Page 45 of The Chief's Wild Promise

The chieftain’s bearded jaw tightened a fraction. “Ian Campbell will thank me for dealing to ye.”

Makenna stilled at these words—an admission that the Campbell clan-chief hadn’t sanctioned this abduction.

Her father spat on the ground. “I shall have my reckoning against ye … mark my words.”

Campbell merely exchanged a look with his son before smirking.

Makenna’s chest tightened. She shared her father’s rage. Nonetheless, the glint in the Campbell chieftain’s eyes was a warning. There was something in his manner that reminded her of Tormod. Her father was as strong as an ox, and a formidable warrior, but at his core, he was decent and capable of mercy. But Campbell and MacDougall were cut from a different cloth.

Fighting dread, she glanced over to where Tormod sat whittling a piece of wood by the fire.

The bastard was watching her.

She couldn’t help it; she shuddered under the weight of his stare.

And seeing her reaction, he flashed her a wolfish smile.

Dusk slid into night. The Campbells gathered around the fireside, drinking and congratulating each other, while their beastly hounds lounged at their sides, eyes glowing in the firelight.

Leaning against a cold slab of rock, Makenna wriggled, trying to ease the chafing of the rope upon her wrists.

“They know how to tie knots, it seems,” Bran murmured. He was seated next to her, so close their shoulders brushed. His nearness was reassuring. All the same, she wished she were sitting next to her father, and that she could speak to him. Unfortunately, he sat nearer the fire, under the eye of Campbell. The last thing the chieftain wanted was his prize escaping.

“I know,” she grunted. “I can’t budge them.”

Silence fell then before Bran nudged her with his elbow. “That man with the pale hair has been staring at ye all evening. It’s as if he knows ye.”

Makenna’s pulse quickened. “He does.”

“Tormod MacDougall.” Rae’s voice intruded then. Makenna had forgotten he was seated next to Bran. “Kylie stabbed him in the cods around three months ago … but the rat-faced bastard didn’t bleed out as we hoped.”

“No,” Makenna whispered, deliberately not glancing Tormod’s way. He was looking at her again; she could feel the probing weight of his stare. “Last year … at Dounarwyse … he tried to rape me.”

Bran made a soft hissing sound.

“I fought him off,” she continued, “and Rae flogged him the following morning before banishing him from his lands.” She halted there, her throat constricting. Although she hadn’t admitted it to anyone, that attack had shaken her more than she cared to admit. It had been a chink in her armor—a reminder that she had vulnerabilities, after all. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t been herself ever since.

“But he found allies amongst the Ghost Raiders,” Rae continued the tale after a lengthy pause. “Thanks to him, they discovered a way into my broch.”

“Looks as if he’s got new friends,” Bran replied. His voice now held a rough edge.

Rae gave a soft snort. “Aye, unfortunately.”

Silence fell between them then. Exhausted, Makenna leaned her head back against the damp rock and closed her eyes. Even so, her stomach was in knots, and she’d broken out in a cold sweat. “He wantsme,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “He told me we’d see each other again … and he’s made good on his threat.”

“I remember his words,” Rae answered gruffly, while Bran remained silent. “But he wants his revenge against me as well, lass. He’ll be congratulating himself on bringing down two birds with one stone.”

Bran’s brow furrowed as he observed his wife. Makenna had been dumped a few yards away, and sat head hanging, shoulders slumped. When he’d caught a glimpse of her face earlier, he’d marked her strained features and shadowed gaze. It was unlike her to look so defeated, and something deep in his chest tightened.

He couldn’t help it. He worried about her.

The Campbells had set off at dawn, traveling swiftly. They were now watering their horses and resting for a short while on the northern shore of Loch Tay. The sun warmed Bran’s face and sparkled off the water of the loch. The day was the bonniest of the year so far, but he was hardly in the mood to appreciate it.

Instead, he couldn’t take his eyes off Makenna.

Ye don’t have to scratch far beneath the surface to discover that much of my confidence is bluster.

There was far more to his bride than met the eye. Beneath her arrogance, she was sensitive and caring. She could handle herself as well as him in a fight, yet she was vulnerable now. They all were.