Page 5

“THE WEDDING SHALL take place three days from today,” Makenna’s father announced, holding his goblet aloft. “Let us toast to that.”

Murmurs went through the hall as those present raised their drinks high.

Makenna followed suit, even as her pulse throbbed in her ears.

Three days . It wouldn’t matter if it were three months. Or three years . She didn’t want to marry Mackinnon.

She also didn’t want to be sitting here, lingering over a fine supper, as if the Campbells hadn’t just dealt them a savage blow.

The memory of the smoldering ruin of Fortingall made it difficult to relax.

How could she when there was reckoning to be had?

And how could her father deny her something so important?

She took a gulp of wine and set down her cup before reluctantly picking up her spoon. She then dug it into the rich stew and stirred, watching as steam wreathed up.

Queasiness rolled over her. Indeed, she had no wish to remain here, eating her supper next to her surly husband-to-be.

However, after her poor judgment today, her father wouldn’t suffer any more trouble from her.

Reaching for the bread, she tore a chunk off and dipped it carefully into the hot stew.

Around her, conversation flowed, as did the excellent Iberian wine her mother always served.

The mood inside the great hall was too buoyant for Makenna’s liking.

Everyone was excited about the forthcoming wedding, yet it was also Bealtunn—and the people of Meggernie were looking forward to celebrating the transition between spring and summer.

Nonetheless, her mind kept returning to what had happened at Fortingall.

Those seated around her hadn’t witnessed the ruin.

They didn’t realize just how brutal the Campbells had been.

Meanwhile, her betrothed’s pale, pinched face and smoldering silvery eyes all made his mood clear, as did his acerbic responses.

Makenna took care not to look his way as she focused now on getting through her meal. There was little space at the clan-chief’s table this evening—not with so many guests present—and she was sitting so close to her husband-to-be that their elbows kept bumping.

Unfortunately, the man seemed to favor his left hand, while she used her right, which meant they were getting in each other’s way. They sat so close that she could smell him: a blend of leather, horse, and a spicy undertone that was purely masculine. Curse him, it wasn’t at all unpleasant .

If only her father would cease his ribbing. He continued to engage the younger man, meeting each growled answer with a grin or a back slap.

Makenna’s pulse quickened. He needed to leave Mackinnon be. He clearly thought that if he talked his ear off and plied him with food and drink, he’d forgive and forget.

But with each passing moment, her betrothed looked increasingly vexed.

Raising her gaze, she met Kylie’s eye across the table.

A few months earlier, when Makenna had been at Dounarwyse broch with her sister, they’d talked often of this union—in truth, they’d argued about it.

Initially, Kylie had been dismissive of her worries and complaints.

After weathering an unhappy first marriage, her sister didn’t see why her younger sister should wriggle out of her obligations.

However, her attitude had eventually softened, and the shadows in Kylie’s oak-colored eyes hinted that she was now worried for her sister.

Makenna tore her attention from Kylie then and stole a glance at her betrothed. Mackinnon gripped his wooden spoon so tightly that she wondered if he was imagining driving it into her father’s eye.

Tara had said her brother had a fiery temper, and she hadn’t been wrong. At the same time though, the man was holding himself on a leash. How long before it snapped?

An unexpected jolt of sympathy for her betrothed stabbed her then. How humiliating this evening must be for him. Attacked by his bride-to-be and forced to break bread with his enemies. It was a lot to stomach.

Seemingly oblivious, the MacGregor continued to boom in his ear .

Makenna frowned. Her father was never usually this garrulous.

Her pulse quickened then. Of course, he’d be worried too that the Mackinnon chief might discover his ruse.

He’d been uncharacteristically nervous about his arrival.

This alliance was important for their clan, and he couldn’t afford to have anything put it at risk.

He was now regaling her betrothed with tales of his youth and the adventures he’d had. “I broke with tradition by wedding the daughter of an Iberian wine merchant,” the clan-chief admitted before reaching over and squeezing his wife’s arm. “One glance at the raven-haired beauty and I was smitten.”

Carmen MacGregor waved him away, even as her night-brown eyes glowed with pleasure. “Ye do talk rot, man. If I recall, ye were too busy driving a hard bargain with my father.”

Their banter continued. Meanwhile, Mackinnon had subsided into stony silence. His lips compressed into a thin, hard line.

Heat washed over Makenna. She was used to her parents’ ways and usually didn’t mind their boisterous exchanges or unabashed affection for each other. But this evening, she found herself embarrassed by it—and not a little resentful.

Aye, her father had broken with tradition, yet she wasn’t permitted to.

All Makenna wanted, right down to the depths of her soul, was to continue serving in her father’s Guard, to keep her clan safe. Instead, she was about to be shackled to a man she didn’t want. Soon she’d be living far from her beloved Meggernie.

Her throat tightened then, and she swallowed a mouthful of stew with difficulty .

At the other end of the table, Sonia and Alma animatedly chatted together, ignoring their dour-faced husbands.

Those two marriages weren’t particularly happy ones, yet her sisters didn’t appear to mind much.

However, when Makenna’s attention shifted farther down the table to where Rae gazed into Kylie’s eyes, her chest constricted.

Aye, she knew her sister had weathered years of unhappiness and loneliness when she’d been wed to Errol Grant.

If anyone deserved love, it was her. Rae raised a tender hand then and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

Makenna looked away, her attention alighting on Liza and Alec.

And curse them both, there was no doubt they were in love either.

