The MacKinnon's Bride

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  She stirred, and his grasp tightened.

  “Don’t go,” he pleaded, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken against the palm she had braced at his chest.

  “I...” Page swallowed convulsively. Unreasonable as it seemed, she took fierce pleasure in the simple request. It choked the breath from her lungs. “I... I feared to have killed you,” she confessed softly, and closed her eyes, allowing him to move his lips against her face.

  Sweet Mary... soft, warm, and sweet... his lips were... making her daft. She trembled with keen pleasure.

  His breath came labored, as did her own, and his whisper was hot and sweet against her face, and still he did not release her. Page tried to writhe away, before her body could betray her, but somehow, his lips found their way to her ear, and he murmured, “Stay, lass...”

  Sweet Christ... Page thought she would die from the sensations that swept through her at his plea, at the warmth of his breath against her lobe... the way that he seemed to be savoring her face... like a blind lover seeking knowledge of the one he loved... though Iain’s fingers were his lips... and he was making her insane.

  “Are... are you hurt?” she found the wits to ask. Her fingers slid into his hair, searching, secretly reveling in the thick healthy texture of his hair.

  “Nay.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief at his answer, and then he whispered in her ear. “Why did you come back?”

  “I... I don’t know,” she answered, and truly she didn’t.

  “I’m verra glad you did, lass.”

  “I shouldn’t have,” she acknowledged softly.

  “But you did.”

  “Aye.” Page swallowed convulsively, for his lips began to move tentatively against her cheek once more. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. She closed her eyes to savor the feel of them caressing her face. Sweet Heaven above, she had never known a heart could feel so taxed and still continue to beat.

  That her flesh could feel so sensitive to the touch.

  That her body could yearn so... desperately.

  Her body, not her heart, she reminded herself, for her heart was entombed in stone—stone walls she had erected herself with blood and mortar, and painful precision. Only her father had the power to bring them down, and instead he had helped to build them, handing her the bricks, one by one, that she might lay them firmly upon the foundation that was her life.

  Ah, but her soul... her soul had yearned and soared, flying from its confines within the prison of her heart, like a specter walking through solid walls.

  Her body yearned now, too, and God help her, she had not the will to deny it.

  Her fingers unknowingly tangled within his hair, and she was unaware that he eased his grip.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Forgive me, lass.” He kissed her cheek while his arms urged her down upon him. “I didna mean to hurt you...”

  “I know,” Page cried, and somehow knew that it was so. And then she couldn’t think at all, for his hands had somehow found their way to her face. He cupped her cheek as he had that first night... with a tenderness that stole her breath and heart away, and tears sprang to her eyes.

  chapter 17

  The desire she revealed to him so unabashedly made Iain’s heart trip painfully. It sluiced through his soul like a hallowed stream of light, banishing shadows from the darkest cobwebbed reaches.

  “I shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t want...” And the desperation he heard in her voice tore at his soul. He shouldn’t want her either, but he did. God help him, but he did.

  He turned her face to meet his .gaze. “But you do?”

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead upon his. “Nay.”

  He drew away a fraction, staring into her eyes. Deeper shadows descended upon the forest, bathing them in gloaming light, but still he could see the bewilderment in her eyes.

  The truth.

  “I spy it in your gaze, lass,” he said.

  She denied it once more, a quick jerk of her head that convinced him not at all.

  “I shouldn’t,” she persisted.

  He cupped her chin, drawing it up so that he might better see her lips when she spoke. “That look tells me otherwise. It speaks to my lips...”

  He drew himself up and placed his lips to her beautiful chin. “It begs for this...” Instinctively she tilted her head low, of her own accord, and he covered her mouth with his own, tasting her lips, tentatively at first.

  Page felt every sweet caress deep into her soul. Every soft foray across her lips sent her heart into a wild skitter.

  Sweet Mary, how she wanted this...

  How she wanted him.

  Never in her life had she craved anything more...

  What could possibly be wrong with taking what little he would give her? What did it matter that she would leave him? It wasn’t... and didn’t, she told herself.

  What if this one instant in time were to be her fleeting moment of happiness? Her one chance at this sense... of belonging... of feeling... wanted...

  Would she regret never taking it?

  She knew he couldn’t possibly love her, nor could she love him, for they were strangers. And yet... he did want her. She knew it by the way he touched her... so gently, and yet with so much ardor that it made her heart cry out with joy.

  His tongue swept across her lips with a relish that made her heart squeeze painfully. Page opened her mouth to his gentle prodding, his erotic, demanding caresses, and her body quivered as his tongue swept inside, boldly, plundering her mouth... teasing her tongue, until

  she moaned with delight and joined him in the gentle play.

  It was the sweetest taste of bliss.

  Everything she had ever dreamed.

  “Tell me now ye dinna want me, lass,” he challenged her, tearing his lips away from her mouth.

  He left her with her eyes closed, unable to open them to the tangible world. Lord, she wanted to go back... experience every delicious shudder all over again.

  “Aye,” she whispered breathlessly, never opening her eyes. If she didn’t open them, it didn’t have to be real...

  She could pretend...

