The MacKinnon's Bride (32 page)

In his instant of gratification, he loved
intensely and without restraint.

She fell forward, crying out softly, and he
clutched her against his thundering heart. Stroking her hair, he
vowed with all his soul and his might that he’d please her always
and keep her safe. That, he vowed with his life.

And God have mercy upon his wretched soul if
she ever looked upon him with such loathing as Mairi had that last
morn.

Needing her embrace even more than he had
her loving, he held her fast against him, not allowing her to rise
when she tried.

They drifted to sleep just so.

chapter 27

Always the room precipitated the dream.

It began in that half-conscious state, once
the room fell to darkness—in that surreal moment when, after he’d
eluded sleep so long, the candle at last guttered. With the final
hiss of the extinguishing flame came the disorienting glow from the
hall. First, merely a flicker, one that urged him to crawl from
beneath his covers and spy into the corridor.

He didn’t go.

Then came the wails, the woman’s shrieks and
entreaties for mercy.

He clung to the blankets as a procession of
voices passed his room. A flurry of torchlight. Rushing feet.

And he was a bairn once more... a child of
no more than two... though he couldn’t be certain... whether it was
a dream... or a long-buried memory.

In his dream, the pleas were his
mother’s.

Beyond the doorway, the light shone
brightly, a beacon in the darkness of the corridor, and he lay
beneath the blankets, sweating and afeared to move.

The screaming intensified.

At the end of the hall, the door slammed
shut, casting the hall, along with his chamber, in total darkness.
The boy he was squeezed his eyes shut and wished the screams to
end. He wished with all his might. Wished. Wished.

Silence descended.

Irrevocable silence.

And suddenly he was a babe in arms, cooing
as he peered up into blue eyes.

Hush ye, my bairnie, my bonny wee dearie,
the voice crooned, sleep, come and close eyes so heavy and weary...
Closed are ye eyes, an’ rest ye are takin’... Sound be your
sleepin’, and bright be your wakin’...

Iain shuddered awake, his eyes flying open,
his lashes damp. Though the room was cool, sweat drenched his
brow.

This time, he wasn’t alone in the room, he
told himself. He wasn’t alone in the entombing darkness.

Nor was the silence so deafening or
impenetrable.

Though his heart pounded fiercely still, the
warmth of the body lying within his arms assured him that it had
merely been a dream.

Willing his breath to ease and his heart to
calm, he analyzed the dream.

There had been a new element this time. The
lay. The eyes. Familiar eyes.

But whose?

And whose voice?

Always before he had awakened with the
impact of silence. A silence that was damning and irrevocable. A
silence that fell like the dread of the thunder.

Not this time. This time there was
light—faint though the candle’s afterglow might be. And sound. The
sound of a woman’s sighing breath as she slept. His woman. The very
thought made his lips turn with pleasure. And when his senses
cleared enough, he made out yet another sound. He heard and
understood the faint wail of a pipe coming from deep in the night,
and without hesitation rolled free of the tangled, sleeping form
beside him to seek it.

Page was uncertain what prompted her from
slumber, but the closing of the door brought her full awake.

Though she awoke disoriented within the
darkened chamber, her eyes were drawn at once to the door. And
though she knew instinctively she would find the bed empty beside
her, she rolled into the space where Iain had lain, sighing
contentedly. It was still warm from his body, and she caressed the
sheets adoringly with her palms, her fingers... as though to drink
in the intoxicating heat of the man who had rested there mere
moments before.

Had she ever thought herself immune to him?
How could she have thought it possible? Jesu, but she was both
terrified and exhilarated at once—terrified because she knew
instinctively that this was the last time she could dare lay her
heart so bare.

And it was bare... No matter that she would
deny it... she could scarce deceive herself.

Somehow, without even trying, he’d found his
way beyond the carefully tended barriers that had long since kept
her safe... and so alone.

