Page 24

MAKENNA WATCHED IN horror while her husband was pushed roughly into a deep pit.

The other members of her party quickly followed, grunting and swearing as they landed on each other.

Finally, only Makenna and her father remained outside the hole. She’d never been in a hall such as this one. What laird had an oubliette for prisoners in one corner of his hall? It sat next to a much shallower stone-lined pit that had an ominous-looking curved, worn stone in its center.

It looked suspiciously like a chopping block.

Makenna’s pulse went wild then, and she braced herself to be shoved over the edge as well.

Two men held her by each arm, for they’d removed her bindings to bring her inside.

However, the Campbell warriors merely closed the metal grate over the prisoners—the clang of iron ringing through the hall.

They then pushed a heavy bolt home, locking it .

Heart thumping against her ribs, she watched Duncan Campbell move forward. He eyed both Makenna and her father before favoring them with a thin smile. “Welcome to Finlarig … a fine castle, is it not?”

Neither Makenna nor her father answered.

“Of course, the pit is too humble for a clan-chief and his daughter,” Campbell went on. “My men will take ye to private chambers on the upper floor … where ye will be brought water for bathing and some supper.”

“What do ye want, Campbell?” Bruce demanded. His eyes were a murderous green, and a vein throbbed in his temple.

The chieftain made a tutting sound. “Not so hasty … there will be time for us to discuss matters later. For now … just enjoy my hospitality.”

“I don’t want yer hospitality,” her father shot back, his fury spilling over. He lunged for the chieftain then but was hauled back by the two men who held him.

Unperturbed, Campbell nodded to his warriors. “Take them upstairs.”

Unsurprisingly, they put Makenna and her father in separate chambers.

Thrusting her through the doorway, the men slammed the heavy oaken door behind her. The grate of an iron key turning in the lock followed.

She flung herself at the window then, fingers grasping at the shutters.

But they too were locked. Makenna cursed, whirling around and surveying the four walls enclosing her.

There was no way out of this chamber. A brick of peat burned in the hearth, and an oil lamp sat next to the canopied bed, casting the room in soft golden light.

A bowl of water waited on a stand near the window, steam rising from its surface.

In other circumstances, she might have found this chamber comfortable. But now, she saw it for what it was. A prison.

The others have it far worse though.

Makenna choked out a curse. She’d thought Campbell may have announced his plans this evening, that he might have put them all out of their misery, but he deliberately hadn’t.

He was playing with them.

Trembling, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

It was hard not to let fear take over now, not to let her imagination run wild. They were trapped in Black Duncan’s web, and he clearly had plans for all of them. Tormod’s presence among the Campbells added fuel to her rising panic.

Makenna’s fingers clenched into fists, her nails biting against her palms. The pain steadied her and made her focus. “Hold fast, lass,” she whispered. “The others need ye to be strong … to have yer wits about ye.”

They did. She had to breathe deeply, calm her thoughts, and come up with a plan.

They weren’t beaten yet.

Campbell wouldn’t lock her up in here forever—and when she was brought before him again, she’d be ready.

“I have two favors to ask, Dunc.”

The laird glanced up from where he was pouring himself a large cup of ale. “Oh, aye?”

“Aye.” Tormod slid onto the bench seat next to Campbell, his gut tightening as he did so. He’d been biding his time before asking this, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

“And the first?”

“Ye’ve got the clan-chief … but his daughter … I want her for my own.”

They were alone at the table, for supper had ended and only a few men remained in the hall—a group of them playing knucklebones a few yards away. Robbie Campbell was among them. The chieftain’s wife, Janet, had retired for the evening.

He had Campbell’s ear now.

The chieftain didn’t reply immediately, and the long pause irritated Tormod. He didn’t like to be made to wait. Nonetheless, Campbell was the one with all the power here, and so he swallowed his annoyance.

“Makenna Mackinnon is a fiery one.”

“She is that.”

“Have ye met her before then?”

“Aye,” Tormod replied lightly. “She visited Dounarwyse while I was there.”

