Page 42 of The Chief's Wild Promise
His aim had been impressive. A single arrow into the soft spot above the eye. The shaft had driven into the stag’s brain and killed it instantly.
Cheers had filled the glade afterward, although Makenna had marked that her husband didn’t share in the revelry. The man barely raised a smile. Was he still vexed with her for asking him about his sister?
The stag now hung across the back of the sturdiest of the garrons they’d brought with them. Meggernie would have plenty of venison to feast upon in the coming days.
“Ye wield a longbow well,” she said finally, breaking the weighty silence between them.
His attention swung her way, although his expression and gaze were both veiled. “Aye,” he replied without a trace of arrogance. “It’s always been my weapon of choice.”
“Did yer father teach ye?”
“No, a man named Fergus … who once captained the Dùn Ara Guard. He fell at Dounarwyse.” His gaze shadowed at this admission.
“He was a friend then?”
Bran shifted his gaze away, focusing ahead. “Aye … he had the patience for teaching that my father always lacked.”
Makenna gave a soft snort. “My father is the same … after our first swordplay lesson, he threw up his hands and refused to teach me again.” She paused then, her gaze flicking to where the Captain of the Meggernie Guard had just snorted at something her father had said. “Fortunately, Walker has infinite patience. I’ve certainly tried his over the years.”
She’d deliberately made a self-deprecating comment, in the hope of lightening the mood between them, of seeing that beautiful mouth quirk into a smile. However, Bran’s expression didn’t change. In truth, she was now truly sorry about baiting him earlier in the day.
She’d wanted to challenge him, but it hadn’t tasted as sweet as she’d expected. And now, she found herself wishing things were easy between them again.
“Is the hunting good on Mull?” she asked finally, when it became clear he wasn’t going to respond to her comment. “I didn’t go out coursing at Moy or Dounarwyse while I was there last year.”
“Aye … there are plenty of deer and even a few boar in the woodlands.”
“And are the woods like these?” She wanted to keep him talking, to thaw the ice between them.
“Similar … oak and ash mainly. Many ancient oaks grow along the coast, although the wind blows them into twisted shapes.”
Her mouth curved. “I remember seeing those … near Moy Castle.” She paused then, awkward. She wasn’t used to feeling on the back foot. “I look forward to us exploring the isle on horseback and hunting together.”
He didn’t answer immediately, and when she looked his way once more, she marked the groove that had etched between his eyebrows. “Things will be different when we return to Mull. Ye won’t be serving in the Dùn Ara Guard … and I don’t want ye training with them either. Nor will ye carry weapons like a man.” He paused then, his gaze shadowing. “I don’t wish for ye to come to any harm.”
Makenna snorted, even as her heart kicked against her ribs. “I’m not made of eggshell. I’ve already bestedyetwice.”
Irritation flared in his eyes. “No … but a husband must protect his wife,” he answered firmly. “It will be for yer own good.”
“This is who I am,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even. He might think such a declaration was protective, that he was doing her a favor. Instead, it was smothering, and she wouldn’t stand for it. “I will bear ye bairns, sew and weave, and manage yer castle as chatelaine … but ye cannot clip my wings, Bran. I won’t let ye.”
His face flushed then, and their gazes locked in silent combat. Eventually, her husband growled his answer, “Ye are my wife, Makenna … ye will do as ye are told.”
Fire ignited in her belly. “Then ye will have to lock me up,” she ground out. “Ye won’t rob me of my dirk and sword … or forbid me from riding and hunting … without a fight.”
An answering heat flared in his smoky eyes. “Yer father has indulged ye … as has Captain Walker … but I’ll not let ye make me the laughingstock of Mull.”
“I thought ye wanted toprotectme?” she countered, her gaze narrowing. “But it sounds that ye are more concerned about how other people see ye.”
Her voice was rising now, causing the men riding ahead of her to glance over their shoulders in surprise. Makenna ignored them.
Meanwhile, her husband’s expression turned stony.
They stared at each other, anger crackling like a summer storm between them. Neither of them was willing to give ground.
Disappointment tightened Makenna’s chest. The night before, she’d been delighted to discover her husband was far more sensitive and deep-thinking than she’d anticipated. But this morning, he’d revealed yet another side to him—one she liked far less.
If he got his way, she foresaw a miserable life awaiting her on the Isle of Mull.