The MacKinnon's Bride (5 page)

His brows drew together, though his eyes
glinted with unconcealed amusement. “You’re an impudent wench,” he
said, with too little heat, but he complied at once. “Did your da
beat you oft?”

Once again Page found herself aggrieved by
his question. “Nay!” she countered, but she swallowed the ache that
rose like a goose egg in her throat. In truth, her father hadn’t
cared enough even for that. She averted her gaze. “How dare you
speak of him so!” she mustered herself to say. “My father... he
would never...” She rubbed at her wrists, trying to ease the pain
that flowed into them.

Naught could ease the ache in her heart.

“
Well, then, mayhap he
should have...”

Page glared at him.

“
Let me see your
hands.”

It was a command, no matter that it was
spoken so softly, and Page bristled. “I can see to them myself,
thank you!”

He sighed. “As you wish.”

“
Aye, ‘tis my
wish!”

“
You’re a stubborn
fashious wench,” he apprised her.

“
And you—” From the corner
of her eye, she saw that he lifted his hands toward her, and Page
flinched again. Aha! Now it began!

He moved quickly and she was staggered to
find he merely placed a dry gown over her head. Her own gown, for
the material was familiar, soft and worn with age. The scent was
hers too.

And it was toasty warm.

He’d gone after it—but not only had he
retrieved it, he’d gone so far as to dry it before the fire.

Shock filtered through her. Stunned, she
allowed him to draw the gown over her body, smooth it down, and
like a poppet, she thrust out her arms to place within the
sleeves.

Her throat squeezed shut so that she could
not speak. No one had ever elicited so many emotions from her as
did this stranger. No one had ever looked after her so. No one had
ever worried whether she was comfortable, or hungry, or
lonely...

Her heart wrenched, and once again, despair
threatened to strangle her.

She couldn’t believe he was treating her
so... kindly.

He was staring at her strangely... as though
he would read her thoughts. And then his expression shuttered and
his brows drew together, as he commanded, “Place your hands at your
back.”

Page recanted her opinion of him at once and
gave him a glare he was like never to forget.

He cocked his head, and entreated, “Dinna
make me force ye, lass...”

He could, she realized, and she gritted her
teeth. Still, she couldn’t make herself obey quite so easily.
“You’re a wretch, you realize?”

He chuckled, seeming impervious to her
wrath. The man wore his good humor like an accursed suit of
armor!

“
So I’ve been told,” he
confessed without apology. “Now place your hands at your back so I
can bind them.”

“
Why can you not leave
them free?” she protested, but obeyed nonetheless. Better to bide
her time and choose her battles wisely.

It might help to know how many men she must
do battle with and she wondered if he would tell her. “What have
you to fear of me?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “You’ve
fifty men and more...”

“
Do I?” he answered
noncommittally, peering up at her, his lips slightly
crooked.

The wretch! He knew very well what she was
asking and wouldn’t even give her so meager a concession!

“
As for your hands, wench,
I’m simply no’ foolhardy enough to allow ye to remain unfettered.
I’ll be needin’ my sleep tonight and dinna have in mind to play
nursemaid to a foolish lass who doesna seem to know enough to keep
her tongue stilled.”

He reached behind her to bind her wrists
together behind the tree, this time not so tightly. “I’m sorry
Lagan was so harsh wi’ ye,” he said, testing the rope. Page cursed
him for his small gesture. It only served to discompose her all the
more.

She decided to ignore the apology—and the
gesture, as well. “Surely you cannot expect me to sleep this
way!”

“
As I’ve said, lass...” He
met her gaze. “Some things canna be helped.” He proceeded, then, to
adjust her gown so that her legs were covered, and Page bristled at
his manipulations. She didn’t wish to be appreciative—didn’t want
to be indebted to this man for any reason at all!

Did he treat his son so patiently? So
thoughtfully? She couldn’t help but feel a prick of envy at the
notion.

Then, too, his actions only served to stress
that her own father had lied yet again. The man before her no more
beat his son than he would beat her. The thought both relieved and
aggrieved her at once.

