Constantine watched her smile fade as she finally turned toward the messenger. He wanted to reach out and touch her mouth, make her smile return. Whatever the messenger had to tell him, Constantine didn’t care. Not now. Not today. He wanted to shout for everyone to get out and leave him alone with his bride.
“Lochiel, I have word from the chief of Chattan.” The messenger unrolled the missive he carried and began to read. “Lochiel, be hereby advised that it has come to our attention that ye have in yer custody Lady Ismay MacPherson, daughter of Baron John MacPherson of Raigmore and his wife Marjorie. We dinna care how she came to be in yer possession, we demand ye let her go.
We know why ye might refuse to release her, but she is our kin and we willna stand idly by while ye punish the woman. She was, at the time of her killing Chief Roderick MacDonald of Glencoe, just a wee child. The death was an accident, we are certain. If ye harm a single hair on her head, we will go to battle with all of ye. Release her or we will come take her from ye.”
When the messenger finished, Constantine understood why some kings killed their messengers. This one before him couldn’t be speaking the truth. She was a MacPherson? Daughter of Baron John MacPherson, the man rumored to have harbored the Chief MacDonald’s murderer? He turned to her, as her words echoed in his head.
I became a murderer.
She was the wee gel in the stories told around the fires about the mighty Chief MacDonald.
She’d lied to him all along. Why? Fear most likely. She was a Highlander. She knew Highlanders held long grudges. For killing their chief, they might demand her blood as payment.
She had lied to him about her name. She knew MacPhersons were part of the Chattan and enemies to the Camerons. He could understand her deceit in it all.
Still, hadn’t she claimed to trust him?
Her deceit proved she didn’t.
He wanted to tell her he didn’t believe it, but her face was drained of color. He thought she might fall to the ground and took a step closer to her.
She moved away, breaking his heart.
It was true then.
He turned to look around at his kin. Empty stares, void of any emotions met his gaze. Then, as the truth dawned on them the way it had on him, anger, betrayal, and silent accusations filled the void.
She was an enemy of his clan. She had deceived them, pretending to be a Drummond. What should he say? He hadn’t known the truth either.
Surely, they would not turn on her just because she bore the name of the man who adopted her. It wasn’t that she was born a MacPherson.
He snatched up her hand and pulled her forward to the castle. “Come with me.”
This couldn’t be, he thought while pulling her along. So, she was a MacPherson in name only. But she was not just any MacPherson. She was the MacPherson lass who had killed Roderick MacDonald.
Constantine knew the chief had abused her. He knew she had been a child, but his kin, or at least some of them, would not forgive her for killing one of their chiefs.
When they entered the castle, Constantine still didn’t say a word to her. He held her hand while he climbed the stairs and then led her to his private solar.
“Ye killed Roderick MacDonald,” he said after he closed the door.
“I didna know that was his full name. I knew him only as ‘Chief MacDonald.’”
“Why did ye no’ tell me the man ye killed was a MacDonald?” he pressed. He kept his voice neutral, despite the fear of his kin’s revenge. He’d vowed to protect her, but could he end any one of his kins’ lives?
“I would likely have been killed if yer kin found out,”she defended. “At the verra least, I would have been thrown out of Tor Castle.”
“I thought ye wanted to leave all along.”
She wrung her hands together and didn’t answer right away. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms. He wanted to tell her not to fear. He would speak to his kin. All would be well. But he wasn’t sure of it.
“Ye deceived me, lass,” he said softer, more quietly than he intended. It was the worst part of it all. He thought she trusted him. It was the light that pushed everything else forward. “Did ye believe I would harm ye?”
“Fergive me fer deceiving ye, Constantine. I didna know ye well enough to assume how ye would react.
“Whatever I wanted before is no’ the same anymore,” she went on. “I want to stay here. With ye. I dinna want to have to run anymore, or lose someone I love again.”
He wanted to go to her, but his feet would not let him. Was there anything else she hadn’t told him?
