The MacKinnon’s Bride(13)
“I know... he’ll pluck oot my eyes,” he finished for her, sighing, as he untucked the checkered blanket from his belt. He drew it from his back, and covered her with its formidable length.
To Page’s dismay, it was warm with the heat of his body, and the bestirring scent of him rose to accost her; sunshine, horseflesh and man. Unreasonably, she found herself wondering whether his skin would be swarthy from the sun, or pale—somehow, despite the fact that she could not see him clearly through the shadows, she knew he would be dark from his labors in the sun.
She imagined him bare chested, working... and then realized he wore no breeches, and expunged the image at once, shocked by the realization. Jesu, but she felt herself grow warm even at the thought of him bared to the bottom. She found her protests silenced by the fierce pounding of her traitorous heart.
Until he stretched out before her suddenly and rested his head upon her lap. Then she found her voice at once. “What, in the name of God, do you think you are doing, sir?”
He grinned up at her and had the audacity to wink, as well. “Sleeping, o’ course.” His long hair spilled over her lap, dark as ebony silk.
Jesu, but he was bare bottomed beneath his tunic! “Not on me, you’ll not!”
“Ah, but ye’ve my breacan, lass,” he pointed out quite reasonably, his voice silky. “Where else would ye have me sleep but here?”
“In a tree for all I care!” she hissed, and squeezed her eyes shut. No use, the image accosted her behind closed lids with greater detail. “Stop calling me lass!” she snarled, her eyes going wide.
His eyes glinted by the light of the moon. “Aye, lass,” he agreed, “but then what would ye have me call ye if no’ lass?”
He was mocking her, Page realized, and she found herself mute with anger and chagrin. She’d be hung by her toes before she’d reveal her name to the likes of him! “Oaf! Take your accursed breacan! I’ll not allow you to sleep with me! Get off me!”
His lips curved roguishly. “Ah, but I’m no’ sleepin’ wi’ ye, lass. I’m sleepin’ on ye,” he pointed out, without the least compunction. “And nay, I’ll not. What better way to keep you warm and free from harm?”
“What better way to watch me while you sleep, isn’t that what you really mean!”
His grin widened. “That too.”
“Arrogant wretch! I could spit upon you, you realize. And I might do that! Just you wait and see!”
“Aye... ye could,” he agreed, “but then I’d be sorely taxed and have to send Lagan to guard ye, instead and I’d be guessin’ my randy cousin would take great pleasure in a buxom English lassie for a pilloo.” He snuggled a little to prove his point, burying his face into her lap, nuzzling between her thighs. His chest expanded with his intake of breath, and he sighed audibly, sounding as contented as a child left to fill his belly with tarts.
Page’s stomach floated into her ribs. Something deep inside her woman’s core quickened at his brash male gesture, and heat trickled into her nether regions.
“Och, but if ye dinna mind Lagan’s wooing...”
He made to rise, and Page shrieked. “Nay!”
He chuckled, and lay back down at once. “I didna believe ye would relish the thought. G’nite, then, lass.” He snuggled his head once more, like an innocent boy with his beloved mother.
But he was no innocent.
Nor was she beloved.
And he was lying within her lap!
Bare bottomed!
So was she for that matter.
“Overbearing brute!” she spat, glaring at him fiercely. “’Tis God’s own truth that the only harm I have to fear is that from you!”
“Then ye’ve naught to fear, at all,” he countered, shifting indolently to his side and thrusting an oversized arm over her leg, cozying himself.
His arm was as big as her thigh!
“Anyway, ye’ve only the one night to endure,” he assured her. “Tomorrow ye’ll be safe again wi’ your da.”
She wanted to slap his arrogant face—wanted to sink her teeth into his flesh! What gall! “Get off!” she cried, and tried to free her hands. She muttered a fierce oath when they refused to come free from their bindings.
“Och, wench, does your father know ye’ve such a rude tongue?” he asked her.
“‘Tis none of your bloody concern! Beast! Rest yourself comfortable, why do you not!” She fought the urge to scream, knowing that the last thing she needed now was to wake his men.
“Dinna mind if I do,” he murmured.
He had the nerve to close his eyes, dismissing her once and for all, and Page wished she could box his ears. She tried to move her legs, but he held her pinned irrevocably with his weight. She ceased her struggles only to summon every blasphemy she’d ever heard uttered. “Oaf!” she hissed. “Swine! Knave! Scot!”