Turning from her departure to their weathered, weary faces, he let out a silent sigh and began briefing them on the Chattan’s missive. After that, he told them his plan. “We will fight at Achnacarry. I want fifty men at the ford on the northern side of the loch ready to attack the rear. Meanwhile, I and a regiment of our kin will march aroond the head of the loch to outflank and attack the MacKintoshes from the east.”
“That is an eighteen-mile trek?” Lord Bran of Tilliisburgh pointed out.
“We can make it,” Constantine assured him.
“From whom will ye request aid?” asked Marten MacDonald, who fought in the battle of Craig Cailloch and many battles before that.
“I have already sent out messengers to the MacGregors and the MacIans, and of course, theMacMillans.”
“Good,” most of them muttered amongst themselves. A few narrowed their eyes on him, trying to gauge his confidence in this.
“Do ye think the MacMillans will help us since ye are now estranged from their kin, yer in-laws?”
“We will discover that soon enough,” Constantine let them know, then got off the topic of Alison MacMillan’s parents. “I anticipate some clans from the Chattan will arrive, possibly to aid MacKintosh. But I would have ye all know, ’tis nothin’ that concerns me.”
They discussed strategies and minor concerns, and when the meeting ended well into the night, Constantine found himself searching for Ismay.
He found her asleep in his private solar, curled up in an oversized chair by the hearth, with his plaid covering her. He did not want to wake her. He wanted to crouch before her and simply take his fill in the sight of her, so comfortable and at home in his solar.
So, after adding more wood to the hearthfire, that is what he did. After moving a nearby chair even closer to her, he sat and spread his gaze over her.
He had missed her today. He missed her playful glances and concerned frowns that marred her brow. She worried about him. And though, at times, he thought it a wee bit insulting, he found himself liking her concern. She was not full of bravado, but she carried herself with quiet strength. He considered, letting his gaze trace the delicate steel of her jaw, that she would be a worthy wife to any Highland warrior she chose, if she chose to marry.
The idea of her as another man’s wife made his belly knot up, his hands ball into fists.
Aye, he was fond of her. So? Did it mean his demise or hers? Nae. Nae, it did not. Did it mean he was letting go of Alison and Katie? How could he?
He had planned out a future with Alison in his head from the moment he’d met her. And in one day, it was all over. He hadn’t had thechance to bid her farewell or promise to find her in heaven.
And now, because of this fiery woman covered in his plaid, he was not certain he wanted to find Alison.
His gaze roved over the sweet contour of Ismay Drummond’s lips, the color of ripe peaches. The thought of tasting them to see if they were as sweet as they looked almost overwhelmed him. But he was not one for letting go to his desires. If he were, he would have continued killing enemies like Oliver Cromwell’s garrison and the rest of the English and their supporters.
Her small, pert nose reminded him of her challenging tongue and brought a smile to his face. He liked her temper. His woman should not be a—His woman?
He closed his eyes in defense of her, but then, uncharacteristically unable to fight himself and win, he opened them again and set them on her long, black lashes smudging her cheeks.
His resolute heart faltered.
He spoke her name on a whispered breath, agonized by what he was beginning to feel for her.
Her lashes lifted, exposing his admiring gaze on her. He did not look away at being caught. He did not want to look away ever again. Had she not been away from him enough today?
When she offered him a dreamy smile, he felt his mouth go dry and his muscles tighten throughout his body.
“Apologies fer coming in here while ye were away,” she began then stopped when he shook his head.
“Nae apologies are necessary, Lady.”
“I was thinking of ye and ended up here.” Her gray eyes were like turbulent seas he wanted to run to.
He raised his brows and chuckled softly. “Do ye think of me often then?”
When she nodded her bonnie head, he wanted to bolt out of his chair and shout with joy that she shared the sameplight as he.
“I am enjoying getting to know ye, Lochiel. I mean Constantine,” she whispered the last.
He let his smile on her widen. “I feel the same. Ye are a refreshin’ delight.”
