Page 14

“OH, LASS, YE look a picture.” Carmen bustled forward, gently nudging Sonia and Kylie out of the way so she could get a proper look at her youngest daughter. Her dark eyes glistened as she reached out and brushed some lint off Makenna’s shoulder.

All the MacGregor women were inside the lady’s wardrobe—a room adjoining the clan-chief’s chamber, where Carmen dressed each morning—and were fussing around Makenna like a clutch of excited fowl.

Makenna favored her mother with a tight smile before she glanced over at the long looking-glass that stood to her right. “It is a bonnie surcote,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Aye, and it fits ye like a glove,” Liza added.

“Yer husband-to-be won’t be able to keep his eyes off ye.” Alma flashed her a grin from behind their mother .

Makenna scowled. She didn’t want Mackinnon to stare at her. She just wished to get through today without disgracing herself. But then, traitorously, she recalled the way he’d looked at her two days earlier in the stairwell.

She’d thought the man despised her, but it wasn’t hate that she’d seen in those smoky eyes.

“My youngest,” Carmen murmured huskily. “I can’t believe that soon ye will all be gone from Meggernie.” Her throat worked then as emotion threatened to overwhelm her. “How fast time passes. It seems like just yesterday I was carrying ye at my breast, lass.”

Makenna stiffened. Despite her resentment toward her mother and sisters—as they fussed around her—she suddenly felt sorry for Carmen.

Family was everything to her. After her other daughters had flown the nest, there had just been the two of them at Meggernie.

How many long afternoons had they passed together, seated in the lady’s solar, sewing and gossiping?

This marriage would be a wrench for them both.

Their mother’s hand strayed to the iron crucifix she always wore about her neck, her fingers fastening around it. It was a gesture Carmen made when she was making a silent prayer.

Makenna’s chest tightened. She’d miss her. “Stop it, Ma,” she said huskily. “Or I shall start bawling.”

Carmen snorted, her full lips curving into a smile as she knuckled away a tear that escaped. “We don’t want that, do we? Turning up to the chapel with a blotchy red face won’t do. We don’t want ye looking like a freshly dug neep.”

Sonia and Alma laughed at this joke, although Liza and Kylie both grimaced .

Meanwhile, Makenna ground her teeth, her sadness fleeing. “Christ’s blood,” she growled. “Don’t any of ye understand how hard this is for me?”

“Of course, we do,” her mother soothed, putting a hand on her forearm.

Makenna shook it off. “No, ye don’t.” She cast a vicious look around the solar, at where her sisters looked on, their faces stiffening in surprise.

“I may have locked myself into this marriage … but that doesn’t mean I want it.

Protecting Meggernie … and my people … is my life .

” She broke off then, anger pounding in her chest. “Go ahead and enjoy yerselves today … throw some rose petals, feast, drink, and dance … but don’t expect me to smile about it. ”

Sunlight bathed the sandstone bricks of the chapel, turning them a dull gold. It was a bonnie spot, on the edge of the apple orchard, and an excited crowd of well-wishers had gathered, baskets of rose petals in hand.

However, Bran didn’t share their excitement.

Standing on the steps of the chapel, next to the portly priest, he tried not to grind his teeth as he waited. Let’s get this over with.

A piper started playing then, the mournful wail of the Highland pipe echoing off stone.

Whispers and murmurs erupted around him, and Bran turned, following their eager gazes between the rows of apple trees to where Makenna MacGregor approached.

Clad in flowing green with small white roses threaded through her unbound hair, she was comely indeed .

Nonetheless, dizziness assailed Bran. God’s bloody rood, if only there were a way out of this.

Makenna’s expression was pinched. The lass walked slowly, her arm linked around her father’s, and the smug look on the clan-chief’s face made Bran’s temper quicken. Of course, the man was pleased with himself. He’d now secured his much-coveted alliance between their clans.

