Page 73 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Tonight though, after he’d reconciled with his sister, he felt a freeness with his wife that hadn’t been there before.
He was now ready to tell her the words that had been burning within him for a while.
Drawing back slightly, he cupped her face and stared down into her limpid moss-green eyes. “I love ye, Makenna,” he whispered. “Deeply, madly.”
Her pupils grew large, her lips—swollen from their passion—parting. “I’ve been longing to hear those words,” she whispered. “I’ve been wanting to say them too … but I was shy.”
He gave a soft snort.
Her lips curved, making her cheek dimple. “Aye … I can be demure about some things, ye know?”
He laughed, and she gave his cheek a playful slap. “Knave!”
He caught her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I love all that ye are, Makenna,” he murmured. “Never forget it.”
“And I love ye too, Bran.” Her eyes gleamed with tears now, her voice husky. “I am so grateful that fate brought us together.”
He smiled. “It wasn’t fate, lass … but our ambitious, power-hungry fathers.”
“It was,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “I spent years dreading meeting ye … but now, I don’t ever wish for us to be parted.”
Lifting his hand, Bran swept away a tear that rolled down her cheek with his thumb. He swallowed then. Like her, his emotions boiled close to the surface tonight. For years, he’d believed happiness would never find him, but his marriage to Makenna had taught him that he did deserve it, after all.
“I have little to thank my father for,” he admitted roughly. “Yet the day he made an alliance with yers, he unwittingly did something I will always be grateful for.”
She nodded, staring up at him. The love in her eyes made it difficult to breathe.
However, as the moment drew out, and the joy and excitement of their tumbling faded a little, the worries that had plagued him ever since leaving Meggernie returned.His jaw tightened.
Makenna’s brow furrowed. “Ye have that look on yer face again.”
He stilled. “What look?”
“The one that means ye are worrying about something ye are keeping to yerself.”
Bran grimaced. She was right. He didn’t want to admit his fears to her. There was a part of him—even after the trust they’d built—that worried she’d think less of him if he did.
But when her gaze narrowed, it was clear she wouldn’t let this lie.
Eventually, he huffed a sigh. “Ye know the folk of Dùn Ara have never fully accepted me?”
She nodded, her green eyes shadowing. “I reminded ye of it when ye signed that agreement, remember?”
He grimaced. Aye, of course. It shouldn’t have surprised him to learn that all of Mull had been gossiping about him, yet the knowledge had stung all the same.
“When we lost to the Macleans and I returned home, defeated, there were moments when I thought they’d rise up against me.” Cold washed over him as he remembered those fraught days. “But luckily, many members of my Guard were loyal to my family … and thanks to them, I remained clan-chief.”
He fell silent then before raking a hand through his hair. Why was this so hard?
“With the passing of the years, things improved … slightly … but the fact remains that when I departed Dùn Ara, few folk bothered to see me off … and many would prefer I didn’t return.”
“But if yedidn’t, who would rule?”
He pulled a face. “I’ve got a cousin who has a holding at Croig, west of my castle, who’d be only too happy to take my place.”
Her frown deepened. “Are ye worried he’s tried something while ye were away?”
Bran shook his head. “I’d trust the Captain of the Guard with my life … but the fact remains, ye may find we get a lackluster welcome at Dùn Ara. I want ye to be prepared.”