Page 13

NIGHT FELL OVER Meggernie in a soft black curtain. Rolling down the sacking over her bower window, Makenna tried not to think about what the morning would bring.

The day before her wedding had sped by in a blur, as if she were on the back of a galloping horse, and it now had the bit between its teeth.

She’d risen early in the morning and taken a walk, alone, on the walls.

The crisp air in her lungs and the feel of her dirk brushing against her thigh had reassured her.

But the solitude didn’t last. A short while later, she’d joined her kin and guests for bannocks and porridge in the great hall.

Mackinnon had also been present, a silent, brooding presence at her side as she forced down mouthfuls of porridge.

Usually, porridge was her favorite breakfast, especially drizzled with honey and cream, but she’d had little appetite.

After the first meal of the day was done with, she’d retreated to the lady’s solar to make the finishing touches on her wedding surcote.

All four of her sisters came and went as she worked, fussing over her, and bickering over the details of how she’d wear her hair the following day.

It was the first occasion all five of them had spent time together in seven years.

That fact should have made a lump form in Makenna’s throat.

However, as she’d listened to Sonia and Liza argue about what flowers she should wear in her hair, irritation had wreathed up.

She couldn’t bring herself to care about such things—not when she was days from leaving Meggernie.

“Violets are everywhere in the meadow outside the castle,” Liza had enthused. “They’ll be perfect.”

“Too commonplace,” Sonia sniffed. “Ma’s carpet roses have a lovely scent … and they’re more befitting a clan-chief’s bride.”

“But they have thorns.”

“Aye … but so does our wee sister.”

They’d all snorted with laughter at this—although Makenna merely glowered.

Both Liza's and Kylie’s gazes had shadowed then. Her ill-temper worried them. Indeed, it was a shame that she’d been so grumpy today. Who knew when they’d all be together like this again? All the same, she couldn’t help the resentment that had knotted in her gut.

Apart from mealtimes, she’d seen little of Bran during the day. She’d hoped their conversation on the roof of the tower house might have made things a little easier, but it hadn’t. They didn’t seem to know what to say to each other now. It was all so awkward.

And now, here she was, readying herself for bed .

Her maid, Fiona, had just finished brushing Makenna’s hair, and was about to settle herself into her cot in the corner of the bedchamber, when a knock sounded on the door.

Fiona crossed the chamber and opened the heavy oaken door to find Kylie standing on the other side. Makenna’s elder sister had a small leather-bound book in one hand.

“Come to tell me to cheer up?” Makenna couldn’t help the acerbic edge to her voice. She was almost out of patience with her family today.

Kylie inclined her head. “Would it help?”

“No.”

Her sister glanced over at Fiona, who was watching their interaction with interest. “Can ye leave us for a short while, lass?” she asked. “I wish to have a few words in private with my sister.”

Fiona nodded before flashing Makenna a glance. “Would ye like some hot caudle from the kitchens, Lady Makenna?”

Considering the offer, Makenna nodded. She’d barely eaten all day, although she did love caudle—a thick, rich drink made from oats and sweetened with honey. It would be comforting. “Aye … thank ye.”

Fiona departed, her soft footfalls receding in the narrow passageway that led between the family chambers that made up the top two floors of the tower house.

Makenna eyed Kylie then, bracing herself for yet more well-meant but vexing sisterly advice. However, none was forthcoming.

Intrigued, Makenna’s gaze drifted to the book tucked under her sister’s arm. “What’s that?” she asked finally.

Kylie favored her with a secretive smile. “A wedding gift.”

The northeastern shore of Loch Tay

Perthshire

The same night …

The woman he craved was just a day’s ride away now. All he had to do was claim her.

Tormod MacDougall watched the moon’s reflection glisten in the still waters of the loch and listened to the croaking of puddocks in the rushes. Behind him, the rumble of men’s voices around the fire rose and fell, while the scent of woodsmoke laced the crisp air.

Shifting on the boulder at the water’s edge, he fought impatience.

It had been nine months since he’d last set eyes on Makenna MacGregor—but during that time, his need for her had grown. It had gotten to the point where every quiet moment he had, like now, thoughts of her plagued him.

The challenge glinting in her moss-green eyes.

The flash of her blade as she fought.

The haughty tilt of her chin as she answered him.

That strong, lush body that begged to be ravished.

He’d never met a woman like her—beautiful and feminine yet with a backbone of steel and fighting skills to rival most men. Even him.

She’d fought him off when he’d tried to rape her, hadn’t she ?

Tormod’s lips thinned as he recalled how she’d pulled a blade on him.

