The MacKinnon's Bride

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Before he could look at her with that knee- weakening, soul-stirring gaze.

  And leave, she would—if ever she could convince the old fool standing before her that a bath was a perfectly harmless pursuit.

  “Certainly you cannot be afeared of me?” she taunted him.

  Still he didn’t respond, merely continued to eye her as though she were some evil sorceress about to perform her witchery and vanish before his eyes. Page might have laughed at his vigilant expression and ready stance, save that she was too angry to indulge in even a shred of good humor.

  “Really!” she persisted. “You cannot be afeared of me! Wherever would I go?” she asked a little hysterically. Her eyes scanned the immediate horizon, once again surveying her greatest vantage spot—where the forest trees hung like curious old men over the lake. Their foliaged limbs brushed the water’s edge, as though stretching downward for a cool drink. It offered a temporary hideaway.

  If she could ever get herself into the lake.

  The horses were also tethered near the far bank.

  It was perfect.

  It was time to play upon their vanity, Page decided, and her brow lifted in challenge. “Certainly the lot of you... how many?” She peered about, counting, and then turned to Angus. “I count at least a score of you,” she told him. “Certainly you can manage a single weakly woman?”

  “Fie!” Angus exclaimed.

  “Aye, Angus,” Dougal piped in. “Surely we can manage a single weakly woman?”

  Page nearly laughed aloud at the question in his tone.

  “Fie!” Angus exclaimed once more.

  “I dinna see anything amiss wi’ allowin’ the lass to wash,” Broc interjected, stepping into their midst, and eyeing her knowingly. Page was almost thankful to the great behemoth. Almost, for then he added, “Och, but I would be verra pleased if she would bathe herself, dirty as she is. Can no’ ye smell that Sassenach stench?” he asked, and laughed uproariously.

  Page narrowed her eyes at him, thinking he should say a prayer of thanks come nightfall that she’d not be present to box his ears into oblivion. Jesu, but she’d like to stomp him into the ground with booted feet! Arrogant Scotsmen! She’d certainly had more than her fill of the lot of them! She cast Broc a furious glance and said, turning to address a mottle-faced Angus, “Follow me into the water, if you please... if you do not trust me...”

  “Verra well, let her bathe herself,” Lagan decreed, and then he waved a hand at the lot of them standing idly about. “But follow her in. Dinna let her oot o’ your sight.”

  Page met his gaze and shuddered, for she could tell he did not like her, nor did he trust her. Were he to have it his own way, he’d not afford her any opportunities.

  “Lagan!” Dougal protested. “I dinna need a bluidy bath! I dinna want to follow her in! She can bathe herself, and we can watch from the bank!”

  “I’ll bathe wi’ her,” Kerwyn exclaimed, his tone fraught with inuendo. He laughed, amused by himself.

  “And I,” agreed Kermichil, sharing a private smile with Kerwyn.

  Page shuddered at the lecherous looks that suddenly appeared in their eyes, the knowing glances they exchanged between them.

  And then suddenly they were all peering at each other just so, mumbling in their Scots tongue and laughing, racing to strip down to their bare buttocks.

  Page’s eyes went wide.

  God’s truth! This, she hadn’t bargained for!

  All at once they began to stampede toward her, and it no longer mattered that Angus stood between her and safety. She gave a little shriek of alarm and ran toward the lake, wading in quickly. The frigid water struck her like ice palms, snatching her breath away, but she ignored the sting of her flesh and rushed headlong into the deepest water.

  Jesu, but neither had she expected it to be so cold!

  When she was far enough out that she could no longer stand, and was certain no one had followed, she turned, treading water, trying to stay afloat despite her billowing gown, and watched, stupefied, as the entire lot of naked Scotsmen frolicked like babes in the water. They had all of them discarded their meager clothing and now stood in the shallow water, their male anatomy bared to the breeze, splashing water at each other and laughing uproariously. Though she’d definitely not mistaken the lecherous glances they’d given her, they’d somehow forgotten even her presence now, preoccupied as they were with their own revelry.

