“Wrap yourself about me, Page,” he whispered. “And dinna let go.”
Page did as she was told, burying her face against his throat, her lips against the warmth of his flesh. She wrapped her legs about his waist and held to him for dear life.
“Och,” he whispered, holding her close. Page thought he would squeeze her until she broke, but she couldn’t truly care this moment. She wanted him to hold her so, never wanted him to let her go.
“Malcom told me everything. You’re a stouthearted lass,” he told her with pride. “I believe we’ll make a fine Scotswoman oota ye yet.”
“I’m sorry about Lagan,” she whispered.
“’Tis no fault o’ your own,” he said, kissing the pate of her head.
“Malcom?”
“His heart is bruised, but he’ll live,” Iain assured her.
“And my father?”
“Aye, Page,” he answered. “He’s come for ye... as ye always said he would.”
Page squeezed her eyes closed against his breacan, reveling in the scent of the man who held her. She wasn’t certain what it was she was feeling this moment, whether joy or something else entirely—regret?—but she knew without a doubt who it was who held her. Not her father.
“By the blessed stone, Iain MacKinnon... dinna be keepin’ us waitin’,” came a voice from above. “D’ ye have the lassie, or nay?”
“Are ye ready to face him?” Iain whispered.
Page laughed softly and held him all the more tightly. “Do I have a choice?” she asked him morosely. When she left this embrace... would it be their last? “If I say nay, can we stay here forever?”
He chuckled softly. “Och, but, lass, I believe Angus may have somethin’ to say aboot that.”
“Iain!” Angus shouted down at them. “Come on now, lad! These auld arms canna hold ye burly arse down there forever!”
“See?” Iain asked her, and he lifted his head from the embrace to shout his reply. “Aye, Angus! Draw us up now, will ye!”
Page couldn’t help herself.
Some part of her suddenly wished she’d ended upon the rocks below. While merely hours before, she’d never felt more alive, more cherished, more complete, she now felt only an overwhelming emptiness in her heart.
Jesu, but her father had come for her, after all.
Iain was uncertain how to feel.
In the space of a single day he’d discovered a brother, and then lost him. And in the course of the same day had come near to losing his son and the woman he loved, as well.
Later he would sort out his feelings for the brother he’d never claimed, and for the father who had denied them both. For now, his son was safe with Glenna. But while Page was safe from Lagan’s fate, he was now in danger of losing her yet again. And this time he couldn’t simply sweep her out of harm’s reach.
More than aught, he wanted her to stay—and if she decided ’twas her heart’s desire to do so, then her father’s entourage along with David of Scotia’s were not enough to prevail against him.
And if she chose to go, it would be the single most difficult thing he’d ever done, but Iain would let her. Och, but he knew how important her father’s acceptance was to her.
He could tell by the way she clung to him that she was afeared. He gave her ribs a squeeze when they neared the bluff top, and then handed her up into waiting arms. Kerwyn and Kermichil together hauled her up and onto her feet. And then with Angus’s help, Iain climbed over the cliff edge, as well.
She looked so like a child standing there by the moonlight that Iain’s heart wrenched for her. He knew this moment was difficult for her, and he wanted so much to whisk her away from her bastard sire, and keep her always from harm.
He couldn’t do that, though. He knew that as well as she, and he was proud of her when she went to FitzSimon and stood before him. There were no embraces between them, but then Iain hadn’t expected any.
He could scarce bear the thought of her leaving with her father. It wrenched at his gut, but he knew he wouldn’t stop her. He wanted her to be happy. And Christ, if that meant she would leave him, so be it.
Though it seemed impossible to restrain himself, he did so, remaining behind her at a safe distance—safe for him, because he wanted to lunge at FitzSimon’s throat and murder the bastard where he stood.
“I’ve come to take you home, daughter.”
Page could scarce speak, so overwhelmed was she with conflicting emotions.
How long had she waited for her father to call her “daughter?”
An eternity too long.
And now he was here, speaking the words she’d so longed to hear, and all she wished to do was to slap his face! Aye, some part of her wanted to fall to his feet and thank him profusely, but some other wicked part of her wanted to deny him as he had done so long to her.