Page 12

“YE DID, WHAT?”

Kylie stared at Makenna, her lips parting in shock.

“Kneed him in the cods.” Makenna dug her needle into the hem of the green damask surcote she’d wear for her wedding. “Although not hard enough, I fear.”

Kylie murmured an oath. Meanwhile, Liza made a choking sound.

“Do ye wish for a husband who’s … incapable of performing his … duties?” Liza asked, incredulous.

“That would be a boon, aye,” Makenna replied.

Heat rose to her cheeks then as she recalled the feel of Mackinnon’s arousal, hot and hard against her belly—and the dizzying wave of excitement that had rolled over her in response.

Curse her, she’d tried to forget that incident.

After visiting Tadhg in the infirmary, she’d gone straight upstairs to join her sisters—although she was now wishing she’d hidden in her bower instead .

Tensing her jaw, she made two more neat stitches upon her wedding surcote.

She usually liked needlework. It was a vastly different task from taking her turn at the Watch on the walls, riding out on patrol, or sparring with the other warriors, but she enjoyed the detail, and the sense of accomplishment afterward. Sewing relaxed her. Not now though.

“Mackinnon had it coming,” she muttered.

Kylie sighed before reaching up to pinch the skin between her eyebrows. She then met Liza’s eye. The two women sat opposite each other before the gently smoldering hearth. “I think our sister wishes to make her marriage a battlefield.”

“It would seem so,” Liza replied as she continued to wind wool upon a spindle. “But she’ll learn better soon enough.”

“She could do far worse than Bran Mackinnon.”

“Aye,” Liza agreed. “She could have ended up being wed to a man like Leod.”

Kylie’s brow furrowed. “Or Errol.”

“Stop comparing my situation to yers,” Makenna snapped, vexed that the two of them were carrying on as if she weren’t even there.

Liza fixed her with a stern look. “Ye should try to put things right … before the ceremony.”

Makenna’s chin kicked up, heat flushing over her.

Liza’s dark eyes narrowed. “A man’s wounded pride isn’t something to be taken lightly. Ye may feel justified, but since it was ye that ensured this marriage must take place, I suggest ye swallow yer pride and apologize.” She paused then. “It’ll make yer wedding night easier, at least.”

“Liza’s right,” Kylie chimed in. “I know it’s not what ye wanted … but ye will have to lie with him soon. ”

“For the love of God,” Makenna choked out, mortification flooding through her. “Don’t remind me.”

Her sisters annoyed her further then by exchanging knowing looks.

Of course, they were both experienced in the ways of the world, while she was a virgin still.

Neither knew it, but Makenna hadn’t even been kissed.

There had been men in the Guard she’d fancied over the years, men she wouldn’t have minded a kiss from.

However, they’d all been too intimidated to try their luck.

And now, here she was, three and twenty.

A lass who’d never been kissed, but who had killed.

Her lack of experience frustrated her. She liked to feel capable in all areas.

“Mackinnon is a little proud and fiery to be sure,” Liza said then, “but he’s a fine-looking man.” Her mouth quirked, her dark eyes glinting wickedly as she winked at Kylie. “And he’s got large well-shaped hands … a favorable sign, indeed.”

Kylie snorted a laugh, while Makenna yelped as she accidentally stabbed herself in the finger with the needle. Sucking her stinging digit, she glared at Liza. “What the devil have his hands got to do with it?”

Liza’s smile widened. “Och, lass … ye have been well-cosseted, haven’t ye? The look of a man’s hands tells ye much about his character … and the size of his—”

Makenna gasped an oath, cutting her off.

Both her sisters were smirking now. It was too much, and she closed her eyes to block them out.

Her cheeks were burning. She wondered if she should tell them that she already had an idea about the size of her husband-to-be’s manhood, after today’s incident.

She checked herself though. Revealing such a thing would only encourage them .

“Christ’s teeth, what nonsense,” she muttered.

However, neither of her sisters was listening to her.

Liza flashed Kylie an impish grin. “Have ye seen the size of Alec’s hands?”

“Can’t say I have,” Kylie replied with a giggle. “However, Rae’s got hands like a blacksmith’s. When I saw him unclothed for the first time, I got a pleasant surprise, let me tell ye. He had—”

“That’s it!” Makenna threw down her wedding gown in disgust and leaped to her feet. “Ye won’t drag me into such lewd talk!”

Kylie flashed her a look of mock hurt. “Lewd?” Her sister was so different these days. Before falling in love with Rae, bitterness had cast a shadow over Kylie. She’d been prim and easily offended. But now, she laughed easily and took life more lightly.

It’s as if our roles have been reversed.

Nonetheless, Makenna wasn’t going to linger here and listen to any more of this.

She had the sneaking suspicion her sisters were just getting started.

But this wasn’t a show put on for their benefit.

It was her life. Her future. Jaw clenched, she headed toward the solar door, her boots sinking into the soft sheepskins that covered the wooden floor.

But Kylie wasn’t letting her escape without a parting volley. “Go on … seek yer betrothed out,” she called after her. “And mend things.”

It galled her to admit it, but her sisters did have a point. If she didn’t try to repair her relationship with her husband-to-be, their wedding day—and night—would truly be an ordeal. And in the man’s defense, he’d thought he was protecting her by not engaging during their fight.

Unfortunately, Bran Mackinnon wasn’t easy to find.

