Page 36

MAKENNA’S FIRST GLIMPSE of Dùn Ara made her stifle a gasp.

The castle was more imposing than she’d expected, enough to equal the might of Duart Castle.

It perched high on a crag above the water, its thick curtain wall made of stone and lime glowing white in the afternoon sun.

A rocky inlet curved at its feet, with noosts, hollows in the rock where fishing boats nestled above the tideline.

Tearing her gaze from the fortress, Makenna glanced her husband’s way.

Bran was staring at his home. Standing there, at the prow of the Mackinnon clan-chief’s birlinn, which they’d collected from Tobermory, he looked like one of the Norsemen from the old stories: Vikings who’d raided and then settled the Western Isles centuries earlier.

A brisk breeze whipped his hair about his head, although his expression was stern.

He was readying himself to face his people.

An ache rose under Makenna’s breastbone. It cut her to the quick that he’d endured so much. The Mackinnon defeat against the Macleans hadn’t been his doing, but the man responsible was dead.

Would they have preferred him to have defied Loch Maclean, and have died for it? Perhaps. Common folk sometimes resented the privilege of those who ruled them, not realizing that with it came great responsibility and hard choices.

Feeling her gaze upon him, Bran tore his attention from the castle and looked her way. “What do ye think?”

Makenna smiled. “It’s magnificent,” she answered honestly, moving close so that he could put an arm around her waist. Arriving here with him felt right. Now that Meggernie lay far behind them, her old life had lost its hold. She was free to embrace the next chapter.

The sun shone brightly today, although the wind had a bite to it.

She was glad for the fur-lined cloak she’d donned before departing from Dounarwyse.

They’d lingered at the Maclean stronghold a few days—longer than anticipated.

During their stay, relationships had been properly mended.

Initially, Jack had been off-hand with his brother-by-marriage, but by the time he’d taken them north on Rae’s birlinn, he and Bran had become friends.

They would be welcome at Dounarwyse now, whenever they wished to visit.

Makenna planned to travel there again the following spring before making their way down to Moy on the southern coast. However, in the meantime, she had the rest of the summer, autumn, and winter to settle into her new home. That was her priority now.

The men lowered the sail and rowed the birlinn in, mooring it to a thin stacked stone jetty.

The Mackinnon clan-chief’s galley was a fine one and held up to forty oarsmen.

Taking Bran’s hand, Makenna climbed up onto the dock and looked around her.

Steep hills covered in scrubby woodland fell away behind the castle to the south.

One glance and she could see it was easy to defend.

Turning to Bran, she met his eye. “Has Dùn Ara ever fallen to an enemy?”

“Never,” he replied, pride lacing his voice. “There are few castles as hard to take as this one.”

Makenna believed him.

Hand-in-hand, they walked down the jetty, followed by the company of warriors who’d accompanied them home.

They then made their way up the steep path that wound its way to the gates.

The entrance through the curtain wall lay on the southeastern side.

Close up, Makenna could see just how thick the wall was—indeed, around five feet in places.

And as they climbed, she resisted the urge to glance Bran’s way to see how he was faring. His grip on her hand was firm though, reassuring.

Guards flanked the gates ahead. Clad in leather and mail, they grasped schiltron pikes.

Makenna was pleased to note that they snapped to attention as their clan-chief approached. However, their expressions were difficult to read. Bran nodded to them but didn’t check his stride. Instead, he led her under the portcullis and into a wide barmkin.

There, he halted so she could view her new home properly for the first time. Instead of a tower house, like Meggernie, the keep resembled something much older: a beehive-shaped structure on two levels. “I’ve never seen the like,” she murmured, gazing up at it.

“It’s the oldest part of the castle,” Bran replied. “There was originally a broch here … and everything else was added on much later.”

Makenna nodded, slowly turning in a circle as she took in the stacked stone outbuildings, kitchen, bakehouse, and stables surrounding her.

The great hall—a rectangular building with a thatched roof—appeared to be separate from the ‘broch’.

Like the outer wall, the stone within was also flecked with white limestone.

“Welcome home, Mackinnon.” A tall, lanky figure with a shock of greying hair that had once been auburn descended the stone steps from the walls and strode toward them.

“Finlay!” Bran stepped forward, and the two men clasped arms before the clan-chief pulled the older man into a hug. “It’s good to see ye.”

Clearly surprised, yet pleased, by Bran’s show of affection, Finlay grinned.

His attention then flicked to where Makenna stood a few feet back.

She was dressed in her usual way, in a fashionable kirtle and surcote that had both been cut at the sides to allow her ease of movement.

Underneath, she wore woolen leggings and high boots.

She’d braided the sides of her long hair and drawn them off her face, for it was practical when traveling.

At one hip hung ‘Arsebiter’, while at the other she wore a dirk .

Finlay’s gaze lingered on her, his grey eyes widening. “And this is yer bride?”

“Aye.” Bran stepped back. “Makenna … may I introduce ye to Finlay Mackinnon … Captain of the Dùn Ara Guard. He has acted as steward in my absence.”

Makenna smiled. “Pleased to meet ye, Captain.”

