Page 28 of The Chief's Wild Promise
And when he finally drew back, he was surprised to find his blood pounding in his ears, excitement tight in his belly. For a few instants, he’d forgotten where he was.
Makenna stared up at him, pink flaring across her cheekbones. Her eyes had darkened. She looked furious—and beautiful.
Her rage drew him in, and something deep inside him answered her.
Suddenly, all he wanted was to haul her back into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Reining in the urge, he slid his hands from her thick hair and stepped back, putting much-needed distance between them.
Seated in the great hall, a steaming pigeon pie before her, Makenna tried to concentrate. It was difficult though, for she found herself fantasizing about jamming her elbow into her husband’s ribs.
The bastard had put on that mortifying spectacle outside deliberately.
The challenge in his eyes as he’d pulled back from her had made her blood boil. Especially since her lips still tingled from his kiss. Her mouth tasted of him. Worse still though, hunger had clutched at her lower belly.
Curse him. He’d shocked her … but she’d enjoyed that kiss.
The musician who’d piped her into the chapel earlier had followed them inside the tower house. He now stood by one of the gently smoldering hearths, cheeks puffing as he played a rousing tune for the feasters.
The mood inside the hall was merry. Men, women, and bairns lined the long trestle tables, and the aroma of pastry and rich meat filled the warm, smoky air.Those seated at the clan-chief’s table were all smiles too, especially since her father had opened his oldest barrel of Castilian grape wine for this occasion. Serving lads circled the table, filling up everyone’s goblets.
But two people at this table didn’t share the gaiety.
Despite his ‘performance’ earlier, Mackinnon sat tense and silent at her side. Heedless of his son-by-marriage’s mood, her father now regaled him with tales of his most successful hunting expeditions. Now that the marriage had taken place, he was in high spirits—and well into his cups. She heard him promise Bran then that they’d ride out the following day, to the mountains in southern Breadalbane, where they’d hunt stags in the narrow valleys and dark woods. He didn’t seem to care that Mackinnon said little, although the younger man had the wits to make polite noises at the right times.
Makenna spoke to no one. Liza sat next to her and attempted to draw her into conversation. However, she responded in short sentences, distracted and on edge.
More servant lads appeared then, with wheels of aged cheeses, cured meats, and baskets filled with an array of breads studded with seeds and nuts. However, both she and Mackinnon picked at their meals.
“Bring me my quaich!” her father boomed, gesturing to the lad nearest.
The boy scurried off, returning with a large wooden cup with curved edges and two horn handles. It was her father’s ‘friendship cup’, one he always asked for when he wished to build a bond with his guests.
Makenna’s stomach tightened.
Having seen her father offering his quaich before, she knew what was in store.
The MacGregor poured the quaich nearly to the brim with ale. He then lifted it to his lips and took a sip before handing it to Mackinnon. “Yer turn,” he instructed.
Jaw clenched, the young clan-chief copied MacGregor’s act, taking a small sip of ale while holding the cup by both its handles. The two-handed design of the large cup engendered trust, on the part of both giver and receiver—for a warrior couldn’t draw his dirk while handling it.
“Pass it to Liza now.” Makenna’s father went on. “The lady laird of Moy must take a drink to seal us all in friendship … as must the chieftain of Dounarwyse.”
Leaning down the table, Mackinnon stiffly did as bid. Makenna’s sister sat, regal and serene, at Alec’s side, her eyes glowing as she took a sip. Her father’s gesture meant a lot to her. Drinking from his quaich made it clear he approved of her ruling Moy.
Lastly, Rae lifted the friendship cup and drank. However, his expression was veiled when he handed it back to MacGregor.
Makenna shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat. She wasn’t surprised Rae wasn’t overly impressed. Her father meant well, yet he was trying to force things. The Macleans wouldn’t have forgotten the Battle of Dounarwyse, and that the MacGregors had sided with the Mackinnons against them. Sharing a quaich with his former enemies was all well and good. Nonetheless, if her father truly wanted Rae’s loyalty, he’d have to earn it.
But if MacGregor marked Maclean’s shift in mood, he showed no sign. “Let us drink to a long-lasting friendship between our four houses,” he announced, eyes gleaming. With that, he raised the quaich to his lips and drained the rest of it in one long draft.
13: INEVITABLE
THE FEASTING DRAGGED on. Around Makenna, the revelers grew more raucous. And when trays of honey cakes were brought to the table, and one was placed on a platter between the newlyweds, it was made clear the couple were expected to feed each other one.
Until this point, Makenna had done an admirable job of ignoring her husband. Likewise, he’d been too busy fielding questions from the clan-chief to focus on his bride. Her father had cannily shifted the conversation to matters of trade and Mackinnon answered him in terse, short sentences.
But now a cake sat before them, there was no getting away from interacting with the man she’d just wed.