He slapped her in the face. She slapped him back, twice as hard. Why had she cowered to him? Why hadn’t she snatched his dirk while he cut her hair off and stabbed him with it?
Without waiting to find out what he would hit next, she hauled her leg back and then let her knee fly into his groan. He went down to his knees clutching himself.
Ismay didn’t wait to see if he gave chase. She ran. She spotted the tree line and headed toward it.
Something came bursting out of the trees—too fast for her to make out what it was. Nae.Whoit was. A rider on a horse, both asdark as death. She slowed, unsure of—
The rider became clear as he neared. Constantine! She ran faster to reach him. The closer she became, she noticed his horror-ridden expression. Was he screaming her name? She wanted to scream his name back to him, but she turned to see what he was seeing.
MacRae was aiming an arrow at her. She turned back to her rescuer—she never doubted he would come. She almost flew into his arms when an arrow shot into her from behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Constantine opened hiseyes and looked at a ceiling he’d never seen before. He was in a room at the Golden Crow Inn. He sat up as memories invaded his thoughts. His bandaged side blazed with pain. He ignored it. Ismay. They had found her in Cannich, running from Alistar MacRae. She’d been shot! His head ached and heart ached and made him feel ill. He’d leaped from his horse and ran to her. His steward raced to MacRae.
“Ismay!” he cried out. She’d been lifeless in his arms. Her preciously adored face turned up to the sun, as if she were returning from whence she came.
But she wasn’t dead! She had opened her eyes and smiled at him.
Constantine had been torn about whether to carry her to his horse and race to a town with a physician, or going to MacRae and killing him,and thencarrying her to his horse.
He had to leave the bastard to Hugh and get Ismay help. Lifting her in his arms, he’d held her gently in his embrace while his heart beat hard and fast against her.
But—he remembered the hot sensation of his blood seeping through his bandages. He wouldn’t die. Not until he helped her. He’d managed to mount his horse and sat in the saddle behind her.
Hugh, stained with blood that wasn’t his own, had caught up to them and led them here.
Did she live? He was afraid of the answer. Terrified, he wasn’t ashamed to admit.
“Ismay!” he called out, gripping his side.
The door opened to Hugh entering the room with a tray of food in his hands. “Do ye truly want to open that up again? I willna be able to sew ye again, Lochiel.”
“Hugh, where—?” Could he withstand the answer?
“In a room down the hall. She will be well, fear not. The healer here says the arrow entered closer to her shoulder and didna hit anything vital. She sleeps but she will recover. I am more worried about ye!”
“Dinna be,” Constantine ordered, getting out of his bed.
“Lochiel, she will live!” Hugh shouted at him, nearing the door. “What do ye think she will do without ye because ye were too stubborn to tend to yer wound and died? Would ye leave her here alone?”
Constantine stopped. It was all that could have stopped him from going to her. The worst thing he could do was leave her here alone.
“Verra well,” he pouted, stalking back to bed. “But I want reports on her every quarter of an hour.”
Hugh screwed up his face. “Do ye not remember that I was never in yer army? What is this every quarter of an hour? Ye will run me ragged.”
“Then I will be gettin’ up to see her fer myself.”
Hugh mumbled something under his breath, set the tray down with more force than was necessary, then left the room, still mumbling.
Constantine leaned back in the bed. She would recover. He was able to breathe again. He wanted to be with her. His body, spirit, and mind needed her. He pulled his shift up and had a look at his dry bandage, then at the door.
He recalled his steward’s question about leaving Ismayhere alone in this world. He would stay put no matter how badly he wanted to get to his beloved.
Hugh must have stitched him up again. He was thankful for his steward. For so long, he thought Hugh didn’t like him, since he seemed to always try to get others to agree that they didn’t like him either. But his longtime steward had explained on their first night together, it was the best way to find out who was the Lochiel’s secret enemy. And he had them at Tor, according to his steward. Bethia was one. The old cook from two years ago, who disappeared not long after his talk with Hugh. There were several others, all of whom no longer lived at Tor—or no longer lived at all. Constantine wasn’t certain. His steward was a mystery.
He returned a quarter of an hour later and stood at the foot of his bed. “The lady is recovering. Nothing has changed.”