Once upon a time she’d sworn never to care
about love, or even the respect of others—she couldn’t control
those things—had even ceased to vie for them, choosing instead to
go her own way. That frame of mind had gotten her into so much
difficulty with her father! She knew that, and yet had provoked him
nevertheless—not because she’d so desperately craved his affection,
but because she was furious with him. She knew that now because
Iain had forced her to acknowledge the truth of the matter. That
she was furious with her father—enraged with a strength and depth
of emotion that could never have waxed so full overnight.

God, help her... dare she open her heart
completely? Dare she hope he could love her in return, when no one
else had?

Page nipped at her lip, biting until she
felt pain, for she wanted to so very desperately.

Swallowing the knot that rose to choke her,
she lay there and contemplated the sparseness of the room. Even in
the darkness she could sense its nagging emptiness. There was
nothing here to give even the slightest insight into the man with
whom she’d lain with so freely.

The man she dared to love.

She knew Iain MacKinnon loved his clan
fiercely—knew he loved his son even more. But who was he?

There was a brooding sadness about him—a
sadness he hid behind that mask of unrelenting good humor. She
sensed that. She knew, too, that he suffered nightmares... but of
what?

As she lay there, contemplating the
possibilities, she came aware of the distant wail of a pipe.
Melancholy and haunting, the melody drifted through the night like
a shuddering cry.

Driven with curiosity, she rolled from the
bed and searched out her clothing, intending to follow the piper’s
haunting song.

“
Da!” Malcom shouted at
seeing him. He came running, leaping into Iain’s arms, his smile
brilliant, his eyes shining.

Iain laughed as he caught his son. He
squeezed him tightly, embracing him unabashedly.

“
Glenna told me no’ to
pester ye,” Malcom complained. “She said I couldna go an’ wake
ye!”

Iain’s grin widened at hearing his son’s
grievance. “Did she now?”

“
Aye,” Malcom declared,
squeezing him back with all the strength his stout little arms
possessed. “I wanna ride your shoulders, da!” he
declared.

“
Verra well, y’ wee auld
man.”

Malcom giggled a mischievous little giggle
and nearly strangled Iain with his glee. When, at last, he released
the hold upon his throat, Iain hoisted his son atop his shoulders
and waited until he was settled before making his way toward the
gathering of kinsmen. “Well, now,” he remarked, more to himself
than to Malcom. “I see everyone is ready at hand.”

“
Aye, da, but dinna worry.
We didna begin withoot ye.”

“
I see ye didna,” Iain
remarked blithely, and thanked his son for standing in for him
while he’d been else-wise occupied.

“
Aw... dinna fash
yourself, da. I told ‘em ye couldna help yourself.”

“
Ho!” Iain choked in
surprise. “Did ye now?”

“
Aye, and Angus said I had
the right o’ it, too.”

“
Did he now?”

“
Aye! He said ye been
without a woman too long.”

Iain strangled on a chuckle. He made a
mental note to speak with Angus about Malcom’s premature education.
Och, but he thought his son understood far too much for his tender
age.

Then again, he
reconsidered, mayhap
’
twas for the best.
God, but he knew better than any that one could not control fate.
Were he to cock up his toes this very night, or tomorrow, or the
next, Malcom would need every wisp of knowledge he might possess in
order to survive. Aye, for he could shelter his son only so far.
MacKinnon men had not the luxury of languishing in boyhood. Damn,
but they were pulled from the womb as men, with the weight of the
clan upon their shoulders, and the shadows of their predecessors
pecking at their backs. In truth, though Iain had vowed to allow
Malcom as ordinary a boyhood as was conceivable, he was sworn by
birthright, and by duty, to prepare his son to lead.

“
Well, now,” Iain
began.

“
Awwww, dinna worry, da,”
Malcom broke in as he wrapped his chubby little hands around Iain’s
chin and laid his own chin atop the pate of Iain’s head. Iain
savored the feel of his son’s wee pointy chin needling the crown of
his head. Och, but it wouldn’t be long before this was naught more
than a pleasant memory. The thought made him sigh wistfully. “I
understand,” Malcom said, his tone conspiratorial.

Iain’s brow furrowed. “D’ ye now, son?”

