Page 31

CHAOS REIGNED INSIDE Meggernie’s bailey.

Men, women, children—and dogs—swirled around the travel-weary band that clattered under the portcullis and into the wide cobbled yard beyond.

Rae’s wife and sons clung to him, while his boisterous collie, who’d accompanied him from Dounarwyse, bounced around the huddle, barking.

Liza flew across the bailey and threw herself into Alec’s waiting arms as he swung down from his horse, sobbing with relief as she hugged him. Craeg was close behind her and drawn into their circle as Alec assured them all was well.

Makenna’s mother rushed to her husband, face distraught.

“All is well, mo chridhe,” the MacGregor rumbled, pulling his wife into a hard embrace and then kissing her passionately.

When he drew back, his gaze was shadowed.

“Black Duncan Campbell attacked us on the return home from the hunt … and took us back to Finlarig Castle. But we got free.” Hi s expression grew strained then, his eyes shadowing. “Lloyd is dead though.”

Carmen’s face crumpled at this news.

Watching her father comfort her mother, Makenna’s throat started to ache.

Lloyd had been with them for years; both her parents had been close to him.

And after his wife died, they’d invited him to take supper with them most evenings in the clan-chief’s solar.

Her eyes started to sting then. Being back here without Captain Walker’s steadying presence made her sorrow even sharper.

During the journey home, her grief had swelled and then receded in waves, like a rising and ebbing tide. All it took was a memory of Lloyd striding through the bailey, calling out to his men, and tears welled.

This castle wouldn’t be the same without him.

Swallowing, Makenna dashed away a tear that trickled down her cheek. Lord, it was difficult to hold herself together.

Curse Black Duncan. Fury bloomed like a dark flower in her belly then, momentarily chasing away her grief. We must make them pay.

Meanwhile, her parents had forgotten she was even present.

The bond between Bruce and Carmen MacGregor was so strong that sometimes they were oblivious to others.

She grieved Lloyd too. Her mother would eventually withdraw from her husband’s embrace and seek her youngest daughter out. But for the moment, she was invisible.

An arm went about her shoulders then, squeezing gently. Surprised, she glanced up to see that Bran had stepped close. It felt odd to have a man, who wasn’t her father, hold her like this, and she momentarily stiffened. However, one look at Bran’s face told her he understood.

“Ye loved him, didn’t ye?” he said softly.

“Aye,” she whispered. “The world feels … wrong … without Lloyd in it.”

His hold on her shoulders tightened. “He died bravely.”

Makenna swallowed. Aye, he had. She needed to remember that.

Meanwhile, Alma and Sonia swept across the bailey and welcomed Connor and Rory back.

Voices echoed off stone, the noise assaulting Makenna’s ears.

Suddenly, the full weight of everything that had happened in the past days slammed into her.

They were safe now. There was no risk of the Campbells coming after them.

All the tension she’d been holding dissolved then, and her legs started to tremble.

Bran’s arm tightened slightly in response, and she leaned into him; his body was her rock. This was how it would be from now on. He would be her strength, and she his.

“Makenna!” Kylie disentangled herself from Rae and his sons and headed across to her. “Are ye hurt?”

“No,” Makenna croaked, as her throat constricted once more.

A few yards away, Liza left Alec explaining what had happened to Craeg and moved toward her. Bran released his wife then, shifting back so that Makenna’s sisters could both enfold her in a crushing hug.

“Thank the Lord, ye are home,” Liza said huskily. “Safe.”

Hiccoughing, as a sob clawed up, Makenna clung to her sisters. She wanted to appear stoic, but their concern made her crumble.

Makenna sank into the hot water with a groan. Never had a bath felt so good.

Beyond the screen, Bran made a noise in the back of his throat.

“What is it?” she called out.

“Nothing,” he replied, although his voice was slightly strangled.

“Do I need to thump ye between the shoulder blades?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

Her brow furrowed. “Aye, well … leave some of the supper for me, mind.”

He snorted. “I haven’t yet touched it.”

Makenna raised an eyebrow. Really? It had sounded like he’d just choked on a mouthful of something. Servants had brought up a meal of fresh bread, cheese, braised onions, and blood sausage. It now sat on a table behind the screen.

However, before eating, Makenna wished to bathe. And once she was done, Bran would take his turn.

Her belly fluttered then.

It was intimate, bathing in the same chamber as him—knowing that he was just a few feet away. Most married couples wouldn’t bother to put a screen up, but when they’d retired, shyness had stolen over her.

They’d been naked together before, although their wedding night seemed to belong to another life.

Another person. Indeed, she’d been on edge as servants had lugged up pails of steaming water to fill the bath and put up a screen for her.

Even the heat of the water, seeping into her weary, aching limbs, couldn’t dissolve the tension that now tightened under her ribcage.

Trying to ignore it, she picked up a cake of rose soap and began to wash. The sweet scent enveloped her, a familiar perfume that she would always associate with Meggernie. Her mother ordered this fine soap from France; one of the many things her husband indulged her in.

