Page 70 of The Chief's Wild Promise

“I’m looking forward to seeing Tobermory,” she replied, smiling. The day before, he’d told her that the ferry would drop them there, where his birlinn had been moored for the past months. From there, it was a short journey to his castle.

“It’s a pretty port,” he agreed, cutting his gaze away.

“Is something amiss, Bran?”

Stiffening, he shook his head. Curse it, Makenna read him too well. “I always get a bit queasy on water,” he lied.

“Ye never said.”

“Aye, well … it’s embarrassing.”

Makenna harrumphed but thankfully let the subject drop. Instead, she made her way to the bow, where she arranged her skirts and settled herself on a wooden plank seat. Around them, his warriors also took their places, along with the other passengers who were traveling to Mull this morning.

Jaw clenched, Bran lowered himself next to his wife. Meanwhile, the ferry captain began barking orders at his crew as they untied the vessel from its mooring and prepared to cast off.

He’d been like a cat on a hot griddle since they’d arrived in Oban—ever since he’d made his way down to the docks the evening before, while Makenna soaked in a hot bath, and bought passage for their group on the morning ferry. During the evening that followed, he’d been distracted when his wife talked to him and quieter than usual.

And now, as the ferry moved away from the docks, propelled by oars, Bran glanced back at where Oban’s busy quay bustled with sailors, locals, and travelers, with the tightly packed houses lining it. A wooded hillside rose behind the port, and the sky was pale blue this morning with wispy clouds.

Bran should have been excited about returning to Mull—but he wasn’t.

Old insecurities died hard, it seemed. His experiences over the past months had changed him, but everything back home would be the same. His people would expect a sullen young clan-chief to return. He remembered their smirks and whispered comments over the years. How would they respond to him now? And, more importantly, how would he conduct himself?

But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered him.

The evening before, he’d made a choice, one he was already regretting. He’d told himself the past needed to be faced, but now he wasn’t so sure. However, reconciling with his sister was the right thing to do.

She might not want to see me.

Aye, that was a real possibility. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d said ugly things to Tara. Words he could never take back. Regret had gnawed at him for a long while now, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise.

As they sailed away from Oban, and Mull’s dark outline etched the western sky, he started to feel lightheaded and queasy.

It wasn’t long before his sharp-eyed wife noticed something amiss.

“Shouldn’t we be heading north … rather than west?” she asked.

Bran didn’t answer, pretending he hadn’t heard.

She was silent for a short while before plucking at his sleeve. “Bran … isn’t thatCraignure?”

Tearing his gaze from where the row of cottages lined a white-sand beach, with a long wooden jetty thrusting out into clear water, Bran nodded. “It is.”

“I thought this ferry went direct to Tobermory?”

He shook his head, their gazes fusing.

Moments passed before understanding dawned in his wife’s eyes. “We’re going to Dounarwyse … aren’t we?”

“Aye,” he replied, wishing his voice wasn’t so strained. He hoped Makenna wouldn’t start asking him questions. He didn’t want to go into his reasons for this decision, although she was largely responsible. He’d never forgotten her words on the day the Campbells had attacked their hunting party. They’d taunted him ever since.

Tara is a good woman … with a kind, generous soul. She wishes to be reconciled with ye. Why won’t ye bury the ax?

Makenna hadn’t let him blame his sister. She’d angered him at the time, but her words were like thorns that had worked their way under his skin. There was only one way to pluck the things out.

He had to see his sister, to try and put things right between them.

Wordlessly, Makenna reached out, taking his hand and entwining her fingers through his. “I’m with ye,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.