Page 48 of The Chief's Wild Promise
The chieftain inclined his head. “It’s a coincidence, is it not, that just a month before I abduct the MacGregor clan-chief and his newly wedded daughter, ye turn up at my door, offering me yer fealty?”
“It is,” Tormod replied. He didn’t like the way Campbell was looking at him now. “But let me assure ye that wasn’t in my mind when I swore to serve ye.”
A lie, but a smooth one.
“Ye have impressed me so far, Tormod,” Campbell replied before lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “But ye ask much … ye haven’t been at Finlarig long.”
“My place is here, Dunc,” Tormod answered, realizing as he spoke that he meant it. He had nowhere else to go. His uncle at Coeffin Castle had taken him in when he’d arrived, injured, onThe Night Plunderer, but as soon as he was well enough, he’d told him to leave. And of course, the pirate ship had long set sail. Those men he’d rallied to fight with the Ghost Raiders had no loyalty to him any longer, and they’d sailed away on the pirate cog shortly after dropping him off.
Tormod could have a good life at Finlarig Castle. And with Makenna as his, he’d have no reason to leave. All he needed was Campbell to give him his due. After everything he’d been through, he deserved her. He’d been foiled at Dounarwyse, but he wouldn’t let it happen again.
“She’s wedded now, of course,” Campbell pointed out then, his eyes glinting.
“Surely, ye won’t let Mackinnon live?” Tormod shot back.
The chieftain’s gaze narrowed. “I haven’t decided what do to with him yet.”
“He’s merely a complication ye don’t need. What if he was to have an ‘accident’?”
Campbell smirked at this, although his gaze remained sharp. “Aye … he might well have one … especially if MacGregor proves uncooperative.”
Tormod glanced across the hall then, at the pit. The prisoners had been silent all evening, and they were too far away to overhear the conversation at the chieftain’s table. Nonetheless, Tormod’s belly clenched whenever he thought of Bran Mackinnon. He’d wanted to be the one to bed Makenna for the first time, yet the red-haired whoreson had stolen his prize. He’d wanted to cut his throat after they’d attacked the MacGregors, but Duncan had instructed that the members of the wedding party were to be taken alive, if possible. Nonetheless, Mackinnonwoulddie, whether by accident or otherwise. Tormod would see to it.
Silence fell between them then, and impatience simmered inside him once more. He should have known Campbell wouldn’t give this to him easily. He’d have to work for it. He decided it was time to make his wishes clear.
“Makenna is mine,” he admitted finally. “She just doesn’t know it yet.” Heat ignited in his veins at the thought of having her spitting and scratching in his bed, of all the things he’d do to her once his manhood recovered.
He paused then, wondering what was going through Campbell’s thought cage now. Of course, the man was onto his third wife. Janet was sweet and meek, nothing like Makenna. Indeed, the chieftain gave a rueful shake of his head. “A lass like that is more trouble than she’s worth.”
“For some men, maybe,” Tormod answered. “But not to me.”
Another hush followed, broken only by the laughter of Robbie and the warriors, who’d just finished their game of knucklebones and were starting on a new one.
Campbell didn’t speak. Instead, he continued to drink his ale, his gaze shifting to the iron grate over the pit. Suddenly, it seemed he was leagues distant.
Annoyed, Tormod eventually cleared his throat. “May I have her, Dunc?” God, it stung to ask for something that already belonged to him. However, he forced himself.
Campbell blinked, glancing his way. “Maybe … let me think on it.”
Tormod’s gut clenched. He was nearly there, yet the chieftain was deliberately holding his prize just out of reach.How dare he?
Watching him closely now, Campbell inclined his head. “What was the second favor ye wished to ask?”
Drawing in a deep breath and attempting to smother the pulsing ember in his belly, Tormod pulled himself together.Patience. Ye shall have her soon enough. “Rae Maclean,” he said, a rasp to his voice now. “I want him too.”
Campbell flashed him a grin. “It’s likethat, is it?”
Tormod snorted. “Trust me, I have ‘special’ plans for the chieftain of Dounarwyse.”
21: REGRETS
IT WAS DARK and fetid inside the pit—and cramped, with six men sitting in it.
Leaning up against the rough earthen wall, Bran listened to the muffled sound of voices in the hall beyond. There had been much noise earlier, boasting and numerous toasts to their ‘victory’.
His temper had simmered with each one. Around him, his companions had fallen silent, each man lost in his own thoughts.
“How long do ye think they’ll keep us in here?” One of the MacGregor warriors, Mungo, asked eventually. His voice was low, rough. The note of resignation in it worried Bran.