He sighed. “As you wish.”
“Aye, ‘tis my wish!”
“You’re a stubborn fashious wench,” he apprised her.
“And you—” From the corner of her eye, she saw that he lifted his hands toward her, and Page flinched again. Aha! Now it began!
He moved quickly and she was staggered to find he merely placed a dry gown over her head. Her own gown, for the material was familiar, soft and worn with age. The scent was hers too.
And it was toasty warm.
He’d gone after it—but not only had he retrieved it, he’d gone so far as to dry it before the fire.
Shock filtered through her. Stunned, she allowed him to draw the gown over her body, smooth it down, and like a poppet, she thrust out her arms to place within the sleeves.
Her throat squeezed shut so that she could not speak. No one had ever elicited so many emotions from her as did this stranger. No one had ever looked after her so. No one had ever worried whether she was comfortable, or hungry, or lonely...
Her heart wrenched, and once again, despair threatened to strangle her.
She couldn’t believe he was treating her so... kindly.
He was staring at her strangely... as though he would read her thoughts. And then his expression shuttered and his brows drew together, as he commanded, “Place your hands at your back.”
Page recanted her opinion of him at once and gave him a glare he was like never to forget.
He cocked his head, and entreated, “Dinna make me force ye, lass...”
He could, she realized, and she gritted her teeth. Still, she couldn’t make herself obey quite so easily. “You’re a wretch, you realize?”
He chuckled, seeming impervious to her wrath. The man wore his good humor like an accursed suit of armor!
“So I’ve been told,” he confessed without apology. “Now place your hands at your back so I can bind them.”
“Why can you not leave them free?” she protested, but obeyed nonetheless. Better to bide her time and choose her battles wisely.
It might help to know how many men she must do battle with and she wondered if he would tell her. “What have you to fear of me?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “You’ve fifty men and more...”
“Do I?” he answered noncommittally, peering up at her, his lips slightly crooked.
The wretch! He knew very well what she was asking and wouldn’t even give her so meager a concession!
“As for your hands, wench, I’m simply no’ foolhardy enough to allow ye to remain unfettered. I’ll be needin’ my sleep tonight and dinna have in mind to play nursemaid to a foolish lass who doesna seem to know enough to keep her tongue stilled.”
He reached behind her to bind her wrists together behind the tree, this time not so tightly. “I’m sorry Lagan was so harsh wi’ ye,” he said, testing the rope. Page cursed him for his small gesture. It only served to discompose her all the more.
She decided to ignore the apology—and the gesture, as well. “Surely you cannot expect me to sleep this way!”
“As I’ve said, lass...” He met her gaze. “Some things canna be helped.” He proceeded, then, to adjust her gown so that her legs were covered, and Page bristled at his manipulations. She didn’t wish to be appreciative—didn’t want to be indebted to this man for any reason at all!
Did he treat his son so patiently? So thoughtfully? She couldn’t help but feel a prick of envy at the notion.
Then, too, his actions only served to stress that her own father had lied yet again. The man before her no more beat his son than he would beat her. The thought both relieved and aggrieved her at once.
Only belatedly did she realize he was staring. “What are you looking at?” she asked peevishly.
His lips curved. “I should think it would be evident.”
Page lifted both brows. “Are you wondering whether I’d make a tasty meal?” she ventured caustically. “Don’t bother, you would find me bitter, I assure you.”
His lips turned a scant more. “Tempting thought... but nay.” His expression turned sober. He reached suddenly to brush a strand of tangled hair from her face, and Page fancied biting off his fingers, so much fury was she feeling. He merely held it there before her face, separating the damp strands between his fingers. “I was simply wonderin’ at what ye were thinking, lass.”
Lass.
The way he spoke the single word... as though it were laden with affection, made her shudder to her soul. “Naught,” she lied, and nearly choked on her anger and her grief. “Only that my father—” He tucked the strand behind her ear, and her thoughts scattered to the winds.