Page 15

THE FEASTING DRAGGED on. Around Makenna, the revelers grew more raucous. And when trays of honey cakes were brought to the table, and one was placed on a platter between the newlyweds, it was made clear the couple were expected to feed each other one.

Until this point, Makenna had done an admirable job of ignoring her husband. Likewise, he’d been too busy fielding questions from the clan-chief to focus on his bride. Her father had cannily shifted the conversation to matters of trade and Mackinnon answered him in terse, short sentences.

But now a cake sat before them, there was no getting away from interacting with the man she’d just wed.

Reaching out, Mackinnon broke off a piece. It dripped with a heavy honey syrup and smelled delicious. All the same, at present, Makenna had no appetite for it.

She sat rigidly as her husband lifted the cake to her lips .

A challenge sparked in those silver-grey eyes then. Everyone was watching, and he dared her to refuse him. What would he do if she did? Kiss her again?

Pulse quickening, she parted her lips and took the morsel of cake he offered.

The flavor of butter and honey exploded in her mouth as she chewed and swallowed. And then, trying to pretend all gazes weren’t on them now, she picked up the other half of the cake and fed it to her husband.

After the feasting, they pushed the tables back, and a lively cèilidh began. And of course, the newlywed couple were dragged into the center of it.

By this stage, both Makenna and Mackinnon had drunk their fair share of rich grape wine. It had soothed the knots in her belly a little, although the awkwardness and tension between them remained.

Her husband danced well enough, yet he hadn’t smiled during the feast, and as he swung Makenna around him on the floor, his lean jaw was set in grim determination.

Like her, he was suffering through this. Not for the first time, an odd feeling of camaraderie rose up within her. Everyone else was making merry, yet they were apart from it all.

Makenna’s sisters were having a wonderful time. There was nothing they liked better than a cèilidh. Liza squealed as Alec swung her in one direction and then the other. Kylie and Rae danced a few feet from Makenna and Mackinnon. They were both grinning, their cheeks flushed.

Meanwhile, Ailean, Lyle, and Craeg capered around the dance floor like imps. Her parents had even joined the dancers, and her father moved with surprising grace.

Makenna’s throat tightened as she watched the dancing. She felt bad about her outburst before the ceremony. Her mother and sister had all looked so hurt, and the worry in Kylie’s and Liza’s eyes had cut her to the quick. They’d likely corner her at some point and try to get to the bottom of things.

But there wasn’t any point in discussing it. The deed was done. She was Bran Mackinnon’s wife now. An ache rose under her breastbone. Her breathing grew shallow and fast, and then dizziness assailed her.

“Let us rest for a bit.” She jolted as Mackinnon’s voice intruded. Cutting him a glance, she found him watching her, his gaze slightly narrowed. It surprised her that he’d marked her change in mood.

She nodded, grabbing the opportunity with both hands. “Please.”

They slipped from the dance floor, returning to the empty clan-chief’s table, which had been pushed back near the hearth.

Sinking down upon the bench seat, Makenna grabbed a ewer and filled her goblet. “Wine?” she asked Mackinnon, remembering her manners.

“Aye,” he replied, still slightly breathless from the dancing.

She filled his goblet too, and they sat together, unspeaking, as the music halted for a moment and the revelers applauded the piper. The lull didn’t last long though before the piper began a lively jig. Whooping filled the hall, and the dancers were off again.

“They don’t need us, do they?” Mackinnon muttered finally. “I’m sure we could walk out of here and no one would notice. ”

“Don’t be fooled,” she replied, wishing her voice didn’t sound so strained. “We’ll be dragged back out onto the floor soon enough.”

He made a strangled noise at this, and she cut him a sidelong glance. Her husband wore a hunted look. His gaze met hers then. “Better?” he asked.

Makenna stiffened. His unexpected concern flustered her. “Not really,” she admitted huskily.

“Are ye upset about leaving yer family?”

An awkward pause followed before she nodded. Of course, she’d miss them. However, that wasn’t why she was wrestling with panic.

Eventually, Mackinnon cleared his throat. “Yer family is a close-knit one … I envy ye that.”

Once again, his reaction surprised her, and she glanced at him again. “Really?” Her mouth curved into a wry smile then. “We’re loud, bossy, and always sticking our noses in each other’s business.”