  “I do—God in Heaven help me, but I do...”

  At her honest admission, pleasure so keen it was almost pain shot through Iain. And then he groaned as an entirely different sort of pain dizzied him. It burst through his limbs when he tried to lift himself from the ground to better kiss her senseless. “Ah... Christ...” He closed his eyes against it.

  He heard her gasp of alarm. “Are you hurt?” she asked once more, and he could see the concern in her eyes, hear it in her voice. It was like a balm for his soul.

  Christ, he bloody well didn’t know if he was hurt. He grimaced, for he’d come to, surprised to find her warm, soft face nestled so intimately against his own, and was at once ensorcelled by her scent, her nearness, so much so that he’d somehow forgotten why the bloody hell he was sprawled in the middle of the soggy forest floor to begin with.

  He lay back down for an instant, and then tried to move his legs. They moved well enough, he thought, though they ached like the devil. He met her worried gaze, and felt the need to reassure her, “Naught broken so far.” He smiled, not wholly convinced himself.

  Neither did she seem overly assured, and her lovely brows drew together into a barely discernible frown.

  “Truly?”

  Iain moved his legs again to show her, grimacing, and then tried to rise. He fell back upon his rear, his brows drawing together in discomfiture. “No’ broken mayhap, but a wee unsteady.” He winked at her. “Och, but ye weave a wicked spell, lass.” He grinned then, to be certain she understood he was jesting with her. “I’ll be fine,” he assured, when she failed to smile.

  He sat there upon his rump a long instant, watching her as the sun continued its descent, and wished to bloody hell that the moment’s spell hadn’t broken. In the dimming light, her blush faded to shadows, but the delicate contours of her face remained to
bewitch him.

  Och, but she was lovely. God’s truth, she might have been wearing that infernal meal sack she’d rolled out of so indignantly and Iain would have still thought her exquisite.

  They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither speaking.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said at last. “Dinna mean to.” He leaned against one hand and propped up a knee, watching her. She averted her gaze; the silhouette of her face nodded against the twilight shadows of the forest. Iain reached out, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes in the darkness. “I dinna mean to,” he swore.

  She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t allow it. Forced to hold his gaze, she glared, making some choked sound that revealed both her anger and her pain.

  He’d meant well. Christ, but he had. It was all he could do not to avert his gaze from her accusing look, so much self-disgust did he feel.

  She began to weep then, right there before him upon the forest floor. Damn the pain; he drew her into his arms and held her, her body trembling softly within his embrace.

  Page clung to him, unable to refuse the comfort of his strong arms.

  How many times had she yearned to be held thus? How many times had she wept alone?

  Too many to recount.

  It felt so good to be embraced... so good to be held as though she were loved. For the space of an instant, she could almost believe...

  She buried her face into the crook of his neck and was heartily grateful he could not see the tears she shed. It was enough he could hear them. She couldn’t stop the tremors. Heaven help her, she tried, but couldn’t.

  “What does it mean?” she asked on a sob.

  “What, lass?” he whispered.

  “Suisan.”

  He peered down at her. She could feel his gaze, and the sweet warmth of his breath, and dared to lift her face to his.

  “It means lily.”

  “Lily?”

  “Bonny and sweet,” he whispered.

  “Nay,” Page denied.

  “Aye, lass,” he murmured, and continued to stare down at her. “Lovely...” He lowered his face and touched his mouth softly to hers. “Sweet,” he whispered, and then pecked her lips with another gentle kiss.

  Page’s arms tightened about his neck, her heart hammering like a ram, and near to bursting with gratitude. “Thank you,” she relented softly, and prayed with all her heart that he would deepen the kiss once more.

  She wanted to give him everything. And her body was all she had.

  Hope, like weak candlelight, flickered within her heart.

  For an instant she thought he might, for he stared down at her as though he would, his heart beating as fiercely as her own, his breathing as labored. She almost drew him down to her, so much did she wish for it, craving the gentle reassurance of his warm lips, the hunger in his kiss.

  He came so close...

  She could almost sense the heat of his mouth so near her own that her stomach fluttered wildly. His embrace tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. In that intimate position they remained for what seemed an eternity—a heartbeat too long, for she lost the chance to lift her mouth to his lips and ask for what he would give her in that wordless language that lovers shared.

  “We should go now,” he said, and Page’s heart knotted with regret.

  “Yes,” Page replied softly, sullenly. “Afore it gets dark.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her playfully. “Och, lass, but it is dark,” he pointed out jovially.

  His laughter and his waggish tone brought a reluctant smile to Page’s lips. She found herself teasing in return. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  He laughed softly. “Didn’t ye now?” And then his mood turned serious. “Page,” he whispered.

  For an instant Page could scarce breathe, so much pain did the single word evoke. It wasn’t a name she’d been given; she’d simply grown into it, having carried out a page’s duties for her father. It spoke of loneliness and sorrow and disdain.

  Suisan was beautiful. Lilies. A wistful smile came to her lips. He’d said he thought her lovely and sweet, but she thought him wonderful and beautiful and kind, and her heart threatened to steal away with him.

  Without considering the significance of her request, she said, “Call me Suisan... if it please you...”

