Page 76 of The Chief's Wild Promise
“Aye … he had a twisted sense of humor.” Bran observed the boar heads then, as if seeing them with new eyes. “Well … Loch, Leod, and Rae have graced the hearth for long enough. I will have them taken down today.”
Relief washed over Makenna at this news. The trophies were a reminder of a cruel man, and neither of them wanted his presence to linger in here.
“I’m sure after we’ve been stag hunting together, we will soon have something else to mount over the hearth,” she replied.
He nodded, his gaze soft as he shifted his attention to her. After a moment, his lips curved. “Did I tell ye that Dùn Ara has a walled garden accessed via the southern curtain wall?”
She raised her eyebrows. “No.”
His smile widened. “It’s one of this fortress’s many secrets. It was my mother’s once … but gardeners keep it tended these days. It will be full of roses in bloom this time of year. Would ye like to see it?”
Makenna grinned. A private garden within the castle was something that Meggernie had always lacked. She was delighted to discover that Dùn Ara had one. Bran already knew she loved roses. “Aye, husband,” she replied, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his. “Lead the way.”
EPILOGUE: WINTERTHORN
Two months later …
MAKENNA LISTENED TO the cook prattle on, barely restraining herself from tapping her toe in impatience. She was late.
“We shall have venison stew at least twice this week, Lady Mackinnon,” Donald enthused, rubbing his hands together. “We have plenty of meat after yer successful hunt.”
Makenna nodded, managing to keep the encouraging smile still plastered to her face. Indeed, she and Bran had returned to the castle with five deer hinds just a couple of days earlier. It had been a chance for her to further explore the rugged hills, deep corries, and sprawling woodlands of northern Mull. She’d been here two moons, and Bran had wanted to take her out hunting before the weather turned.
They’d stayed out for three days, camping overnight in a shallow valley with the small group of warriors who’d joined them. Sitting by a fire under the stars, listening as the men told stories and tried to outdo each other with boasts, had filled her with contentment. She could have explored the wilderness for a few days longer, but home, and the duties that awaited them there, called.
And one such duty was regular meetings with the castle cook. She liked Donald, yet he’d been talking her ear off for a while now. She had somewhere else to be.
“That’s excellent,” she said, taking a step backward toward the open door of the kitchen. “I’ll just—”
“Can ye take a look at the spence with me, Lady Mackinnon?” he asked, eyes bright. “I’m running low on spices … we shall need to order more.”
Makenna swallowed a sigh before casting an eye over the surrounding kitchen. The large oaken table that dominated it was scrubbed clean, and kitchen assistants worked industriously at it, chopping vegetables for the noon meal. “Very well,” she murmured. “The clan-chief will be putting an order in soon … let’s see what’s needed.”
Donald nodded eagerly before moving toward the archway at the far end of the rectangular kitchen. “This way.”
It was a while later when Makenna finally stepped outside into the barmkin and heaved a deep sigh.
“By the Saints,” she muttered. “The man’s harder to escape than a gossiping fishwife.”
The morning sun warmed her face, although the air was crisp, for it was mid-September. Life had been busy of late. The day before, they’d just sent off their first shipment of smoked herrings to Meggernie—a haul her father would receive with delight—and any day now, a cog was due with a cargo of Breadalbane wool.
As always, the barmkin was a hive of activity. Stable lads swept out soiled straw from the stables and used a fork to heap it up onto the back of a cart. One of the kitchen lasses was scattering grain for the clutch of fowl that provided eggs for the castle. The farrier was shoeing a horse, and two warriors were arguing about something by the gate.
Makenna’s gaze flicked upward, and she caught sight of a flash of fiery hair. Bran was up on the walls, talking to Finlay. They were discussing something important, it seemed, and things were getting animated as they gesticulated with their hands. She smiled as she watched them. Bran and Finlay had a good rapport, one built on mutual respect.
She noted then that the sun was almost directly overhead. The noon meal was approaching. Donald had kept her even longer than she’d first thought.
Shifting her attention from her husband, Makenna looked over at the smith’s forge. Bac’s bulky form filled the interior as he hammered out a horseshoe for the farrier.
Anticipation quickened within her.Finally.He’d wonder what had kept her.
Shortly after her arrival at Dùn Ara, she’d visited the smith and made a commission—one she’d asked him to keep secret. The day before, he’d let her know it was ready. She needed to collect the item she’d asked him to make.
Keeping an eye on where Bran still spoke to Finlay, Makenna hurried across the cobbled expanse. She didn’t want her husband to spot her going into the forge. Nonetheless, the stable lads working nearby turned as she walked by.
“Lady Mackinnon,” they both greeted her respectfully.
She nodded back at them, reflecting that it was difficult for her to sneak up on anyone. The rattling of the heavy set of chatelaine keys that now hung from her belt warned others that Lady Mackinnon approached.