Page

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Are they really?” he asked with little concern.

  She actually growled at that, and Iain had to suppress a hearty chuckle at her fierce expression of frustration.

  “Put me down, I tell you! Now! Overbearing brute!”

  “Of a certainty, I shall,” Iain said amenably, but he continued to carry her up the steps, disregarding her request until he was safely within his chamber, and managed to kick the door closed. Only then did he put her down and release her.

  Chapter 25

  The instant Page feet touched the wooden floor, she hurried across the room, too outraged to care that she might stumble over some misplaced object within the gloomy confines of the chamber. She went as far as she dared, and then whirled on him, her hands going to her hips as she glared at him through the dusky shadows. She tried to focus on his imposing form standing so forbiddingly before the only door.

  “Ill-mannered Scot!” she said, when she still could not see him clearly enough.

  Page couldn’t remember when she’d been so humiliated. And then at once she reconsidered. Of course she could. No other moment in her life would ever pain her more than the instant she’d discovered her father’s treachery. Be that as it may, Iain MacKinnon’s rude conduct came mightily close.

  “Don’t you have any tapers?”

  Without light, it was hard to tell what he might be thinking.

  “We dinna keep servants,” he answered calmly. “We do for ourselves, lass. If the room is dark and cold, I beg your pardon.”

  Page had to clamp her lips together to keep from lashing out a response to his unjust insinuation—that she would have had servants to coddle her. Indeed, if her father could scarce trouble himself to name her, he certainly hadn’t been any more inclined to see to her comforts. On the contrary, he’d worked her tirelessly, and the embarrassing coarseness of her hands bespoke as much. She clenched her fists at her sides, and gritted her teeth in renewed anger at the reminder of her father.

  “No servants?” she answered flippantly. “What a pity. Well, no worries, I shall find myself quite at home at any rate,” she answered truthfully.

  “I shall see to it,” he promised.

  There was a moment of taut silence as he pushed away from the door and moved through the shadows. Page followed him as best she could.

  When at last her vision adjusted to the gloom, she watched as he finally lit a candle. Its flame thrust immediately upward and remained steady and true, brightening the room. It was a large room by most standards—large enough to make it appear utterly barren despite the massive bed that occupied its middle. The bed itself was strewn with furs, but the rest of the room was completely devoid of anything that would give it warmth. No tapestries upon the walls, no rushes upon the floors.

  Near the bed stood a small brazier, its pith blackened and unused. It, along with the bed, remained the only evidence the room was in use at all, for the chamber was impeccable and uncluttered—appearing nearly abandoned. A hasty glance about revealed a single window at her back, curiously barred. Through the rashly placed wooden slats, thin rays of sunlight sluiced into the musty confines of the stone-walled chamber.

  At once her gaze was drawn back toward the soft flicker of the taper within Iain’s hands. Its glow illuminated his hard masculine features, and she shuddered at the way his gold- flecked eyes watched her so intently.

  Was he awaiting her reaction to this place he’d brought her? Did he intend to imprison her here? But why should he? She had no place to go to, she thought morosely.

  “What is this place?”

  “My chamber.”

  “You sleep here?” Page asked with no small measure of surprise. Mentally she compared the sparse room to her father’s lavish bedchamber—his so filled with richly colored tapestries and extravagances.

  “Aye.”

  Page cast another glance about, her eyes trying to perceive the room in a different light, but there was nothing present to give her even the slightest clue of this man. “It... appears so... very... desolate,” she remarked, frowning.

  “It serves its purpose well enough,” Iain said. “What need have I for finery when my eyes willna see it whilst I sleep?”

  Page’s own bedchamber had been as chaste as a monk’s cell, but not by choice. To make it appear less so, she had usurped forsaken baubles from her father’s home, stealing them into her own chamber to enliven her space. Her frown deepened at the piteous thought.

  Iain hadn’t moved from where he stood, holding the burning taper. He was watching her curiously while she studied the room, waiting, it seemed, for some response from her. Curse him, too, for it seemed he was always watching and waiting.

