Page 41 of The Chief's Wild Promise
And in the aftermath, shame washed over her.
Bran urged his cob into a canter, following the men through a steep-sided valley. The hounds were on the scent, racing after a large roe stag that bounded ahead of them.
Noon was approaching, and it was the second hunt of the day. Earlier, two roe deer hinds had fled across their path. The dogs had gone after them, using their speed and keen eyesight to track the hinds through the trees.
The riders followed, catching up with the deerhounds just as they ran both deer down. The carcasses were now slung over the backs of the garrons they’d brought with them.
This coursing came as a welcome distraction for Bran. The stag was young and would take a while to tire; this would be a grueling hunt. Just as well, for he needed to settle his temper.
The morning had started so well. The beginning of their ride south had been enjoyable too, for things had been easy between him and Makenna.For a short while, he’d dared believe his ill luck had come to an end—that for once, things might work out for him.
But he’d marked Makenna’s shift in mood when she’d spoken of her love for Meggernie. She hadn’t seemed that impressed by his description of Dùn Ara either.
Yet when she’d brought up Tara, she crossed the line.
He wouldn’t have her telling him how to conduct himself with his sister. Makenna had grown up in a secure and happy home. She had no idea what it was like to be betrayed by kin so deeply.
All the same, a hollow sensation had settled in Bran’s chest in the aftermath. Last night had been like stepping into someone else's life. For the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt alone. Instead, he’d lost himself with a beautiful woman—and had foolishly believed it was a turning point for him. Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be the awful burden he’d feared.
But the reality was that he’d wedded a strong-willed woman. This wasn’t the first time Makenna had challenged him—and it wouldn’t be the last either.
Up ahead, the MacGregor whooped. “We’re gaining on him!”
The warriors following shouted, bloodlust igniting in their veins. The going was rough here, for the valley floor was knotted with tree roots, yet their surefooted coursers leaped burns and wove in and out of trees with ease.
In the distance, Bran caught a flash of tawny brown. The stag was tiring. Soon, it would stop, turn, and face its pursuers. At that point, they’d bring it down.
As he rode, Bran was aware of Makenna following just behind him.Now and again, he’d catch a flash of green, for she wore a pine-colored leather vest over a kirtle of the same color and woolen leggings underneath. Crouched over her horse’s withers, she rode confidently, her gaze trained on the hunt.
She was magnificent, although part of him didn’t want her here. His father had always insisted that a woman’s place was by the hearth, taking care of bairns and managing a household. Not riding like a man on a hunt. It wasn’t seemly, buthisreaction went deeper than that. He was protective of her. Worried that she might take a fall.
Vexed that he’d be concerned about such things—for Makenna was far more capable and tougher than most men—Bran focused once more on the stag.
They’d just ridden into a narrow glade alongside a meandering burn. And here, the exhausted beast made its stand. Sides heaving, it stopped, turned, and lowered its antlers, ready to fight.
The hunters drew up their horses, while MacGregor whistled to his hounds, commanding them to circle the stag rather than attack.
Pulling up his own horse, Bran’s gaze settled on their quarry. The stag was beautiful, with a sleek brown coat, dark eyes, and massive antlers. His chest constricted then, the excitement of the hunt fading. He never relished this part of it. The stag was valiant yet outnumbered. It wasn’t a fair fight—but then, there was little that was fair about life. He’d learned that early.
“Go on, Mackinnon,” MacGregor boomed, drawing his attention. The clan-chief’s face was red with exertion, his eyes bright, his grin wide. “Bring it down.”
The tightness in Bran’s chest increased. Of course, his father-by-marriage was doing him an honor. He could have asked any of the men present to kill the stag or have claimed the right himself. But he wanted his new son-by-marriage to do it.
Bran couldn’t disappoint him.
Setting his jaw, he nodded and unslung the longbow from his back. A moment later, he plucked an arrow from the quiver. Shifting in the saddle, he turned his torso, raised his bow, drew back the bowstring, and sighted his target. He was positioned to the right of the stag and had a clear view of its head and neck. It would be a clean kill. The beast wouldn’t suffer.
And so, he loosed the arrow.
18: YE CANNOT CLIP MY WINGS
MAKENNA KEPT STEALING glances at her husband as they turned and made for home.
The rest of their party were in high spirits.
Alec and Rae were firm friends, it seemed. The two of them conversed at length as they rode side-by-side up ahead. Her father led the way, riding alongside Captain Walker now. Although she couldn’t hear them clearly, she knew they’d be talking about the hunt—about the things that had gone well, and what they could have done better—as they always did after a day of coursing.
But Bran had been silent ever since bringing the stag down.