The MacKinnon's Bride (8 page)

Nay, he couldn’t tell her.

“
You...” She choked on her
words. “You will take me home now?” Her eyes were bright and full
of hope, her voice soft and anticipative. “You’ll take me
home?”

Iain’s heart squeezed harder. He wanted in
that instant to draw her into his arms, to soothe her, kiss her
fears away, smooth the worries from her brow. He wanted to shake
her violently and tell her that her father was a poor example of a
father and that she didn’t need him.

God’s truth, FitzSimon’s daughter was the
last thing he needed in his life. She was a troublesome wench who
was like to turn the rest of his hair gray before his years, but he
found himself compelled to save her feelings despite the fact.

Unfortunately, he knew only one way to do
so.

Not truly understanding why he was driven
to, he said, “Nay, wench. I’ll not.”

Her brows drew together in confusion, and
she straightened. “What do you mean, you will not?”

His jaw clenched, and he said, “Just what I
said, wench. I’ll not be returning you to your damnable father!”
His voice lacked the heat of anger, though she didn’t seem to
notice in her rising temper, and Iain thought she looked stronger
armed with fury.

Her eyes were wide with a mixture of shock
and outrage. “But he returned your son!” she pointed out.

Iain placed his hand upon Malcom’s back.
“That he did,” he agreed, and glanced about at his men, meeting
their gazes, one after another. Their astonishment was more than
evident in their countenances, but he apprised them silently not to
gainsay him. Though in truth, Iain didn’t think they would have
been capable, even had they wished to. Auld Angus’s jaw had
slackened near to his belly, and if Iain had not been so bloody
angry, he might have found the contrary old bugger’s expression
comical. His gaze returned to FitzSimon’s daughter.

She was becoming infuriated now, and he
welcomed it, knowing she would need her rage to sustain her.

“
But my father kept his
end of the bargain!” she screeched at him. Iain merely nodded, but
his jaw worked. “You would renege upon your word, sir?”

“
Apparently so,” he lied
without compunction.

“
But, Papa,” Malcom
whispered, peering up in surprise. Iain shushed him with a downward
glance and a pat upon the back.

“
How dare you!” she
railed. “Why? Why would you do this?”

“
Verra simple,” Iain told
her, meeting her gaze. “An eye for an eye, lass. Your da conspired
in the takin’ o’ my son. ‘Tis only meet I should return the favor
in kind.”

“
You are a
madman!”

Iain thought perhaps it was so. “That I may
be, lass,” he agreed with a frown. “Nonetheless, you’ll be coming
along wi’ us.”

“
But my father!” she
exclaimed.

“
Your father,” he
declared, “can go to bluidy Hell!”

chapter 6

“
He’ll hunt you down!”
Page swore.

She couldn’t believe it!

She was torn between disbelief that her
father would risk the king’s wrath to have her back and sheer joy
that he’d done so—and she was furious with the man before her, for
daring to break his pact with her father when for the first time in
her life it seemed her father valued her, wanted her—and this
miscreant would dare rob her of that joy!

Not if she could help it, by God!

She glanced about and found his men all
staring at their laird, their expressions as shocked as her own
must seem. Their stupor gave her the opening she needed. She didn’t
care how many of his men surrounded her. She had absolutely no
intentions of going with them peacefully! Somehow or another, she
was returning to her father and they’d have to kill her to stop
her!

Without giving them warning of her intent,
or time to consider her response, she turned, found an opening
behind her, and made a frantic dash into the forest.

She heard the MacKinnon’s curse behind
her.

Page didn’t dare slow her step, even as the
sounds of pursuit began in earnest, nor did she look back to see
that they were following. She ran with all her might, slipping
through the woods with the ease of one who knew them
intimately.

And then suddenly her hem snagged upon a
gnarled tree root. She muttered an oath, trying to jerk it free,
and those precious lost seconds were to her misfortune. Within the
instant, she was surrounded by scowling Scotsmen. And then once
again she was confronted by the MacKinnon, his son no longer in the
saddle before him.