Makenna’s mother and sisters trailed behind her. All the women were attractive and dressed in their finest surcotes—but despite her furrowed brow, his bride outshone each one.

Aye, as much as he hated to admit it to himself—and by God, he did—Makenna was mesmerizing.

The woman was a shrew and had no business wielding a blade or challenging men to fights, but there was no denying she had the body of a temptress, milky skin, a large sensual mouth, and green eyes a man could drown in.

Catching himself, Bran clenched his jaw hard.

The crowd parted to let the bride and clan-chief through.

Rae Maclean and Alec Rankin were among the party.

Both wore wide smiles, and heat washed over Bran.

Captain Walker was there too, as well as a few members of the Guard.

Even Tadhg had made it out of the infirmary, leaning heavily on a stick as he took his place amongst the Mackinnon warriors who’d also gathered here.

Everyone looked in high spirits, except the bride and groom.

“Go well, Makenna!” Walker called out. “I hope Mackinnon knows how lucky he is!”

The warriors flanking their captain shouted their agreement, and Makenna’s cheeks turned pink. All the same, she favored Walker with a smile—her eyes softening with affection .

No one called out well-wishes to Bran though. No kin stood amongst the crowd, wishing him well. His parents were dead, his sister was as good as, and the only blood relative he had was a grasping cousin on Mull; a man he didn’t trust in the slightest.

Aye, he was truly alone.

He was dwelling on the fact that his family’s bloodline was close to ending, and trying to ignore the hollowness in his gut, when Makenna stepped up to his side. Meanwhile, the MacGregor shifted back, taking his place to the right, alongside his teary-eyed wife.

Bran forced himself to look at his bride, and she met his gaze with her usual directness. Nonetheless, he marked the pallidity of her face and the nerve that ticked under one eye. The lass looked as if she wanted to bolt.

That made two of them.

Father Malcolm cleared his throat then and moved so he stood between Bran and Makenna. “Shall we begin?”

The ceremony passed in a blur. There was the binding of their hands, with a length of MacGregor clan plaid, and then the priest droned on.

After that, he got them to recite their vows.

However, all the while, Bran felt as if he was merely going through the motions, as if this wasn’t really happening to him.

He’d known this day would come, and that his choice of bride was his father’s, not his, but the reality of it hit hard.

Finally, the ordeal ended with Father Malcolm declaring them husband and wife. And then someone in the crowd shouted. “Kiss her, man!”

Alec Rankin—the dog’s arse .

Bran’s first instinct was to bestow Makenna with a hasty peck on the cheek.

But then something shifted within him.

Until now, she’d had the advantage in every interaction, while he’d been constantly on the back foot. This was his chance to turn the tables—and to get a little revenge. If the crowd wanted a show, he’d give them one.

Makenna stood there, jaw set as she braced herself.

Pulse quickening, he stepped in close to his wife. He then reached up with both hands, gently weaving his fingers through her thick hair, careful not to dislodge or prick himself on any of the roses. The heady scent of the white buds wrapped itself around him then. She smelled enticing.

Keeping his focus though, he drew her head back so that her face tilted up to his.

The look in her eyes was quizzical and vaguely alarmed. She was wondering what he was up to. Good. Let her worry.

He lowered his head then, his mouth slanting over hers in a lusty kiss. The crowd roared as he cupped the back of her head, holding her in place, and plundered her mouth.

Lord, she was sweet, like blossom honey. Vengeance tasted better than he’d expected, and he drank her in. He kissed her boldly, his tongue stroking hers. And all the while, the wedding guests clapped and whistled.

And when he finally drew back, he was surprised to find his blood pounding in his ears, excitement tight in his belly. For a few instants, he’d forgotten where he was.

Makenna stared up at him, pink flaring across her cheekbones. Her eyes had darkened. She looked furious—and beautiful .

Her rage drew him in, and something deep inside him answered her.

Suddenly, all he wanted was to haul her back into his arms and kiss her senseless.