“
Aye, da,” his son
declared with a certainty. “I been without a woman too long, too,”
he revealed somewhat dejectedly.

Iain choked, but not solely because of the
little hands that were now tightening their grip upon his throat.
Bones o’ the bloody saints, he wasn’t certain whether to be amused
or disconcerted by his son’s revelation. “You’ve been without a
woman too long?” he repeated with no small measure of surprise.

“
Aw, yeah, da!” Malcom
answered resolutely. “Och, but I been thinkin’ it would be a guid
thing to have a lassie aboot to croon me to sleep now and
again.”

Iain chuckled at his son’s waggish
admission. Struggling to contain his mirth, he whacked his son’s
leg affectionately, and smiled as he walked.

“
Oh, da,” Malcom ventured
once more.

“
Aye, Malcom?”

“
Di’ she sing ye a guid
lay, I was wonderin’?”

Iain blinked at the innocent question.

“
I heard cousin Lagan say
she was gonna gi’ ye one.”

It took Iain a full moment to realize what
it was his son was asking. Damn, but he asked the question with
such childish innocense that it made his heart squeeze. No matter
that Malcom had no notion what it was he was asking, Iain’s
heartbeat sped at the memory. His face and neck heated. Had she
ever—with her sweet, passionate whimpers and her pleas. Her open
desire for him had been like a balm for his soul. But God’s teeth,
he wasn’t about to tell his son that it was the finest lay he’d
ever had in his life.

“
Aye, Malcom,” Iain
confessed, clearing his throat. “She sings sweeter than any woman I
e’er did hear.”

“
I thought so, Da,” Malcom
avowed. “She croons better than cousin Lagan, of a
certain.”

Iain’s brows lifted in surprise. “Lagan?” He
stopped walking, surprised by the disclosure. Damn, but though
Lagan had always been good enough to Malcom, Iain could scarce
imagine his dour-faced cousin croonin’ to anyone. “Lagan sang ye to
sleep, Malcom?”

“
Aye, da,” his son assured
him. “He surely did.”

“
I’ll be damned,” Iain
declared. “Now, when did he go and do a thing like
that?”

“
Hmmmm...”

Iain imagined his son’s scrunched nose as he
concentrated, and couldn’t keep from smiling once more.

“
I dunno, da,” Malcom
yielded after a moment’s deliberation. “But he surely did. I canna
remember when, but I know he surely did.”

“
Well, I’ll be damned,”
Iain said again, and started once more toward the gathering. He
decided there was much about his cousin that he had yet to
learn.

“
Oh, da?”

“
Aye, son?”

“
I was wonderin’ too...
does she sing a finer lilt than did me minnie?”

Once again Iain halted in his step, his
heart squeezing within his chest. His brows drew together at the
simple question, and he swallowed the knob that appeared in his
throat, answering honestly. “I dunno, Malcom. I never did hear your
minnie sing, at all.”

“
Oh.”

There was keen disappointment in the single
word. Iain heard it and his heart twisted.

“
Da, you’re hurtin’ me
leg,” Malcom said, a frown in his voice.

Starting at the complaint, Iain eased his
grip upon Malcom’s little legs at once. He sucked in a breath and
said, “Forgive me, son.” He swallowed the grief that rose to choke
him, though it was no longer grief for himself. “You know what,
though, son,” he lied with ease, for Malcom’s sake. “She woulda
sung to ye... if she could have..””

“
D’ y’ think so,
da?”

The note of hope in his voice was like vin
aigre spilled into a freshly healing wound. Iain’s eyes stung,
though not from the smoke of the raging bonfire. The image of Mairi
standing before the window, her eyes burning with hatred, rose up
to mock him. There was no doubt in his mind that she had left them
both, for she’d left him standing there with their brand-new bairn
cradled within his arms. Still, he forced the lie from his lips.
Again for Malcom’s sake. “I know so, son,” he swore vehemently. “I
know so. Had she been able to see your wee li’l face, she would
have sung to you. I know it.”