He dismounted, his expression black as he
came toward her. Page thought he might strike her, so purposeful
was his stride, but he didn’t. She didn’t cower as he reached out,
though he merely seized her hem and jerked it free, then stood
staring at her furiously. “You’re going to make me sorely regret
this!”

Page smiled fiercely. “I surely will!” she
vowed, drawing herself up to her full height. Again it struck her
how tall the man was, for she reached only to his chin, and she was
not, by any means, diminutive. In truth, her father had always
thought her much too long limbed for a woman.

“
I should bluidy well let
you go!” he swore, his jaw working angrily.

Page’s brows lifted, for he truly seemed to
be considering the prospect. “You should?”

“
Aye,” he said, “and count
myself bluidy fortunate that you’re gone, but I won’t!”

He wished to let her go? But he wouldn’t?
Page didn’t understand. “Nay?”

“
Nay!”

Her heart hammered wildly over the faint
suspicion that reared. “Why not?”

“
Because my da raised
himself a rattlebrained arse!” he swore “That’s why!” And if his
pronouncement hadn’t been shocking enough, he lifted her up
suddenly, as though she were no more than a sack of grain, and bore
back her to his mount, flinging her unceremoniously over his
saddle.

Page shrieked in outrage, and then gasped as
the air was driven from her lungs. Without preamble, he mounted
behind her, holding her fast with an arm, and then lifted her up to
scoot forward, pinioning her to his lap with the inescapable
strength in his arm. Jesu, but the man must be made of stone,
unyielding as he was!

“
You will sorely regret
this!” Page swore. “I will see to it with every waking breath I
take!” How dare the brute treat her as though she were nothing more
than chattel to be absconded with at will! How dare he keep her
from her father! She couldn’t bear it! All her life she’d waited
for this moment, prayed for it, only to lose it by a sordid twist
of fate. “I will plague you every day of your miserable life!” she
vowed.

“
I have no doubt of that,”
he said tightly, and spurred his mount. “I’m merely a man, lass.
Keep wiggling that backside so insistently, and I’ll be sorely
tempted, I assure you!”

Page gasped in outrage.

“
Gather your belongings!”
he commanded his men. “We leave at once!”

To Page’s consternation, it took them little
time at all to gather their possessions—barbarians that they were,
they traveled with little more than the breacans they wore belted
about their bodies. They were off within minutes.

Page refused to allow herself to feel
defeat.

For all of her twenty years she had fended
for herself. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to
find her way home. In the meantime, she fully intended to keep her
word. The MacKinnon, indeed, was going to be a miserable man!

Spring came late to the northern
reaches.

Biding her time, observing the differences
in the landscape as they traveled northward, Page tried not to
think of the risk her father had taken on her behalf. What would
King Henry do to him when he discovered that her father had given
up the boy for her? And then had promptly lost her, as well?

Why hadn’t he sent men to see to her
return?

How could he have trusted the word of a
Scotsman?

Curse the MacKinnon! The ignoble wretch!

The trees now were less abundant with
foliage. A few were lush with new green growth; some sprouted new
leaves that reminded Page of green feathers. Some trees were as yet
bare, still to be touched by God’s masterful hand and miraculous
paint.

She had always loved the land.

A wildling, her father had called her. It
didn’t matter; it had never disturbed her in the least that he’d
thought her so, for she’d always felt more as though she were
Nature’s child than his. In truth, it was the only time she ever
felt truly whole—when she was at one with God’s earth. That was the
reason she’d stolen away from the castle all those many nights. It
gave her soul great peace.

But it was also the reason she was in this
damnable predicament.

Page frowned as she thought of the man
seated so intimately at her back. She’d managed to shut him out of
her thoughts for most of the morning. Only when he so arrogantly
drew her back against him did she deign to acknowledge him,
elbowing him and shrugging free to sit forward once more. The more
distance she was able to place between them, the more at ease she
felt.

