Page 37 of The Laird's Wicked Game

Kylie cleared her throat then, focusing on Tara. “Ye aren’t upset that I told Makenna about ye and yer brother?” she asked, suddenly aware that she might think her a gossip. “The laird did tell me to keep quiet about it … but I thought my sister should know.”

Tara shook her head, although her expression remained strained. “Don’t fash yerself,” she replied softly. “I’d have told ye both myself” —her gaze flicked to Makenna then— “if I’d known ye were betrothed to Bran.”

Makenna managed a tight smile in return. “Sorry … I should have mentioned it.” She grimaced then. “In truth, I try not to think about the alliance our fathers made.”

Tara didn’t reply to this candid comment, and Makenna shifted uneasily in her chair. “So, ye haven’t spoken to him since the Battle of Dounarwyse?”

Tara shook her head, her silvery eyes clouding. “He made it clear the day of the Mackinnon’s defeat that I was dead to him.”

Makenna’s brow furrowed at this news, grooves etching on either side of her mouth.

Kylie also tensed. Was her sister’s betrothed intractable … the sort of man to nurse grudges?

As if sensing their worry, Tara sighed. “Our father was hard on us both … my brother especially. He wished for a brutish, blood-thirsty son, but Bran was a sensitive lad. He’ll be bitter now … but he isn’t like his sire.”

“He isn’t?” Makenna didn’t look convinced.

Tara huffed a weary sigh, casting aside the clothing she was mending. “The bad blood between the Macleans of Duart and the Mackinnons of Dùn Ara runs deep. My brother was on the losing side of the battle between our clans … he saw men he’d grown up with die.” Her throat bobbed then, her voice growing husky as she continued. “He sees me as a traitor.”

“Ye didn’t betray him,” Kylie pointed out gently.

Tara’s full lips quirked in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I fell in love with the enemy … that’s betrayal in my brother’s eyes.”

“Aye, well, it seems as if he’s cursed with a rigid temperament,” Makenna sniffed.

Tara smiled once more, and this time, her gaze warmed. “Somethingyeshall no doubt cure him of.”

Makenna muttered a curse at this before stabbing her needle into the pillowcase she was embroidering: a field of yellow and white daisies. She wasn’t just adept with a dirk, but was also a talented seamstress. Back at Meggernie, Kylie remembered her younger sister embroidering by the light of a lantern, long into the evenings. “It remains to be seen if yer brother will even present himself at Meggernie Castle at Bealtunn,” she pointed out. “He might decide he’d rather not honor his father’s debt.”

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Tara replied softly, sadness edging her voice now. “Honor is important to Bran … he’ll not break a promise.”

Makenna screwed up her face and set aside her embroidery. “Enough about me,” she muttered. “I’d rather not dwell on what’s to come.” She then rose from her seat and went to the table a few yards away, where a leather bag sat. Kylie had noted it earlier, but their conversation—and thoughts of Rae’s proposal—had distracted her. Now, Makenna reached into the bag and withdrew a slender leather sheath attached to a wide strap. Turning to Kylie, she held it out to her. “Here … this is for ye.”

Putting down her spindle, Kylie took the weapon. “Good Lord, what am I supposed to do with this?”

Makenna snorted. “I had it made especially for ye before I left Meggernie. It’s a lady’s dagger, designed to be worn strapped to yer thigh. Whenever ye go for a walk beyond the walls of Dounarwyse, or to market, ye should wear it.”

Kylie frowned. “Do ye really think the world such a dangerous place?”

Her sister’s gaze never wavered. “I would sleep easier back home if I knew ye wore it.”

They stared at each other, and Kylie thought of refusing. However, it would be churlish to push away such a thoughtful gift, and so she nodded slowly.

Makenna’s lips curved. “Take a look at it then.”

Carefully, Kylie took hold of the grip and drew the dagger from its leather sheath.

Across the room, Tara gave a low whistle. “Look at that wicked blade.”

“Aye,” Makenna said proudly, her gaze still fixed on Kylie. “Remember our lessons … if someone attacks ye, go for the sensitive spots.”

“Aye, the groin, throat, or belly,” Kylie answered with a wince.

Makenna nodded, her smile widening into a grin. “Ye were always better with a blade than Liza,” she admitted with a wink. “Faster … with a truer aim.”

Kylie raised an eyebrow, even as she warmed under the unexpected compliment. “I was?”

“Aye … now, strap it on then … let’s see how it fits.”