Page 19

brAN ROSE FROM the bed and gave a long, languid stretch. A sense of well-being, unlike any he’d ever experienced, washed over him then, and a smile tugged at his mouth. This morning felt like a new start—for them both.

Maybe marriage to Makenna wouldn’t be so onerous, after all.

He glanced over his shoulder at where his bride still lay abed, and the sight of her delicious curves made his breathing grow shallow.

Makenna was dozing, sprawled on her front, her long auburn hair tangled after their last tumble.

His gaze raked down the curve of her back and the twin rounded globes of her buttocks. She was just lovely.

They’d feasted on each other, but he couldn’t wait for the day to pass so that he could be alone with her again. There was so much more to discover .

Stretching once more, Bran then padded across to where the privy sat behind a screen. Once he’d used it, he roused the fire and put another log on. Ruddy light flooded through the bower as he crossed back to the bed.

The light peeking in around the sacking on the window was brighter now. Soon, a servant would bring up their morning bannocks; he should really get dressed. Even so, the urge to join Makenna once more was stronger.

He was about to do just that when he noticed the book sitting on a shelf next to the bed.

Curiosity wreathed up. He wondered if it was a book of poetry. His mother had one that Tara loved reading.

Reaching out, he picked it up. However, when he turned it over and read the title embossed upon the red leather cover, he frowned. The Art of Coupling . That didn’t sound like a poetry book to him.

He opened it and scanned the first page. He then turned to the next. And the next.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Makenna?”

“Mm?” She was still half-asleep.

“What’s this?”

Murmuring something under her breath, she rolled onto her side to face him. Her full breasts gleamed in the firelight, their small pink nipples tempting him.

Trying to focus on what he’d just discovered rather than his wife’s glorious tits, Bran waved the book. “This.”

Her gaze snapped wide. “Oh, cods.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

She swallowed. “How much have ye read?”

“Enough. ”

Muttering an oath, she sat up, her wild hair spilling over her shoulders. “I meant to hide it … I should have.”

Her response was oddly endearing, as was the blush that now stained her cheeks. He liked seeing Makenna flustered.

Deliberately keeping his expression veiled, he looked down at the page he’d just finished reading—which described in graphic detail how to pleasure a woman’s quim.

Realization dawned then. The night before, he’d been delighted by how well his virgin bride had known her body, how confidently she’d instructed him.

Now, he understood why.

“Where did ye get it?”

She gnawed at her bottom lip. “One of my sisters gave the book to me … as a wedding present.” The blush on her cheeks glowed now. “Kylie wanted my wedding night to be … easier.”

Bran fell silent as he considered this revelation. So, Rae Maclean’s wife had given Makenna this ‘love manual’. He frowned, even as his gut tensed. He preferred not to think about the chieftain of Dounarwyse, whom he still considered an enemy, rutting his wife.

“Are ye vexed?” she asked finally.

Her question made him still. Makenna’s eyes were shadowed. She was worried she’d offended him. She hadn’t, although she had taken him by surprise. Life with this woman certainly wouldn’t be boring.

“No,” he replied, his lips tugging into a teasing smile. “Although I can see I will need to study this later … in readiness for tonight. ”

Licking honey off her fingers, Makenna caught her husband giving her a hungry look that had nothing to do with the delicious griddle scones and blossom honey Fiona had brought up for them.

Their gazes locked, and her breathing grew shallow as her belly fluttered.

Her desire for him didn’t yet show any sign of abating. Instead, it was growing.

When Bran had discovered The Art of Coupling, she’d been mortified. What must he think of her?

But his response surprised her. Tossing the book aside, he’d climbed back into bed and hauled her into his arms. He’d taken her hard as the dawn light filtered into her bower, plunging deep while she wrapped her legs around his hips, dug her heels into his arse, and raked her fingernails down his back.

Her eager response had driven him wild, and his hoarse cry had joined hers when he’d shattered.

She’d thought he’d be sated, but one look in his eyes now told her he wanted her again.

Her quim started to ache in response. Despite that she was a little sore down there now, she needed him too, with a force that made dizziness sweep over her.

She was grateful that they were able to break their fasts alone.

Fortunately, they weren’t expected to join everyone else in the great hall this morning.

Just as well, for Makenna wasn’t ready to face her sisters—Liza and Kylie, especially—and their knowing smiles.