Makenna searched for him in the bailey, and in the orchard and gardens, before checking inside the guard barracks, the chapel, and the great hall. She’d even gone out into the woods again, although he was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, irritation buzzing inside her like a hive of bees, she climbed the steep spiral staircase that led up to the highest level of the tower house.

It was the only place left to look. Stepping out onto the narrow walkway that led around the edge of the roof, she halted a moment.

A breeze feathered across her face up here, the soft coo of pigeons drifting across the ramparts.

Rounding the corner of the square tower, she halted, her gaze alighting upon the lanky figure that leaned upon one of the battlements. Mackinnon was in profile and hadn’t yet seen her. As such, she halted, her gaze raking over him.

Damn him, he was far too attractive, with his flame-colored hair and patrician features. Her betrothed appeared to be a hundred leagues away at present, his attention trained west. He was looking in the direction of home, and no doubt wishing he were there right now.

Makenna cleared her throat.

His gaze cut right, spearing her—tension rippling through his body. His eyebrows then drew together above narrowed eyes.

Fighting her discomfort, Makenna forced a tight smile. “I see ye have found my favorite spot at Meggernie. ”

He pushed himself off the ramparts, his expression shuttering. “I shall leave ye to it then.”

He made to move off, but Makenna forestalled him. “Wait.” Hades, her voice sounded as if someone were throttling her. “I wish … to … apologize.”

Twice in one day. This was unheard of.

His jaw bunched, and heat sparked in her belly. Her heart started to pound against her ribs then, and she silently cursed Kylie. What a daft idea this had been.

“I don’t need an apology,” he replied coldly.

She started to sweat. “Nonetheless, I shouldn’t have insulted ye, baited ye … or kneed ye in the cods.”

In response, he cut his attention away, a flush staining his high cheekbones. “Aye, well … some of yer insults cut a little close to the bone,” he muttered. “Life has turned me bitter before my time.”

Makenna stilled at his candidness. Nonetheless, frustratingly, he didn’t elaborate.

“I can be reckless when riled,” she admitted before grimacing. “And I don’t like being bested, I’m afraid.”

“No one does.”

Makenna’s gaze shifted to where he now lay a hand on a battlement.

The other hand rested on the pommel of his dirk.

Liza had described his hands as ‘large and well-shaped’—and they were, with broad palms and long tapering fingers.

The nails were clean and trimmed. She noted a thin silver scar that marked the back of the hand resting on the battlement and wondered where he’d gotten it .

She continued to study him, her attention straying upward to his mouth. His lower lip was swollen from where she’d head-butted him.

With a sigh, she took a few steps closer before leaning up against the sun-warmed stone at the base of the doocot.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft warbling of pigeons. It wasn’t a companionable hush though. She could have cut the tension between them with a blade.

“I’ve never seen a doocot on the roof of a tower house before,” Mackinnon said, eventually shattering the awkwardness. “Those birds make a right noise.”

Makenna cast him a veiled glance to find him leaning his back upon the ramparts, arms folded across his chest. His attention wasn’t trained on the view west any longer, but upon the conical-shaped stone structure that perched behind her.

“They do … but I like the sound,” she replied. “It soothes me.” She paused then, forcing a smile. “I hope ye like pigeon?”

“Aye … well enough.”

“Good. Cook and his assistants are baking pigeon pie for our wedding feast.”

Her pulse quickened then. The ceremony was inching closer. By the time they sat down to pie, Father Malcolm would have bound them as husband and wife.

Lord help her, she wasn’t ready for this.

She started gnawing at her lower lip before finally asking, “I didn’t hurt ye … badly … did I?”

Mackinnon’s features tightened. “Could we leave that incident behind us now?” he growled.

She nodded, relieved .

They lapsed into another silence, and, eventually, she pushed herself up off the doocot’s wall. She then cut Mackinnon a veiled look. It was difficult to tell if he’d forgiven her or not. “Come.” She took a step back and beckoned. “While we’re up here, I might as well show ye something.”

He scowled, and she sighed. “Fear not, it’s nothing unpleasant … follow me.”

She led him along the walkway that skirted the large square roof. She then descended into the stairwell, taking him down a few feet to where a narrow slitted window let in the afternoon sun.

Turning, she found Mackinnon right behind her.

He was closer than she’d expected, now looming over her, and his proximity made her heart kick hard against her ribs.

His scent filled her lungs, and his heat radiated toward her like a furnace.

It reminded her of what it had felt like in that glade, with his lean, hard body pressed against hers.

Hastily shutting down her reaction, she moved down another step.

“Look through the window,” she said, her voice oddly husky, “and up.”

Mackinnon indulged her, leaning toward the window and tilting his chin up. A moment later, his lips quirked. “Bats … lots of them.”

“Aye … there must be at least two hundred roosting here during the summer.”

“They’re tiny,” he murmured, a trace of awe in his voice.

“Aye, they’re pipistrelles … some are small enough for two of them to fit in my palm.”

Mackinnon moved back from the window then, allowing her to squeeze in and look.

Many of the lasses at Meggernie shuddered at the very mention of the colony of bats that had made the eaves of the tower house their roosting spot, but she loved them.

Her gaze alighted then upon the clutch of small bodies, each covered in a tawny pelt, their dark, leathery wings tucked in as they slept.

“In an hour or two, they’ll emerge,” she said softly, “and fly through the early gloaming … looking for moths and midges to feed upon.”

Her betrothed didn’t answer, and she glanced his way.

He was watching her. His expression was veiled, yet there was something in his eyes—something that made her heart skip a beat.

Pulse pounding, she hurriedly looked away.