CHAPTER1
MacKenna Keep
Thirteenth-Century
Scotland
“Dammit, man! Did ye not think to learn her name afore ye decided to bed her?” Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna, moved to the edge of his seat as though ready to lunge across the room, wrap his hands around Graham’s throat and choke the life out of him.
Graham MacTavish edged back a step whilst rubbing the back of his neck. He stole a quick glance around the room. All eyes were locked on him and it was no small wonder. This was thrice in a fortnight that the MacKenna had publicly chewed his arse over what he had honestly deemed as sound choices at the time that he had made them. But apparently, once again, he had chosen poorly.
Dammit all to hell and back.He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, vainly attempting to wipe away any forthcoming words that might damn him even further. He had never chosen his words wisely, remembering the particular deed in question. Nay. Neither lass had given a hint of their surnames. Why had the one not mentioned her husband was the bloody chieftain of the Buchanans?
Ah well . . . it didn’t very well matter now. What was done was done.He squared his shoulders and locked his fists to the small of his back. With his chin lifted courageously, he boldly met Gray’s infuriated glare. “I didna take her to my bed. We stayed in the stables.”
From the purplish tint of the MacKenna’s face and the vein twitching in the man’s temple, perhaps that was not the best defense. He better try again. “But ye will be pleased to know, I didna lift any of their cattle—nor a single horse this time.”
“I should turn ye over to the Buchanan and be done with ye.” Gray expelled a rumbling growl while shooting Graham a murderous look. The sorely annoyed chieftain threw himself back in his chair on the dais. The great meeting hall fell silent, all poised to hear what Graham’s punishment would be this time.
Graham’s gut tightened. To be turned over to the Buchanans would not be good at all. But if that was the MacKenna’s wish, then so be it. A snorting, laugh escaped him as he slowly shook his head. ’Twould be a damn shame to die over that lass and her maid.
The women’s shrill tirades and dead aims with clods of dried horse shit on the morning after the quite enjoyable romp had taught him a thing or two—mainly that ye best never get too deep in yer cups when charming the ladies because their druthers could sorely change by the time everyone sobered up the next day.
A soft clearing of a throat drew Graham’s attention to the chieftain’s wife sitting quietly at her husband’s side. Lady Trulie smoothed a hand across her husband’s tensed forearm and sat taller in her chair. “Now, now. We can’t do that, Gray. You know what would happen if we turned him over to the Buchanans.”
She leaned forward the slightest bit, glaring at Graham from the raised platform as though he were a disobedient child. “We understand your need to experience all that you missed while cursed but…” Her face darkened like a building storm. “Dammit, Graham! Pull your head out of your ass and stop endangering the peace and safety of this clan just because you can’t keep your britches on and your hands off what belongs to somebody else.”
Britches?What the hell were britches? He looked downward. Perhaps the Lady Trulie referred to his trews? In, he had not even removed hisléinewhile sampling the sweet lasses, but perhaps now was not the time to get into the particulars.
Graham slightly bowed to her. “I am truly sorry to bring such strife to this clan that has so graciously taken me in. Ye ken my fealty to the MacKenna is true. I would never wish to cause the clan harm nor bring dishonor to the name.”
“He wants yer head on a pike, ye ken?” The MacKenna’s voice had calmed to a more congenial snarl. He even came close to smiling as he covered his wife’s hand with his own. “And I canna say that I blame the man. Ye beddedbothhis wife and his mistress under his verra nose.” The chieftain stretched forward and jabbed a finger at the center of Graham’s chest. “And perhaps ye didna personally help yerself to any of the Buchanan livestock, but whilst ye were busy dipping yer wick, Angus managed to lead away the Buchanan’s favorite pair of roans.”
Aye. Well—there was that.Said roans were currently resting quite comfortably in their new stalls in the MacKenna stables. “Perhaps we could return them?” Graham turned and waggled a brow at Angus, who was currently doing his damnedest to stay hidden in the shadows of the gallery overhanging the right side of the crowded meeting room. “If Angus releases them close enough to Buchanan Keep, the pair would surely find their way back to their stable.”
Angus yelped as Mother Sinclair came up behind him and latched hold of his ear. She yanked him out of the shadows, jerked him to the center of the room, and firmly positioned him in place beside Graham. With her slight body leaning against her twisted staff, she shook a bony finger in both their faces. “Those who play together, pay together.” She stamped her cane hard against the stone flooring, the blue crystal ensnared in the claw of roots in its top sparked with an angry blue-white glow.
Ever so slowly, she ambled over to the head of the room, hitched her way up the narrow stone steps, and eased herself down into the smaller seat beside Lady Trulie’s chair.
The thick braid knotted at the base of the old woman’s neck shone with a silvery white gleam beneath the flickering light of the torches as she nodded at Graham. “We owe him protection . . . guidance while he adapts. He is wild as a buck deer in rut after being trapped in the form of a dragon and locked to the land around Loch Ness for over three centuries—but he was Ronan’s protector, his best friend. And Ronan is now family.” Granny Sinclair leveled the softly glowing crystal of her twisted cane until it pointed directly at Graham. “But you keep endangering Clan MacKenna with your thoughtless actions and we don’t owe you a damn thing, Graham.”
Aye, well, he had not exactly been entirely shackled to the land around Loch Ness. After all, he’d traveled quite freely whenever he’d kept to the sea. Graham forced the memories of those long-ago adventures to the back of his mind, quite thankful that that part of his life was well behind him. He cleared his throat and remained silent. He’d best concentrate on getting his arse out of this current mess—especially now that Granny Sinclair was involved.
Granny’s gaze shifted and she aimed her staff at Angus. “And you know better than to pull such stunts against an allied clan. What the hell were you thinking, Angus? You’re supposed to keep him out of trouble.”
Angus tucked his chin to his chest and anxiously shuffled back and forth in place. Sidling closer to Graham, he shot him a dark, threatening look. “I’ll never listen to a single word from yer lying arse again, ye wicked bastard,” he hissed under his breath.
Still fidgeting in place, Angus hooked his thumbs in his belt. His face darkened to a ruddier shade as he turned his back on the dais and continued his shielded rant in a huffing whisper. “And if ye wish to return those horses, yer own goat-swiving arse can do it alone. I’ll not be going back there. I nearly took an arrow in me tail.”
Graham stood taller, rolling his shoulders at Angus’s words. He would not let another be held responsible for his own behavior. Best get on with this and find out what his punishment was to be. “Leave Angus be. My actions are my own.”
Mother Sinclair’s narrow-eyed gaze met with Lady Trulie’s. The women smiled in unison—cold, calculating smiles that stabbed a sense of dread deep in the center of Graham’s heart. May the gods have mercy on his soul and doubly watch over his arse.He shivered against the sudden eeriness in the air that chilled him to the bone. “Pray speak my fate. I accept whatever ye decide. Never have I shirked my responsibilities, ye ken that well enough.”
“It pleases me greatly to hear that. Doesn’t it you, my husband?” Trulie turned and smiled at Gray with a slow meaningful nod.
“Aye.” Gray flexed his hands then curled his fingers over the ends of the carved arms of his chair. His gaze trailed around the hall, studying the many folks standing along the walls and seated at the long rows of trestle tables. He slowly rose, stepped forward then halted on the last step of the raised stone platform as though he were around to announce clan war.
“After much consideration and consultation . . .” Gray paused, tossing back a quick glance at Lady Trulie and Mother Sinclair before returning his attention to Graham and Angus. “I have decided upon yer punishment since ye seem so incapable of exhibiting the least bit of self-control.”
