The MacKinnon's Bride (35 page)

Iain’s breath caught and his heart began to
hammer. In his mind’s eye he saw Mairi, not Page, standing there.
Though he stood there empty-handed, he felt again the weight of
their newborn bairn in his arms and the sting of tears in his
eyes.

That morning... it had begun just so.

It couldn’t be happening again.

He wouldn’t let it.

Page had never seen such a glorious sight as
the one she now beheld.

In all her life she had never known a view
could be so breathtaking. With the advantage of height, one could
see clearly out to the loch below the jutting cliffs. From the
ground, all that was visible was an upward- sloping hill. She would
have guessed that the hill continued to a gentle slope beyond the
summit, as well.

And she would have been wrong.

The wind was a roar within her ears, and the
sun shining down upon her face was like the hand of God warming her
wind-chilled brow. She stood in amazement, marveling over the
glitter of blue that stretched forth between one cliffside and the
next. Jesu, but she could feel every sensation acutely here—the
crispness of the air, the warmth of the sun’s rays, the caress of
the wind.

She couldn’t imagine why the window would
have been boarded—it seemed a shame to take for granted something
so incredibly beautiful as this view. Glenna’s explanation had been
reasonable enough... when one stopped to think of the dangers to a
small child, although Page doubted she would ever have considered
such a thing. But then, she was neither a mother nor a father, and
was like never to be protecting one of her own.

Lord, but even the breeze was sweet with the
scent of wild heather!

Instinctively she leaned out to seek the
elusive scent, to inhale it more deeply into her greedy lungs.

“
Nay!”

The thunderous command startled her.

Page spun about, her hand flying to her
breast, to find Iain standing in the room. She’d not even heard him
approach. “You startled me!” she accused him.

“
Get away from that
window!” He came toward her, his eyes narrowed wrathfully.
“Now!”

Page took a step backward, alarmed by the
purposeful look in his eyes, the glassy sheen to them. He looked at
her as though he did not quite recognize her.

“
I said get away from the
bluidy window!” He lunged after her suddenly, before she could take
another evasive step, and seized her ruthlessly by the arm. He spun
her about, dragging her within the chamber.

Alarmed, Page struggled against him. Never
had she seen him so enraged, so crazed! The flickering gold of his
eyes shimmered with the intensity of angry, burning flames. The
transformation in him was frightening. “You’re hurting me!” she
protested, grimacing.

Sweet Jesu, but he didn’t seem to hear
her!

He jerked her after him, hurled her
heedlessly across his bed. Page landed, disoriented, but didn’t
dare wait to catch her breath. She scurried to the far side of the
bed and turned to face him there, watching him warily.

“
Who the bluidy hell said
you could open that gaddamned window?” he demanded.

Page shook her head, unable to speak. She
didn’t know this side of him. Never once had he looked at her so
cruelly, or spoken so harshly. She couldn’t even begin to
comprehend what she could have done to provoke him to such an
extreme—not when she’d worked so incessantly at it before and had
never even managed to prick his temper at all! God’s truth, she’d
been more in danger of inspiring his laughter than she ever had his
fury!

Reasoning that he was not lucid this
instant, she yielded, “I’m sorry. I... I didn’t know... I didn’t
realize... Iain?”

Strange how, though she knew the lengths to
which her father would go, she’d always stood her ground with him.
With Iain, she was certain he’d never harm her—ever—and yet she
felt the need to conciliate.

Still, she wasn’t about to come anywhere
near him until the cloud of rage cleared from his eyes!

It was the look upon her face that recalled
Iain to himself.

She crouched upon his bed, her eyes watching
him with that same intensely guarded look she’d given him that
first night he’d met her. It was wariness, not hatred he saw
there.

Not revulsion.

He blinked, focusing.

Christ, it was not Mairi at the window...
not Mairi shrinking from him at the far end of the bed.

