“I should kill ye fer tellin’ him who she is.” Constantine’s threat was spoken on a clenched growl.
“Aye, ye should,” Hugh agreed. “But I plead with ye fer my life, Lochiel. I cared fer ye and yer brother fer sixteen years. I am not so much older than ye, but I was always loyal to ye. When ye wed Lady Alison, I loved her as I loved ye. I never even thought about my kin in other parts of the Highlands. But when I first saw Ismay, I knew who she was. I knew my clan had never stopped looking fer her. I thought I was doing the right thing by delivering her to them.”
“What?” Constantine asked, in stunned disbelief. “Ye knew who she was? How would ye know that?” he demanded, then continued with a clenched jaw. “Ye expect me to believe ye willna hand her over this time?”
“I already had the chance,” Hugh said with remorse lining his voice. “I have come to care fer her well-being. She is kindhearted and she smiles often and with ease. I willna let anyone or anything hurt her. But…ye are here in dire straits and I find myself caring fer ye too much to leave to go find her.”
Constantine wasn’t sure what he should say or how he should react to such words. Aye, she smiled often and with ease.
He almost lost his senses completely for a moment when he wanted to smile thinking of her. He could decide what to do about Hugh later. For now, he had one purpose and as long as he was breathing nothing would stop him.
“I have to find her.”
“I will find her,” Hugh tried to assure him.
But Constantine already started for the door, albeit grimacing as he went. “Ye are here and we arewastin’ time.”
*
Ismay sat proppedin the saddle of MacRae’s horse while they traveled closer to Beauly.
Where was Constantine? She thought, looking up. What was taking him so long to come to her? Mayhap he was dead, after all. Tears blurred the stars and she wiped her eyes quickly. She wouldn’t let such terrible thoughts fill her head. Constantine was alive. He was coming.
MacRae was terrified of him. It enraged him that he should run like a frightened rat in the dark and in his rage, he often struck her. She didn’t care. His terror was the one thing that made Ismay happy in the last few days. She made sure to remind him that the Lochiel was coming for him.
They traveled mostly at night to avoid being spotted by the “cursed Camerons.” But Ismay left something small behind every time they stopped. Yesterday, when her captor saw that one of her shoes was missing he slapped her hard in the face. He promised to strip her naked and bury her clothes if she tried it again. She didn’t. At least, not with her clothes.
An hour later, just before the sun came up and MacRae was busy looking out for the Golden Crow Inn, or an abandoned stable—or a certain Cameron, she saw a large patch of thistles growing in the middle of the early winter frost. She stopped the horse and slid out of the saddle, then hurried towards the vivid purple flower heads. Fancifully, she told herself the thistle was always there to remind her how strong she was.
“What do ye think ye are doing running away from me?” MacRae demanded, catching up with her. “Why are ye smiling?”
She couldn’t keep her smile from deepening. She knew he would get angry that she was happy. She was counting on it.
Without answering him, she bent and started plucking the stems from the earth. She was sorry for not leaving the thistle alone, but sheneeded help. When she held a small bouquet in her hands and lifted them to her nose, he smacked them away. They went sprawling to the ground.
“Get back on the horse,” he commanded, giving her a shove between her shoulder blades. “I dinna trust ye not to drop yer under garments as a means to guide him on our path. If ye do,” she heard the smile in his voice behind her, “I will be sure to freely take what ye exposed.”
“I can assure ye,” she said under her breath, “’twillna be free.”
“What?”
“Hmm?” She looked at him over her shoulder, and then a hair’s breadth passed him to the thistle scattered on the ground.
Dolt.
Find me, Constantine.
They entered Cannich, a village a little over eight leagues west of Beauly and stopped at the Golden Crow Inn to sleep for the day.
So far, the dolt hadn’t tried to have her in his bed. She suspected it was because she warned him if tried to have his way with her, the Lochiel would likely cut him to pieces—if she didn’t snatch one of his knives and do it herself.
The MacRae chief didn’t get a room or share one with her. Instead, he set up a chair outside her door and slept there. Unlike Constantine, he didn’t guard her door to keep others out, but to keep her in. The only window in the room had shutters that were nailed shut.
She didn’t sleep long when the sound of the lock keeping her captive opened. She sat up, struggling to see through her tired eyes. But she didn’t need eyes to recognize the delicate footfall of her mother.
“Ismay, ye look ghastly,” Marjorie MacPherson remarked, entering the room. MacRae was behind her, but she slammed the door shut in his face.
“Is it true ye freely wed the outlaw Lochiel of Lochaber? Is that what ye always wanted when yer poor father tried tofind suitable suitors fer ye? An outlaw? Did ye know, I wonder, dearest, he can be hanged the instant he leaves the sanctuary of that region?”
