Page 8 of The Chief's Wild Promise
Raising her gaze, she met Kylie’s eye across the table.
A few months earlier, when Makenna had been at Dounarwyse broch with her sister, they’d talked often of this union—in truth, they’d argued about it. Initially, Kylie had been dismissive of her worries and complaints. After weathering an unhappy first marriage, her sister didn’t see why her younger sister should wriggle out of her obligations. However, her attitude had eventually softened, and the shadows in Kylie’s oak-colored eyes hinted that she was now worried for her sister.
Makenna tore her attention from Kylie then and stole a glance at her betrothed. Mackinnon gripped his wooden spoon so tightly that she wondered if he was imagining driving it into her father’s eye.
Tara had said her brother had a fiery temper, and she hadn’t been wrong. At the same time though, the man was holding himself on a leash. How long before it snapped?
An unexpected jolt of sympathy for her betrothed stabbed her then. How humiliating this evening must be for him. Attacked by his bride-to-be and forced to break bread with his enemies. It was a lot to stomach.
Seemingly oblivious, the MacGregor continued to boom in his ear.
Makenna frowned. Her father was never usuallythisgarrulous. Her pulse quickened then. Of course, he’d be worried too that the Mackinnon chief might discover his ruse. He’d been uncharacteristically nervous about his arrival. This alliance was important for their clan, and he couldn’t afford to have anything put it at risk.
He was now regaling her betrothed with tales of his youth and the adventures he’d had. “I broke with tradition by wedding the daughter of an Iberian wine merchant,” the clan-chief admitted before reaching over and squeezing his wife’s arm. “One glance at the raven-haired beauty and I was smitten.”
Carmen MacGregor waved him away, even as her night-brown eyes glowed with pleasure. “Ye do talk rot, man. If I recall, ye were too busy driving a hard bargain with my father.”
Their banter continued. Meanwhile, Mackinnon had subsided into stony silence. His lips compressed into a thin, hard line.
Heat washed over Makenna. She was used to her parents’ ways and usually didn’t mind their boisterous exchanges or unabashed affection for each other. But this evening, she found herself embarrassed by it—and not a little resentful.
Aye, her father had broken with tradition, yet she wasn’t permitted to.
All Makenna wanted, right down to the depths of her soul, was to continue serving in her father’s Guard, to keep her clan safe. Instead, she was about to be shackled to a man she didn’t want. Soon she’d be living far from her beloved Meggernie.
Her throat tightened then, and she swallowed a mouthful of stew with difficulty.
At the other end of the table, Sonia and Alma animatedly chatted together, ignoring their dour-faced husbands. Those two marriages weren’t particularly happy ones, yet her sisters didn’t appear to mind much. However, when Makenna’s attention shifted farther down the table to where Rae gazed into Kylie’s eyes, her chest constricted.
Aye, she knew her sister had weathered years of unhappiness and loneliness when she’d been wed to Errol Grant. If anyone deserved love, it was her. Rae raised a tender hand then and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Makenna looked away, her attention alighting on Liza and Alec. And curse them both, there was no doubt they were in love either. They were teasing each other, and Alec had slung a protective arm around Liza’s shoulders.
Anger stabbed her in the belly then.How can they all carry on like this, when our people have been murdered?
She deliberately put down her spoon and reached for her goblet of wine instead.
Enough food. What she needed tonight was wine. Lots of it. This would be a long evening, for once they finished eating and drinking, they’d venture beyond the castle walls and join the people of Meggernie at the Bealtunn bonfire. This year though, her father had instructed more of his Guard than usual to keep a close watch on the festivities. After Fortingall, they had to be vigilant.
Usually at Bealtunn, Makenna prepared a guise, but not this year. She just couldn’t get into the spirit of things. Draining her goblet, she then reached for the ewer in front of her and topped it up. To the brim.
She felt a gaze upon her then and glanced right to find Mackinnon watching her.
And it wasn’t a friendly look either. His eyes were narrowed, his lean jaw bunched in an expression of stern disapproval. Clearly, he thought she was consuming too much wine.
God’s troth. The man was too young to have the demeanor of a censorious priest. The sympathy she’d felt for him earlier drained away, annoyance replacing it.
Eyeballing him, Makenna lifted the goblet to her lips and took a deep, thoroughly unladylike, draft.How do ye like that, then?
The shrill notes of a Highland pipe rang through the crisp night air.
Bairns chased each other around the fire. In contrast, the adults were a little more subdued. News of the massacre at Fortingall had now spread throughout the castle, and many of those who stood near the bonfire, cups of apple wine in hand, wore worried expressions as they huddled together. Some of them shot veiled glances to where, on the perimeters of the celebrations, shadowy figures stood watch over the road and the edge of the woodlands.
It was a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the sturdy walls of their castle—dangers that had been growing for a while now.
Of course, the children were largely oblivious. Craeg, Ailean, and Lyle were amongst the bairns, their faces ruddy with excitement. The trio was far from home, and this journey to Perthshire was an adventure for them all.
Moths danced above the licking flames, some of them immolated when they dived too close. Makenna watched them. Standing amongst her kin, she felt detached from her surroundings, as if she were viewing Bealtunn from above.
“Have ye had a chance to mend things with Mackinnon yet?” Liza’s voice intruded then, dragging her back to earth.