When he opened the door, she stepped out with him close behind. Would he protect her from his kin? She didn’t want him to have to.
Joan appeared on the other side of her when she stepped into the hall. Her friend did not say anything. She simply smiled and gave Ismay more courage to continue on.
Ismay was thankful that Hilary had forgiven her, and more thankful for Joan’s silence. She cut her glance to Constantine walking on her right. His first reaction was quiet rage—the kind that made so many of his enemies drop their weapons and run. His subsequent reaction was vowing to continue to protect her.
She loved him. There was no point in denying or doubting it. She loved how he felt like a mountain—her Ben Nevis, mayhap—beside her, and how his shapely mouth relaxed when he set his dark mahogany eyes on her.
He flicked his gaze to her now and grinned at her appraisal.
She giggled into her hand like a milkmaid who had attracted the most handsome man in the village.
When they stepped into the Great Hall, Ismay’s gaze fell to Constantine’s table. There, Geoffry and Fionn MacDonald sat drinking as they usually did. Lachlan’s smile widened on Joan when he saw her. Lewis eyed her narrowly, and then, seeming to come to some conclusion in his head, he dipped his chin inrepentance.
Hilary was there, sitting across from Geoffry. Her eyes were red and puffy when she waved at Ismay and beckoned her forward.
Almost everyone who set eyes on her offered her a pitying look. Hilary must have told them about their dear relative, Roderick MacDonald.
If it helped them forgive her, then good. Let them all know. But they did, and some of them glared at her as if she were an unwelcome intruder. But their Lochiel’s glare was darker and more dangerous, so they looked away.
She was happy to see Father Langley there and agreed with a joyful heart when he offered to finish their wedding ceremony.
That night, when the food and drinks stopped flowing and laughter turned to silence, Lewis asked if she was truly only eight when the incident took place.
She answered all their questions having nothing more to hide. They were her kin now and she loved the ones at her table.
“No one there came to yer aid?” Geoffry asked her with a distasteful slant of his lips.
“And find themselves at the end of his sword?” She shook her head. “Nae, no one came to my aid.”
Constantine let the others ask her questions because he knew she could take it. They had a right to know.
Twice, she met his gaze and smiled as if he were the only man in the world. He was the only one who mattered. She couldn’t wait for the night to be over so she could be alone with him and promise to love until thistles no longer bloomed.
But before they all retired and Constantine took his wife to bed, a guest appeared at the castle doors.
When Hilary saw her betrothed, John MacBain she ran to him, elated. “Darling, what brings ye here at this time of night?”
“May I enter?” he asked before coming inside.
Constantine took a step forward. John MacBain paled and steppedback. Almost out of the castle, but Ismay stayed his hand. This was the one Hilary loved. For that, Constantine needed to hear him.
“Fergive me, my love,” MacBain said softly to Hilary.
“What should I fergive, John?”
He pushed on the open door and pulled it wide. Immediately, two hundred men came rushing inside, weapons drawn. They were MacPhersons, MacKintoshes, and others from the Chattan Confederation.
Just as quickly, Ismay was pushed behind Constantine. They both looked up at the long sword descending on them.
Chapter Twenty-One
Constantine’s claymore flashedabove her and stopped the enemy sword’s descent in a clashing blow that rained sparks down on her head. In less than an instant her eyes took in everything going on around her. There were men everywhere, slicing, jabbing, and chopping with their swords. Blood spewed, and Hilary was whisked away by her betrothed.
The bastard whose sword had come down on them crumbled to the ground and lay in a bloody heap at her feet. The smell of blood seeped into her nostrils and then filled her lungs. She would have gagged, but Constantine grasped her by the wrist and pulled her to the stairs.
“I will come fer ye,” he promised, urging her up the steps. “There is a trapdoor in my solar, beneath the west window.”
She shook her head frantically while men all around her cried out or swore vengeance as they died. “I willna leave ye, Constantine.”