  Only Angus, Broc, and Lagan stood upon the bank.

  Grinning at the lot of them, Lagan walked away without sparing Page a glance, shaking his head and laughing as he went.

  Broc, for his part, stood laughing—laughing and scratching at his groin, the gesture too earnest to be precisely obscene, and the thought struck Page suddenly that he was the one man here who was in sore need of a bath. Jesu, but there was no other way to rid himself of those fleas. In a momentary lapse, she thought to tell him so, and then decided against it, reminding herself that she didn’t care whether he ever rid himself of the accursed contagion. The sour-tempered behemoth was no concern of hers at all. Let him suffer the vermin, for all she cared! She hoped he scored his skin raw!

  Angus, on the other hand, stood glaring at her—as though to blame her for the loss of good sense in the grown men surrounding her. Well, she was certainly not to blame!

  Her gaze traveled the lot of them. None of them were paying her any mind. Kerwyn stood in shallow water, bending over to dunk his gnarled head into the frigid lake. He brought it up, shaking water like a wet beast, and making horrendous noises that sounded to Page’s ears like a wounded animal. To her amazement, she watched as Kermichil did the same, and then stood waiting for Kerwyn to try again, as though they were having some curious contest of sorts. Page could scarce imagine what they might be competing over.

  Whose head would turn blue first from the cold?

  Her teeth were chattering as her gaze returned to the bank. Angus was waving for her to come nearer. Though she was tempted to try to make her escape now, while the lot of them were preoccupied, she did as he bade her, knowing that Angus would foil her plan long before she set it into motion. The old man was wily as a fox, and he was watching her too closely for her to even attempt an escape as yet. The last thing she needed was for him to begin shouting at her now and draw attention.

  Resisting the urge to cast a longing glance at the spot where the horses were tethered, Page waded back toward shore, though not all the way. She stopped when Angus gave her leave to, remaining at a safe distance from the others. And then she began to wash herself, pretending an interest in a nonexistent stain in her gown. She scrubbed at it incessantly, taking quick peeks at the old man watching from the shore. When she’d taken long enough with that self-imposed task, she dared her first duck beneath the water to wet her hair, coming up quickly, watching Angus and the others as she unplaited her hair. Still, no one but Angus watched her. Even Broc wandered away. But she knew it was merely a matter of time before they tired of their child’s play and decided to plague her once more, so she didn’t linger once her hair was unbound. She plunged into the water once more, this time taking her time about resurfacing.

  Knowing Angus would be watching, she took great pains to remain in the same spot, and didn’t dare wait too long before resurfacing. She didn’t intend for Angus to call the guards after her. On the contrary, her intent was to stay under longer and longer, until he lost interest.

  Until she deemed it long enough a time to make that mad swim toward freedom.

  He was staring anxiously when she resurfaced for the second time, but Page continued on, pretending to bathe, until at last it seemed he was not quite so suspicious. She dunked herself a few more times for good measure, and on the final time found him busy speaking with Kerwyn and Kermichil.

  Knowing her time was limited, Page made her final dunk beneath the water’s surface. This time, she dove deep and propelled herself in the direction of the horses, praying to God that her direction was not wrong. S
he knew instinctively this would be her only opportunity.

  She swam with her eyes open, despite the sting of the cold, and swam with all her might, hoping her path wasn’t visible from the water’s surface.

  When she reached the bank, she surfaced slowly, praying for the cover of foliage, and nearly died with relief and joy when she found herself in the very heart of the leafy enclosure and heard the soft nickering and chewing of horses at their leisure.

  Thank God! She’d made it!

  Thus far.

  She knew her time was short, and she still needed to steal a mount without their noticing—else she’d not get very far. She wasted little time worrying about the probability of being caught, for she had precious little time to spare. Any moment Angus would sound the alarm. Even as she slipped from the water, she kept expecting to hear his cranky old bellow.

