Page 26

CAMPBELL TURNED TO his son. “The parchment, Robbie … put it before Bruce MacGregor if ye please.”

Smirking, Robbie withdrew a scroll from the breast of his gambeson and rose from his seat.

He then moved around to the front of the table and, with a flourish, unrolled the parchment.

However, before placing it in front of their captive, he glanced his father’s way.

“Shall I read it, for everyone’s benefit? ”

Makenna clenched her jaw. How she wanted to smash her fist into his sneering mouth.

“Very well.” Duncan leaned an elbow on the table and reached for the jug of wine. “Indulge us.”

Robbie cleared his throat and held the parchment up.

“I, Bruce Nairn MacGregor of Meggernie, hereby give over rule of Meggernie Castle and all its lands to Duncan Fife MacGregor of Breadalbane. From this day forth, I abdicate all ownership of said lands and swear I shall depart from Perthshire forthwith, never to return.” The laird’s son paused them, his smirk returning as his dark eyes glinted.

“And following the tragic death of Bran Kendric Mackinnon of Dùn Ara, I give my blessing to a union between my youngest daughter, Makenna, and Robert Duncan Campbell of Breadalbane.”

Silence followed his words.

Panic gripped Makenna by the throat. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

In just a few lines, they’d robbed her father of his lands, slain her husband, and given her to the enemy. Her ears started to ring like a kirk bell, and she closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to hold on to her composure.

Meanwhile, murmurs of approval whispered through the hall. The Campbell retainers clearly thought their laird clever. And when she opened her eyes once more, she noted that some of them were elbowing each other and grinning.

But Tormod didn’t share their jubilant mood. He sat there, frozen in his seat, his face as white as milk.

Makenna had no time to dwell on his odd reaction, for her attention shifted back to Robbie. The young man’s expression was smug now. Bile stung the back of her throat as she watched him place the parchment before her father.

They were both caught in Black Duncan’s snare, victims of his lust for power.

Of course, she was no stranger to the ‘games’ between clans.

Her father had promised her to a man she’d never met.

She’d resented that, but the agreement Campbell wanted the MacGregor to sign went far beyond anything her father would have done.

Her belly clenched then. They’re going to kill Bran .

Silently, her father gazed down at it, reading every word written there. It was as if he hadn’t believed his ears and had to read it for himself.

Eventually, his gaze lifted, shifting to Black Duncan. “I’ll not sign this.”

The chieftain quirked a dark eyebrow. “Oh, ye shall.”

“No.” The MacGregor picked up the agreement. He then ripped it to shreds, pieces of parchment fluttering like rose petals over the table. “The devil roast ye alive, Campbell.” He bit the words out. “I. Won’t. Sign. It.”

A hush fell in the hall. The chieftain’s men weren’t smirking now. Instead, they watched the scene at the table intently, as if they were anticipating something.

Dizziness swept over Makenna. She applauded her father’s response, but she couldn’t help but believe that he’d just played into Black Duncan’s hands. The man wanted a spectacle—and he’d just given him the opportunity to put one on for his warriors.

Tutting, Campbell glanced over at where a serving lad stood to his right. “Fetch fresh parchment, ink, pounce, and a quill from my solar.”

The youth nodded and took off like a hare out of the hall.

“Ye are wasting yer time,” Makenna’s father snarled. “Take the wool out of yer ears. I said—”

Campbell silenced him with a wave. “Ye’re all bluster, Bruce … but ye won’t be for much longer.” He shifted his gaze to where a group of his warriors stood a few yards away, clearly awaiting his command. “Haul Captain Walker out of the pit. ”

A short while later, the Captain of the Meggernie Guard stood, bloodied yet defiant, in the middle of the hall. He’d fought the warriors who’d retrieved him, but in the end, they’d bested him.

“A loyal man, Walker,” Campbell drawled. He looked on, amused, as Walker was finally subdued. “But how loyal?” He leaned forward, his gaze spearing the tall, rawboned man. “Would ye die for yer clan-chief?”

“Ye filthy maggot,” the MacGregor rasped. His face reddened then as he realized the game his enemy was now playing. “How dare ye—”

“Cede nothing, Bruce,” Walker cut him off. His grey eyes were as hard as flint. “No matter what he does, don’t give him what he wants.”

“Brave words,” Campbell replied smoothly. “But ye’ll lose yer head nonetheless.”

Makenna gasped. “No!”

All gazes cut to her, but she barely noticed. Instead, she lurched to her feet. “Cease this wickedness!”

The chieftain snorted. “I’m just getting started, lass.” He nodded to the men flanking her, and they grabbed hold of Makenna’s arms, yanking her back down onto the bench seat. Campbell then gestured to the men who restrained Walker. Wordlessly, they dragged him over to the shallow stone-lined pit.

