“Chief,” his trusted chambermaid said, stopping him again, “is she making ye ferget Alison and Katie?”
“What?” His heart thrashed wildly. “Nae! I could never ferget them! But am I to pay fer my sins fer the remainder of my days?”
It was the first time he had ever complained about feeling responsible. He was not surprised by Bethia’s slack-jawed stare. She loved Alison and doted over her. She even left her home with the MacMillans and came to live here with Alison when she married Constantine. It was because of her devotion to his wife that he’d grown close with her.
But he did not appreciate her trying to hold his guilt up to his face.
“That is between ye and the Good Lord, Lochiel,” the head chambermaid told him.
“Then let me feel the weight of His decision. Not yers.”
She bowed her head slightly. He kept walking.
He descended the stairs, then, sensing her behind him,he turned at the last step. “Find Joan. Remind her this is her last chance and tell her to tend to Miss Drummond.”
“I will tend to the lass—”
“Nae,” he said, cutting Bethia off. “Have Joan do it. Yer feelin’s are too raw. Ye may say things ye should keep to yerself.”
“I would not—”
“Send Joan,” he cut her off again and went on his way.
He found Lachlan and Fionn in the courtyard, practicing with their heavy swords. When they spotted him, they exchanged a nervous look. No one wanted to practice with him. He had no idea why. He had not killed anyone during practice.
He waited and bit into an apple he’d plucked from a bowl in the kitchen when he passed it. He watched his cousins while he ate, calling to Lachlan when the younger Cameron should have blocked left, doubled around, and struck from behind.
Then, shouting at Fionn to strike with more purpose. If his opponent did not block, parry, or evade, let him suffer the consequence. He did not care if the one to suffer was Lachlan. They could not keep him from fighting forever because he did not know how to keep himself alive other than with an arrow. He had to learn.
He watched until Lachlan seemed to be doing better against Fionn, then Constantine called them to a halt, tossed his apple to Fionn and stepped into his place.
Facing Lachlan, he pulled his sword free from the scabbard at his side. “Get ready,” he said ominously.
“I am not ready to face ye yet, brother,” the younger of the two admitted nervously.
It hurt Constantine to be so cold toward him. But how much worse would the pain be if Lachlan were ever to be killed in battle?
So, giving his cousin no further reply, he advanced and swung hard. Lachlan had no choice but to block, crashing his blade into Constantine’s and shooting sparks above their heads. The lad paled.Constantine swung again from the other direction. Their swords clashed again, and then again, and then, yet again.
Lachlan made a painful expression when he lifted his arms again. He was weary and likely in some pain. An opponent on the battlefield would not give him time to rest.
Constantine jabbed and nodded when Lachlan leaped back and blocked.
They practiced until Lachlan fell back on his arse and begged for mercy.
With a heavy sigh, Constantine reached down to help him to his feet. “Ye did well.”
That seemed to be all the accolades Lachlan needed to restore him. He grinned at Constantine and thanked him.
“Where is yer lady?”
“She is no’mylady,” Constantine assured him with a scowl. Mayhap he was not hard enough on the lad.
“Ye must admit,” Fionn chimed in with a smile, “she is bonnie with all them red curls tumblin’ ’round her face.”
Immediately. Constantine imagined her hair like a wild lion’s mane around her bonnie face. Aye, of course she was bonnie. He was not blind.
“Since she isna’ yer woman,” Lachlan pressed, “would ye mind if I—”