Campbell favored him with a long, hard look, one that made Tormod resist the urge to squirm. His deep-set eyes were like two dark pebbles. “Why haven’t ye mentioned this before now?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

The chieftain inclined his head. “ It’s a coincidence, is it not, that just a month before I abduct the MacGregor clan-chief and his newly wedded daughter, ye turn up at my door, offering me yer fealty?”

“It is,” Tormod replied. He didn’t like the way Campbell was looking at him now. “But let me assure ye that wasn’t in my mind when I swore to serve ye.”

A lie, but a smooth one.

“Ye have impressed me so far, Tormod,” Campbell replied before lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “But ye ask much … ye haven’t been at Finlarig long.”

“My place is here, Dunc,” Tormod answered, realizing as he spoke that he meant it.

He had nowhere else to go. His uncle at Coeffin Castle had taken him in when he’d arrived, injured, on The Night Plunderer , but as soon as he was well enough, he’d told him to leave.

And of course, the pirate ship had long set sail.

Those men he’d rallied to fight with the Ghost Raiders had no loyalty to him any longer, and they’d sailed away on the pirate cog shortly after dropping him off.

Tormod could have a good life at Finlarig Castle. And with Makenna as his, he’d have no reason to leave. All he needed was Campbell to give him his due. After everything he’d been through, he deserved her. He’d been foiled at Dounarwyse, but he wouldn’t let it happen again.

“She’s wedded now, of course,” Campbell pointed out then, his eyes glinting.

“Surely, ye won’t let Mackinnon live?” Tormod shot back.

The chieftain’s gaze narrowed. “I haven’t decided what do to with him yet.”

“He’s merely a complication ye don’t need. What if he was to have an ‘accident’? ”

Campbell smirked at this, although his gaze remained sharp. “Aye … he might well have one … especially if MacGregor proves uncooperative.”

Tormod glanced across the hall then, at the pit.

The prisoners had been silent all evening, and they were too far away to overhear the conversation at the chieftain’s table.

Nonetheless, Tormod’s belly clenched whenever he thought of Bran Mackinnon.

He’d wanted to be the one to bed Makenna for the first time, yet the red-haired whoreson had stolen his prize.

He’d wanted to cut his throat after they’d attacked the MacGregors, but Duncan had instructed that the members of the wedding party were to be taken alive, if possible.

Nonetheless, Mackinnon would die, whether by accident or otherwise. Tormod would see to it.

Silence fell between them then, and impatience simmered inside him once more. He should have known Campbell wouldn’t give this to him easily. He’d have to work for it. He decided it was time to make his wishes clear.

“Makenna is mine,” he admitted finally. “She just doesn’t know it yet.” Heat ignited in his veins at the thought of having her spitting and scratching in his bed, of all the things he’d do to her once his manhood recovered.

He paused then, wondering what was going through Campbell’s thought cage now. Of course, the man was onto his third wife. Janet was sweet and meek, nothing like Makenna. Indeed, the chieftain gave a rueful shake of his head. “A lass like that is more trouble than she’s worth.”

“For some men, maybe,” Tormod answered. “But not to me. ”

Another hush followed, broken only by the laughter of Robbie and the warriors, who’d just finished their game of knucklebones and were starting on a new one.

Campbell didn’t speak. Instead, he continued to drink his ale, his gaze shifting to the iron grate over the pit. Suddenly, it seemed he was leagues distant.

Annoyed, Tormod eventually cleared his throat. “May I have her, Dunc?” God, it stung to ask for something that already belonged to him. However, he forced himself.

Campbell blinked, glancing his way. “Maybe … let me think on it.”

Tormod’s gut clenched. He was nearly there, yet the chieftain was deliberately holding his prize just out of reach. How dare he?

Watching him closely now, Campbell inclined his head. “What was the second favor ye wished to ask?”

Drawing in a deep breath and attempting to smother the pulsing ember in his belly, Tormod pulled himself together. Patience. Ye shall have her soon enough . “Rae Maclean,” he said, a rasp to his voice now. “I want him too.”

Campbell flashed him a grin. “It’s like that , is it?”

Tormod snorted. “Trust me, I have ‘special’ plans for the chieftain of Dounarwyse.”