And still he couldn’t help but shudder at
the look in her eyes. At the black rage in his heart. So many years
he’d kept the emotions buried. Damn, but he wasn’t simply angry
with Mairi for leaving their son—he despised her for it! Unwilling
to betray his emotions, Iain turned his back to Page and sat upon
the bed, his body tense and trembling with restraint.

He sat for what seemed an eternity, staring
at the open window.

Blue skies for as far as the eye could
behold.

Malcom would have his seventh winter
soon.

He looked about him, seeing his chamber for
the first time in so many years... He’d always loathed this room.
Even before Mairi... he had suffered the dreams. Her death had only
intensified them.

Only, this moment... there was something
different about it, he thought... something bright and cheery. He’d
seen it this way before... but the difference this instant... was
the presence of the woman at his back.

He started when he felt her delicate tap
upon his shoulder. His breath caught, but he didn’t turn to face
her.

Christ, but he didn’t know what to say.

She likely thought him a madman.

And he could scarce blame her for it.

Page approached him warily, laying her hand
upon his shoulder, and gasped when he started. He didn’t turn to
look at her, seemed discomposed, and she wanted so much to ease his
burdens... as he had done so often for her.

They were true, she realized, as she watched
him stare so intently at the window—the rumors she’d heard about
his wife.

And yet it was evident from his expression,
from his reaction to the open window, that the memory pained him
still. The connection had never occurred to her—the barred window
and the death of his wife. It hadn’t occurred to her.

She swallowed, gathered her courage, and
lifted her hand to his clenched jaw.

Her heart lurched when he leaned into it,
allowing her to comfort him, and her breath caught when he turned
to look at her suddenly.

His golden eyes were full of grief.

“‘
Tis true, then? Your
wife...”

For a long instant he didn’t reply. He
removed his face from her hand, sitting rigid before her. “What?”
he asked her, his whisper sounding pained. “Is it true that I
murdered her? That I pushed her from the window?”

“
Nay!” Page said with a
rush of breath. She shook her head vehemently. “I never did think
so!”

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.
“She killed herself.” His voice broke. “Leapt... from that window.”
He turned again to the wide, unobstructed opening, nodding.

Page experienced the most overwhelming
desire to embrace him in that instant. She let herself, her heart
quickening...

For the first time in her life, she didn’t
worry about rejection... or her own tattered soul. She wrapped her
arms about the man she loved. Though he stiffened at the unexpected
show of compassion, he allowed it.

For a long instant they remained just
so.

“
It seemed she preferred
death... to me,” he admitted softly, brokenly. “Her final words
were... I want ye to know... the thought o’ ye ever touchin’ me
again did this... You killed me, Iain.”

Page’s eyes stung with tears for the pain
he’d endured at her hands.

“
I hear those words still
in my dreams.”

He shuddered at the confession, and her
heart swelled with emotion. “I understand,” she said softly. “I
do.” All this time she had never guessed he could be suffering the
same as she—he with his good humor and his easy manner. Sweet Jesu,
but she knew what it felt like to be unloved, to be cast aside.

They were the same.

He turned to look at her, and his eyes
crinkled at the corners. “Aye,” he said, “I know ye do, lass.”

Not this time. She wasn’t going to allow him
to divert her attention—for once, it wasn’t about her. “I’m
stubborn and canny,” she told him. “Don’t worry about me.” And she
smiled softly—for the first time in her life knowing of a certainty
it was so.

He gave her a halfhearted smile, a slight
turn of his lips.

Jesu, but she wanted to love him, wanted to
nurture him—wanted him to know that not only would she gladly bear
his touch, but she craved it fiercely! And in that instant she knew
that she loved him truly. It had to be love, for she was unafraid
to offer him all that she had to give—no matter that he had the
power to wound her as did no other. Were he to rebuff her, she knew
she would never recover.

Even so... not caring what his reaction to
her brazenness might be... she bent to brush her lips against his
whiskered jaw.

She kissed him softly, but with all the
emotion she possessed in her heart.

She wanted him to cherish her, wanted him to
make love to her, wanted to embrace him just so for the rest of her
days.

