The MacKinnon's Bride (34 page)

When she was done with Merry Bells, she
granted Malcom and one of his friends the dubious honor of hunting
whatever fleas remained. She showed them how to search, found a few
for them, and then set them to work. She left the two snickering,
pretending to hunt down “dirty MacLeans hiding within MacKinnon
territory.”

That done, she emptied the tub, and then
began to refill it with clean water to bathe the Behemoth and his
friends. Without a doubt, she knew they wouldn’t like it, but
somehow she would need to convince them that it was for their own
good.

She didn’t notice the crowd gathered before
the wash kettle until it was too late and they were all divested of
their clothing. Starting when she turned to spy their bare bottoms
and nude bodies congregated about the steaming cauldron, she gasped
aloud and slapped a hand over her eyes to hide the shocking view.
Sweet Jesu, but these Scotsmen had no shame at all, she decided.
Never in her life had she known men so eager to undress—or mayhap
she had, but certainly none without some ulterior motive! Peeking
between fingers, she spied the last of them dropping tunic and
breacan into the wash kettle, and her face heated from more than
just the heat of the steam-filled kitchen.

Never mind that she’d thought herself
perfectly capable of carrying out this task—she was mortified!

Certainly she’d seen men unclothed. Her
father and brothers had had little regard for small courtesies
where she had been concerned—and she had fully intended to wash
Broc, after all—but sweet Jesu, this was ludicrous! She peered
about to find that the other women present were perfectly at ease.
While they were—thank God!—somewhat more modest, they seemed to
take little heed of the rampant nudity accosting them!

Groaning in dismay, Page snapped her fingers
together and contemplated her options. She could go screaming from
the room, and look like a fool. Or she could uncover her eyes and
finish the task she’d begun. She rubbed at her temples, pretending
a headache.

Iain wasn’t certain whether to kiss her
senseless, or paddle her delightful derriere.

He’d missed her—missed her like he’d never
thought it possible to miss the sight of a bonny face in the few
hours since he’d seen her last, lying so cozy within his bed.

He stood in the doorway to the kitchen now,
his hands braced upon either side of the frame, and simply stared
within.

At his end of the room stood his witless
men, chattering idly about a steaming cauldron like a huddle of old
women—all of them naked as the day they’d been spewed from their
mammies’ wombs! God’s blessed teeth! He certainly didn’t believe in
false modesties, and his men had never been overly discreet, but
this was ridiculous! Leave her alone with them for five bloody
minutes, and he returns to find them undressed every damned time.
Damn, but if she didn’t look so bloody abashed by the lot of them,
he might have thought it deliberate upon her part, for he couldn’t
recall a time when his men had been so eager to strut about
unclothed.

It took him a few befuddled minutes to even
make out the purpose of this boiler room. His first clue had been a
very wet Merry Bells—with his son and young Keith diligently
searching her shaggy coat. His next was the stench of lye, and the
boiling cauldron of bleeding wool. And lastly, his son’s excited
shout of “A flea! A flea! I got one!” as he held out his pinched
fingers for Keith’s eager inspection.

“
I see no flea!” Keith
argued.

Iain didn’t know whether to be proud that
she was concerned for the welfare of his kinfolk, or furious that
she would so unwisely place herself in a room full of naked,
lust-ridden men. Christ, but it was all he could do not to dunk
them all into that boiling cauldron along with their clothes!

His gaze remained upon Page as he waited to
see what she would do.

Until he happened to spy Broc’s bare arse
headed in her direction, and in that moment, any warm thoughts over
her charitable gesture fled entirely. With a snarl of displeasure,
he shoved away from the doorframe and stalked into the room. Spying
him, Broc halted in his step, and the room fell to a hush. Page,
however, was unaware of his presence, for her eyes were still
dutifully covered, until he snatched her by the arm.

She shrieked in startle when he jerked her
after him, dragging her out of the room.

“
Wait!” she protested.
“I’m not yet done!”

