Page 27

“Much meeker now, aren’t ye?” Robbie jeered from where he stood to his father’s right. “Not so full of yerself now ye’ve been pissed on.”

Laughter rumbled through the hall at these words.

The noise pierced the fog of Makenna’s grief.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks now. She’d just witnessed Lloyd beheaded.

Nothing else mattered. Her ears were ringing, and her pulse hammered in her ears.

But even so, she was aware of the rough hands of the warriors flanking her, digging painfully into the flesh of her upper arms—it was a reminder that this ordeal wasn’t over. Instead, it was just beginning.

Focus!

Walker wouldn’t want her to give up. She had to make his sacrifice count for something. Blinking to clear her vision, she looked over at her husband.

Bran’s expression was veiled as he surveyed Walker’s body in the pit next to him, and the blood that pooled there. His red hair shone brightly in the torchlit hall. His handsome face was remarkably composed. Makenna’s throat tightened. He was strong—far more so than she’d realized.

He glanced in her direction then, and their gazes fused.

His silver eyes weren’t shuttered. No, they burned into her. Full of emotion. Full of things they’d never shared. Suddenly, she was sorry for locking horns with him, for being so proud. She wished she could go back in time, that she could relive their one night together.

I don’t want to lose him too .

The realization slammed into her. She swallowed hard then, her vision blurring again.

“Ah, look at that,” Black Duncan murmured. “Love’s young dream, is it not?”

This snide comment brought more snorts of mirth from the warriors, but Makenna’s attention remained upon her husband.

“I’m afraid, this young clan-chief is an inconvenience to me now,” Campbell continued after another lengthy pause. “As I have written … Makenna is meant for my son … which means Mackinnon must ‘tragically’ die.”

Makenna’s father growled a curse, but Black Duncan merely shrugged. “I’ll kill every man in that pit, if I have to, MacGregor … and if that doesn’t get ye to acquiesce, I’ll break ye … into tiny pieces.” He paused then. “And I will make yer daughter watch.”

A tremor went through Makenna. She’d spent years hating their neighbors to the south. The Campbells of Breadalbane had long harried their borders and terrorized their people. But this was something else. This evening, he’d crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

The MacGregors of Meggernie would never forget this day. She’d make sure of it.

“Before ye cut off my head, I have a request,” Bran spoke up then, his voice low and steady. “I wish to kiss my wife one last time.”

Black Duncan pulled a face, irritation flickering across his hawkish features. “Ye aren’t in the position to make such requests, Mackinnon.”

Bran’s gaze fixed upon him, unwavering. “It is but a small favor. ”

The Campbell chieftain snorted. “Ye are starting to vex me.”

“I apologize,” Bran answered. “But I don’t want to die before saying goodbye properly to Makenna.”

Smirks followed this comment.

“Go on, Campbell,” one of the older warriors called out. “Let him stick his tongue down her throat one last time.”

Robbie muttered an oath under his breath, while Tormod was ominously silent. Makenna didn’t look either man’s way.

“Aye,” another man agreed, grinning. “He asked nicely enough.”

Laughter erupted then, although Black Duncan was now frowning. “I’m going to enjoy seeing them strike off yer head,” he ground out. “However, let it not be said that I’m completely without a heart.” He gestured to the men holding Makenna. “Take the lass over.”

The warriors did as bid, hauling Makenna to her feet, and pushing her around the edge of the table. She went willingly, not struggling under their rough handling. Her legs were wobbly, yet she’d managed to shove her sorrow down for the moment.

She concentrated on slowing and deepening her breathing, and the strength flowed back into her limbs. Her senses sharpened. That was better. She could think clearly again.

She wasn’t sure what Bran was doing, but he’d unwittingly aided her.

The loose plan she’d been forming before coming downstairs this evening—the one that had dissolved when she’d seen Walker executed—relied on her being on her feet and away from the table. She needed room to move, and Bran had just given it to her .

She met her husband’s eye once more, and something clenched deep in her chest. This was it. If she couldn’t stop Campbell, she didn’t want to walk out of here alive. She’d rather die on her feet than be forced to kneel for the enemy, to end up as a Campbell plaything.

And the glint in Bran’s gaze told her he understood. Knowing he did made her resolve harden within her.

“Husband,” she murmured, stepping close to him. After a day in the pit, he reeked like a barnyard dung heap, yet she didn’t care.

“Wife,” he whispered in return.

Campbell warriors still held them fast, yet the pair ignored them.

Instead, Bran bent his head, slanting his mouth over hers.

It was a bruising, passionate embrace, one that kept nothing back—and Makenna answered it, uncaring who looked on.

The heat of his mouth, the way his tongue entwined with hers, the way his teeth grazed her lips, branded her, filled her with determination.

Their kiss went on, hot and wild, until Black Duncan made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “Enough of this nonsense … take her back to the table.”

Makenna resisted the pull on her arms, while Bran’s lips slid from hers and grazed across her cheek. “Lift the grate,” he whispered.

A moment of confusion pulsed through Makenna before her heart kicked. Of course. When the warriors had hauled Bran out of the pit, they hadn’t bothered to slide the bolt home afterward.

And now that she’d come forward to say goodbye to her husband, the pit was just a few strides away from her. She could make it.