  She made her way quickly through the trees and bushes, not daring even to risk a glance in Angus’s direction.

  She wasn’t particular about her mount, simply seized one and untethered it. Only when she was about to mount did she realize it was the one upon which poor Ranald was bound—not very well, at that, she realized almost at once. Rather than take the time to choose another horse, and then more time to untether it, and thus risk gaining notice, Page drew up her courage and mounted before poor Ranald, but the horse seemed not to appreciate the fact that she was dripping wet, and protested, snorting and prancing.

  And then suddenly she heard the warning shout, and knew her time was ended. Panicking, she spurred the horse with the heel of her foot. It reared, and Page held on for dear life. To her dismay and horror, it danced backward, trying to unseat her. Nickering furiously, it retreated into the water. And then startled, it reared once again. Page clung to its withers as though to save her very soul. Poor Ranald slid off and dove into the water as the horse surged from the lake and broke into a furious run. She heard the shouts and curses behind her, more splashes as men dove in frantically after poor Ranald, but dared not turn to look, fearing they would still be too close at her heels. When at last she dared to peer back, it was to find a mob of shouting, cursing, naked Scotsmen chasing far behind her.

  Even as she watched, a few turned and raced for their mounts, but it was too late.

  Far too late.

  Page breathed a sigh of relief and turned back toward freedom. She fully intended to flee them, even if she had to run morning till eventide.

  She dared another glance backward, and couldn’t help herself; she burst into hysterical laughter at the hilarious sight they presented.

  Naked and furious, they ran, chasing her still.

  chapter 19

  It was the last thing Iain expected to find upon his return.

  His first thought as he reined in to watch the spectacle was, how the devil had she managed to undress some thirty Scotsmen?

  God’s teeth, he’d wholly expected to find she’d half driven them mad, and was afeared to discover they’d murdered her before his return, but this... this, he’d certainly not anticipated—to find her riding away upon a stolen horse, and his men panting and bellowing like idiots while they chased her, their male anatomies swinging free to the breeze. Some ran clutching their groins with both hands, some with one, waving furiously with the other for her to return. A mere handful had evidently gone back after their mounts, for they came racing after her, riding naked as bairns from their mothers’ wombs.

  “What are they doin’, da?” his son asked, sounding as bewildered as Iain felt.

  “Damned if I know, son,” Iain answered after a moment. “God’s truth, I dunno!”

  Christ, but he didn’t know whether to be angry or amused, so he sat there bemused instead, watching the scene unfold and wondering how one measly woman could cause so much bloody trouble.

  He didn’t have the chance to ponder it long, for his son reminded him of the obvious. “I dunno either, but I think she’s gettin’ away, da.”

  “I’ll be damned if she isna, son,” he agreed, and urged Kerr to come forward. He handed Malcom to him, directed them to return to camp and await him there, and then he spurred his mount after her.

  “Bluidy obstinate wench,” he muttered to himself.

  So why the hell didn’t he simply let her go?

  He could easily sacrifice a mount for the sake of her safety, and appease any guilt he might feel over leaving her to fend for herself. If she had any sense of direction at all, she’d soon enough be ensconced within her father’s walls. Nor had he retrieved all the scraps she’d discarded. She’d come upon them soon enough, and they would serve to guide her...

  If he let her go...

  So why didn’t he?

  Because he bloody well didn’t want to, that’s why! It wasn’t only because he feared for her safety at the hands of her father. He just didn’t want to.

  Something within him snapped as he watched her race away—some twist of emotion that felt like fear.

  She was slipping away, shadows creeping in. A heavy door clanging shut. Darkness.

  He leaned purposefully over his steed, urging his mount faster, closing the distance between them, coming at her from the left flank, and drawing alongside her. Preoccupied as she was with the naked mob pursuing her, he took her by surprise. He didn’t think in that moment, merely acted, reaching out with an angry bellow to pluck her from her saddle. She shrieked in alarm, and for the instant was too startled to fight him. He drew her against him, holding her imprisoned.