  He didn’t reply at once, and then after a moment whispered, “Aye, lass... it would please me verra much.”

  That night Page couldn’t sleep.

  Her heart raced and her body thrilled with awareness of the man who lay sleeping beside her. It was impossible to forget the way it had felt to lie within his arms—as though it were the very place she’d always longed to be, and she never wanted to leave.

  But she had to go.

  She was more determined now than ever.

  For her own sake, if not for her father’s—she didn’t want Iain coming after her, didn’t want to lose her father now that there was, at long last, a chance to know him.

  She didn’t want him to regret his decision.

  Then, too, she was heartily afraid she was wrong about the attraction she was feeling toward Iain MacKinnon—that it wasn’t one of the body, but one of the heart and mind.

  Aye, for she was tempted to love him.

  When she thought of him, her heart seemed to swell with emotions—both bitter and sweet. Lying next to him now, she felt alive as never before.

  Suisan.

  The memory of his whisper sent a quiver down her spine.

  When he spoke the name, it was so easy to dream... to imagine him loving her... to envision the children she would bear him... to remember his kiss...

  She closed her eyes, battling her wayward emotions and her private fancies. Jesu, but she couldn’t allow it—couldn’t give her heart to this man. He would crush it beneath his feet, with no more effort than it took for him to conjure that devastating smile.

  She shifted upon the pallet, inadvertently tugging at the wrist he had bound to his own, and her throat tightened.

  Tomorrow.

  She had to find a way to leave on the morrow.

  chapter 18

  She was planning escape.

  He was no fool. He could see it in her eyes, the devious little brain churning behind them.

  Good.

  Let her. He hoped she stumbled into a gullet and wolves dragged her out and feasted upon her body as they had Ranald’s—the bloody damned Judas!

  ’Twould be for the best, he thought, for then he could save the sawed girdings for Malcom...

  He’d determined to be rid of the both of them, no matter what it took, and it would be better to do it before they arrived again at Chreagach Mhor, where Malcom was like to be watched closely.

  Damn, but he’d waited far too long to see vengeance carried out. He’d as lief be gutted than wait any longer.

  No Sassenach wench was going to stop him. Damn Iain. She’d bewitched the fool for certain. And he didn’t see how. She was a foulmouthed wench who would have turned his own blood to ice long before she chanced to heat it.

  Christ, but he could spy it in their eyes... the way they watched each other when either thought the other could not see. It had been revolting enough to watch Iain draw her into his protection, when she no more deserved it than her bastard father did. But to know that he’d gone back after the scraps of her clothing, in order to prevent her escape? He could scarce stomach the thought.

  Aye, Iain was a fool, but that was well and good, for a fool smitten by a woman was a fool of the greatest sort.

  He planned to make short work of this requital. Iain would never know what befell him... until the moment ere he closed his whoreson eyes .. . and then he would tell him...

  Everything.

  Aye, he’d watch the bastard suffer the truth as he finally closed his eyes —just as he’d envisioned doing to Iain’s father.

  In the meanwhile, he watched the scene before him with an inward smile, waiting for just the proper moment to step into
the fray.

  “What harm can come of my washing in the lake?” Page asked, her tone fraught with challenge.

  She’d nigh had them convinced, and then Angus had been quick to remind them of her midnight swim, and the fact that she’d attempted to use the lake to make her escape, nearly succeeding in the endeavor. It seemed the majority of them could not swim, after all. She gave the old man a withering look, and informed him resolutely, “Well, the MacKinnon promised me a wash, and a wash I’ll be getting!” And she turned about to make her way down to the water’s edge, daring them to stop her.

  Angus placed himself within her path, and Page swore beneath her breath. Rot and curse these stubborn Scots! “Ye’ll be takin’ one when the MacKinnon returns, and no’ a minute sooner!”

  Page didn’t dare wait for his return. “And when might that be?” she asked. “Where has he gone?”

  “To clean up ye’re bluidy mess,” the old man said cryptically, standing stubbornly before her, arms akimbo.

  “You are a mulish, bearish old man!” she told him angrily. “Why is it you persist in plaguing me so? Isn’t it enough that you steal me away from my home, keep me in fetters and abuse me with your mouths? You would have me live in filth, as well? I am not accustomed to sleeping upon the dirty ground and I need a bath!”

  “Och! I dinna wish to even trouble myself, ye saucy Sassenach wench! Though for some godforsaken reason, the MacKinnon is thinkin’ to keep ye!” He thumped his chest with a hand. “I’ll be seein’ that he does!”

  Canny old man! Though they trembled, Page’s hands went to her hips in challenge. “Aye? And where might I go, prithee?”

  He didn’t reply, and Page stood there staring, inviting him to answer. By God, she was going to escape this morning if it killed her!

  Last eve she’d thought to never have another opportunity, but this morning one had presented itself like a miracle from Heaven. She’d been only half-awake when the MacKinnon had risen and unfettered himself from her, but in enough of a weary stupor that she’d not bothered to open her eyes. Nor had she dared to face him. And then he had gone—to Christ knew where, for there yet no sign of him and she felt desperate to leave before he returned.