When he was finished eating, he rose up and held his hand out to her. “Ready?”
She looked around, but the MacMillans had left the Hall, so she rested her fingers onto the Lochiel’s palm and rose to leave with him.
“They will be gone by the time I leave,” he told her, escorting her up the stairs.
She said nothing about his leaving. She had no right, but she would pray for his safe return. They may not have made commitments to each other but she wanted, no, she needed his safe return. ConstantineCameron had changed everything in her life. Especially the way she felt about men. She still did not trust or like them, but now she knew there were at least two good men out there—and if there were two, there were likely more.
But she still didn’t want to marry.
Did she?
“Miss Drummond,” he said in a soft, heavy voice when they reached the doors to her chambers. “Dinna leave while I’m away. Ye are safe here. Ye know that now, aye?” He waited while she nodded, then he continued. “Twenty men from the surrounding towns and villages usually stay behind to protect the women when I’m away. I’ll be leaving ten more from the castle to stay and watch over ye.”
Ismay’s eyes burned and her belly flipped and fluttered at his words. Who was she for him to assign extra men to watch over her? She always felt safe in her father’s care, but even he hadn’t made plans or provisions to keep her safe in his absence.
“Constantine, I dinna know what to say, save that I would prefer those extra ten men to guard and protectye.”
He gave her a warm, slightly indulgent smile. “Ye have nae need to worry over me, lass.”
His deep voice melted her bones and singed her blood with fire. “A regimen of wild men led by Oliver Cromwell himself couldna keep me away.”
She couldn’t help but smile lovingly at him. “Will ye give me yer word?”
“I give it,” he gave in easily. “I vow to return to ye.”
She looked into his eyes and wondered if he would ever kiss her again. Then she thought,why should I wait?She took one tentative step forward, closer to him and rose up on the tips of her toes. For an instant, she felt his warm breath against her lips, his dark eyes boring into hers before they began to close.
She was about to kiss him. Was she mad? Aye. Aye,she was and she didn’t care.
She lifted her hands to clutch fistfuls of his plaid. Did she mean to stop him if he moved away from her eager mouth?
He didn’t pull away, or step back, even when another tiny step brought her body up against his. Was that his thrashing heartbeat she felt, or her own?
Her lips touched his. She made a slight sound, a stifled gasp as if she were stunned by her own boldness—or by the thrill of kissing him. His arms coiled around her waist and pulled her closer, molding her into all his slopes and valleys.
His lips covered hers, tasted her, reveled in her. He was more than curious, more than hungry for the taste of a woman. His kiss was needful, as if she were air and he must breathe or he would die.
She brought her arms up around his neck and clung to him while he took his fill of her. She only resisted for an instant when his tongue gently coaxed her lips open and then swept into her mouth. But she quickly went weak against him as his tongue explored and branded her like a red-hot iron.
Finally, as his breath came harder and her body yielded to him fully, he broke away—but hesitantly. He didn’t go far but gazed down into her eyes.
Even in the dimming candlelight along the walls in the corridor, Ismay was certain she saw in his eyes the things he wanted to say.
“I will return soon.”
And then he stepped away and disappeared into his chambers down the hall.
Ismay stood where he left her, staring after him, bringing her fingertips to her lips. Would they think her mad if she sat by his door all night so that she could see him again when he left to fight?
She smiled at herself and then wiped a tear that escaped her eye. He would live through and return. He gave her his word, and he did not go back on his word. That was what she told herself when she letherself into her room and went to bed.
Ismay woke to a quiet morning. The air felt thick. It was hard to swallow. The chief had left Tor Castle. No one was outside in the halls hurrying throughout the castle to see this chore done, or that. Void from the corridors were the sounds of vibrant young men calling to a fair maid or bursting into laughter at something his cousins said. Empty was the big, heavy chair outside her door.
Her bedchamber door opened and Joan entered, downcast and somber. At least she pushed open the curtains on the two small windows to let the sunshine in. Hilary entered a moment later and pulled the heavy fabric closed again.
“I didna get a wink of sleep last night,” she lamented, falling on Ismay’s bed. “What if my John is called to fight with the Chattan? What if one of my brothers kills him?”
Ismay knew Hilary had a valid fear. The Chattan would no doubt send other clans to the fight to kill Constantine. And if Hilary’s betrothed ran into Geoffry and Fionn, he would not have a chance against them.