She wouldn’t be so feisty the next time he had her alone.

No, next time, he’d tie her to a bed and make sure there were no sharp objects within reach before he took her.

He shifted uncomfortably upon the boulder then, a chill feathering down his spine.

Taking her might prove a problem.

Ever since two months earlier, when Makenna’s sister Kylie had stabbed him in the cods, his prick wouldn’t stiffen.

The wound the bitch had dealt him that day—when he and the Ghost Raiders had attempted to take Dounarwyse Castle—was healing, but even when he took himself in hand, his member refused to respond.

Lucky for him, the dagger hadn’t pierced any vitals, and his bollocks and rod were still intact.

Even so, he’d nearly bled out as he slid down the storm drain and out of the fortress.

By the time he’d reached The Night Plunderer offshore, he’d been weak and in agony.

Only rage had kept him going.

Aye, one day he’d get even with Kylie. And what better way to start than ruining her beloved sister?

He summoned fresh images of Makenna then—naked yet still defiant. He’d let her hiss and spit at him as he spread her wide and plowed her sweet furrow. As he enjoyed the fantasy, he rubbed his knuckles at the groin of his braies.

Nothing.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the dread that clenched his gut. It’ll heal … I just need time.

“All’s quiet?”

A gravelly voice behind him jerked Tormod from his thoughts. Straightening up, he glanced right at where a large man had stepped up to his side. “Aye … only the toads are awake at this hour.”

“Don’t let the stillness fool ye, lad … the MacGregors often scout these parts … for we are near the eastern borders of their lands now.”

In the moonlight, ‘Black’ Duncan Campbell’s long face and prominent nose appeared carven out of marble, his deep-set eyes dark pits. His long brown hair was pulled back and tied at the nape and his beard neatly trimmed.

Tormod observed him for a moment before shifting his gaze back out across the waters of Loch Tay.

They were still a full day’s ride out from Meggernie, but close enough to their destination that the Campbells had grown wary.

This mission was bold, dangerous, but Tormod had insisted on being included.

It was his chance to show his loyalty to Duncan Campbell, while at the same time ensuring that Makenna was captured.

He’d turned up at Finlarig Castle barely a month earlier, announcing that he too was an enemy of the MacGregors, and that he wished to swear fealty to the Campbells and help bring them down.

He’d been honest with Duncan—it was best to, for the man was sharper than a boning blade—revealing what had happened at Dounarwyse, and how Bruce MacGregor’s daughter had knifed him in the cods. He hadn’t mentioned Makenna though.

Some of the Campbell men had guffawed at this tale, and Tormod marked which ones—for he’d pay them back one day—although Duncan hadn’t.

Instead, he’d allowed Tormod to kneel before him and swear upon his blade.

And then, over the days that followed, Tormod had proved just what an able warrior he was, just how ruthlessly he wielded a dirk or broadsword.

Campbell didn’t give much away, but Tormod had sensed he was impressed with him.

And now, here they were, on a raid together.

“Ye trust the man who brought word from Meggernie then?” Tormod asked after a pause.

Campbell nodded. “I sent him north to live among the MacGregors a few years ago … waiting for this moment.” He paused, his mouth twisting into a thin smile.

Tormod observed him, impressed. In Campbell, he’d met his equal when it came to cold-blooded ruthlessness.

He wasn’t a man one crossed. “And my hounds now hunger for MacGregor blood.”

Tormod glanced over his shoulder then, at where the pack of massive liver-colored dogs with long ears and heavy jowls slept near the men: bloodhounds that had been trained to hunt MacGregors.

Duncan Campbell’s son, Robbie, who sat drinking by the fire with two other warriors, had bred the dogs.

The chieftain’s son boasted that he’d weaned the pups on the milk of MacGregor women, although Tormod could not help but believe that tale was an exaggeration.

Nonetheless, the Campbells were convinced these hounds would help them hunt their enemies.

“And ye believe we’ll be able to catch the clan-chief?” Tormod asked after a pause, focusing on the chieftain once more .

“Aye. Bruce MacGregor loves nothing better than a stag hunt … and my spy tells me that it’s a family tradition to take any new son-by-marriage out …

the day after any wedding celebrations.” Campbell’s hawkish features tightened.

“I can’t prevent this wedding that will unite the MacGregors and the Mackinnons …

but I can ensure the couple’s union is a short one. ”

Tormod’s pulse quickened. Makenna will ride with them.

Aye, the lass wouldn’t want to be left behind—and when they captured her father, he’d take her as well.