Constantine didn’t much care for celebrations. He did it for his cousins. For him, life didn’t offer much to celebrate. War, thieving, the deaths of those he loved—or could have spent his lifetime loving if he’d had the chance.
He thought of his daughter while he rode toward Geoffry’s tavern.Her name was Katherine. He would have called her Katie, which he did, even now five years after her death. He and Alison had chosen her name together when his wife first discovered she was with child. Katie lived for six hours after her mother’s death. Alison’s father and her uncles had buried her and her daughter.
Constantine thought of it now, every hour, every day. He hadn’t been home to meet his daughter during her short stay on earth, or to put his family to rest. Guilt still plagued him, sorrow steeped deep into his bones so much that he no longer felt human. He found no humor in things that once made him smile, becoming instead morose and menacing.
When Gilbert, Constantine’s older brother and former “Lochiel,” as every Cameron chief was called, named him chief before he died last summer, Constantine refused the title at first. He didn’t want to be responsible for so many. It was difficult enough on the battlefield, daily living in the Highlands of Scotland was an entirely different battle. But there was no one else willing to do it.
“I heard the MacKintosh chief’s son was there,” Lachlan appeared on his horse beside him. “Ye left him to Lewis?”
“Aye.”
Lachlan didn’t let Constantine’s vague interest stop him. “Well, in truth, I…I…”
Constantine kept his gaze fixed in front of him and waited. He didn’t care who knew it; he favored Lachlan. The lad had been found in the snow outside the castle seventeen years ago, orphaned at the tender age of two. At first, Constantine considered him a pest. The wee thing followed him everywhere he went with his other cousins, to do what ten-year-old boys did—mostly get into trouble. Constantine could not get into trouble with a babe hanging onto his ankle.
But one day, while the boys were searching for frogs along the riverbank, Lachlan pretended to be a frog and hopped off a rock and into the river. The water was not deep but waswaist-high for Constantine. The babe went under and didn’t reappear. But Constantine had already begun running. As he went, he realized he would miss the lad if he drowned. Once Constantine saved him, he barely let the babe out of his sight. He learned to love him as his little brother.
“’Tis just that,” Lachlan began again, “do ye think ’tis…best to leave him alone with Lewis?”
“Aye. I trust Lewis no’ to kill him.”
“But, Lochiel…”
“Lad,” he said, stopping him with the sheer, unmovable command of his voice. He loved Lachlan, but the lad should not forget authority.
“Fergive me,” Lachlan repented with a bowed head. “Ye know I love Lewis. That was no’ my heart speakin’.”
Constantine smiled in the filtered sunlight and kept his horse at a canter.
“Have ye given any more thought to weddin’ Millie Stewart?”
“Lachlan…” At the sound of his name coming from his chief’s mouth, Lachlan lowered his gaze again and stopped speaking. His chief went on though. “I have nae intention of weddin’ Miss Stewart or anyone else. Why would I?”
“To settle doun and—”
Constantine cast him a black look. His youngest cousin looked everywhere but at him.
“I dinna wish to settle doon. Dinna bring it up again.”
“Aye, Constantine.”
They rode on in silence, which was nothing new for Constantine, but obviously extremely difficult for Lachlan, judging from the way the lad opened his mouth to start speaking but then snapped his lips shut, likely remembering who he was traveling with.
Constantine didn’t find it awkward. Talking just for the sake of conversation was awkward. Flapping his lips or listening to someone else do it did not silence the voices.
My love, you are to be a father.His heart had filled with joy. A father.He was to have a bairn of his own. A son or a daughter. He didn’t care which. It would be tiny. How would he hold it? Would his rough palms hurt its delicate skin? He had to care for him or her, and he would—all their life. The thought of another life…no, two lives completely dependent on a man could easily weigh him down. But not Constantine. How could loving others more than himself weigh him down? His life had been a blessing. He started building their house at the foot of Ben Nevis after she told him and took joy in watching them both grow.
But as dreams fade upon waking, his life changed almost overnight. War had broken out between the English, led by Oliver Cromwell, and the Scots. Constantine was called to fight for the Stuarts. He’d left his wife to go fight.
At the time, part of him thrilled at the prospect of fighting. He stayed alive in the midst of death and barbarism such as no eye should see. He stayed alive to see his family again. To finish their house and live tending cattle. But his family perished without him. And for that, he would forever reject having another family.
He felt the ground rumble beneath him and knew his kin were bringing the cattle to the castle.
“There’s the tavern,” Lachlan said, sounding as if it was an oasis in the wilderness—which it was, but Constantine’s cousin was thankful to reach this spot of civilization because there were others to talk to.
They dismounted, and after seeing to their horses, were about to step inside the Doomsday Tavern when the sky lit up with bolts of lightning followed by peals of thunder.
Vaguely, his other cousins crossed his thoughts. Would they be safe getting here? Lightning was known to strike a person in a wide-open glen.
