Page 51 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Musicians appeared then, upon the stone gallery above the hall. Two harpists who struck up a courtly tune. The supper began. Serving lads circled the floor, refilling cups with ale and wine. The mood was convivial, as if they were celebrating Yuletide.
Makenna tried to eat, picking up morsels with her fingers, but every mouthful of pork stuck in her throat. What she wanted to do was rail at them, to smash things. But she restrained herself. Losing control wouldn’t help anyone.
Bide yer time.
She drank sparingly, for she wished for her instincts to remain blade-sharp. She couldn’t make her move now, but her mind had been scrabbling since the moment she entered the hall—and a plan of sorts was now forming.
A few yards away, seated at the end of one of the long trestle tables, Tormod ate from his trencher, his pale gaze never leaving her.Makenna did her best to ignore him, even as her skin prickled and her pulse started to race. The man had the gaze of a serpent. Aye, he still terrified her, but she’d had time to rally, to raise her shields. He was the least of her problems right now though.
The feasting and drinking went on for a long while, and during that time, Campbell didn’t even acknowledge his hostages. Instead, he spoke at length with his son while occasionally speaking to his young wife. Janet was slender and pretty with large—vacuous—blue eyes. The woman seemed oblivious to Makenna and her father’s presence at Finlarig and didn’t look Makenna’s way once. Instead, Lady Campbell spent most of the meal conversing with the laird’s two daughters, who were both barely five years her junior.
Makenna held fast, but underneath it all, dread grew like a stain. It made it difficult to focus.
Black Duncan was waiting.
And he was, for eventually, once servants carried the remnants of the feast away, the chieftain’s female kin—and all the women present save Makenna herself—rose from their seats and left the hall. The warriors who remained behind pushed back the tables, leaving a clear space between the pit and the chieftain’s table.
Makenna’s heart started to drum against her ribs, and her palms grew damp.
Here, it begins.
22: BUT A SMALL FAVOR
CAMPBELL TURNED TO his son. “The parchment, Robbie … put it before Bruce MacGregor if ye please.”
Smirking, Robbie withdrew a scroll from the breast of his gambeson and rose from his seat. He then moved around to the front of the table and, with a flourish, unrolled the parchment. However, before placing it in front of their captive, he glanced his father’s way. “Shall I read it, for everyone’s benefit?”
Makenna clenched her jaw. How she wanted to smash her fist into his sneering mouth.
“Very well.” Duncan leaned an elbow on the table and reached for the jug of wine. “Indulge us.”
Robbie cleared his throat and held the parchment up. “I, Bruce Nairn MacGregor of Meggernie, hereby give over rule of Meggernie Castle and all its lands to Duncan Fife MacGregor of Breadalbane. From this day forth, I abdicate all ownership of said lands and swear I shall depart from Perthshire forthwith, never to return.”The laird’s son paused them, his smirk returning as his dark eyes glinted. “And following the tragic death of Bran Kendric Mackinnon of Dùn Ara, I give my blessing to a union between my youngest daughter, Makenna, and Robert Duncan Campbell of Breadalbane.”
Silence followed his words.
Panic gripped Makenna by the throat. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
In just a few lines, they’d robbed her father of his lands, slain her husband, and given her to the enemy. Her ears started to ring like a kirk bell, and she closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to hold on to her composure.
Meanwhile, murmurs of approval whispered through the hall. The Campbell retainers clearly thought their laird clever. And when she opened her eyes once more, she noted that some of them were elbowing each other and grinning.
But Tormod didn’t share their jubilant mood. He sat there, frozen in his seat, his face as white as milk.
Makenna had no time to dwell on his odd reaction, for her attention shifted back to Robbie. The young man’s expression was smug now. Bile stung the back of her throat as she watched him place the parchment before her father.
They were both caught in Black Duncan’s snare, victims of his lust for power. Of course, she was no stranger to the ‘games’ between clans. Her father had promised her to a man she’d never met. She’d resented that, but the agreement Campbell wanted the MacGregor to sign went far beyond anything her father would have done.
Her belly clenched then.They’re going to kill Bran.
Silently, her father gazed down at it, reading every word written there. It was as if he hadn’t believed his ears and had to read it for himself.
Eventually, his gaze lifted, shifting to Black Duncan. “I’ll not sign this.”
The chieftain quirked a dark eyebrow. “Oh, ye shall.”
“No.” The MacGregor picked up the agreement. He then ripped it to shreds, pieces of parchment fluttering like rose petals over the table. “The devil roast ye alive, Campbell.” He bit the words out. “I. Won’t. Sign. It.”
A hush fell in the hall. The chieftain’s men weren’t smirking now. Instead, they watched the scene at the table intently, as if they were anticipating something.