Page 23 of The Chief's Wild Promise

His gaze cut right, spearing her—tension rippling through his body. His eyebrows then drew together above narrowed eyes.

Fighting her discomfort, Makenna forced a tight smile. “I see ye have found my favorite spot at Meggernie.”

He pushed himself off the ramparts, his expression shuttering. “I shall leave ye to it then.”

He made to move off, but Makenna forestalled him. “Wait.” Hades, her voice sounded as if someone were throttling her. “I wish … to … apologize.”

Twice in one day. This was unheard of.

His jaw bunched, and heat sparked in her belly. Her heart started to pound against her ribs then, and she silently cursed Kylie. What a daft idea this had been.

“I don’t need an apology,” he replied coldly.

She started to sweat. “Nonetheless, I shouldn’t have insulted ye, baited ye … or kneed ye in the cods.”

In response, he cut his attention away, a flush staining his high cheekbones. “Aye, well … some of yer insults cut a little close to the bone,” he muttered. “Lifehasturned me bitter before my time.”

Makenna stilled at his candidness. Nonetheless, frustratingly, he didn’t elaborate.

“I can be reckless when riled,” she admitted before grimacing. “And I don’t like being bested, I’m afraid.”

“No one does.”

Makenna’s gaze shifted to where he now lay a hand on a battlement. The other hand rested on the pommel of his dirk. Liza had described his hands as ‘large and well-shaped’—and they were, with broad palms and long tapering fingers. The nails were clean and trimmed. She noted a thin silver scar that marked the back of the hand resting on the battlement and wondered where he’d gotten it.

She continued to study him, her attention straying upward to his mouth. His lower lip was swollen from where she’d head-butted him.

With a sigh, she took a few steps closer before leaning up against the sun-warmed stone at the base of the doocot.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft warbling of pigeons. It wasn’t a companionable hush though. She could have cut the tension between them with a blade.

“I’ve never seen a doocot on the roof of a tower house before,” Mackinnon said, eventually shattering the awkwardness. “Those birds make a right noise.”

Makenna cast him a veiled glance to find him leaning his back upon the ramparts, arms folded across his chest. His attention wasn’t trained on the view west any longer, but upon the conical-shaped stone structure that perched behind her.

“They do … but I like the sound,” she replied. “It soothes me.” She paused then, forcing a smile. “I hope ye like pigeon?”

“Aye … well enough.”

“Good. Cook and his assistants are baking pigeon pie for our wedding feast.”

Her pulse quickened then. The ceremony was inching closer. By the time they sat down to pie, Father Malcolm would have bound them as husband and wife.

Lord help her, she wasn’t ready for this.

She started gnawing at her lower lip before finally asking, “I didn’t hurt ye … badly … did I?”

Mackinnon’s features tightened. “Could we leave that incident behind us now?” he growled.

She nodded, relieved.

They lapsed into another silence, and, eventually, she pushed herself up off the doocot’s wall. She then cut Mackinnon a veiled look. It was difficult to tell if he’d forgiven her or not. “Come.” She took a step back and beckoned. “While we’re up here, I might as well show ye something.”

He scowled, and she sighed. “Fear not, it’s nothing unpleasant … follow me.”

She led him along the walkway that skirted the large square roof. She then descended into the stairwell, taking him down a few feet to where a narrow slitted window let in the afternoon sun.

Turning, she found Mackinnon right behind her.