“
Aye ye are!” Iain
asserted.

“
But I have to give Broc a
bath!” she announced, though she didn’t struggle.

“
Oh, no ye don’,” he
argued.

“
The fleas!” Page
protested, stumbling after him.

“
What about them?” Iain
answered, no hesitation in his stride. “Och, but the lad has been
bathin’ himself for four and twenty years—I think he’ll do well
enough withoot ye!”

He led her out of the kitchen, leaving those
within to stare, grinning, after them.

Lagan’s smile faded the instant they walked
out from the door. “Besotted fools!” he whispered to Glenna.

Glenna’s smile faded, as well, as she turned
to contemplate the boy she’d raised from birth. “Lagan,” she
reasoned, her voice aggrieved. “Can ye no’ be happy for him just
once? Can ye no’ see that he’s suffered enough?”

Lagan’s eyes glittered with resentment. “And
what of me?” he asked. “Have I no’ suffered enough, as well?”

“
Lagan,” she objected. “He
is your—”

“
We both know what he is
to me, Mother,” he scoffed.

“
Och, Lagan, but have I
not loved ye well?” He stared, unmoved by her question, and she
lowered her eyes. “Then at least remember that he is your laird,
and do not speak of him so.”

“
My brother, my laird,” he
whispered into her ear, mocking her. “Damn but it galls. What have
I ever had of him?” he asked her, his lips curling into a
snarl.

“
Everythign that he could
give,” she answered him.

“
The only thing I have
ever wanted was the right to grieve for my own mother.”

“
Ye canna, Lagan! He does
not know.”

“
And, o’ course, as ever,
‘tis him we should be concerned o’er, right?”

“
It was the old laird’s
wish,” Glenna reminded him.

“
And what o’ my da’s
wishes? What o’ them? The bastard killed him because my mother
dared to love him.”

“
It was an accident,
Lagan.”

“
How can you defend him?”
Lagan returned angrily.

Glenna shook her head. “He was as much
aggrieved by Dougal MacLean’s death as any. The old laird’s anger
drove him to it. How can you not forgive?”

“
Och, but ‘tis your own
sister’s bairn, your flesh and blood, he denied. Me.”

Glenna hung her head. “I gave you
everything, Lagan. You wanted for naught.”

“
I wanted for plenty. You
were just too blind to see.”

She shook her head, lamenting. “I should
ne’er have told ye, Lagan.”

“
Aye, but you did,” he
returned acidly, his eyes narrowing wrathfully. “And as God is my
witness, it shall be made right.”

Her gaze flew to his, searching. “What will
you do, Lagan? Dinna do anythin’ foolish,” she admonished, worry
etched in her eyes.

“
I intend to see that
justice is done,” he hissed at her, and walked away, grumbling
after.

chapter 29

It seemed no matter where she went, trouble
pursued her.

Vowing to keep herself free from
provocation, Page decided to remain within Iain’s chamber the next
day.

The notion came to her in the middle of the
night to refurbish his tower room, and she awoke the next morn with
a mission, hoping to complete the task before his return. She
waited until he left her, and then enlisted Glenna’s help once
more—Broc’s, as well. She began by hauling up buckets with which to
clean. That done, she scoured the floors with a vengeance,
scrubbing until there was nary a speck of dust or dirt to be found.
And when she finished the floors, she moved to the walls, scrubbing
until the stone was free of soot and grime.

Glenna set herself to laundering the
bedding.

There was little enough Page could do to add
cheer to the bedchamber, for Iain seemed to have few indulgences.
Search though she did, there was nothing she could find to place
upon the floors or walls; no tapestries to add color, no rugs to
ward away the chill that seemed to permeate the room and remain
forever present—despite that the sun shone brightly outside.

There was, however, one thing she determined
would aid immensely, and she started at once for the boarded
window, resolving to let in the sunlight. The sun, she was certain,
would do wonders to transform the room’s gaol-like quality into
something somewhat more gay.

