Page 74 of The Chief's Wild Promise
A steely look flared in the depths of her eyes, which was a relief, for the last thing he wanted was to see pity or scorn there. “However they respond, ye shall walk in there with yer head held high,” she replied, her voice turning fierce. “And I will be at yer side.” She reached up then, her hand cupping his face. “I’m proud that ye are my husband, Bran, and I dare anyone to challenge me on it.”
30: FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD
MAKENNA’S FIRST GLIMPSE of Dùn Ara made her stifle a gasp.
The castle was more imposing than she’d expected, enough to equal the might of Duart Castle. It perched high on a crag above the water, its thick curtain wall made of stone and lime glowing white in the afternoon sun. A rocky inlet curved at its feet, with noosts, hollows in the rock where fishing boats nestled above the tideline.
Tearing her gaze from the fortress, Makenna glanced her husband’s way.
Bran was staring at his home. Standing there, at the prow of the Mackinnon clan-chief’s birlinn, which they’d collected from Tobermory, he looked like one of the Norsemen from the old stories: Vikings who’d raided and then settled the Western Isles centuries earlier.A brisk breeze whipped his hair about his head, although his expression was stern.
He was readying himself to face his people.
An ache rose under Makenna’s breastbone. It cut her to the quick that he’d endured so much. The Mackinnon defeat against the Macleans hadn’t been his doing, but the man responsible was dead.
Would they have preferred him to have defied Loch Maclean, and have died for it? Perhaps. Common folk sometimes resented the privilege of those who ruled them, not realizing that with it came great responsibility and hard choices.
Feeling her gaze upon him, Bran tore his attention from the castle and looked her way. “What do ye think?”
Makenna smiled. “It’s magnificent,” she answered honestly, moving close so that he could put an arm around her waist. Arriving here with him felt right. Now that Meggernie lay far behind them, her old life had lost its hold. She was free to embrace the next chapter.
The sun shone brightly today, although the wind had a bite to it. She was glad for the fur-lined cloak she’d donned before departing from Dounarwyse. They’d lingered at the Maclean stronghold a few days—longer than anticipated. During their stay, relationships had been properly mended. Initially, Jack had been off-hand with his brother-by-marriage, but by the time he’d taken them north on Rae’s birlinn, he and Bran had become friends.
They would be welcome at Dounarwyse now, whenever they wished to visit. Makenna planned to travel there again the following spring before making their way down to Moy on the southern coast.However, in the meantime, she had the rest of the summer, autumn, and winter to settle into her new home. That was her priority now.
The men lowered the sail and rowed the birlinn in, mooring it to a thin stacked stone jetty. The Mackinnon clan-chief’s galley was a fine one and held up to forty oarsmen. Taking Bran’s hand, Makenna climbed up onto the dock and looked around her. Steep hills covered in scrubby woodland fell away behind the castle to the south. One glance and she could see it was easy to defend.
Turning to Bran, she met his eye. “Has Dùn Ara ever fallen to an enemy?”
“Never,” he replied, pride lacing his voice. “There are few castles as hard to take as this one.”
Makenna believed him.
Hand-in-hand, they walked down the jetty, followed by the company of warriors who’d accompanied them home. They then made their way up the steep path that wound its way to the gates. The entrance through the curtain wall lay on the southeastern side. Close up, Makenna could see just how thick the wall was—indeed, around five feet in places.
And as they climbed, she resisted the urge to glance Bran’s way to see how he was faring. His grip on her hand was firm though, reassuring.
Guards flanked the gates ahead. Clad in leather and mail, they grasped schiltron pikes.
Makenna was pleased to note that they snapped to attention as their clan-chief approached. However, their expressions were difficult to read.Bran nodded to them but didn’t check his stride. Instead, he led her under the portcullis and into a wide barmkin.
There, he halted so she could view her new home properly for the first time. Instead of a tower house, like Meggernie, the keep resembled something much older: a beehive-shaped structure on two levels. “I’ve never seen the like,” she murmured, gazing up at it.
“It’s the oldest part of the castle,” Bran replied. “There was originally a broch here … and everything else was added on much later.”
Makenna nodded, slowly turning in a circle as she took in the stacked stone outbuildings, kitchen, bakehouse, and stables surrounding her. The great hall—a rectangular building with a thatched roof—appeared to be separate from the ‘broch’. Like the outer wall, the stone within was also flecked with white limestone.
“Welcome home, Mackinnon.” A tall, lanky figure with a shock of greying hair that had once been auburn descended the stone steps from the walls and strode toward them.
“Finlay!” Bran stepped forward, and the two men clasped arms before the clan-chief pulled the older man into a hug. “It’s good to see ye.”
Clearly surprised, yet pleased, by Bran’s show of affection, Finlay grinned. His attention then flicked to where Makenna stood a few feet back. She was dressed in her usual way, in a fashionable kirtle and surcote that had both been cut at the sides to allow her ease of movement. Underneath, she wore woolen leggings and high boots. She’d braided the sides of her long hair and drawn them off her face, for it was practical when traveling. At one hip hung ‘Arsebiter’, while at the other she wore a dirk.
Finlay’s gaze lingered on her, his grey eyes widening. “And this is yer bride?”
“Aye.” Bran stepped back. “Makenna … may I introduce ye to Finlay Mackinnon … Captain of the Dùn Ara Guard. He has acted as steward in my absence.”
Makenna smiled. “Pleased to meet ye, Captain.”