Constantine drew his claymore. All around him his kin readied for battle. It was what MacKintosh wanted all along. He knew Constantine well enough to know he would not get the apology he desired. The Lochiel always kept his word. If he said he would take their cattle for herding them through Lochaber, then he would.
Everyone knew the Cameron chief would not hesitate to kill a man if the man was fool enough to try to take what belonged to him.
But Miss Ismay Drummond did not belong to him. The thought of it somehow angered him enough to flick his reins and send his horse into a full gallop.
Though his eyes were fixed on the MacKintosh chief, thanks to years of riding in the middle of stampeding cattle, he was acutely aware of everything going on around him. Lewis and Fionn reached the first of the MacKintoshes and brought down their swords while blocking with their shields.
Blood and splinters flew everywhere from the melee. Constantine took down six opponents, careful not to kill them. He liked fighting. He did not always like killing. Sending men back to the homes wounded and broken was sometimes much more satisfying.
He broke through the small group of men protecting the MacKintosh chief and finally reached him. He brought the flat of his sword down hard across his enemy’s belly and almost knocked him out of his saddle. But the MacKintosh held on to his reins and remained seated.
Affording him no time to catch his breath, Constantine flipped his blade in his hand then caught it by the hilt and smashed it into MacKintosh’s head.
Finally, the enemy chief fell from his saddle. Constantine leaped the ground beside him, and before any other man could reach them, he pummeled his fist into the MacKintosh’s face until bloodspewed out.
One of the MacKintosh’s sons jumped on Constantine’s back, another reached them and swung his sword close to the Lochiel’s belly. Constantine whacked his heavy claymore at Will MacKintosh, the chief’s third son, then cracked his elbow into the nose of Will’s brother Kenneth.
Reaching them, Geoffry sprang from his saddle and sliced the air—and Kenneth’s forearm with his already-bloody sword.
Four more men arrived on the MacKintosh side, cutting the air with axe and dirk. Constantine and Geoffrey held them off. He managed to knock two of the chief’s sons out cold with fists to their jaws.
He spotted Lewis fighting off his horse, hurling men left and right with his sheathed claymore.
But when Lewis’s gaze found him, his eyes went dark, and he ripped his sword free.
Constantine noted the terror in his cousin’s expression an instant before he felt the stinging sensation in his belly. He looked down and saw the hilt of a dirk sticking out of his middle.
Damnation, he thought. Miss Drummond may never forgive him for this.
It was his only thought as he sank to his knees.
His eyes took in the vision before him of the MacKintosh chief’s youngest son, Hamish’s head flying from his shoulders and rolling on the ground.
*
Constantine woke severalhours later, but only for a few moments, and only long enough to feel a cool cloth on his head and gentle fingers curled around his much larger hand. He did not know where he was, nor did he care overmuch. At first, he thought he had died and this was his Alison tending to him. but her image did not even form inhis mind before Ismay Drummond appeared before him, real or imagined, he was not sure.
She was engulfed in flames around her head, but they didn’t harm her. He thought he reached out to touch them, but she still held his hand.
“Ye have finally come back to me.”
Leave it to her to remind him of his promise. He was glad he kept it. He smiled—almost chuckled. And then she was gone again. She did not leave him alone though. She visited his dreams, returning over and over into various scenarios. Contrary to him, stubbornly pulling smiles from him, chipping away at the memories that darkened his soul. He started out protecting her, feeling pity for her, then slowly feeling his heart giving over to more.
If any lass had the mettle to keep him alive, ’twas Miss Drummond.
She even infiltrated his guarded thoughts, the ones where he secretly dreamed of kissing…of kissing her.
He saw her so clearly, her eyes so vividly fastened on him. He mustered all his strength to lift his arms and take her by the shoulders. He summoned his strongest resolve to pull her down and press his mouth to her delectable lips.
She pulled away, using hardly any strength and touched her fingers to her lips.
He tasted her, breathed in her slightly lavender scent, and felt her heart beating against him. Had he dreamed of their kiss?
He did not dream again for the next twelve hours.
The first thing he became aware of was the faint aroma of lavender. The second thing was the guilt and shame overwhelming him at the memory of where he had smelled the lavender before.
What kind of husband and father was he that he did not even mourn his family for a full five years before he let another—
