Page had awakened to a dark, empty room—Iain nowhere to be found—but she hadn’t been afforded time to lament the fact. Glenna had entered almost at once, her voice a cheerful admonition to be up and about.
God’s truth, Page might have loathed the woman at once, save that she was much too agreeable to be despised. Glenna had brought with her a tunic for Page to wear—one she’d claimed had never belonged to Iain’s wife at all. Page had found herself smiling as Glenna had assured her, blushing, that it was one of her own—from her younger, thinner days, of course.
It was a grand gesture, Page thought. She had never concerned herself overmuch with her manner of dress, and was only mildly embarrassed that Glenna should think she needed a new gown. She was entirely dismayed, however, to find that even the tunic had fleas!
Page had, at once, taken it upon herself to rid the MacKinnon clan of their fleas. Recalling how they’d managed Balfour’s infestation a few years past, she set about the tasks with zeal. With Glenna’s help, she managed to gather the infested men and women together and was in the process of boiling garments within the massive iron kettles.
The kitchen was pervaded with perspiring bodies; some merely observing the strange ritual, others participating. When she dared to bathe Broc’s dog, the flea-breeding culprit, stunned murmurs accosted her ears. Some whispered in Gaelic. Others in plain English.
“Och, but I think she’s gain’ to wash the bluidy dog!” exclaimed someone.
“I’ll be damned, she is gain’ to wash the bluidy dog!” said another.
“Must be a Sassenach curse to ward away fleas,” whispered another.
Page didn’t hesitate at her task, nor did she linger to explain. She thought it rather an obvious solution, and marveled that no one had ever thought of it before now. Smiling, she cast the animal into a lye-soaped tub, and scrubbed his matted fur until she thought he might go bald from the scouring. The beast never protested, for all that, it merely arched its back like a blessed cat, and luxuriated in the bath. Poor Merry Bells. Likely the dog was so bitten and abused by the horrid little creatures that even Page’s scrubbing was a favor.
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.
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. S
he 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.
The MacKinnon's Bride Page 25