He snorted. “Aye … but there’s a warmth between ye.” A strange emotion rippled over his face then. “I have no idea what that’s like.”

Makenna’s face burned as she marched out of the hall.

Of course, no one was letting them leave quietly.

The men shouted out coarse, lewd comments, and the women giggled.

Most of the crowd was well into their cups by now.

Indeed, the MacGregor was swaying in his chair.

Carmen had to ensure he remained upright as he lurched to his feet and bid the couple a slurred farewell.

The revelry had stretched on, continuing long after dark—eventually though, the time came for Bran and Makenna to take their leave of the great hall and climb to their bedchamber.

Leaving the jeering behind, Makenna clambered up the steep stairwell as if pursued by wolves.

She was in no hurry to be alone with her husband, but at least when they reached her bedchamber, they’d be away from the heckling.

And as she climbed, she heard the scuff of her husband’s boots on the damp stone behind her.

Neither of them spoke while they made their way up to the landing on the fourth level of the tower house.

Makenna then led the way down the narrow passageway, lit by guttering cressets, to her bower.

It had been readied for them, with an oaken log burning in the hearth, and flickering candles upon the mantelpiece and the window ledge.

And some thoughtful person had scattered rose petals over the bed.

Makenna clenched her jaw at the sight. Curse it.

This was really happening. She wasn’t the least bit ready for her wedding night, and when she turned to face her husband, one look at Mackinnon’s face told her that the sentiment was mutual.

He wore a look of grim determination, as if he were about to have a boil lanced.

“Well.” Hades, her voice sounded like a frightened sheep’s bleat. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “This is it, I suppose.”

“Aye,” he grunted. “It was inevitable. ”

Makenna stilled. Inevitable. Aye, she supposed it was.

She eyed him then, still trying to find the measure of the man who was now her husband.

Mackinnon cut a fine figure today. She’d noted how striking he’d looked as she walked toward the chapel on her father’s arm.

He wore a snowy-white lèine tucked into fawn-colored braies.

The bright Mackinnon clan sash draped across his chest, although it was no match for his flame-red hair.

Earlier it had been combed neatly, but now, as their wedding day drew to a close, it was mussed, flopping boyishly over one eye.

Things could be worse, she supposed. Her husband could be as ugly as a toad.

Comely or not though, she had no wish to disrobe in front of him and do any of the things that couples did behind closed doors. Her heart kicked then, and faintness swept over her.

“I could do with another cup of wine,” she announced, moving across to the table where a ewer and wooden cups sat waiting. “Would ye like one too?”

“Aye … thank ye.”

They’d both imbibed a great deal over the course of the feasting and dancing, although Makenna still felt alarmingly sober. She wouldn’t get through this unless she took the edge off.

Relieved to have something to do, she poured them generous cups and handed him his. She then retreated to one of the two high-backed chairs before the fire. It wasn’t a cold night out, yet the glowing hearth was comforting, and she was drawn to its reassuring warmth .

Meanwhile, Mackinnon didn’t move from the center of the bower. Instead, he stood there, holding his wine, watching her with a veiled expression now.

“Ye might as well take a seat too,” she said, a trifle ungraciously. “Ye make me nervous … looming over me like that.”

He snorted. “I doubt anyone could ever make ye nervous.”

Makenna pulled a face. “Ye’d be surprised.”

He obliged her then, moving to the chair opposite and stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle. He took a draft of wine, his gaze settling upon her. “If it makes ye feel any better, I too am on edge.”

Aye, the knowledge did help, although it was surprising. She hadn’t expected him to be so candid with her. Not for the first time this evening, his frankness had caught her off-guard.

Raising the cup to her lips, she took a fortifying gulp. “I suppose I can understand why.” She grimaced. “I did knee ye in the cods recently.”

He winced. “Can we not bring that up tonight?”

Their gazes met and held for a few moments before Makenna took another sip of wine. This was so awkward. She had no idea what to say to this man. This stranger who was now her husband.

The silence settled, heavy yet brittle, until eventually, Mackinnon broke it. “There’s something ye should know,” he said roughly.

Makenna inclined her head. “Aye?”

“I’ve never bedded anyone before.”