The MacKinnon’s Bride(102)

“Aye?” Page taunted him. Boldness had gained her much in her life. She sensed this was one time she needed the advantage it would give her. Even knowing where it would lead her, she turned her back toward the ledge. She knew it was there, knew he knew it was there. She only hoped it wasn’t obvious to him that she was aware of it, hoped he would think it his own bright notion to walk her to the cliff. Praying with all her might that she was doing the right thing—at least for Malcom’s sake—she took a step backward, hoping he would subconsciously take the hint. If he followed, then it would place much-needed distance between him and Malcom. And that, ultimately, was her first goal—to see Malcom safely away.

Sweet merciful Jesu, but she wasn’t certain whether to cry out in fear or sigh in relief when he responded by taking a step toward her. She crossed herself, and began to pray aloud. “Holy Mary, Mother of Christ,” she whispered beneath her breath. “Pray for us sinners...” She took an other step backward, and did cry out when he responded with another step forward. “Now and at the hour of our death,” she intoned.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

He merely chuckled, and continued to urge her backward toward the cliff. “’Tis just like a Sassenach,” he scorned her. “Turn to God when ye canna fight your battles like a man!”

Despite her predicament, Page’s brows knit in outrage. “Aye, well, I am a woman!” she reminded him caustically, and wondered if she would ever learn to curb her tongue. God’s truth, but what did it matter what she was, man or woman, when she was going to be a dead one soon enough!

Well, she vowed, at least she would die knowing Malcom was safe, because if she went over that cliff, she fully intended to take Lagan down with her—villain that he was!

She continued to retreat while he followed, until she neared the edge of the cliff and could scarce move back any farther without tumbling downward. She pretended surprise at the place of her arrival, but God’s truth, her gasp of fear was not at all feigned!

Though she could barely discern Lagan’s features now, his smile was evident by the moon’s reflection. She stilled at the cliff edge, her heart tripping painfully as he continued forward, stalking her... closer until his features were once again discernible and he was within arm’s reach, and then she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Run, Malcom! Run!”

Lagan turned at once to stop him. He lifted his bow, and Page hurled herself against him. Cursing fiercely, he shoved her backward, and attempted once more to aim for the distant fleeing shadow. Page tried once more to stop him, but she stumbled and lost her footing. She reached out to grasp something of substance and found only Lagan’s hair, seizing a handful as she toppled backward. With a yelp of pain and a cry of surprise, Lagan dropped the bow and pitched after her.

For an instant and an eternity they tottered together upon the bluff’s edge.

Page gasped, her grip tightening desperately upon his hair. He struggled to free himself, but he was all that was solid and real, and then there was nothingness behind her as she fell backward.





“And so the dream...”

“Was no dream a’tall, Iain,” Glenna revealed. “What ye describe to me is exactly the way it was the night your ma died.”

“Awww God...” It was Iain’s turn to bury his face within his hands. His jaw tautened against the new tide of emotions. The voice in his dreams. The eyes. They had all been memories... not fanciful wisps of his imagination. His mother’s beautiful lilt.

And the dream... the scared little boy awakened within his darkened bedchamber by a suffering mother’s screams. While he’d lain within his bed clutching the bedsheets, afeared to move, and yet wanting to run to her as much as he wanted to hide beneath the sheets, it was Lagan she had been bearing into the world... Lagan and not himself.

How could it be? How was it possible that everyone could keep such a secret—so brilliantly that he had never once perceived it?

And yet he somehow knew it for truth, for with Glenna’s shocking revelation, the memory seemed to grow in clarity.

He clenched his jaw. “Bluidy damn you all!”

“Iain...”

“Why did no one e’er tell me?” he asked her, without lifting his face to look at her. He wasn’t certain he could—not without betraying his incredible fury.

“It was your da’s wish that ye not be told,” Glenna revealed. “He didna wish for you to know.”

“Evidently. Who else knew of this, Glenna?”

“’Twas for your own guid, Iain!”

He lifted his gaze to her face. “Who else knew of this, Glenna!”