The MacKinnon’s Bride(101)
She knew, too, that she must divert Lagan’s attention from him, for he was like to be no more capable of responding to Lagan’s dictates than she had been all those times her father had shattered her own illusions of him. She remembered only the numbness—a cold, gray numbness that had filtered into every corner of her soul, washing the colors from her life—a numbness she’d carried within her very heart—until Iain MacKinnon had taught her to feel again.
And here was his son.
She’d be damned to hell before she allowed Lagan to destroy his childish dreams and trust, his innocence and his zeal for life.
Anger filled her, a deep cleansing anger.
“What can you possibly hope to gain from this?” she asked Lagan once more, knowing instinctively that she could not prevail against him without understanding the battle he waged—she knew his reasons, and now she would know his intent. “Surely everyone will learn what you’ve done... should any harm come to Malcom by your hand?”
“No’ by my hand!” he assured her, snorting disdainfully. “By yours!”
“Nay,” Page countered, “for I’ll not raise a finger against him! You will never force me to! Place your arrow where you please, but I’ll not lift my hand against this child—nor any other! Bloody your own hands!”
“I dinna think so!” Chortling nastily, he turned to Malcom. “Get on the horse, Malcom,” he persisted.
Malcom moved forward uncertainly this time, and Page’s gaze scanned the shadowed horizon in panic, trying to discern his intentions. He wanted Malcom upon the horse. Why? Nothing was immediately discernible. The hillside sloped upward sharply so that she could not see what lay beyond the summit—
Her breath caught, and her heart jolted, for suddenly she understood.
His gaze followed hers. “Canny lass,” he commended her. “’Tis a pity ye didna realize sooner... or ye ne’er would have chosen this route for escape.”
Her mind raced for a way to stall him. Anything to give them precious time. “And what of Malcom? Why would I bring him?”
“To appease your da, o’ course,” he said sweetly, and then turned and shouted at Malcom. “I said to get on the horse, and do it now!”
“Nay, Malcom!” Page asserted. “Do not come any nearer!”
She sensed, more than saw, Malcom’s compliance.
Though Lagan had the crossbow trained once more upon her, Page slid down from the horse, daring to defy him. God’s truth, but her father had always said she was unmindful, but she was glad for it this moment, because she knew instinctively that meekness would find the two of them lying at the bottom of a cliff come morn.
Page could scarce see his features, but for the eyes, and they were openly malicious. Night descended more deeply in the long moments that they stared at one another. Her heart pounded so fiercely that she feared the intensity of its beating.
“Get yourself back upon that horse!” Lagan snarled at her.
Though she knew he could not see her, she stood her place and lifted her chin. “Nay!” she refused, swallowing convulsively. “I’ll not!”
He turned the weapon upon Malcom and faced her as he demanded, “Get back on that horse!”
Page took a deep breath. Her heart hammered fiercely, but she said again, “Nay! If you would murder us, then you’ll do it your bloody self! I’ll not aid you in the endeavor!” She turned to Malcom, and cursed the darkness that she could no longer see his face, nor even the obscure silhouette of his body, for he stood too far from her. And Lagan stood between them.
“Malcom?” she called out.
His response was a barely discernible murmur. He was afeared, she knew. But he was a brave child. She knew that, too, for he’d endured her father’s tirades without the first tear or single fearful whimper. Despite her father’s endless interrogations—the likes of which had brought wretched tears to her eyes as a child—he’d held his tongue. He’d remained his father’s son, through and through. Not broken and beaten as she’d first thought, for his silence had not been in weakness, but in strength.
“Malcom,” she asked, her heart sounding like thunder in her ears, “do you trust me?”
“A-Aye,” came his soft, quavering response.
“Lie down upon the ground!” she directed him. “Lie down upon the ground, and do not get up! Do you understand?”
“Aye,” he answered, and Page struggled to see him through the darkness.
She prayed to God that he did as she bade him.
Lagan turned to her. “I dinna see what ye hope to gain wi’ that!” he told her. “Och! Twill be a simple matter to toss him o’er once I’m finished wi’ you!”