silent.
Finally, she dipped her terrified gaze to her fingers and dropped the stick. “It seems all I seem to do is thank ye,” she said in her soft, quiet voice.
Though she had been prepared to fight the coyote, she was terrified of losing. Something in his chest shook and made him want to go to her. Instead, he sheathed his dirk and walked past her. “I would rather ye stay alive and thank me than become a wild animal’s breakfast.”
This time, she did not try to conceal her presence but hurried after him. “The way ye described yer morning made me want to spend mine in the peaceful quiet too.”
“So ye thought to disobey me and take a walk by yerself?”
“Nae!” she defended immediately. “No’ by myself, but with ye!”
He stopped and set his gaze on hers. Mist curled around her, as high as her face. Looking into her eyes was like gazing into the charcoal sea before the storm.
“Dinna try to win my favor, Miss Drummond. My affections are long dead. In fact, I would venture to say, they havebecome ashes.”
She stared at him and he thought he saw the oceans fill and threaten to overflow down her cheeks. “I assure ye, ’tis not yer affections I seek. Just yer protection.”
He nodded. “Then do as I say.”
“Fine.” She turned and took a step forward. “If ye dinna want me with ye so bad, I will return to the castle.”
His fingers closing around her wrist stopped her. “I willna send ye off alone and I canna return yet as I still have things to do, so ye will have to stay with me.”
She didn’t argue. In this instance, he didn’t expect her to. She was where she wanted to be—in the peaceful quiet—with him.
What would he do with her if she grew fond of him? Bethia had often told him that many of the lasses at Tor found him pleasing to the eyes. Some had even professed him to be more handsome than Lachlan, but they were afraid of his dark silence and intimidated by his cold demeanor. He was glad.
But this lass didn’t seem to mind his terse replies, dangerous scowls, or brooding character.
Braw lass.
He continued walking upward without a sound. He was pleased that she remained quiet as well. Up here, he could hear a hare hiding in the bush, or the booming hoof steps of horses approaching his cattle.
After another half hour of listening and watching, Constantine began to think of his home. Not the castle, as the lass trudging alongside him had pointed out. His home, shadowed toward the east by Ben Nevis. Remarkably, he had not thought about the house—even while he was bathing behind the castle this morn. He also had not thought about Alison or all the hatred in her kin’s eyes…
He turned to set his gaze on Miss Drummond. What had she done?
