The MacKinnon's Bride (22 page)

Resisting the urge to cast a longing glance
at the spot where the horses were tethered, Page waded back toward
shore, though not all the way. She stopped when Angus gave her
leave to, remaining at a safe distance from the others. And then
she began to wash herself, pretending an interest in a nonexistent
stain in her gown. She scrubbed at it incessantly, taking quick
peeks at the old man watching from the shore. When she’d taken long
enough with that self-imposed task, she dared her first duck
beneath the water to wet her hair, coming up quickly, watching
Angus and the others as she unplaited her hair. Still, no one but
Angus watched her. Even Broc wandered away. But she knew it was
merely a matter of time before they tired of their child’s play and
decided to plague her once more, so she didn’t linger once her hair
was unbound. She plunged into the water once more, this time taking
her time about resurfacing.

Knowing Angus would be watching, she took
great pains to remain in the same spot, and didn’t dare wait too
long before resurfacing. She didn’t intend for Angus to call the
guards after her. On the contrary, her intent was to stay under
longer and longer, until he lost interest.

Until she deemed it long enough a time to
make that mad swim toward freedom.

He was staring anxiously when she resurfaced
for the second time, but Page continued on, pretending to bathe,
until at last it seemed he was not quite so suspicious. She dunked
herself a few more times for good measure, and on the final time
found him busy speaking with Kerwyn and Kermichil.

Knowing her time was limited, Page made her
final dunk beneath the water’s surface. This time, she dove deep
and propelled herself in the direction of the horses, praying to
God that her direction was not wrong. She knew instinctively this
would be her only opportunity.

She swam with her eyes open, despite the
sting of the cold, and swam with all her might, hoping her path
wasn’t visible from the water’s surface.

When she reached the bank, she surfaced
slowly, praying for the cover of foliage, and nearly died with
relief and joy when she found herself in the very heart of the
leafy enclosure and heard the soft nickering and chewing of horses
at their leisure.

Thank God! She’d made it!

Thus far.

She knew her time was short, and she still
needed to steal a mount without their noticing—else she’d not get
very far. She wasted little time worrying about the probability of
being caught, for she had precious little time to spare. Any moment
Angus would sound the alarm. Even as she slipped from the water,
she kept expecting to hear his cranky old bellow.

She made her way quickly through the trees
and bushes, not daring even to risk a glance in Angus’s
direction.

She wasn’t particular about her mount,
simply seized one and untethered it. Only when she was about to
mount did she realize it was the one upon which poor Ranald was
bound—not very well, at that, she realized almost at once. Rather
than take the time to choose another horse, and then more time to
untether it, and thus risk gaining notice, Page drew up her courage
and mounted before poor Ranald, but the horse seemed not to
appreciate the fact that she was dripping wet, and protested,
snorting and prancing.

And then suddenly she heard the warning
shout, and knew her time was ended. Panicking, she spurred the
horse with the heel of her foot. It reared, and Page held on for
dear life. To her dismay and horror, it danced backward, trying to
unseat her. Nickering furiously, it retreated into the water. And
then startled, it reared once again. Page clung to its withers as
though to save her very soul. Poor Ranald slid off and dove into
the water as the horse surged from the lake and broke into a
furious run. She heard the shouts and curses behind her, more
splashes as men dove in frantically after poor Ranald, but dared
not turn to look, fearing they would still be too close at her
heels. When at last she dared to peer back, it was to find a mob of
shouting, cursing, naked Scotsmen chasing far behind her.

Even as she watched, a few turned and raced
for their mounts, but it was too late.

Far too late.

Page breathed a sigh of relief and turned
back toward freedom. She fully intended to flee them, even if she
had to run morning till eventide.

She dared another glance backward, and
couldn’t help herself; she burst into hysterical laughter at the
hilarious sight they presented.

Naked and furious, they ran, chasing her
still.

chapter 19

It was the last thing Iain expected to find
upon his return.