Reining in the urge, he slid his hands from her thick hair and stepped back, putting much-needed distance between them.

Seated in the great hall, a steaming pigeon pie before her, Makenna tried to concentrate. It was difficult though, for she found herself fantasizing about jamming her elbow into her husband’s ribs.

The bastard had put on that mortifying spectacle outside deliberately.

The challenge in his eyes as he’d pulled back from her had made her blood boil. Especially since her lips still tingled from his kiss. Her mouth tasted of him. Worse still though, hunger had clutched at her lower belly.

Curse him. He’d shocked her … but she’d enjoyed that kiss.

The musician who’d piped her into the chapel earlier had followed them inside the tower house. He now stood by one of the gently smoldering hearths, cheeks puffing as he played a rousing tune for the feasters.

The mood inside the hall was merry. Men, women, and bairns lined the long trestle tables, and the aroma of pastry and rich meat filled the warm, smoky air.

Those seated at the clan-chief’s table were all smiles too, especially since her father had opened his oldest barrel of Castilian grape wine for this occasion.

Serving lads circled the table, filling up everyone’s goblets.

But two people at this table didn’t share the gaiety.

Despite his ‘performance’ earlier, Mackinnon sat tense and silent at her side.

Heedless of his son-by-marriage’s mood, her father now regaled him with tales of his most successful hunting expeditions.

Now that the marriage had taken place, he was in high spirits—and well into his cups.

She heard him promise Bran then that they’d ride out the following day, to the mountains in southern Breadalbane, where they’d hunt stags in the narrow valleys and dark woods.

He didn’t seem to care that Mackinnon said little, although the younger man had the wits to make polite noises at the right times.

Makenna spoke to no one. Liza sat next to her and attempted to draw her into conversation. However, she responded in short sentences, distracted and on edge.

More servant lads appeared then, with wheels of aged cheeses, cured meats, and baskets filled with an array of breads studded with seeds and nuts. However, both she and Mackinnon picked at their meals.

“Bring me my quaich!” her father boomed, gesturing to the lad nearest.

The boy scurried off, returning with a large wooden cup with curved edges and two horn handles. It was her father’s ‘friendship cup’, one he always asked for when he wished to build a bond with his guests.

Makenna’s stomach tightened .

Having seen her father offering his quaich before, she knew what was in store.

The MacGregor poured the quaich nearly to the brim with ale. He then lifted it to his lips and took a sip before handing it to Mackinnon. “Yer turn,” he instructed.

Jaw clenched, the young clan-chief copied MacGregor’s act, taking a small sip of ale while holding the cup by both its handles. The two-handed design of the large cup engendered trust, on the part of both giver and receiver—for a warrior couldn’t draw his dirk while handling it.

“Pass it to Liza now.” Makenna’s father went on. “The lady laird of Moy must take a drink to seal us all in friendship … as must the chieftain of Dounarwyse.”

Leaning down the table, Mackinnon stiffly did as bid. Makenna’s sister sat, regal and serene, at Alec’s side, her eyes glowing as she took a sip. Her father’s gesture meant a lot to her. Drinking from his quaich made it clear he approved of her ruling Moy.

Lastly, Rae lifted the friendship cup and drank. However, his expression was veiled when he handed it back to MacGregor.

Makenna shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat.

She wasn’t surprised Rae wasn’t overly impressed.

Her father meant well, yet he was trying to force things.

The Macleans wouldn’t have forgotten the Battle of Dounarwyse, and that the MacGregors had sided with the Mackinnons against them.

Sharing a quaich with his former enemies was all well and good.

Nonetheless, if her father truly wanted Rae’s loyalty, he’d have to earn it.

But if MacGregor marked Maclean’s shift in mood, he showed no sign. “ Let us drink to a long-lasting friendship between our four houses,” he announced, eyes gleaming. With that, he raised the quaich to his lips and drained the rest of it in one long draft.