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“Back in Meggernie, I had ye all drink from my quaich … I spoke of a ‘friendship’ between former enemies … but let’s face it …

we all know I was forcing things.” He coughed then, a rare look of embarrassment stealing across his face.

“I thou ght that if we gathered together under my roof, I’d win yer loyalty …

yet it can’t be bought, demanded, or stolen.

” He raised his fist to his heart then and thumped it hard.

“I swear to ye now that the Macleans of Moy and Dounarwyse … and the Mackinnons of Dùn Ara all have my allegiance. I need not sign my name on any contract, for it is carved upon my heart.”

Swallowing, Makenna tried to ignore the ache that suddenly rose under her breastbone. Her father was a man who felt all emotions keenly, and his green eyes now shone.

“And ye have my allegiance, Bruce,” Rae replied, mirroring the MacGregor clan-chief’s gesture.

“And mine,” Alec added. His mouth then quirked. “I’m speaking on behalf of my wife, of course … but I’m sure the laird of Moy would agree.”

A pause followed, and all gazes swiveled Bran’s way.

Staring back at Makenna’s father, her husband raised his hand, curled it into a fist, and slammed it against his ribs, to the left of his breastbone. “Ye have my loyalty as well,” he answered. “Carved upon my heart.”

Bran slept like a dead man, not stirring from the position he’d lain down in. Nonetheless, he awoke to find the sky still dark and the fire pit smoking. It was early. His companions, wrapped up in their cloaks, slumbered, their snores rumbling through the trees.

Rolling over, he tried to go back to sleep yet found he couldn’t. Eventually, giving up, he rose to his feet and stepped over Makenna. She slept curled up like a kitten .

Something tightened deep in his chest as his gaze lingered upon her face. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe the woman was so fierce, but he’d seen just how brave she was.

Carefully, he picked his way through the sleeping figures and moved to the edge of the trees. He then approached where Blair kept watch.

“Ye’re up before the lark this morning,” the new Captain of the Meggernie Guard greeted him.

Bran pulled a face. “I always am … go on … get some rest before dawn breaks.”

“Are ye sure?”

“Aye … I’ve rested enough.”

Blair gave a jaw-cracking yawn and nodded. He then clapped Bran on the shoulder before he returned to the camp, leaving him alone amongst the dark pines.

Massaging a stiff muscle in his shoulder, Bran surveyed his surroundings.

They were far from Campbell lands now, although it would be foolish to let their guard down.

Black Duncan wasn’t the sort to give up easily.

It was just as well the bastard was badly injured, for he’d have other things to worry about right now.

Nonetheless, relief unknotted the last of the tension in Bran’s chest. Thank Christ that’s over. He didn’t like to think about how close he’d come to having his head struck from his neck.

Lloyd Walker hadn’t been so lucky.

The woods were quiet, for it was still too early for the first birds to begin their morning song, and as he stood there letting the last vestiges of sleep drift away, a calmness settled upon him.

Peace.

He’d rarely felt it. There was something else too, for this morning, he sensed his own worth—deep down to the marrow of his bones.

No one could dispute that his quick thinking had saved them all at Finlarig.

Ever since taking his father’s place, he’d chased true confidence, but it had eluded him. Until now.

“Ye aren’t one to lie abed either, I see.” Makenna’s soft voice roused him from his thoughts, and he turned to see his wife approaching. She had slung her woolen cloak around her shoulders, and her hair was mussed from sleeping.

His chest started to ache. Lord, she was beautiful.

“No,” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ve always liked to watch the dawn … it’s the quietest time of day.”

“Aye.” She halted next to him, her face lifting to where a glow appeared through the trees to the left. The sun was rising. “At home, I get up before anyone else and go up on the walls … it gives me time to put my thoughts together.”

“Ye’ll be able to do that at Dùn Ara soon,” he murmured. “The views from the walls are breathtaking first thing.” She nodded at this, yet didn’t reply. He cleared his throat then. “Times like these, ye realize how lucky we are to be alive.”

“Aye,” she whispered. “Staring death in the face does that to ye.”

Silence fell between them then, stretching out as the first of the larks began to twitter amongst the treetops. However, Bran sensed Makenna’s tension. She folded her arms across her chest and, after a while, started to tap her toes.

He inclined his head. “What is it?”

“Ye apologized to me yesterday,” she said, keeping her gaze firmly on the approaching dawn. “And I should return the favor. ”

“Aye?”

She nodded, discomfort rippling across her face. She still didn’t look his way. “I’m proud and rebellious by nature … asking for forgiveness doesn’t come easy.”

He snorted. “It doesn’t for any of us. But ye don’t need—”

“No … but I am sorry, Bran.” She swung around to face him. “For snarling at ye as I have … for deliberately goading ye instead of trying to build trust between us.”

Warmth kindled under his ribs. “Apology accepted,” he replied softly. “Although, it takes two to quarrel.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them growing heavy. “We are married now, and we should embrace it,” she murmured. “I want us to start afresh. Can we?”

He nodded, even as his throat thickened. “I’d like that.” Stepping near, he then lifted a hand and brushed away a lock of hair from her cheek. “Black Duncan came close to ending our short marriage,” he said, his voice catching. “But we are free of him now … and I too want to begin again.”