The tower house’s walls were thick, but she and Bran had made a lot of noise during their coupling. Her especially.

“If yer father and his hounds weren’t waiting for me downstairs, we wouldn’t be leaving this chamber,” he growled .

Makenna’s breathing quickened. There was time for him to take her again. They didn’t have to disrobe. He could push her up against the wall, lift her skirts, and—

A brisk knock cut off her heated thoughts then, and her gaze jerked to the door.

“Hurry yerselves up.” Her mother’s lilting voice carried through the thick oak separating them. “Yer father wants to get an early start.”

Makenna grimaced, all lusty thoughts fleeing. “Aye, Ma,” she called back. “We shall be down shortly.”

She glanced back at her husband then, to find Bran wearing a half-smile, even as heat still smoldered in his eyes. Their gazes held for a long, delicious moment, and she found herself wishing it were the evening already.

“ Arsebiter … that’s quite a name for a sword.”

“Aye, a fitting one too,” Makenna replied, glancing over at Bran.

He rode next to her through the woods. Ancient beech, oak, and ash formed a canopy overhead, with dappled light filtering through the greenery.

She then gestured to the heavy claidheamh-mòr strapped behind his saddle. “And what did ye name yer broadsword?”

“I didn’t … it was my father’s.” He pulled a face. “ Bonestrike .”

Makenna studied him for a few moments before answering, “Ye should have another sword forged. One that suits ye … one that ye can name yerself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why is that? ”

“The bond between a warrior and their blade is a vital one … a partnership. Bonestrike was yer father’s, but ye are a different man and require a different sword.”

He gave a slow nod at this, his brow furrowing. “Ye have a point … I might do that.”

The trill of a skylark interrupted them then, an enchanting melody that made Makenna’s lips curve. How she loved the woodland around Meggernie. It was a peaceful morning, with hardly a breeze stirring the sweet, soft air.

Despite a long night of revelry, the rest of their company was in good spirits.

Her father rode at the front, flanked by Alec on one side and Rae on the other.

The three men were ribbing each other good-naturedly, the low rumble of their voices carrying through the morning’s stillness.

Rae’s tension after her father had produced his quaich seemed to have eased.

A knot of warriors, quivers of arrows and longbows slung across their backs, followed. They’d brought half a dozen leggy deerhounds with them too, and the dogs loped alongside the horses.

Likewise, both Makenna and Bran carried longbows.

This stag hunt would take them deep into the valleys at the feet of the southeastern arm of the mountains.

And as they rode out of the trees and up a heather-strewn hill, Makenna caught sight of the sprawling mountain range before her and the mighty bulk of Ben Lawers.

Those mountains divided her father’s lands from the long expanse of Loch Tay to the south.

Unfortunately, though, the territory south of the mountains belonged to the Campbells of Breadalbane and ‘Black’ Duncan Campbell.

Every time her gaze rested on Ben Lawers, she couldn’t help but ruminate about the enemy. She still chafed about the fact that her father wouldn’t share his plans with her. After she departed for Mull, he’d deal with the Campbells, and not before. She felt shut out, pushed aside.

“It’s a fine country this,” Bran noted then. He admired the mountain range. “I can see why ye love it here.”

“I do,” Makenna agreed softly, even as something knotted deep within her chest. “I can’t believe I’ll soon be leaving.”

“Ye shall grow to love Dùn Ara too.” She glanced his way to find him watching her now.

“My castle perches high upon a rocky outcrop above a sheltered harbor with woodland to our back and the glittering sea to the north.” Pride laced his voice, even as his lips curved into a hesitant smile.

“My father added onto the original dùn. Its curtain wall is now five feet thick.”

“It sounds mighty,” she replied, unable to resist teasing him.

“It is.”

Makenna cut her attention away then. Suddenly, she was loath to speak of her new home, for it reminded her that she was abandoning her clan. She and Bran had passed a surprising night together—and discovered a passion that had left them both reeling—but that didn’t change the truth of things.

This was an arranged marriage, not for their personal benefit, but for that of their clans.

Their union would hopefully make both the MacGregors of Meggernie and the Mackinnons of Dùn Ara stronger and forge a lasting relationship.

Her happiness, or his, didn’t matter. They were both strong-willed too, and it was likely their marriage would be a stormy one.