Page 31 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Warmth flushed over her. “Well … neither have I.”
He pulled another face. “That’s expected, Makenna … ye are a woman.”
She studied him, noting the faint flush that rose upon his high cheekbones. And in that moment, compassion stirred in her breast. It took courage to admit he was a virgin, and she found herself admiring him for it.
“It’s not an affliction, Bran,” she replied gently, surprising herself by using his first name. “Although, by the way ye kiss, I’d never have known.”
He harrumphed, his blush deepening. “Aye, I’ve never had a lass,” he muttered. “But I’m not a bloody priest.”
Makenna couldn’t help it; she giggled. “And so, how is it … that a braw man of three and twenty has never tumbled anyone?”
Hecut his glance away and took another, large, gulp of wine. “I never intended it to be that way.” He paused then, clearly rallying himself. “When I was sixteen, my father took me to Tobermory one eve and dumped me in a brothel … telling me that it was time to ‘wet my prick’.”
Makenna didn’t wince at the coarse language. She’d heard far worse amongst the Guard. “But ye didn’t?”
“I had my coin purse on me, and I paid the lass well for her silence.”
She inclined her head, intrigued by his response. “Ye weren’t tempted then?”
His brows drew together. “Of course, I was … I was sixteen and randy.”
“So why didn’t ye tumble her?”
He swallowed before lifting the cup to his lips and draining it. A long pause followed as if he was steeling himself to continue. “Because my father ordered me to … and I’d be damned if I’d let the bastard controleveryaspect of my life.”
Makenna took these words in, weighing them. There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice. “Ye didn’t like him much then?” she asked, softening her tone once more.
He snorted. “No … but Imindedhim for the most part.” Leaning forward then, he stretched out a hand, and the thin silver scar she’d marked a couple of days earlier gleamed in the firelight. “This was from when I told him he should put his lust for revenge against the Macleans aside.”
She studied the scar, surprise arrowing through her. “Hestabbedye?”
“Aye, he slammed his eating knife through my hand … pinning it to the table … and asked me if I had any other opinions.”
Silence fell, the air turning weighty between them, before Makenna pursed her lips. “I take it, ye didn’t?”
Her husband withdrew then, leaning back in his chair. His expression veiled now. “No.”
She took another sip of wine, considering what she’d just learned. He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier about the lack of warmth in his family. His father had been a bully. Growing up under such tyranny would have been awful.
Moments slid by, and she considered whether to tell him that she’d befriended his sister during her time at Dounarwyse the year before, to reveal that Tara deeply regretted their estrangement. Something checked her. Tonight was difficult enough without her bringing Tara up. Instinct told her that he wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Thank ye for telling me that,” she said after a long pause. “I feel as if I understand ye a little better now.”
He pulled a face at that. “We have barely scratched the surface with each other, Makenna.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. He was right. A couple of confidences didn’t make them friends. Hades, it was awkward now. She wasn’t sure what to say. After a few moments, she cleared her throat. “It’s been difficult for ye … since ye stepped into yer father’s boots … hasn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought he’d tell her to mind her own business. But then he huffed a sigh. “At times.”
Silence fell, and she refrained from filling it. She wouldn’t pepper the man with questions. If he wanted to tell her more, he would.
His gaze dropped to his cup, and he swirled the wine within, a rueful look flickering over his features. “Sometimes, I think my people would have preferred I’d defied Loch Maclean.”
“But he’d have killed ye for it.”
“Aye … but then they could say I’d died defending the Mackinnon honor.”
Makenna couldn’t help it; she snorted.