It had been a fraught and emotional return home, and so everyone had retired to their quarters early.

The following day at noon, they would bury the fallen warriors, whose bodies they’d recovered from the woods where they’d been left by the Campbells.

However, there could be no burial for Lloyd Walker.

Sorrow tugged deep in her chest at the reminder. She closed her eyes, letting the pain rise and flow through her. Mother Mary, it hurt to think of him.

“Makenna?” Bran’s voice reached her once more. “Ye’ve gone very quiet in there. Are ye all right?”

“Aye,” she replied huskily.

Her gut twisted then. All would be well—after she got even with Black Duncan. Aye, both he and his son were injured, and they’d slain several Campbell warriors, but it wasn’t enough. How she longed to burn Finlarig Castle to the ground.

Thoughts churning, she set about washing her hair, combing out the knots with her fingers.

The warm water soothed her as she worked now, and she was tempted to linger in the bath for a while, to soak until her fingers and toes turned wrinkly.

But Bran was waiting, and she didn’t want him to have to wash in cold water .

She looked around for a drying sheet, her pulse stuttering when she realized she’d forgotten to bring one over to the tub.

“Bran,” she said, ensuring her voice remained light. “Can ye fetch me a drying sheet? They’re on the bed.”

A pause followed before she heard his footfalls moving across the wooden floor.

A moment later, she glanced over her shoulder to see him emerge around the edge of the screen. She noted then, how he’d deliberately averted his gaze, his face turned away as he handed her the drying sheet. She also marked the faint blush that now stained his cheekbones.

God’s troth … were they back to awkwardness between them now?

“Thank ye,” she murmured, taking the drying sheet from him.

Nodding, he disappeared back behind the screen.

Makenna watched him go, her brow furrowing. After the things they’d said to each other on the journey home, she’d have thought he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be alone with her like this—yet he was.

Gnawing at her bottom lip, she rose to her feet in the tub. She then stepped out, her feet sinking into the soft sheepskin, and dried herself off before wrapping the drying sheet around her.

When she emerged from behind the screen, she found Bran seated by the hearth.

Although it wasn’t a cold evening, the servants had lit a fire.

The castle was made of cold, damp stone, which meant that even in the summer months, the air grew chill at night.

One booted ankle rested on his knee, he leaned back, cradling the cup of wine he’d been nursing for a while now .

“Yer turn,” she said, flashing him a shy smile.

“Ye didn’t take long,” he replied, his gaze still averted.

“Aye, well … I wanted ye to be able to enjoy the hot water too.”

Bran did look her way then. A moment later, his eyes darkened, his lips parting as he dragged his gaze down the length of her body.

Makenna swallowed, nervousness fluttering up.

Although she was wrapped in the drying sheet, she still felt exposed.

Still pink and damp from the bath, her hair falling in wet strands over her shoulders, she was sure she wasn’t the most attractive sight, yet Bran stared at her as if a siren had just emerged from behind the screen.

Realizing what he was doing, her husband blinked, closed his mouth, and nodded. “Aye.” His voice sounded odd, strained. “I certainly need one.”

He then rose swiftly from his chair, fetched himself a fresh drying sheet, and disappeared behind the screen.

Makenna retreated across the room, retrieving her comb so that she could untangle the stubborn knots that had formed in her hair over the past days. She then sank down into the chair opposite where Bran had been sitting.

Moments later, she heard his sigh as he lowered himself into the tub. “That’s better.”

“There’s soap,” she called.

A snort followed. “Rose … great … I shall smell like a lass.”

Makenna laughed, a little of the tension between them easing. “I won’t mind.”

He muttered an oath, yet splashing followed as he began to wash .

And as the sounds went on, Makenna couldn’t help but imagine him sitting there, running that slippery cake of soap over his lithe, hard-muscled body. Her pulse fluttered, heat pooling in her lower belly.

They’d been through much in the past days—starting as enemies and then forging a bond of sorts during their wedding night, before the hunt had set them back once more.

But during their ordeal at the hands of the Campbells, something had shifted.

Their lives had all been at risk. Suddenly, the things they’d quarreled about seemed petty.

When he’d been hauled from the pit to be executed, a weaker man would have pleaded for his life. But instead, Bran had held fast.

She was proud to be married to such a man, and she wished him to know it.

Her husband was as skittish as a colt around her this evening, but he didn’t need to be.

She needed his closeness. Grief and anger had been her companions since they’d escaped Finlarig, but she didn’t want them to consume her. Instead, she longed to forget, at least for a short while—to embrace life and reassure herself that despite the ugliness, pain, and loss, beauty existed too.

And so, as the moments slid by, and she finished combing out her hair, she gathered her courage. The truth was, she wanted Bran. Badly. Even so, she hesitated.

What are ye waiting for?

What if he rejected her?

What if he laughed at her?

Enough of this nonsense . Rising to her feet, she smoothed her suddenly damp palms upon her drying sheet. How could they start afresh if they continued to be so awkward around each other? Be bold. Be brave .

And so, she moved across the bedchamber and slipped beyond the screen.