His first thought as he reined in to watch
the spectacle was, how the devil had she managed to undress some
thirty Scotsmen?

God’s teeth, he’d wholly expected to find
she’d half driven them mad, and was afeared to discover they’d
murdered her before his return, but this... this, he’d certainly
not anticipated—to find her riding away upon a stolen horse, and
his men panting and bellowing like idiots while they chased her,
their male anatomies swinging free to the breeze. Some ran
clutching their groins with both hands, some with one, waving
furiously with the other for her to return. A mere handful had
evidently gone back after their mounts, for they came racing after
her, riding naked as bairns from their mothers’ wombs.

“
What are they doin’, da?”
his son asked, sounding as bewildered as Iain felt.

“
Damned if I know, son,”
Iain answered after a moment. “God’s truth, I dunno!”

Christ, but he didn’t know whether to be
angry or amused, so he sat there bemused instead, watching the
scene unfold and wondering how one measly woman could cause so much
bloody trouble.

He didn’t have the chance to ponder it long,
for his son reminded him of the obvious. “I dunno either, but I
think she’s gettin’ away, da.”

“
I’ll be damned if she
isna, son,” he agreed, and urged Kerr to come forward. He handed
Malcom to him, directed them to return to camp and await him there,
and then he spurred his mount after her.

“
Bluidy obstinate wench,”
he muttered to himself.

So why the hell didn’t he simply let her
go?

He could easily sacrifice a mount for the
sake of her safety, and appease any guilt he might feel over
leaving her to fend for herself. If she had any sense of direction
at all, she’d soon enough be ensconced within her father’s walls.
Nor had he retrieved all the scraps she’d discarded. She’d come
upon them soon enough, and they would serve to guide her...

If he let her go...

So why didn’t he?

Because he bloody well didn’t want to,
that’s why! It wasn’t only because he feared for her safety at the
hands of her father. He just didn’t want to.

Something within him snapped as he watched
her race away—some twist of emotion that felt like fear.

She was slipping away, shadows creeping in.
A heavy door clanging shut. Darkness.

He leaned purposefully over his steed,
urging his mount faster, closing the distance between them, coming
at her from the left flank, and drawing alongside her. Preoccupied
as she was with the naked mob pursuing her, he took her by
surprise. He didn’t think in that moment, merely acted, reaching
out with an angry bellow to pluck her from her saddle. She shrieked
in alarm, and for the instant was too startled to fight him. He
drew her against him, holding her imprisoned.

“
Let me go!” she demanded,
regaining her wits at once. “Let me go! Let me go!” Realizing who
had captured her, she squirmed against him furiously, soaking his
tunic and breacan.

“
Nay, lass,” he growled.
“I told ye I wouldna! I willna!”

“
You lunatic Scotsman!”
she railed at him. “Do you not realize you might have killed
me!”

He didn’t respond. In truth, he didn’t know
what to say to that bit of logic, for he’d not thought about
anything at all, save stopping her. Some dark fog had enveloped
him, some undeniable sweep of emotion that left him trembling
still. Empty in a way that was painful. The same way he’d felt
after Mairi had flung herself from his window.

Only, that he understood.

This, he did not.

“
You might have warned
me!” she added furiously.

Aye, he might have, if he’d been brainless
enough to do so. “So ye might lead me upon a merry chase? I dinna
think so!”

He didn’t bother to return as yet, instead
rode on, trying to determine what the hell had come over him. A
backward glance told him that her mount had slowed enough for his
men to overtake. At any rate, he sure as Christ wasn’t going to
allow her to remain in her wet gown and catch her death, and
neither did he intend to have her undress before his men.

She needed privacy.

He wanted to hold her.

“
Why can you not let me
go?” she asked him furiously.

Would that he had the answers to her
questions.