He groaned, the guttural sound low and
tormented, and Page felt her body quicken in response.

“
Och, mo cridhe .. .fear
mo ruin,” he whispered fiercely, turning and cupping her face
within his callused hands. He closed his eyes and kissed her lips
with a heart-jolting tenderness that stole her breath
away.

Shuddering as he drew her down upon the bed
and covered her body with his own, Page dared to pretend that his
strangely muttered words were I love you.

chapter 30

It had been a long time since Iain had
watched the sun set from his chamber window.

Even longer since he’d made love by the
blush of its waning light. He’d forgotten how sweet it could be.
Even more, he had never known the contentment that was possible in
the sharing of two bodies.

Aye, he’d experienced those moments of
gratification after a thorough loving... the physical sense of
serenity. He’d wallowed in those pleasures like a lazy hound in the
heat of a noonday sun. But he’d never imagined such a plane existed
within the soul itself.

Exhausted from her day’s labor within his
chamber, and their lovemaking, Page slept deeply beside him. Iain
could scarce keep his hands to himself. He stroked her hair
reverently, marveling that she slept so peacefully. He traced the
outline of her body with his hands, afeared to touch her that she
might wake, and yet unable to keep himself from appreciating the
beauty of her form. Her long, lean limbs were tangled within the
bedsheets. Her golden hair flowed down her back.

Like a wild woodland nymph, she lay bare
beside him, naked and wholly revealed to his eyes—even her heart
exposed to him this instant. Och, but he sensed her soul, and it
was beauteous beyond imagination. Like a wary sculptor disrobing
his long-guarded creation, she’d dared unveil herself to him with
this loving, and his heart was filled near to brimming with
emotion.

Emotions he couldn’t quite disentangle, so
jumbled were they together in this twisted mass that was his
heart.

And yet he knew they were significant, for
never in his life had he felt such a buoyant sense of bonding.
Christ, but if he could remain with her together... the way they
were this instant... for the rest of their lives.. . Iain thought
he might.

And so when the knock sounded upon the door,
he was loath to respond. He lay there, muttering silent curses and
willing the intruder to go away. The summons came once more, and he
growled in disgust. Drawing the sheets up to cover Page from greedy
eyes, he lifted himself from the bed as quietly as he was able,
leaving, her to sleep while he answered the door.

“
Broc,” he said, frowning
as he opened the door to find the youth standing there. Naked
though he was, he stood barring the view within.

“
Laird!” Broc began,
looking suddenly sheepish. “Pardon, but och! Seems ‘tis my duty
today to be the bearer of bad tidings.”

Iain peered back over his shoulder at the
sleeping form within his bed, and sighed. “What now?” he asked,
returning his attention to a red- faced Broc.

“
Well,” Broc began. “’Tis
Glenna...”

“
What about her?” Iain
snapped.

“
Well,” he began again,
fidgeting under Iain’s impatient stare. “She didna see to the
evenin’ meal... We went to find oot why... but she willna come oot
o’ her croft.”

Iain’s face screwed. “Guid God, mon!” It
wasn’t like Glenna, but she was certainly entitled to a moment’s
peace. He needed only see how weary Page was to know that Glenna
was like to be the same. “Ye’re grown men,” he admonished. “Dinna
ye think she—”

“
She’s weepin’,” Broc
interjected before Iain could reprimand him further.

“
Weepin’?”

Broc nodded. “Loudly. Ye can hear her
clearly from outside the door. She says she doesna wish to talk to
anybody, and willna open the door.”

“
Where is
Lagan?”

Broc shrugged. “We’ve looked everywhere, but
it doesna really matter as she says she doesna wish to see him
either.”

Iain was certain his surprise was manifest
in his face. “She willna see her son?”

Broc shook his head. “It isna her way, I
know..”

Iain’s brow furrowed. “Nay,” he agreed,
deliberating over the facts. And it truly was not. Glenna had never
been one to indulge in tempers. Not in all the years he’d known
her. “Go on, then. I’ll be there anon.”