They were teasing each other, and Alec had slung a protective arm around Liza’s shoulders.

Anger stabbed her in the belly then. How can they all carry on like this, when our people have been murdered?

She deliberately put down her spoon and reached for her goblet of wine instead.

Enough food. What she needed tonight was wine.

Lots of it. This would be a long evening, for once they finished eating and drinking, they’d venture beyond the castle walls and join the people of Meggernie at the Bealtunn bonfire.

This year though, her father had instructed more of his Guard than usual to keep a close watch on the festivities.

After Fortingall, they had to be vigilant.

Usually at Bealtunn, Makenna prepared a guise, but not this year. She just couldn’t get into the spirit of things. Draining her goblet, she then reached for the ewer in front of her and topped it up. To the brim .

She felt a gaze upon her then and glanced right to find Mackinnon watching her.

And it wasn’t a friendly look either. His eyes were narrowed, his lean jaw bunched in an expression of stern disapproval. Clearly, he thought she was consuming too much wine.

God’s troth. The man was too young to have the demeanor of a censorious priest. The sympathy she’d felt for him earlier drained away, annoyance replacing it.

Eyeballing him, Makenna lifted the goblet to her lips and took a deep, thoroughly unladylike, draft. How do ye like that, then?

The shrill notes of a Highland pipe rang through the crisp night air.

Bairns chased each other around the fire.

In contrast, the adults were a little more subdued.

News of the massacre at Fortingall had now spread throughout the castle, and many of those who stood near the bonfire, cups of apple wine in hand, wore worried expressions as they huddled together.

Some of them shot veiled glances to where, on the perimeters of the celebrations, shadowy figures stood watch over the road and the edge of the woodlands.

It was a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the sturdy walls of their castle—dangers that had been growing for a while now.

Of course, the children were largely oblivious. Craeg, Ailean, and Lyle were amongst the bairns, their faces ruddy with excitement. The trio was far from home, and this journey to Perthshire was an adventure for them all .

Moths danced above the licking flames, some of them immolated when they dived too close. Makenna watched them. Standing amongst her kin, she felt detached from her surroundings, as if she were viewing Bealtunn from above.

“Have ye had a chance to mend things with Mackinnon yet?” Liza’s voice intruded then, dragging her back to earth.

Makenna cut her sister an irritated look.

She usually loved spending time with Liza and Kylie.

Of all her sisters, she was the closest to them.

But this evening, they were both rubbing her up the wrong way.

“No.” She was aware then that Kylie had moved closer and was watching her intensely. “He’d bite my head off if I tried.”

She focused properly on her sisters then.

Unlike her, Liza and Kylie had guised themselves for Bealtunn.

Kylie had painted her face white and her mouth blood red and clad herself in a becoming low-cut green kirtle so she resembled one of the Baobhan Sith—beautiful vampiric fairies known for seducing men and then draining their blood.

Liza was also dressed in green, although she wore a headdress with straw-colored hair and goat horns upon her head.

She’d guised herself as a Glaistig, the mythological ‘green maiden’.

Both Kylie and Liza looked arresting, if a little intimidating.

“He certainly appears to be in a foul temper this eve,” Kylie noted. “I’d have thought he’d have calmed down by now … especially after some MacGregor hospitality.”

“Aye, well, it doesn’t help that Da continues to goad him.”

Liza cocked an eyebrow. “I thought he was trying to cheer him up?”

Makenna snorted, even as her annoyance swelled.

Her sisters were trying to lighten the mood, yet she didn’t want it lightened.

Instead, she shifted her attention across the crowd to where her husband-to-be stood with her father and Captain Walker.

MacGregor was talking volubly, red in the face after a surfeit of ale. Mackinnon replied with a curled lip.

One didn’t need to hear their conversation to know he still wasn’t appeased.

“I’m sure he’ll warm to ye.” Makenna flashed Kylie a withering look at this comment, but her sister pressed on. “It was an unfortunate start … but ye just need time to get to know one another.”

Makenna cursed under her breath and took a large gulp from her cup.

Meanwhile, both her sisters raised their eyebrows.

Aye, it was a salty curse—one many of the guards she served alongside used regularly.

Had their mother been within earshot, she’d have boxed her youngest daughter’s ears for using such language.

However, Carmen was gossiping with friends a few yards distant and didn’t hear her.

“He won’t ‘warm up’,” she growled. “And neither will I.”

It was fine for Kylie to make such comments. She was wed to a man who’d healed her cynical heart. She now believed in love again.

A hot and prickly sensation washed over her then.

Christ’s blood. She wished she could run away from all of this, but that wasn’t her way.

Her throat grew tight, and the back of her eyelids started to sting.

Curse it, she’d drunk far too much wine throughout the evening.

She’d done it largely to spite Mackinnon but regretted it now.

The wine had brought her emotions to the surface .

Clearing her throat, she focused on the roaring bonfire once more. The piper had struck up another rousing tune, and men and women danced alongside the bairns. The scent of woodsmoke filled the night air.

Makenna wished she could enjoy it, but she couldn’t.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she silently counted to ten, mastering herself.

Drawing in a deep breath, she glanced her sisters’ way once more, to find them both frowning, concern shadowing their eyes.

Her irritation toward them faded. She didn’t want them fretting over her.

“Don’t fash yerselves,” she said huskily.

“I shall rally.” She broke off then, dredging up a brittle smile.

“And ye are right … perhaps things will improve tomorrow.” Lord, if only it were that easy .

“Maybe Mackinnon and I can start again.”