The wooden slats barring the window were
heavy and crude, clearly not meant to be ornate. Placed at odd
angles to each other, they gave the impression they were hurriedly
placed, and perhaps not meant to be permanent. Well, it was long
past time they should come down, she resolved, as she wrestled with
the bottommost slat. She struggled with the board only an instant
before determining she would need help.

“
Broc!” she called out. No
answer. “Broc?” She turned to find he’d vanished from the room.
Bewildered by his sudden disappearance, she turned and found Glenna
frozen at the far side of the room, staring, a look akin to horror
registered upon her face, a bundle of clean bedding visibly
clenched within her arms.

“
Where did he go?” Page
asked. “I need his help to unbar the window.”

“
Oh, hinnie!” Glenna
whispered a little frantically. “I dinna think ye should!” She
turned to peer out from the open doorway, as though suddenly
afeared someone would spy them.

Page blinked. “Why? I do not understand,”
she said, confused by the grave expression upon the older woman’s
face. “Is there a reason this window should remain barred?”

“
Aye... well—aye!” Glenna
stammered, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and looking ill
at ease.

Page raised a brow at the much too hesitant
and then exuberant reply. “Why?”

“
Och, but ‘tis a long ways
down!” Glenna disclosed.

The explanation sounded lame to Page, and
she screwed her face as she contemplated the strange reasoning.

“
For Malcom’s sake!” she
added, tossing down the bedsheets upon the bed. “It was boarded to
keep him safe!”

Page nodded in comprehension. “Oh, I see!
When he was younger?”

“
Aye!” Glenna exclaimed,
looking relieved now.

Page drew her brows together. “But he’s
older,” she reasoned, turning her attention back to the window,
eyeing it speculatively. “I can see no harm in removing the bars
now. Jesu, but it looks like a gaol in here!” She tested the slats
once more—every last one of them, though she had to climb upon the
sill to reach the uppermost boards. The top slat cracked free, only
a bit, but enough that she was able to pry her fingers beneath and
seize hold of it. Using her weight for leverage, she tugged it
free. Rather than lose her footing, Page released the board. It
landed upon the floor with a resounding clatter.

A brilliant stream of sunlight pierced the
room.

“
Splendid!” she exclaimed.
“The floors and walls will dry so much better with the sun!” She
turned to appraise Glenna’s reaction and found the older woman had
vanished, as well. Her brows knit, for she hadn’t even been the
least aware of Glenna’s departure. Page shrugged, thinking Glenna’s
reaction to the window curious, but she wasn’t going to let it stop
her. She was certain that once they saw the improvement in the
room, they would wholeheartedly agree it was the right thing to do.
Without delay, she began to work at unbarring the window, removing
the gloomy barrier board by board.

Iain had been repairing the stone enclosure
that kept their fold penned when Broc found him. Sputtering some
babble about clean floors and unshuttering the tower window, he’d
urged Iain to make haste. Dread over whatever dire circumstance had
reduced Broc to spouting nonsensical drivel kept him from lingering
to decipher the cryptic message. But it wasn’t until Glenna
accosted him on his way into the tower that he fully understood
what it was that Broc had been trying to say, and he took the tower
steps two at a time in his haste to reach her.

Too late.

He burst through the doorway of his chamber
and froze at the sight that greeted him.

The room was aglow with light. Brilliant
white sunlight flooded every corner and washed over the wooden
floors like a mantle of gold.

In the space of an instant, he was propelled
backward in time.

She stood looking out from the window,
sunlight streaming in around her. It touched her hair and brushed
it with copper. Iain took a step into the room and felt suddenly as
though he’d walked into an inferno... the nightmare real once
more.

Sweat beaded upon his brow and prickled his
upper lip.

She didn’t turn and he couldn’t find his
voice to speak.

Like some beautiful specter from his past,
she stood there, peering down at the cliffs below the tower, the
wind blowing and lifting her unbound hair. It fluttered at her back
and she leaned forward to catch the breeze.