Now, again, he drew her back against him and
she wrenched forward, turning to glare at him. “Do you mind
overmuch?” she asked, exasperated. “Force me to ride well nigh in
your lap, if you will, but you cannot force me to abide your
touch!”

“
Suit yourself, vixen.”
She felt his sigh more than heard it. “God’s teeth, but you’re a
sour- mouthed wench, if e’er I knew one.”

“
Truly?” she asked
sweetly, mocking him. “I do wonder why that is.”

“‘
Tis likely you were born
that way,” he answered uncharitably.

Page felt like turning and slapping his
arrogant face. “Nay, but you’re a mean brute!” she returned. “You
must realize my father will come after us,” she apprised him. “He
does not like to be thwarted, I assure you!”

For an instant he didn’t respond, and Page
could almost feel his tension mounting at her back. “Will he?” he
answered, after a moment. She thought he might have been
contemplating the possibility. Good. She hoped he was considering
the repercussions of his actions, and fearing for his life. Neither
her father nor King Henry would stand for his perfidy.

“
Sit back, lass,” he
commanded, though not unkindly, and drew her against him once more,
this time pinning her against his chest.

Page struggled against his unwelcome
embrace, to no avail. “Arrrghhh!”

“
You’ll end up lame riding
in that unlimber position. Rest yourself. I willna
bite.”

“
I don’t believe you!”
Page said through clenched teeth, sinking her nails into the arm
that held her like plaster to his massive frame. “Sweet Jesu, but
you’re a brute!” she accused him when he would not budge. Neither
did he seem to be affected by the pressure she was inflicting upon
his arm. Rather he sat there in stony silence, and it was as though
he felt nothing at all. With a disgruntled sigh, she relented and
released his arm, allowing herself to slacken against him, though
she could not, by any means, rest.

“
That’s it,” he said,
bending to whisper his approval into her ear.

Page tried to ignore the shudder that swept
down her spine at the solicitous tone of his voice.

“
You havena spoken all the
morn,” he said low, and his voice was like warm silk against her
face, soft and soothing. She reminded herself that he was a
faithless Scotsman, not some overly attentive beau who cared for
her well-being. “I dinna mean to aggrieve you, lass.”

And still her heart hammered. “Did you not?”
she asked, hiding her confusion behind anger.

His chest expanded with another sigh. He
released it, and it blew across the pate of her head. The feel of
it gave her gooseflesh. He didn’t answer.

Page wasn’t about to let him lapse into
silence so easily now. He’d provoked her well enough. “What,
prithee, did you mean to do? And what would you have me do? Laugh
hysterically because I’ve been abducted by a barbarian Scotsman?
Converse with you over the wonders of Christendom? I hardly think
so!”

His chuckle surprised her. Low and rich, it
rumbled against her back. “You’re a saucy wee wench, for
certain.”

Page bristled. “I’m no wee wench—and aye, so
I’ve been told! Do not think I mean to apologize for it,
either!”

“
Temper, temper,” he
reproved, clucking his tongue at her. “Tell me, then, lass... what
wonders might we converse over were ye amenable to
conversing?”

“
Hah!” Page exclaimed.
“With you? I should think I would never be amenable—and cease, if
you will, to call me lass! It...” Confused her. “Disturbs me,” she
said petulantly.

He chuckled again, flustering her all the
more, and then bent closer to whisper in her ear. “Verra well,
lass, then tell me what ye would have me call you instead.”

Her nerves were near to shattering.
“Naught!” She shrugged away, moving as far forward as was
physically possible. Only then did she realize he hadn’t been
holding her any longer. How long now since he’d released her? How
could she not have noticed? Sweet Jesu, had she lain against him
contentedly all this time? “I would have you call me naught!” she
spat. “God’s truth, I would have you cease to speak to me at
all!”