They pushed him down so he knelt in the center of it, so that his throat pressed against the smooth, curved stone.

An executioner’s block.

Fury splintered within her. “Barbarians!” she shouted. “I’ll gut the lot of ye if ye touch him! ”

The men on either side of her increased their grip on her arms. A warning.

Meanwhile, mocking laughter rang in her ears.

Robbie Campbell was now grinning like a wolf, while his father—of a more cunning disposition—wore an enigmatic half-smile.

“She’s got a sharp tongue this one, Robbie … are ye sure ye can handle her?”

“Oh, aye,” his son assured him. He then looked over at Makenna and licked his lips.

A strangled noise erupted through the hall, and Makenna jerked her head toward it. Tormod was on his feet now, his hands clenched by his side. His face was twisted. “Ye promised her to me, Campbell,” he ground out—each word biting. “Or do ye forget?”

Makenna’s heart kicked like a wild pony. What?

The chieftain favored him with a veiled look. “I told ye I’d think on it, lad … and I have. MacGregor’s daughter is too valuable to give to the likes of ye.”

Tormod rasped a curse, yet Black Duncan merely smirked. “I’ll give ye Rae Maclean though … I don’t care what ye do to him.”

“That’s not—”

“Enough,” Campbell cut him off sharply. “I have spoken.” Shifting his attention from the warrior—whose face was now pinched with rage—the chieftain took the parchment, ink pot, bag of pounce, and quill from the out-of-breath servant who’d just rushed upstairs to do his bidding.

He then refocused on Makenna’s father. “I will write out the agreement again, MacGregor. Will ye sign it?”

Makenna’s father was sweating now, his green eyes tormented .

“Don’t agree!” Walker called out from where the Campbell warriors held him down. One of them had taken a polearm from the wall. Its whetted ax blade gleamed in the torchlight. “Make my end worth something.” There was no fear in his voice now, only outrage.

“No, Lloyd!” Makenna cried out, panicked. “We can’t—”

“Quiet, Makenna!” her father cut her off sharply, even as his voice faltered. “Ye aren’t helping, lass.”

Her pulse started thudding wildly in her ears. “No,” she whispered, the sound broken. She couldn’t lose Lloyd. He’d trained her, encouraged her, and given her gentle support when she needed it. He was a good man—one of the best. They couldn’t just stand by and watch him be executed.

And yet, if her father signed that contract, he’d lose everything. They’d lose everything.

Walker knew it and so did her father—as did she.

Makenna cut her gaze to the MacGregor. The grief in his eyes was raw, and yet he held his tongue. And after a long pause, he jerkily shook his head.

Black Duncan’s mouth pursed, irritation sparking in those deep-set eyes. “Ye are going to be difficult, are ye?”

MacGregor remained stubbornly silent.

The chieftain huffed a sigh before glancing across at his warriors. “Kill Walker.”

“No!” Makenna shouted, struggling against her captors’ iron grip. “Leave him be. Leave him—”

But no one heeded her.

A scream began in Makenna’s head as one of the warriors hefted the polearm high.

The noise grew shrill—a terrible song—cutting off as the weapon slashed down, the ax cleaving into the back of Walker’s neck.

It was a vicious blow—mercifully so—although it took another strike to take his head clean off.

The warriors holding him let go of his body, and it fell, twitching, into the pit.

Makenna’s agonized cry echoed through the hall. She’d never made a sound like it before—a keening. And as she slumped against the table, held in place by her captors, something fractured deep inside her.

Vision blurred by tears, she forced herself to look her father’s way. His eyes glittered.

Meanwhile, Black Duncan dipped a quill into his ink pot and bent over the unfurled sheet of parchment. The scratching sound of his writing filled the now-silent hall.

No one interrupted him.

Eventually, the chieftain finished writing.

He then took a pinch of pounce and sprinkled the fine powder over the fresh ink, ensuring that it dried quickly and wouldn’t smear.

Afterward, he raised his chin, his gaze fixing on Makenna’s father once more.

“I’ll not hand this over … just yet … for I have no wish to waste expensive parchment,” he drawled.

“I shall wait until ye give me the right answer. What will it be, MacGregor? ‘Aye’ or ‘Nae’.”

“Nae,” the clan-chief choked out, the vein in his temple pulsing.

Black Duncan favored him with a thin smile. “Very well … ye wish to play, I see.” He glanced over at his waiting men. “Fetch Bran Mackinnon. ”

Warriors pulled Bran out of the pit. Unlike Walker, he didn’t struggle.