Only belatedly did she realize he was
staring. “What are you looking at?” she asked peevishly.

His lips curved. “I should think it would be
evident.”

Page lifted both brows. “Are you wondering
whether I’d make a tasty meal?” she ventured caustically. “Don’t
bother, you would find me bitter, I assure you.”

His lips turned a scant more. “Tempting
thought... but nay.” His expression turned sober. He reached
suddenly to brush a strand of tangled hair from her face, and Page
fancied biting off his fingers, so much fury was she feeling. He
merely held it there before her face, separating the damp strands
between his fingers. “I was simply wonderin’ at what ye were
thinking, lass.”

Lass.

The way he spoke the single word... as
though it were laden with affection, made her shudder to her soul.
“Naught,” she lied, and nearly choked on her anger and her grief.
“Only that my father—” He tucked the strand behind her ear, and her
thoughts scattered to the winds.

“
I know... he’ll pluck oot
my eyes,” he finished for her, sighing, as he untucked the
checkered blanket from his belt. He drew it from his back, and
covered her with its formidable length.

To Page’s dismay, it was warm with the heat
of his body, and the bestirring scent of him rose to accost her;
sunshine, horseflesh and man. Unreasonably, she found herself
wondering whether his skin would be swarthy from the sun, or
pale—somehow, despite the fact that she could not see him clearly
through the shadows, she knew he would be dark from his labors in
the sun.

She imagined him bare chested, working...
and then realized he wore no breeches, and expunged the image at
once, shocked by the realization. Jesu, but she felt herself grow
warm even at the thought of him bared to the bottom. She found her
protests silenced by the fierce pounding of her traitorous
heart.

Until he stretched out before her suddenly
and rested his head upon her lap. Then she found her voice at once.
“What, in the name of God, do you think you are doing, sir?”

He grinned up at her and had the audacity to
wink, as well. “Sleeping, o’ course.” His long hair spilled over
her lap, dark as ebony silk.

Jesu, but he was bare bottomed beneath his
tunic! “Not on me, you’ll not!”

“
Ah, but ye’ve my breacan,
lass,” he pointed out quite reasonably, his voice silky. “Where
else would ye have me sleep but here?”

“
In a tree for all I
care!” she hissed, and squeezed her eyes shut. No use, the image
accosted her behind closed lids with greater detail. “Stop calling
me lass!” she snarled, her eyes going wide.

His eyes glinted by the light of the moon.
“Aye, lass,” he agreed, “but then what would ye have me call ye if
no’ lass?”

He was mocking her, Page realized, and she
found herself mute with anger and chagrin. She’d be hung by her
toes before she’d reveal her name to the likes of him! “Oaf! Take
your accursed breacan! I’ll not allow you to sleep with me! Get off
me!”

His lips curved roguishly.
“Ah, but I’m no’ sleepin’
wi’
ye, lass. I’m sleepin’
on
ye,” he pointed out, without the
least compunction. “And nay, I’ll not. What better way to keep you
warm and free from harm?”

“
What better way to watch
me while you sleep, isn’t that what you really mean!”

His grin widened. “That too.”

“
Arrogant wretch! I could
spit upon you, you realize. And I might do that! Just you wait and
see!”

“
Aye... ye could,” he
agreed, “but then I’d be sorely taxed and have to send Lagan to
guard ye, instead and I’d be guessin’ my randy cousin would take
great pleasure in a buxom English lassie for a pilloo.” He snuggled
a little to prove his point, burying his face into her lap,
nuzzling between her thighs. His chest expanded with his intake of
breath, and he sighed audibly, sounding as contented as a child
left to fill his belly with tarts.

Page’s stomach floated into her ribs.
Something deep inside her woman’s core quickened at his brash male
gesture, and heat trickled into her nether regions.

“
Och, but if ye dinna mind
Lagan’s wooing...”

He made to rise, and Page shrieked.
“Nay!”

