Page 57 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Campbell didn’t give the order to attack.
Finally, Alec spoke once more. “Here’s what will happen now, Campbell. Ye will stand aside while we leave. I’m taking yer lad with me, mind … to ensure ye behave yerself.”
A nerve flickered in Black Duncan’s cheek.
The cunning, callous bastard had one weakness, it seemed. His son.
“How do I know ye won’t kill Robbie?” he ground out.
“Ye will have to take my word,” Alec answered, his blue eyes glinting. “And pray it means more than yers does.”
A brittle silence fell then, drawing out until the Campbell chieftain gave a jerky nod. Then, moving aside, grimacing in pain as he did so, he gestured for his men to do the same.
And they did—one by one, each warrior shifted back, leaving the way to the door clear.
Alec nodded to his companions. “Go on … Robbie and I will follow.”
Makenna obeyed. Flanked by her father and Bran, she edged toward the door, with Rae, Aodh, and Mungo behind her. Alec brought up the rear, walking backward, his knife never leaving Robbie’s throat.
Moments later, they were in the entrance hall, and a short while after that in the barmkin that surrounded the tower house. They moved across the cobbled space toward the gates. Night had long fallen, and the sliver of the moon shone amongst a carpet of stars. Torches hanging on chains illuminated the barmkin, casting long shadows.
“Raise the portcullis, and open the gate!” Robbie cried. He didn’t trust that Alec’s blade wouldn’t slip. However, the guards there hesitated. “Do it!” His voice grew high-pitched, panicked.
Reluctantly, the guards moved to obey. Nonetheless, the MacGregor party was made to wait while the portcullis was raised. The creaking of iron filled the humid night air, and then, finally, the gate rumbled open.
Makenna glanced behind her then, to see a tall, spare figure standing on the steps, flanked by his men. Black Duncan’s hawkish face was harsh in the torchlight, his eyes dark pits of hatred. He still clutched his left side, his hand wet with blood.
“Let my son go!” he shouted, his rough voice carrying through the silence.
“Soon enough,” Alec called back.
Together, they edged through the gate and along the path that led into the village beyond. Finlarig slumbered at this hour, the scent of woodsmoke heavy in the air. Light glowed from around the edges of closed doorways.
No one here would bother to stop them.
“When we reach the edge of the trees, we run,” Makenna’s father murmured as they strode along the road now, the castle rising in a dark silhouette above them.
“Aye,” Alec grunted. “And what do ye wish me to do with our captive? If ye want vengeance for Walker, I shall give it.”
Makenna’s pulse quickened. He was letting her father be the one to choose.
Robbie made a panicked noise. “Ye promised,” he rasped. “I—”
“Still yer tongue,” MacGregor cut him off. “Yer whining unmans ye.”
They’d reached the tree line—a dark press of beech waiting to receive them.
Makenna’s fingers flexed around the hilt of her dagger. She longed to make someone pay for Lloyd’s death. She’d be happy to take this rodent’s life. It wouldn’t bring her friend back, but it would even the score.
“As tempting as it is to slit yer throat, I shall let ye live. Although” —her father stepped closer and brought his own blade up— “I shall leave ye with a lasting memory of this day … a reminder of what happens when ye cross the MacGregors.” And with that, he drew the tip of his blade down from the top of Robbie’s eye and down his cheek, carving a deep, dark path.
Blood welled, and the chieftain’s son whimpered a curse. Nonetheless, with Alec’s knife still at his throat, he didn’t dare move.
“Off ye go now,” her father murmured. “Run back to yer Da.”
Alec released Robbie, and the laird’s son stumbled away, clutching his bloodied face. Such was his terror that he didn’t curse them, didn’t utter threats.
A heartbeat later, Makenna’s father turned to his companions. “It’s not over yet … they’ll come for us soon enough.”