“I’ll decide about him myself when I hear his reasons,” she let him know.
“Aye, my love,” Constantine let her have her way. He always had and he always would.
He leaned in, fixing his gaze on her mouth as he moved closer to it. This close, he could see the fading bruise on her jaw that had made him vow to find MacRae and if he was alive, make certain he never hurt her again.
He bent his head a little more and ran his nose over her cheek, breathing in the sweet scent of her. He closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from kissing her. Just once.
Hugh opened the door, a familiar habit he’d picked up of not knocking first. When he saw Ismay awake and trying to sit up, he raced to the bed and aided her before Constantine could reach his arm out for her.
Constantine’s glare on him went unnoticed as the steward propped her pillow behind her and asked her a dozen questions about if she felt well.
“Why did ye not send fer me to let me know she had awakened?” the steward demanded, turning to aim his own fiery glare at the Lochiel.
Constantine stared at him for another moment and then ended it with a growl and got up from his chair. He offered it to Hugh so that the steward would stop leaning over her.
Luckily, the steward accepted the seat. “Ye had us in a bad way, lady,” Hugh told her.
“Hugh,” Constantine said to stop him. Why was he trying to make her feel guilty for making them worry?
But Hugh did not catch on. “I thought ye dead severaltimes. Yer breath seemed as if it had stopped.”
How did his steward know how softly her breath came? “How close did ye get?”
Ismay heard him and switched her attention to him. She smiled, but beneath a few layers of affection, was a warning for him to watch his temper.
Wasn’t it she who said, and only moments ago, that she would decide for herself whether he was a friend or foe? Had she made her decision already?
“Fergive me,” she repented to the steward.
Standing a wee bit away, Constantine huffed and looked heavenward.
“As I explained to the Lochiel, I tried to wake up but I coulnda.”
Constantine smacked his hand on his thigh. She had just woken up. She needed rest, not someone sitting next to her, pestering her.
“Ismay,” he began.
She gave him a look that asked him not to interfere.
Had he refused her since he’d known her? Damn him, he did what she silently asked and kept quiet.
“I’m afraid I’ve been mistrusting of ye, Hugh,” she went on. “Ye have proven yer loyalty to the Lochiel.”
Why was she not calling him Constantine, or my darling husband? What was this formalLochielnonsense?
“And to ye, lady.”
“Me?”
Constantine inched closer to his steward to hear what he was saying.
“Ye dinna remember me.”
“Hmm? Remember ye from when?” She smiled, setting Constantine’s pitiful heart to complete ruin. “Of course I remember ye from being at the castle—”
“Befer that, lass,” Hugh corrected with a tender smile.
Constantine listened—harder than he’d ever listened to anything before.