Christ, but he didn’t know. It somehow went
far beyond the simple fact that he wished to save her from her
father. In truth, that had been the last thing on his mind as she’d
been flying away from him. The one thought that had spurred him
more swiftly than any other was that she was slipping away... this
woman who somehow banished shadows with her sultry sidelong
glances.

Like a lad with his coveted prize, Iain held
her securely against him, letting the black fog lift, relishing the
feel of her warm flesh beneath the cold, wet gown she wore. His
hand splayed at her belly and he could scarce keep himself from
noticing the tiny waistline, the delicate outline of her ribs. His
fingers traced them higher, until he could feel the weight of her
breasts rest upon his hand. His loins quickened.

“
Let me go!” she
pleaded.

“
I canna, lass,” he
answered her. “I canna.” And he shuddered at the desire that
gripped him so fiercely of a sudden. Just so easily she aroused him
to the point of madness. Without even trying. This woman who vexed
him unto death. She plagued him by day, and tormented him by night.
And God help him, it was such pleasurable torture.

“
Aye, but you can!” she
argued desperately. “You can!” she reasoned with him. “If only you
wished to!” She began to sob as his fingers continued to explore,
but she didn’t stop him.

If she asked... he would.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her breath caught on one last sob
and she whimpered softly, arching backward, thrusting her head
against his shoulder.

At her innocent response, Iain’s body
convulsed with a hunger so keen, it cast all thoughts from his
head, save for those of the woman within his arms. Sucking the
sweet scent of her into his lungs, he dared to lift a hand,
skimming her breast, going to her throat, caressing gently,
reverently. Unable to resist, he bent to bury his face against the
curve of her neck, once again inhaling the beguiling scent of
her.

“
There ye have it then,
lass,” he whispered against the flesh of her throat, nibbling
gently. “It seems I dinna wish to.”

He heard her intake of breath as his fingers
gripped her shoulder, and her delicate shudder as his hand slid
down her arm, and knew she was not unaffected.

The simple knowledge aroused him fully.

“
I want you, lass,” he
whispered against her ear, before he could stop himself, and meant
it fiercely. “Want ye... so verra much...”

She stopped weeping suddenly and sat before
him still as stone.

Page could scarce breathe suddenly, less
weep.

Mere words. But words so powerful and
compelling, they sent shock pummeling through her.

Her body convulsed. Her heart skipped its
natural beat, and her thoughts scattered to the winds.

She closed her eyes and could feel every
rise and fall of his chest at her back. His hand continued to
explore, his caresses wresting delicious shivers from her body, and
God save her soul, she wanted to let his fingers roam forever.
Wanted to let him do anything he would with her.

Anything.

Aye, she was wanton... and wicked, but she
didn’t care.

Her heart felt near to bursting with joy
over his avowal.

He wanted her.

It didn’t matter that it was merely for the
moment, she wanted him too—and thought she’d die if she couldn’t
take a piece of him with her. A single bittersweet moment would
suffice to bring a wistful tear to her eye when she was old and
gray and had nothing left to sustain her but memories.

When his thumb caressed the underside of her
breast, and then his hand dared to cup her so gently, she clasped
trembling fingers over his and turned her face up to meet his
gaze.

His eyes were like molten gold, glittering
with promise, seducing her with the hunger so apparent behind
them.

She willed him to know... willed him to see
her own desire... willed him to hold her... kiss her.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again.
“Tell me now... if ye wish me to stop, lass.”

Page’s throat closed, the words wouldn’t
come, but she managed to shake her head, hoping he would comprehend
her silent plea.

He kissed her throat then, nibbled it
gently, lapped it hungrily, and she knew he’d understood.

“
Och, lass,” he whispered,
his breath hot against her neck, “are ye sure?” His hand slid up to
cup her breast, squeezing gently, as though to make clear his
intentions.

For answer, Page followed his hand, willing
him to continue, reveling in the way that his fingers cherished her
body, wringing delightful quivers from her. She pressed his hand to
her breast in blatant invitation, and watched the expression upon
his face.