  “Let me go!” she demanded, regaining her wits at once. “Let me go! Let me go!” Realizing who had captured her, she squirmed against him furiously, soaking his tunic and breacan.

  “Nay, lass,” he growled. “I told ye I wouldna! I willna!”

  “You lunatic Scotsman!” she railed at him. “Do you not realize you might have killed me!”

  He didn’t respond. In truth, he didn’t know what to say to that bit of logic, for he’d not thought about anything at all, save stopping her. Some dark fog had enveloped him, some undeniable sweep of emotion that left him trembling still. Empty in a way that was painful. The same way he’d felt after Mairi had flung herself from his window.

  Only, that he understood.

  This, he did not.

  “You might have warned me!” she added furiously.

  Aye, he might have, if he’d been brainless enough to do so. “So ye might lead me upon a merry chase? I dinna think so!”

  He didn’t bother to return as yet, instead rode on, trying to determine what the hell had come over him. A backward glance told him that her mount had slowed enough for his men to overtake. At any rate, he sure as Christ wasn’t going to allow her to remain in her wet gown and catch her death, and neither did he intend to have her undress before his men.

  She needed privacy.

  He wanted to hold her.

  “Why can you not let me go?” she asked him furiously.

  Would that he had the answers to her questions.

  Christ, but he didn’t know. It somehow went far beyond the simple fact that he wished to save her from her father. In truth, that had been the last thing on his mind as she’d been flying away from him. The one thought that had spurred him more swiftly than any other was that she was slipping away... this woman who somehow banished shadows with her sultry sidelong glances.

  Like a lad with his coveted prize, Iain held her securely against him, letting the black fog lift, relishing the feel of her warm flesh beneath the cold, wet gown she wore. His hand splayed at her belly and he could scarce keep himself from noticing the tiny waistline, the delicate outline of her ribs. His fingers traced them higher, until he could feel the weight of her breasts rest upon his hand. His loins quickened.

  “Let me go!” she pleaded.

  “I canna, lass,” he answered her. “I canna.” And he shuddered at the desire that gripped him so fiercely of a sudden. Just so easily she aroused him to the point of madness. Without even trying. This woman who vexed him unto death.
She plagued him by day, and tormented him by night. And God help him, it was such pleasurable torture.

  “Aye, but you can!” she argued desperately. “You can!” she reasoned with him. “If only you wished to!” She began to sob as his fingers continued to explore, but she didn’t stop him.

  If she asked... he would.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, her breath caught on one last sob and she whimpered softly, arching backward, thrusting her head against his shoulder.

  At her innocent response, Iain’s body convulsed with a hunger so keen, it cast all thoughts from his head, save for those of the woman within his arms. Sucking the sweet scent of her into his lungs, he dared to lift a hand, skimming her breast, going to her throat, caressing gently, reverently. Unable to resist, he bent to bury his face against the curve of her neck, once again inhaling the beguiling scent of her.

  “There ye have it then, lass,” he whispered against the flesh of her throat, nibbling gently. “It seems I dinna wish to.”

  He heard her intake of breath as his fingers gripped her shoulder, and her delicate shudder as his hand slid down her arm, and knew she was not unaffected.

  The simple knowledge aroused him fully.

  “I want you, lass,” he whispered against her ear, before he could stop himself, and meant it fiercely. “Want ye... so verra much...”

  She stopped weeping suddenly and sat before him still as stone.

  Page could scarce breathe suddenly, less weep.

  Mere words. But words so powerful and compelling, they sent shock pummeling through her.

  Her body convulsed. Her heart skipped its natural beat, and her thoughts scattered to the winds.

  She closed her eyes and could feel every rise and fall of his chest at her back. His hand continued to explore, his caresses wresting delicious shivers from her body, and God save her soul, she wanted to let his fingers roam forever. Wanted to let him do anything he would with her.