Constantine mustered up a slight smile and nodded, then gave him a hefty pat on the shoulder and continued intothe stable.
He thought of all the men from the Confederation lying dead behind the castle, dragged outside by the Camerons and MacDonalds when the fight was over. Angus MacKintosh, the Chattan chief was a fool to think he would see victory after attacking Tor. Constantine had taken down twenty men before he’d fallen.
He knew riding would be risky. His wound was stitched, wrapped, and repaired as much as it could be in so short a time. If it reopened and bled, he might not make it.
As his horse came charging out of the stable, Constantine didn’t think about dying. He’d been wounded before, close to death, and he’d lived. This time, more than any other, he would not allow himself to die. At least, not until he found her and she was safe from MacRae for good.
He would travel toward Beauly and catch up with MacRae along the way. In the meantime, he tried not to think about her screaming his name in terror. Instead, he remembered how his name sounded in her breathy whisper while he made love to her. Her meaningful, bonnie smile eased his fierce heartbeat and helped him think clearly.
A night had passed since she’d been taken from the castle over the shoulder of John MacBain. He pushed thoughts of Hilary sobbing out of his mind. MacBain was going to pay—with his life if Lachlan died.
Even with that terrible thought, memories of Ismay’s saucy temper brought a smile to his lips as the wind snapped his hair behind him like a war pennant.Och, Almighty. She makes me happy. Dinna let her be taken from me,he prayed silently. Aye, not even Alison had made him so constantly happy and good-natured. He’d been younger and more battle-hardened, with war coursing through his veins.
He was older now, twenty and seven. He had seen the terrible consequences of battle until it had turned his blood cold. Now, he wanted peace, and not just from war, but from the weight of shame and guilt. He was afraid though, that when it came completely, he wouldn’t know how to live in it.
Ismay made him want it though. She helped him understand that he no longer deserved to walk in regret. A new beginning was here.
Please, please let her live.
He rode alongside the River Lochy northeast until he came to the outskirts of Gairlochy on the southern shores of Loch Lochy.
Constantine was from Lochiel and almost everyone in Lochaber knew him. That included people in Gairlochy, so when he questioned them about a stranger traveling with a lass with fiery-red hair, many had claimed to see her.
He started off toward the Gairlochy Inn, where they believed she was, but with the inn in his vision, he felt his blood escaping through his wound. He looked down at it dripping into the earth and then felt himself falling. He slipped from his saddle and landed with athunkon the hard ground. Nae! He raged as the dark threatened to overtake him. He had to get up. He had to protect Ismay!
“There, now, Lochiel…”
A familiar voice sounded in Constantine’s ears. One of his men at Tor? Nae, he told himself as he was hefted up and carried away.
“Let’s be off, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Constantine came towith the coming of dawn a day later. Beneath him, a soft bed cushioned his back.Ismay!He opened his eyes and leaned up on one elbow to have a look around.
The room was rustic, more like the room of an inn but with ceiling rafters of oak and spider webs. He tried to move and leave the bed, but pain shot up his side and through his belly.
He didn’t give a damn about the pain. Every moment that Ismay was with MacRae, the danger to her increased. Clenching his teeth, he slid his legs off the bed. The wooden floor was cold on his bare feet.
Who took his boots off?
He closed his eyes against the pain and stood to his feet.
The door to the room opened. Molly Frazier, one of the elder villagers from Gairlochy entered the room carrying a tray. When she saw Constantine awake and standing, she nearly dropped the food she carried.
“Lochiel! Return to yer bed this instant!” she ordered—but gently. “Do ye want to pass oot again?” She hurried inside, set the tray on the wide seat of a nearby chair, and then went to him.
“How did I get here?” he asked her while she tugged on his shirt.
“Ye should be worried about yer wound opening again. The good Lord was surely on yer side when old Andrew the healer crossed the loch on his way to Craigmor Hamlet and stopped here. He was able topatch ye up, but he worries ye will tear it open again.”
“I canna stay here—”
“But ye must, Lochiel,” she insisted and gave him a gentle push down.
“Molly, I have known ye fer over two decades,” he said on a warning growl. “Let me up or I will push ye oot of my way.”
She moved aside immediately, and Constantine secretly felt terrible about frightening her.
