Page 43 of The Chief's Wild Promise

“Ye named yer father a tyrant,” she said finally, even as her pulse thumped in her ears. “Yet it appears to me that ye wish to emulate him.”

Bran flinched as if she had just struck him across the face. “I’m only trying to be a proper husband.” He bit out the words. “And take care of my wife.”

“No, that’s just a ruse! Ye wish to dominate me, I see it now.”

“Ye seenothing. Don’t act as if ye know me. Ye don’t.”

The baying of hounds cut through the woods then, severing their argument.

Makenna stiffened, her gaze sweeping the tangle of hawthorn at the path’s edge. The noise wasn’t coming from their dogs, for the six deerhounds they’d brought with them trotted alongside the horses, exhausted after a day’s coursing.

“To arms!” Her father roared then from ahead, his voice slicing through the warm afternoon air. He yanked his dirk free of its scabbard. All those following him did likewise, including Alec and Rae.

Cursing, Makenna did the same.

She glanced to her right then, to see that Bran had unslung his longbow and already notched an arrow.

Huge muscular dogs burst from the trees, followed by a stream of men on horseback.

The twang of Bran’s bowstring followed as he loosed his first arrow. It struck one of the riders leading the group of attackers in the chest, knocking him off his horse. An instant later, Bran had notched another shaft. He let that one fly too, and it hit a second warrior in the throat.

And then the warriors were upon them.

Things moved swiftly. So fast that Makenna had no time to take a good look at their attackers. Most of them were big men clad in leather and woolen cloaks. And the expression on their faces was savage.

Their dogs were beasts. Their jaws were huge and slavering, their dark gazes feral. Bloodhounds, yet bigger than any she’d ever seen.

The hounds reached them first. Some savaged the deerhounds while others leaped at the horses. Curses and grunts followed as the warriors fought them off. The riders came after their dogs moments later, dirks slashing.

Makenna twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade. Heart pounding, she slid down from her horse and drew Arsebiter, ducking as another dirk slashed at her.

An agonized grunt followed, and the warrior who’d just tried to stab her toppled off his horse, grasping a feather-fletched arrow buried deep in his neck.

Bran had just brought him down. Like Makenna, he’d dismounted. All of them had. It was easier to fight on foot.

Their assailants swarmed around them now. Campbells.

The bastards.

Makenna leaped forward, engaging one of their attackers, who’d just leaped from his mount and lunged for her. The ring of clashing steel echoed through the woods, and suddenly she was fighting for her life. There was no time to look at her father, or even glance Bran’s way. One moment of distraction and it would be over.

Meanwhile, those massive hounds were wreaking havoc. They’d bested their deerhounds and were now swarming around the fighting warriors, jaws snapping.

Makenna looked frantically around her. They were surrounded. Outnumbered.

Two of their warriors fell close by—Tyree and Brec, men she’d grown up with—the wet sound of their final breaths cutting through the woodland air. With a roar, she launched herself at their killers, her blade flashing bright in the afternoon light. But it wasn’t enough. There were men all around her, hemming her in. Their gazes gleamed, and they grinned toothily. The whoresons had them—and they knew it.

Panting, Makenna found herself fighting back-to-back with Bran. He’d cast aside his longbow to use a dirk at close quarters.

And then, amongst the press of large leather-clad bodies, she caught a glimpse of a man with white-blond hair. He’d just stuck his dirk through the throat of a warrior and kicked him to the ground. The pale-haired warrior fought with a skill she knew intimately, for she’d trained at swordplay with him many a time. Trained, and lost every fight against him.

A chill washed over her, dousing the fire of battle in her veins. She’d only ever met one man she truly feared, but believed she’d never set eyes on him again.

No … it can’t be.

19: TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE

THEY WON’T GET away with this. The Meggernie Guard will come after them.