Page 2 of The Chief's Wild Promise
“Aye,” he ground out, anger simmering. “Ye have yer blade at theclan-chief’sgullet.”
Horror bloomed in those green eyes. “Cods.” The curse came out in a wheeze. An instant later, she glanced around her. “Cease!” she shouted roughly. “It’s Bran Mackinnon and his men.”
Around him, the clang of steel and grunts of fighting faded away. Someone rasped a curse, while a few groans followed, but Bran paid the injured on either side little heed. Instead, he was too focused on glaring up at the lass who hadn’t shifted the tip of her sword from his windpipe.
He was close to letting his temper get the better of him. “Aye, so ye know who I am now.” He bit out each word, fury simmering. “Tell me whoyeare.”
The young woman swallowed, her expression strained. Then, abruptly, she withdrew her sword and took a step back from him. “Makenna MacGregor, daughter to the clan-chief,” she replied curtly as she sheathed her sword at her side. “Yerbetrothed.”
What have ye done?
Makenna moved farther back from the man she’d just bested. The Mackinnon clan-chief still lay on his back, his silver-grey eyes glinting dangerously. Her blood was up, and her palm itched to redraw her sword, yet she stilled the impulse. She’d done enough damage. It was time to stand down now.
Even so, she didn’t offer him her hand. She could tell he didn’t want it anyway.
The Mackinnon rolled smoothly to his feet and unfolded his lanky frame, rising to his full height. He then brushed the leaves and dirt off his fine fur-lined cloak, his mouth pursed now as if he’d just tasted something foul.
Shaggy flame-red hair framed a lean, youthful face. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose, although the bullish set of his jaw made anxiety flutter under her ribs.
He was vexed, and she couldn’t blame him. Around them, warriors on both sides were injured, although the worst of the wounds appeared to belong to one of the Mackinnons. The man lay bleeding out on the ground nearby. Her chest constricted as she listened to his groans. He sounded in a bad way.
Da will be rabid.
She cleared her throat then, rallying. “We thought ye were Campbells.”
“Aye, well, if ye had waited, ye would have seen our clan sashes,” Mackinnon growled. “Why the devil would yer enemies stray this close to Meggernie?”
“They’ve grown bold of late,” she replied stiffly, even as fire burned in the pit of her belly. His thinly veiled disdain rubbed her up the wrong way, making her momentarily forget her concern for his injured warrior. He had no idea how bad things were between the MacGregors and the Campbells. They’d long harried her clan, driving them out of the lands around Loch Awe so that her people had been pushed south. Those MacGregors who’d remained in the north had become Campbell tenants and were treated cruelly by all accounts. Now, to make matters worse, the Campbells of Breadalbane, whose lands lay south of her father’s, had started to stir up trouble too.
The feuding with their neighbors was one of the reasons why her father had made so many alliances with powerful clans through marriage. It was why she’d been promised to Bran Mackinnon.
Quietly simmering, she watched as the clan-chief turned from her and went to the fallen man, crouching next to him. “How are ye holding up, Tadhg?” he asked roughly.
“Bleeding like a stuck pig,” the big man grunted.
“We need to get him back to Meggernie,” Makenna said, forcing a briskness into her voice she didn’t feel. Guilt quickened her pulse and turned her palms clammy. “There’s a healer there.”
“I’m sure there is,” Mackinnon replied between gritted teeth. His gaze swung around, piercing her like an arrow. “But Tadhg wouldn’t need assistance if ye hadn’t come at us like rabid dogs.”
Makenna’s gaze narrowed, even as heat washed over her once more.Rabid dogs?“Ye are speaking of the MeggernieGuard, Mackinnon,” she ground out.
The clan-chief stood up once more, surveying the men—some of them nursing injuries—who’d gathered behind Makenna. His lip then curled. “Maybe, but ye look like a band of cutthroats to me.”
Bran quietly fumed as he followed the MacGregors northwest. He’d been in a foul mood before the attack, but he wasfuriousnow.
Not for the first time that day, he cursed Kendric Mackinnon. The devil roast his father in hell. The bastard’s scheming and selfishness had landed him in this mess. He had few fond memories of the man who’d sired him. Indeed, whenever he recalled the oppressive environment he’d grown up in, a dull ache rose under his ribs. Even as a bairn, he’d been lonely. Life at Dùn Ara would have been unbearable had it not been for his sister.
Tara.Heat washed over Bran then. She’d been the one person he thought he could count on, and yet she’d betrayed not only her clan, but her own brother.
Gut clenching, he shoved his sister from his thoughts and shifted his focus from kin back to the company of Mackinnons surrounding him. Following the attack—many of them bloodied and grimacing from their injuries—they’d warily mounted their horses and continued their journey.However, there was no conversation, no banter. Tadhg wasn’t in a good state. They’d managed to get him into the saddle, although the warrior now sat slumped, one arm cradling his midsection. His head hung, and when his horse had moved off, he grunted in pain.
The mood was understandably tense, and a few of his warriors now wore mutinous expressions. Bran wondered if any of them blamed him for this situation. After all, they wouldn’t be in Perthshire if he hadn’t ridden here to keep his dead father’s promise.
Teeth gritted, Bran urged his mount forward. That was his problem in a nutshell. His sense of honor was a weakness, not a strength. He didn’t owe his father, or the MacGregors, anything. Yet, here he was, like an obedient dog.
His attention swung then to the small figure that marched ahead of him on the track. Like the others of her band, she traveled on foot.
Eyes still upon the hellcat who’d nearly severed his windpipe, Bran’s gaze narrowed.