Page 11

SWEATING, MAKENNA BLOCKED yet another strike, the thud of her bound blade colliding with Walker’s carrying through the bailey. Meanwhile, despite that he was over twenty-five years her elder, the Captain of the Meggernie Guard appeared barely out of breath.

A moment later, she aimed a kick at his booted ankle, trying to catch him off balance.

Walker stumbled back before snorting. “What have I told ye about playing tricks like that?”

Makenna grimaced. “Sometimes, it’s necessary.”

The captain cast her a quelling look. “A warrior should fight fair.”

“Honor will only get ye so far,” she replied, remembering her fight with Mackinnon in the woods earlier in the day.

Walker wouldn’t have been impressed by her behavior, and now that her temper had cooled, she wasn’t either.

Aye, in that case, it would have been wise to hold back.

She hadn’t just bruised her husband-to-be’s cods, but his pride as well.

Her behavior had been hot-headed and foolish, although she wouldn’t openly admit to it. “Such moves could save my life.”

“Well said, lass,” an amused male voice intruded. “It’s good to know ye listened to me.”

Shifting back from Walker, lest he use her moment of distraction against her, Makenna cast a look into the shadows of the bailey, where Alec stood with his stepson, Craeg. Unbeknown to her, they’d both been watching her spar with the captain.

Embarrassment flushed through her. Indeed, Alec had said those very words to her around a year earlier when they’d fought for the first time.

Initially, she’d thought his advice cynical, although these days, her perspective had altered.

Life wasn’t fair. Honor was all well and good, but their enemies had no morals.

Walker murmured an oath. “So, it was ye who taught the clan-chief’s daughter to fight like a mercenary?”

Alec laughed, not remotely contrite. “Maybe.”

Makenna realized then that a few warriors had left their posts to watch Walker and her fight. Like her, they knew it was possibly the last time they’d witness what had been until now a regular occurrence.

Surveying their familiar faces, and the respect and affection in their eyes, Makenna’s breathing grew shallow. How she’d miss them all.

Walker shrugged out his shoulders, releasing the tension that had gathered there during their fight, before a smile tugged at his lips. “ Makenna is a natural,” he replied, and the pride in his voice made an ache rise under her breastbone. His praise was hard won, and it meant much to her.

She didn’t have any living uncles. Her father’s younger brother had died in a skirmish when she was a bairn, and her mother had come from a large brood of daughters. But she’d grown up with Lloyd and saw him as kin.

“Care to spar with someone new, Walker?” Alec asked then, a gleam in his sea-blue eyes. “Maybe a former sea dog can teach ye some of his tricks?”

Lloyd barked a laugh, rolling his neck and flexing his fingers on the hilt of his bound blade. “Very well, Rankin … grab yerself a practice sword, and let’s get to it.”

Makenna left the two men to face off. Meanwhile, Craeg lingered by the wall, his face alive with excitement at the prospect of seeing his stepfather fight.

Unwrapping the cloth from ‘Arsebiter’s’ blade, she resheathed her longsword and crossed the bailey. She should—finally—join her sisters in the lady’s solar, for there were finishing touches that needed to be made on her wedding gown.

Her gut clenched at the thought, for the reminder made her think about Mackinnon.

Halfway across the bailey though, her gaze alighted on the low profile of the infirmary—a small building tucked in behind the bakehouse.

Her step faltered, guilt constricting her chest. Tadhg Mackinnon had taken a nasty wound to the abdomen the day before—all because she’d acted in haste. She should really look in on him .

And so, she changed course, crossing the cobbles as the thud of blades colliding rang behind her. Men’s voices followed as the watching guards urged Walker and Rankin on.

The interior of the infirmary was dimly lit and smelled of pungent healing herbs. Garia, the healer, was standing in one corner, mashing up something with a pestle and mortar. She glanced up when Makenna entered, her weathered face crinkling into a broad smile. “What brings ye here, lass?”

Makenna smiled back, although a trifle awkwardly. “Is Tadhg awake?”

“Aye.” Garia jerked her chin over her shoulder. “Ye have time for a chat … before I change the poultice on his flank. Go on.”

Makenna nodded before walking down the narrow aisle between empty cots to where a big man with wavy auburn hair sat propped up in a nest of pillows.

It was a relief to see that he was the only one in here.

Other warriors—on both sides—had received injuries in that skirmish, but none of them were serious enough to confine them to bed.

The hush inside the infirmary, so different from the activity of the busy castle outside, made her slow her step. Garia’s space had to be treated with respect, like a kirk.

And as she made her way down the aisle, she observed the Mackinnon warrior closely. Guilt jabbed her once more when she saw how pale he was. Lines bracketed his mouth. He glanced her way then before scowling.

Makenna cleared her throat, embarrassment stealing over her. “Good afternoon, Tadhg.”

The warrior didn’t respond. If anything, his glower darkened.

She attempted an encouraging smile. “How are ye feeling? ”

“I’ve been better.”

“Are ye in pain?”

He grunted. A heavy silence fell in the infirmary then. Tadhg didn’t seem bothered by it though. The look on his face made it clear he wished she’d leave. However, she couldn’t. Not yet.

“I’m sorry for attacking ye yesterday.” Her pulse started to race. Apologies didn’t come easy to her; it was something her kin had all complained about over the years. But Tadhg could have died because of her, and for that reason alone, she swallowed her pride now. “It was rash.”

He pursed his lips.

“I mistook ye for the enemy,” she pressed on.

“The Campbells of Breadalbane razed one of our villages.” Her breathing grew shallow as she recalled the devastation that greeted her patrol two days earlier.

“They grow increasingly aggressive … I fear that one day, they’ll try to take Meggernie for themselves.

” She paused there, resisting the urge to squirm.

Tadhg was a man of few words. His stony silence made her babble like a fool.

“My clan is everything to me,” she concluded hoarsely.

“I know it’s a poor excuse … but I wanted ye to know. ”

“Ready, lad?” Garia approached then, her healing basket full of bandages and unguents over one arm.

Tadhg nodded. His expression softened slightly as his gaze shifted to the healer.

“I shall leave ye to tend yer patient then.” Makenna stepped back. She’d tried her best, but it had been like talking to a stone wall. She wouldn’t linger where she wasn’t welcome.

She was turning away when Tadhg’s gruff voice forestalled her. “Has the Mackinnon forgiven ye yet? ”

Makenna swung back to face him. She then frowned, giving him his answer. Just the mention of her husband-to-be made her temper flare. She didn’t want Bran Mackinnon’s forgiveness. “He’s not an easy man to like,” she replied stiffly. “I don’t know how ye all put up with him.”

Tadhg snorted. “Och, Mackinnon’s not that bad … ye just need to learn how to handle him.”

Garia coughed, as if smothering a laugh, at this, while Makenna’s cheeks started to burn. “Any other advice?” she asked, unable to stop censure from creeping into her voice.

His gaze glinted. “Ye could start by talking to the man rather than swinging a blade at him.”