Page 69 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Bran cut her a surprised look. “What?”
“It’s true.”
“But ye are stronger than mostmenI’ve met.”
She shook her head. “I can hold my nerve in battle, aye … but on the inside, I’m far too soft. I feel things too deeply.”
Bran harrumphed and lifted his arm, looping it protectively around her shoulders. “No, ye don’t,” he said firmly. “And don’t ever apologize for yer compassionate and gentle heart either. It’s where true strength lies.”
28: STRANGERS NO LONGER
RIDING AWAY FROM Meggernie, Makenna fought the urge to keep glancing over her shoulder.
Throat tight, her eyes stinging from the tears that had flowed when she’d bid her parents farewell, she stared resolutely at the tangle of branches up ahead.
She’d known leaving would be hard, but she hadn’t realized just how much it would hurt.
Bran rode next to her, a silent yet reassuring presence, while the remainder of the Mackinnon company followed them. Tadhg was among them. It was now the beginning of July, and the warrior had fully recovered from the grave injury that had nearly killed him.
Even now, guilt constricted Makenna’s chest every time she caught sight of him. The man was still gruff with her, although he had warmed up slightly. Nonetheless, he was a reminder of just how far she and Bran had come.
As they reached the tree line, where the dark boughs of sycamores beckoned, she gave in to the urge and glanced back at Meggernie one last time. The castle’s sturdy walls glowed in the warmth of the morning sun, the MacGregor pennant—a crowned lion’s head—fluttering from the top of the tower house.
“This isn’t the last time ye shall see it,” Bran reminded her then, his voice gentle. “With the alliance our clans have struck, we shall be back here every year or two.”
A little of the pressure in Makenna’s chest eased at this reassurance. “Aye,” she said huskily. “I will return.”
She would, but this castle would never be her home again. That wasn’t what cut the deepest though. For so long, all she’d cared about was defending this fortress, and the villages, lands, and people belonging to it. But now she had to let them all go. She was crossing a threshold today—one that she’d been putting off for too long.
Gathering her reins, she turned away from the castle and favored her husband with a brittle smile. Then, she urged her courser forward.
They rode in silence through the cool green of the woods, serenaded by the languid call of song thrushes and blackbirds—and with each furlong, the wretchedness that had filled Makenna upon leaving home gradually lessened.
They’d had a bonnie summer so far, and today was another example, with a robin’s egg blue sky, hot sun, and a gentle, sweet-scented breeze to take the edge off the heat. Surrounded by such beauty, it was impossible to remain heavy-hearted for long.
Presently, the road took them back to the northern shore of the River Lyon, hugging the waterway’s lazy path southwest. Eventually, it would lead them to the loch by the same name, where they’d cross, but for the next day, they’d remain on this path.
Dragonflies danced in the shimmering air, and flies and midges buzzed around the horses, causing them to toss their heads and flick their tails in irritation.
Thick swathes of thistles grew by the river, their bright purple seedheads waving in the breeze. “What a sight,” Makenna murmured to Bran, gesturing to the bristling carpet. “I do love thistles.”
“Aye,” Bran agreed before flashing her a smile. “They remind me of ye. Bonnie … but prickly.”
She snorted at his teasing, her mood lightening further. “Aye, well, we both know a sweet, meek wife would bore ye.”
He laughed at that, the deep sound drifting through the warm air. “How right ye are.”
Bran climbed aboard the ferry and held out a hand to his wife.
And as he did so, an uneasiness quickened in his gut.
After ten days in the saddle, it felt odd to be traveling without his horse. He’d just sold them back to the horse trader he’d originally purchased the beasts from months earlier.
Nonetheless, his disquiet this morning was due to something else. The Isle of Mull lay across the water, and with it, his old life. His old identity.
“It looks as if it will be a calm enough crossing,” Makenna observed as she took hold of his hand and stepped onto the ferry.
“Aye,” he agreed. “We’ve timed things well.”