  The very sight of him elicited such conflicting emotions, for while he was the one person in her life who’d made her feel cherished, he was also the one person who compelled her to see herself as she was.

  And she didn’t like what she saw... save when she looked into his eyes.

  And even then, she was forced to recall all of which she’d been deprived.

  He gazed at her as though she were precious... and therein lay the heart of the matter, for she knew herself to be unworthy.

  All those years she’d pretended she didn’t care... he’d made them all a terrible lie. Aye, for she cared, with every fiber of her being—she hurt with every last drop of blood wrung from her heart.

  And it was all Iain MacKinnon’s fault, because before Iain, she had been comfortably numb.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell me,” she said irascibly, “did your mother never teach you better than to fling unwilling women over your shoulder?”

  His brows collided, and his jaw went taut. He peered away. Good, let him suffer guilt, if he would! She might have slapped him, in truth, for she was still blenching over the looks his people were giving her as he’d carried her into his home.

  How dare he treat her so commonly.

  And then he turned to face her, and though he deserved considerably more than her anger for treating her so coarsely, Page regretted her outburst the instant she saw the look on his face. It was obvious she’d managed to wound him, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was that made his eyes seem so melancholy suddenly.

  “Ach,” he answered, his expression sober, if not entirely contrite, “the burden o’ my manners doesna fall to my minnie at all.” He cast a glance at the floor, and then met Page’s gaze once more, his golden eyes shadowed. “I knew her not at all, y’ see.”

  The candlelight glinted upon his eyes. The glimmer mesmerized her as much as his admission moved her.

  “Oh,” Page said softly. She felt a keen stab of guilt.

  “She died giving me birth.”

  Their gazes held, locked.

  Embraced.

  “I... I didn’t know.” More than even she had, she sensed he’d suffered the loss of his mother. It was wholly discomposing the way his simple revelation affected her. With nary more than a few words, he’d managed not only to defuse her anger, but to make her long to cast herself into his arms and share his misery.

  “Dinna fash yourself o’er it,” he said softly, nodding, his eyes fixed upon her still. “How could ye have known?”

  “I never would have—”

  “Hush, lass,” he broke in, carrying a finger to his lips. “I’m no wee bairn to need comforting. ’Tis all right.”.

  “Nay?” Page gulped in a breath as she lifted her face to meet his heavy-lidded gaze once more. And then suddenly realizing what it was she was asking, in worry that she might offend him, she said much more firmly, “Oh, nay! You are not!”

  His lips curved ever so slightly.

  In the depths of his smoldering eyes Page saw the stark intensity of his longing for her, and shamelessly rejoiced in it. Her breath accelerated, and her heartbeat quickened with the knowledge that he still wanted her.

  Warmth flooded through her. “Neither... neither did I,” she said, swallowing convulsively, her thoughts scattering.


  He moved closer, and Page felt her legs go suddenly weak. Heat suffused her. He stopped to set the candle upon the brazier. “Neither did you what?” he asked softly.

  “Neither did I what?” Page repeated dumbly. He turned to face her, lifted a brow, and she recalled herself at once. “Oh! My mother. Neither did I know my mother.”

  “I know, lass,” he said.

  Page’s brows knit. “How could you possibly?”

  His jaws clenched. As she watched, he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, and by those gestures Page surmised he was trying to temper himself and his answer.

  “Because,” he answered tautly. Anger swirled in the depths of his golden eyes. “No mother worthy of being called one would have allowed her daughter to grow to womanhood without something so simple as a name.”

  Page felt the sting of tears come to her eyes at the slap of truth, but she didn’t turn away. She refused to feel shamed by it. Nay, instead she would take refuge in the outrage he seemed to feel on her behalf.

  “Nay,” she agreed. And for the first time, acknowledged, “No mother would have.” She unclenched the fist at her side, and then squeezed it closed once more. “Nor a father,” she yielded, her voice trembling with indignity.