He chuckled, and lay back down at once. “I
didna believe ye would relish the thought. G’nite, then, lass.” He
snuggled his head once more, like an innocent boy with his beloved
mother.

But he was no innocent.

Nor was she beloved.

And he was lying within her lap!

Bare bottomed!

So was she for that matter.

“
Overbearing brute!” she
spat, glaring at him fiercely. “’Tis God’s own truth that the only
harm I have to fear is that from you!”

“
Then ye’ve naught to
fear, at all,” he countered, shifting indolently to his side and
thrusting an oversized arm over her leg, cozying
himself.

His arm was as big as her thigh!

“
Anyway, ye’ve only the
one night to endure,” he assured her. “Tomorrow ye’ll be safe again
wi’ your da.”

She wanted to slap his arrogant face—wanted
to sink her teeth into his flesh! What gall! “Get off!” she cried,
and tried to free her hands. She muttered a fierce oath when they
refused to come free from their bindings.

“
Och, wench, does your
father know ye’ve such a rude tongue?” he asked her.

“‘
Tis none of your bloody
concern! Beast! Rest yourself comfortable, why do you not!” She
fought the urge to scream, knowing that the last thing she needed
now was to wake his men.

“
Dinna mind if I do,” he
murmured.

He had the nerve to close his eyes,
dismissing her once and for all, and Page wished she could box his
ears. She tried to move her legs, but he held her pinned
irrevocably with his weight. She ceased her struggles only to
summon every blasphemy she’d ever heard uttered. “Oaf!” she hissed.
“Swine! Knave! Scot!”

His lips curved into a smile.

Her brows collided. She tried to think of
worse. “Beast! Demon! Blackhearted dev—”

“
Ye’re to be well
commended on your mastery of the language,” he said
only.

“
And you shall
never
get your son
back!” she swore in anger.

His expression sobered at once, although he
still didn’t open his eyes. “For your sake, lass, ye’d better be
hopin’ I do.”

Page felt hopelessness seep into her very
soul. She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing left to say!
She hadn’t lied. The MacKinnon wouldn’t get his son back. Her
father wouldn’t deal with him, and she was doomed. Doomed!

“
If I thought ye would
answer me true,” he said after a long moment, “I would ask ye how
my son fares.” His eyes remained closed, but Page could see that
his jaw remained taut. Worry was etched upon his
features.

Curse him! For no matter that she might
despise him, she found she couldn’t bring herself to deny him the
answer he sought. This one thing she could never withhold from an
anxious father.

She sighed irascibly. “And if I were
inclined to answer, I would say he fares well enough. He’s not been
abused, if ‘tis what you fear—not by us! He simply will not speak,
is all.”

She could see the strain ease somewhat from
his face, and found herself envious of his son, that he would have
a father who fretted for him so. But then... fathers always valued
their sons, did they not?

Her heart twisted painfully.

“
Thank you,” he whispered,
and didn’t deign to speak to her again.

Page averted her face, trying to ignore the
stranger lying so intimately in her lap.

It was a futile gesture. Never in her life
had she been more aware of another human being.

Safe again with her father, indeed!

The image was laughable. Security was
something more than simply being free from harm. She knew that
instinctively... and yet... she’d never truly known the feeling at
all. Security was an alien concept, for it spoke to her of warmth
and caring... a welcoming embrace... things she’d never known. She
snorted and refused to look down upon him again until he was
snoring beneath her. Fast asleep, and so easily! She ought to spit
on him for truth. That would surely show him! She ought to drool
all over him, too!

She writhed beneath him, trying to dislodge
him from her limbs, to no avail. His weight, as he’d intended, made
it impossible. Wretched, insufferable man!

She ought to scream in his ear—but that, she
counseled herself, would only serve to wake the rest of his
lechers, as well. Nor did she wish him to follow through with his
threat and send Lagan to guard her instead. That one, she trusted
the least of all.

And that brought her to another thought
entirely... how pitiable it was that the one man who, by rights,
should have been the most cruel was the one man who had been the
most gentle.