Page 53 of The Chief's Wild Promise

And yet, if her father signed that contract, he’d lose everything.They’dlose everything.

Walker knew it and so did her father—as did she.

Makenna cut her gaze to the MacGregor. The grief in his eyes was raw, and yet he held his tongue. And after a long pause, he jerkily shook his head.

Black Duncan’s mouth pursed, irritation sparking in those deep-set eyes. “Ye are going to be difficult, are ye?”

MacGregor remained stubbornly silent.

The chieftain huffed a sigh before glancing across at his warriors. “Kill Walker.”

“No!” Makenna shouted, struggling against her captors’ iron grip. “Leave him be. Leave him—”

But no one heeded her.

A scream began in Makenna’s head as one of the warriors hefted the polearm high.The noise grew shrill—a terrible song—cutting off as the weapon slashed down, the ax cleaving into the back of Walker’s neck. It was a vicious blow—mercifully so—although it took another strike to take his head clean off.

The warriors holding him let go of his body, and it fell, twitching, into the pit.

Makenna’s agonized cry echoed through the hall. She’d never made a sound like it before—a keening. And as she slumped against the table, held in place by her captors, something fractured deep inside her.

Vision blurred by tears, she forced herself to look her father’s way. His eyes glittered.

Meanwhile, Black Duncan dipped a quill into his ink pot and bent over the unfurled sheet of parchment. The scratching sound of his writing filled the now-silent hall.

No one interrupted him.

Eventually, the chieftain finished writing. He then took a pinch of pounce and sprinkled the fine powder over the fresh ink, ensuring that it dried quickly and wouldn’t smear. Afterward, he raised his chin, his gaze fixing on Makenna’s father once more. “I’ll not hand this over … just yet … for I have no wish to waste expensive parchment,” he drawled. “I shall wait until ye give me therightanswer. What will it be, MacGregor? ‘Aye’ or ‘Nae’.”

“Nae,” the clan-chief choked out, the vein in his temple pulsing.

Black Duncan favored him with a thin smile. “Very well … ye wish to play, I see.” He glanced over at his waiting men. “Fetch Bran Mackinnon.”

Warriors pulled Bran out of the pit. Unlike Walker, he didn’t struggle.

“Much meeker now, aren’t ye?” Robbie jeered from where he stood to his father’s right. “Not so full of yerself now ye’ve been pissed on.”

Laughter rumbled through the hall at these words.

The noise pierced the fog of Makenna’s grief. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks now. She’d just witnessed Lloyd beheaded. Nothing else mattered. Her ears were ringing, and her pulse hammered in her ears. But even so, she was aware of the rough hands of the warriors flanking her, digging painfully into the flesh of her upper arms—it was a reminder that this ordeal wasn’t over. Instead, it was just beginning.

Focus!

Walker wouldn’t want her to give up. She had to make his sacrifice count for something. Blinking to clear her vision, she looked over at her husband.

Bran’s expression was veiled as he surveyed Walker’s body in the pit next to him, and the blood that pooled there. His red hair shone brightly in the torchlit hall. His handsome face was remarkably composed. Makenna’s throat tightened. He was strong—far more so than she’d realized.

He glanced in her direction then, and their gazes fused.

His silver eyes weren’t shuttered. No, they burned into her. Full of emotion. Full of things they’d never shared. Suddenly, she was sorry for locking horns with him, for being so proud. She wished she could go back in time, that she could relive their one night together.

I don’t want to lose him too.

The realization slammed into her. She swallowed hard then, her vision blurring again.

“Ah, look at that,” Black Duncan murmured. “Love’s young dream, is it not?”

This snide comment brought more snorts of mirth from the warriors, but Makenna’s attention remained upon her husband.