  “Nay, lass,” he agreed, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. He reached out with a finger to lift her chin. “Nor a father.”

  Page felt herself begin to quake, although she wasn’t afeared, she told herself. On the contrary, she was titillated by the warm, gentle touch of his finger upon her face. “Nay,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. A shiver coursed through her.

  “I always blamed myself,” she admitted to him, “for driving her away. My mother...”

  His brows drew together. “How could ye have? Were ye’ no’ but a babe? How could ye have possibly had anythin’ to do with her leaving, Page?”

  Page shrugged and tried to look away. “I used to dream of her face,” she said softly.

  He lifted her chin, urging her gaze upward. “I, too, once blamed myself for things I shouldna... but we canna take the world upon our shoulders, lass.”

  “But my father blamed me,” Page yielded. “Impossible not to feel culpable when his words and heart accused me every time he set his eyes upon me.”

  “Ye deserved better... Only tell me your heart’s desire,” he murmured, “and I shall give it, if I can. I want to make it up to you.”

  Her breath caught on a strangled moan.

  He caressed her chin. “Anything,” he whispered. “Anything at all.”

  Page’s brows flinched. She reached out to place tentative fingers upon his arm. Another shiver bolted through her as she touched him, and he responded with a shudder of his own.

  “I want you to be happy here,” he said. “I want you to make this your home.”

  Page swallowed. “I... I wish...” She forced in a breath. “To be known as Suisan... to you... to your people. I... I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Ach, then Suisan ye be,” he murmured low. “Bonny and sweet.” Another quiver swept over her at the earnestness of his vow. “What else... Suisan... what else would please ye? Merely ask and it is yours.”

  Page closed her eyes and swallowed with difficulty. When she opened her eyes again, she knew they revealed her heart to him. She couldn’t help it. Never in her life had anyone spoken so sweetly to her. Never in her life had she yearned so much for someone’s love.

  “Naught,” she lied, swallowing. “Naught more than your affections.”

  “Aye, lass, that you have already.”

  Page stared at his mouth, her body betraying her. Even as she stood there, heat suffused her. Try though she did, she couldn’t wrench her gaze away from the sensual curve of his lips. Couldn’t stop herself from yearning for the touch of his mouth upon her own. He lifted his thumb to her lips, caressing gently, and her breath caught. Her head lolled back. Eyes closed. He moved to kiss her, but hesitated…

  In a fit of fury, Iain had carried her here, to his bedchamber... with only one thing in mind. That, he could scarce deny. And yet now that he had her where he wanted her, he found he could not…

  He’d destroyed the lives of the only two women he’d had in his life—his mother and his wife—and he couldn’t bring himself to ravage yet another.

  Mercy, but he wanted her…

  “Ach, lass,” he whispered, his heart racing. “If ye dinna cease to look that way...”

  She lifted her face higher, he thought, opening her eyes, and blinking much too innocently. Iain lapped at his lips gone dry.

  “What way?” she asked quietly, her soft pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

  “As though ye were waiting...” He reached out with his free hand, hooked it about her waist, and drew her closer.

  “And if I do not... stop… what will you do?”

  It was a challenge, he thought. She wasn’t making this any easier for him. His heart leapt at the look of acquiescence in her wide, beautiful eyes. So be it, then. He wasn’t noble enough to refuse her invitation. He drew her against him.

  His heart began to pound as he bent his head forward, restraining himself still, for he wanted her to be the one to dictate, beyond doubt, all that came to pass between them. He wanted this, but more than that, he wanted her to want him.

  Never again could he bear to see the hatred that had been so vivid upon Mairi’s face that day. And less could he endure it were it to come from Page, for Mairi had never once gazed at him the way Page was gazing at him now….

  “What will you do?” she dared to whisper once more.

  Iain swallowed, hard, trying to keep his reason.