“And I ye, Lady Mackinnon,” he answered.

“How have things been while I was away?” Bran asked then, his brow furrowing.

“Quiet enough,” Finlay replied. His gaze glinted then. “Yer cousin came calling a week after ye departed, but I sent him away.”

Bran’s eyes narrowed, and when he replied, his tone was flinty. “Good.”

The captain studied him curiously. “Yer last message was delivered a fortnight ago though … so we knew to expect ye. From yer letters, it sounds as if ye had an adventurous time in Perthshire.”

Bran snorted. “Ye could say that. Meet me in my solar after supper later … and we can give each other full reports over a cup or two of ale.”

The captain’s lips tugged up into another smile before he nodded.

Makenna was aware then that the barmkin had filled up.

Cooks, kitchen lads, grooms, stable hands, and others had ventured out of the broch and numerous outbuildings to catch sight of the clan-chief—and his bride.

Many of them eyed her, their gazes lingering on her unusual attire and weapons.

She noted the sharpness of their stares, and the way some of the men surrounding them thinned their lips. One or two even smirked .

Aye, Bran hadn’t exaggerated the mood here.

Not remotely cowed, Makenna stared back boldly. She even rested her hand upon the pommel of her sword, drawing attention to it. She might as well start as she meant to go on.

They’d mind her, just as they would her husband.

“Fortune favors the bold,” Bran called out, also noting that they now had an audience.

His voice was loud as he used his clan motto, echoing against stone.

“As ye can see, I have returned to ye safely … as has my lady wife.” He paused then, his silvery gaze glinting as he stared the crowd down.

“Ye will also mark that she carries weapons. I shall have ye know that Makenna is a warrior of note, and that if ye don’t wish to see the sharp edge of her blade …

or mine … ye shall treat her with the respect she is owed. ”

Makenna drew herself up, heat igniting in her belly. Aye, he’d shocked them now. Some of the women flushed, while the men dropped their gazes. Tension rippled through the barmkin.

“We have made a strong alliance with the MacGregors of Meggernie … one that will ensure our clan prospers,” he added. “We have also healed relations with the Macleans of Dounarwyse and Moy. No longer will we fight with our neighbors.”

Murmurs erupted at his admission, but Bran silenced them with a deft movement of his hand. “When I left Dùn Ara in the spring, many of ye wished I’d never return.”

Faces around him grew taut at these blunt words, but he ignored their reaction .

“Ye believed a man who’d make peace with his enemies isn’t fit to rule the Mackinnons …

but ye don’t know what real strength is …

real honor. My father would have sacrificed the lot of ye if it meant he could rule all of Mull.

He cared about only himself.” Bran paused then, his gaze narrowing as it swept over the now hushed crowd.

“Know this … I’m not Kendric Mackinnon and nor do I wish to be.

However, if ye mistake my decency for weakness, ye do so at yer own peril. ”

“That was quite a speech ye gave out there.”

Bran flashed Makenna a grin as he led the way up a steep spiral stairwell. “It was long overdue. Did ye enjoy it?”

“Aye.”

“I wished to make myself clear.”

She smiled back. “Oh, ye did that. How does it feel?”

“Like freedom,” he replied. “Like I’ve finally laid my father’s ghost to rest.”

And he had. In truth, Makenna hadn’t expected him to be quite so forthright, or eloquent. Pride had warmed her chest as she watched him address his people.

Afterward, they’d left the stunned crowd behind and entered the broch, and Bran was now giving her a tour.

He took her upstairs before they stepped onto the landing of the second level.

Moving to the nearest door, he pushed it open and led the way into an imposing, if slightly intimidating, chamber.

An array of weapons decorated the stone walls, and above the wide hearth, three glowering boar heads had been mounted.

Observing them, Makenna murmured an oath under her breath .

“Quite a sight, aren’t they?” Bran said with a shrug. “They’re my father’s trophies.”

Makenna grimaced.

“He even named them,” Bran went on. “The ugly one at the end, he called Loch. The middle one is Leod … and the other is Rae.”

She snorted a disbelieving laugh. “He named them after the Maclean clan-chief and his chieftains?”

“Aye … he had a twisted sense of humor.” Bran observed the boar heads then, as if seeing them with new eyes. “Well … Loch, Leod, and Rae have graced the hearth for long enough. I will have them taken down today.”

Relief washed over Makenna at this news. The trophies were a reminder of a cruel man, and neither of them wanted his presence to linger in here.

“I’m sure after we’ve been stag hunting together, we will soon have something else to mount over the hearth,” she replied.

He nodded, his gaze soft as he shifted his attention to her. After a moment, his lips curved. “Did I tell ye that Dùn Ara has a walled garden accessed via the southern curtain wall?”

She raised her eyebrows. “No.”

His smile widened. “It’s one of this fortress’s many secrets. It was my mother’s once … but gardeners keep it tended these days. It will be full of roses in bloom this time of year. Would ye like to see it?”

Makenna grinned. A private garden within the castle was something that Meggernie had always lacked. She was delighted to discover that Dùn Ara had one. Bran already knew she loved roses. “ Aye, husband,” she replied, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his. “Lead the way.”