Page 56 of The Chief's Wild Promise

She had to do something.

“Tormod,” she yelled above the din. “Tormod!”

Aye, she knew the man was obsessed with her. It was a twisted attachment, one that had nothing to do with real love or affection. He wanted to dominate her, to have her as a possession. However, it was the only thing she had over him, and she’d wield it.

Hearing her voice, his chin jerked sideways. “Makenna!” he panted. “Ready to watch Mackinnon die?”

“Stop!” she gasped, feigning panic, as she moved toward them. “Please spare his life.”

Bran made an outraged noise at this, but she ignored him.

“I’ll go with ye now … we can ride from here and never look back … if ye promise to show him mercy.”

Tormod’s pale-blue eyes glinted, and she knew she had him.

And Bran did too. It was the moment of distraction he needed. She’d been waiting for him to take it—but, even so, the swiftness and brutality of his act surprised her.

One moment, the two men had been slashing at each other, the long thin blades of their dirks glinting in the light of the torches burning on the walls. The next, Bran swapped his blade to his right hand and lunged.

And he drove his dagger straight through Tormod’s left eye.

The warrior had turned his face slightly, to see Makenna, unwittingly holding his head at just the right angle.

The two men fell, sprawling together on the rush-covered floor.

Even with a knife embedded in his eye socket, Tormod tried to fight. But his movements were clumsy, jerky.

Makenna looked on, impressed. She hadn’t realized Bran could wield a blade so deftly with his right hand.

Pinning Tormod to the ground, Bran grabbed hold of his flailing wrist and stared down at the warrior’s ashen face. Her husband didn’t speak, yet the hardness in his eyes made his hatred clear. And as Makenna looked on, Tormod’s body shuddered and then went still.

A shout echoed through the hall, and her attention was drawn to where more warriors had rushed inside.

They were still outnumbered, and yet something had changed.

The huddle of men fighting by the chieftain’s table had dispersed, and Makenna quickly saw why.

Alec had managed to disarm the chieftain’s son. He now held him captive, a blade at his throat.Makenna’s father stood at Alec’s shoulder, and Rae, Aodh, and Mungo had joined them.

Murmuring an oath, Bran rose to his feet, his gaze cutting to Makenna.

Aye, the tide was close to turning in their favor—but they needed to get to the others.

They fled across the hall, dodging the warriors who now rushed at them, reaching their friends just as a circle formed around them.

Breathing hard, blood running down the side of his face now, Black Duncan glared at them. The chieftain was hunched over and was favoring his left side. Someone had managed to get under his guard. “It’s over,” he ground out. “We have ye surrounded.”

“No … it’s far from over,” Alec replied softly. He then pressed the blade harder against Robbie’s throat, causing blood to well. “Unless ye want me to kill yer son.”

The Campbell chieftain’s face turned to stone. Meanwhile, Robbie made a strangled sound in the back of his throat—one that sounded very much like a plea.

Makenna’s breathing grew shallow, and she adjusted her grip on the dirk.

A dull fatalism pressed down on her then. They had no way of knowing whether Campbell was willing to sacrifice his son’s life or not. And if he was, then it really would be a fight to the death in this hall.

She wouldn’t be taken prisoner again—and neither would her companions. Things might be about to get bloody.

Long moments drew out, and around them, the hall fell silent.