Page 4 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Bran was three and twenty. He’d fought in battles and ruled northern Mull ever since his father’s death. He was a clan-chief too, of the same rank as MacGregor—and he’d had the integrity to make good on his father’s promise. It was bad enough that he’d started to doubt himself as he approached Meggernie; he didn’t appreciate being talked down to by this paunchy laird.
It was time he made things clear.
“That must be why yer daughter and herrabblespied us so easily,” he replied, his tone wintry. “Right before they attacked us.”
That wiped the broad smile off MacGregor’s face.
A few yards away, Makenna shifted her weight from one foot to the other, even as her chin rose. She was readying herself for a storm, and Bran hoped it would be a vicious one.
Bruce MacGregor studied Bran for a long moment, his green eyes—the same mossy shade as his daughter’s—hardening.Then he shifted his attention to his daughter. “What’s this, Makenna?” His voice was still jovial, yet there was an edge to it now.
She cleared her throat. “We thought they were Campbells.”
“We were riding through the woods, upon the road that heads straight for Meggernie,” Bran replied. “Our weapons were sheathed, and we were minding our own business.”
“None of us saw their clan sashes!” Makenna gasped out the words. The lass wasn’t so sure of herself now. She’d been defiant with Bran but was less so with her father. A nerve flickered in her cheek, and he was pleased to see that a faint sheen of sweat shone on her brow. “We were on our way back from Fortingall. The Campbells of Breadalbane raided the village yesterday.” Her voice faltered then, yet she pushed on. “They killed most of the men and took the women and bairns.” She cut Bran a glare. “We thought more of them were scouting around Meggernie.”
“Whoresons!” the MacGregor clan-chief growled. “Howdarethey?”
A strained silence fell in the bailey. Bran’s gaze flicked between father and daughter. Of course, he knew of the feuding between the MacGregors and the Campbells—everyone in the Highlands did—but Makenna hadn’t told him that one of their villages had just been attacked.
He’d had no idea the feuding between the clans had gotten this bad. It was no wonder the MacGregor wished to strengthen his relationship with the Mackinnons of Dùn Ara, and requested Bran bring a company of his finest warriors with him to Perthshire, half of whom would remain at Meggernie.
He needed allies to push back against the Campbells.
“Yer neighbors grow bold,” he noted, shattering the tension.
“Aye,” MacGregor said roughly. “Duncan Campbell accused us of stealing his cattle a few years back. The shitweasel has harried us ever since.”
Bran raised an eyebrow. “Anddidye steal Campbell’s cattle?”
MacGregor scowled. “Maybe one or two … but Black Duncan uses that as an excuse … what he really wants is to drive us out of this glen and take Meggernie for his own.”
Bran considered the clan-chief’s words. He’d never met ‘Black’ Duncan Campbell but had heard how ruthless and shrewd the chieftain was. He wasn’t keen to become embroiled in this feud either. He had his own defenses to worry about, his own problems. Ever since becoming clan-chief, he’d struggled to win his people’s respect. To many of them, he was the whelp who surrendered to the Macleans—and they couldn’t forgive him for that. In return, he resented them for making him their scapegoat. They forgot he was a man of flesh and blood, and one who’d worked hard to do right by them.
The MacGregor clan-chief roused himself then, tearing his focus from the hated Campbells. “Apologies, Mackinnon,” he muttered. “My daughter acted hastily.” He cast Makenna a glare that could have soured milk before his attention shifted to the men who filled the bailey behind Bran. “I trust no one was hurt?”
“Some of my men will need to be stitched up … and one of them has a deep wound on his flank,” Bran replied, gesturing to where Tadhg hadn’t yet dismounted from his horse. The man’s face was now worryingly ashen.
Makenna cleared her throat. “A number of our warriors have injuries that require looking at as well,” she informed her father huskily.
The clan chief’s strong jaw bunched. He then glanced over his shoulder at a balding warrior with piercing blue eyes, wearing a quilted gambeson and leather braies, who stood to his right. “Walker … tell the healer to ready the infirmary.”
The man nodded before moving away.
MacGregor then focused on Bran once more. “Ye have received a poor welcome … but we shall remedy things. Leave yer horses with my men and join me shortly in the great hall.” He halted then, his attention flicking to where Makenna stood, unspeaking. The woman still held herself as proudly as before, yet her expression had shadowed. “Makenna … I shall speak to ye upstairs … alone.”
Anger now smoldered in the clan-chief’s eyes, and vindication ignited in Bran’s belly.
Good.
3: MACGREGOR’S DAUGHTERS
“WHAT THE DEVIL did ye think ye were doing?” The MacGregor’s voice boomed through the solar high in Meggernie’s tower house. “I sent ye out on patrol … not to make an attempt on Bran Mackinnon’s life.”
Makenna swallowed. “Da, I—” she began, but her father cut her off.
“Was it deliberate, lass?”