  One more time, he thought to caution her. “If ye dinna walk away, lass... right now... I shall be forced to show you.” His heart quickened, his breath, as well, as she leaned into him instead of drawing away. She lifted a hand toward his face, and Iain caught her wrist, fearing her touch.

  The instant she set the warmth of her fingers upon his flesh, he would be lost. She would be doomed. Visions of her bearing his babes came swiftly to mind, and he was at once torn. Torn between wanting fiercely to see her body swell with his child, and dread of her revulsion that might come after.

  “Suisan,” she whispered breathlessly. “Call me Suisan.”

  “Aye,” he murmured, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. “Suisan...” He released her hand, letting her touch his face with the delicate tips of her fingers. He closed his eyes as she caressed his whiskered jaw, and a shudder shook him at the gentleness of her touch.

  “Show me,” she whispered boldly, and lifted herself upon the tips of her toes. “Show me, Iain...”

  Chapter 26

  Always the room precipitated the dream.

  It began in that half-conscious state, once the room fell to darkness—in that surreal moment when, after he’d eluded sleep so long, the candle at last guttered... And with the final hiss of the extinguishing flame came a disorienting glow from the hall. First, merely a flicker, one that urged him to crawl from beneath his covers and spy into the corridor.

  But he didn’t go.

  Then came the wails, the woman’s sobs and entreaties for mercy.

  Iain clung to the blankets as a procession of voices passed his room. A flurry of torchlight. Rushing feet.

  He was a bairn once more... a child of no more than two... but he couldn’t be certain... whether it was a dream... or a long-buried memory.

  In his dream, the pleas were those of his mother’s…

  Beyond the doorway, the light shone brightly, a beacon in the darkness of the corridor, and he lay beneath the blankets, sweating and afeared to move.

  The screaming intensified.

  At the end of the hall, the door slammed shut, casting the hall, along with his chamber, in total darkness. The boy he was squeezed his eyes shut and wished the screams to end. He wished with all his might. Wished. Wished.

  Silence descended.r />
  An irrevocable, unnatural silence.

  And suddenly he was a babe in arms, cooing as he peered up into blue eyes.

  Hush ye, my bairnie, my bonny wee dearie, the voice crooned, sleep, come and close eyes so heavy and weary... Closed are ye eyes, an’ rest ye are takin’... Sound be your sleepin’, and bright be your wakin’...

  Iain shuddered awake, his eyes flying open, his lashes damp. Though the room was cool, sweat drenched his brow.

  This time, he wasn’t alone in the room. He wasn’t alone in the darkness. Nor was the silence so deafening or quite so impenetrable.

  Although his heart pounded still, the warmth of the body lying within his arms assured him that it had merely been a dream. Willing his breath to ease and his heart to calm, he analyzed the dream.

  There had been a new element this time. The lay. And the eyes. Familiar eyes.

  But whose?

  And whose voice?

  Always before he had awakened with the impact of silence. A silence that was foreboding and irrevocable. A silence that fell like the dread of the thunder.

  Not this time. This time there was light—faint as the candle’s afterglow might be. And sound. The sound of a woman’s breath as she slept. His woman. The very thought made his lips turn with pleasure. And when his senses cleared enough, he made out yet another sound. He heard and understood the faint wail of a pipe coming from deep in the night, and without hesitation he rolled free of the tangled, sleeping form beside him to seek the song.

  Page wasn’t certain what prompted her from slumber, but the closing of the door brought her fully awake.

  Disoriented by the darkened chamber, her eyes were nevertheless drawn to the door. And although she knew instinctively she would find the bed empty beside her, she rolled into the space where Iain had lain, sighing contentedly. It was still warm from his body, and she caressed the sheets adoringly with her palms, her fingers... as though to drink in the intoxicating heat of the man who had rested there only moments before.

  Had she ever thought herself immune to him? How could she have thought it possible? She was both terrified and exhilarated both at once—terrified only because she knew instinctively that this was the last time she could dare lay her heart so bare.