Page 27 of The Chief's Wild Promise

However, Bran didn’t share their excitement.

Standing on the steps of the chapel, next to the portly priest, he tried not to grind his teeth as he waited.Let’s get this over with.

A piper started playing then, the mournful wail of the Highland pipe echoing off stone. Whispers and murmurs erupted around him, and Bran turned, following their eager gazes between the rows of apple trees to where Makenna MacGregor approached. Clad in flowing green with small white roses threaded through her unbound hair, she was comely indeed.

Nonetheless, dizziness assailed Bran. God’s bloody rood, if only there were a way out of this.

Makenna’s expression was pinched. The lass walked slowly, her arm linked around her father’s, and the smug look on the clan-chief’s face made Bran’s temper quicken. Of course, the man was pleased with himself. He’d now secured his much-coveted alliance between their clans.

Makenna’s mother and sisters trailed behind her. All the women were attractive and dressed in their finest surcotes—but despite her furrowed brow, his bride outshone each one.

Aye, as much as he hated to admit it to himself—and by God, he did—Makenna was mesmerizing. The woman was a shrew and had no business wielding a blade or challenging men to fights, but there was no denying she had the body of a temptress, milky skin, a large sensual mouth, and green eyes a man could drown in.

Catching himself, Bran clenched his jaw hard.

The crowd parted to let the bride and clan-chief through. Rae Maclean and Alec Rankin were among the party. Both wore wide smiles, and heat washed over Bran. Captain Walker was there too, as well as a few members of the Guard. Even Tadhg had made it out of the infirmary, leaning heavily on a stick as he took his place amongst the Mackinnon warriors who’d also gathered here. Everyone looked in high spirits, except the bride and groom.

“Go well, Makenna!” Walker called out. “I hope Mackinnon knows how lucky he is!”

The warriors flanking their captain shouted their agreement, and Makenna’s cheeks turned pink. All the same, she favored Walker with a smile—her eyes softening with affection.

No one called out well-wishes to Bran though. No kin stood amongst the crowd, wishing him well. His parents were dead, his sister was as good as, and the only blood relative he had was a grasping cousin on Mull; a man he didn’t trust in the slightest.

Aye, he was truly alone.

He was dwelling on the fact that his family’s bloodline was close to ending, and trying to ignore the hollowness in his gut, when Makenna stepped up to his side. Meanwhile, the MacGregor shifted back, taking his place to the right, alongside his teary-eyed wife.

Bran forced himself to look at his bride, and she met his gaze with her usual directness. Nonetheless, he marked the pallidity of her face and the nerve that ticked under one eye. The lass looked as if she wanted to bolt.

That made two of them.

Father Malcolm cleared his throat then and moved so he stood between Bran and Makenna. “Shall we begin?”

The ceremony passed in a blur. There was the binding of their hands, with a length of MacGregor clan plaid, and then the priest droned on. After that, he got them to recite their vows. However, all the while, Bran felt as if he was merely going through the motions, as if this wasn’t really happening to him.

He’d known this day would come, and that his choice of bride was his father’s, not his, but the reality of it hit hard.

Finally, the ordeal ended with Father Malcolm declaring them husband and wife. And then someone in the crowd shouted. “Kiss her, man!”

Alec Rankin—the dog’s arse.

Bran’s first instinct was to bestow Makenna with a hasty peck on the cheek.

But then something shifted within him.

Until now, she’d had the advantage in every interaction, while he’d been constantly on the back foot. This was his chance to turn the tables—and to get a little revenge. If the crowd wanted a show, he’d give them one.

Makenna stood there, jaw set as she braced herself.

Pulse quickening, he stepped in close to his wife. He then reached up with both hands, gently weaving his fingers through her thick hair, careful not to dislodge or prick himself on any of the roses. The heady scent of the white buds wrapped itself around him then. She smelled enticing.

Keeping his focus though, he drew her head back so that her face tilted up to his.

The look in her eyes was quizzical and vaguely alarmed. She was wondering what he was up to. Good. Let her worry.

He lowered his head then, his mouth slanting over hers in a lusty kiss. The crowd roared as he cupped the back of her head, holding her in place, and plundered her mouth.

Lord, she was sweet, like blossom honey. Vengeance tasted better than he’d expected, and he drank her in. He kissed her boldly, his tongue stroking hers. And all the while, the wedding guests clapped and whistled.