The MacKinnon’s Bride(14)
His lips curved into a smile.
Her brows collided. She tried to think of worse. “Beast! Demon! Blackhearted dev—”
“Ye’re to be well commended on your mastery of the language,” he said only.
“And you shall never get your son back!” she swore in anger.
His expression sobered at once, although he still didn’t open his eyes. “For your sake, lass, ye’d better be hopin’ I do.”
Page felt hopelessness seep into her very soul. She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing left to say! She hadn’t lied. The MacKinnon wouldn’t get his son back. Her father wouldn’t deal with him, and she was doomed. Doomed!
“If I thought ye would answer me true,” he said after a long moment, “I would ask ye how my son fares.” His eyes remained closed, but Page could see that his jaw remained taut. Worry was etched upon his features.
Curse him! For no matter that she might despise him, she found she couldn’t bring herself to deny him the answer he sought. This one thing she could never withhold from an anxious father.
She sighed irascibly. “And if I were inclined to answer, I would say he fares well enough. He’s not been abused, if ‘tis what you fear—not by us! He simply will not speak, is all.”
She could see the strain ease somewhat from his face, and found herself envious of his son, that he would have a father who fretted for him so. But then... fathers always valued their sons, did they not?
Her heart twisted painfully.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and didn’t deign to speak to her again.
Page averted her face, trying to ignore the stranger lying so intimately in her lap.
It was a futile gesture. Never in her life had she been more aware of another human being.
Safe again with her father, indeed!
The image was laughable. Security was something more than simply being free from harm. She knew that instinctively... and yet... she’d never truly known the feeling at all. Security was an alien concept, for it spoke to her of warmth and caring... a welcoming embrace... things she’d never known. She snorted and refused to look down upon him again until he was snoring beneath her. Fast asleep, and so easily! She ought to spit on him for truth. That would surely show him! She ought to drool all over him, too!
She writhed beneath him, trying to dislodge him from her limbs, to no avail. His weight, as he’d intended, made it impossible. Wretched, insufferable man!
She ought to scream in his ear—but that, she counseled herself, would only serve to wake the rest of his lechers, as well. Nor did she wish him to follow through with his threat and send Lagan to guard her instead. That one, she trusted the least of all.
And that brought her to another thought entirely... how pitiable it was that the one man who, by rights, should have been the most cruel was the one man who had been the most gentle.
It made too little sense.
Close upon the heels of that conclusion came her most nonsensical yet. It occurred to her, as she gazed down at her abductor’s too comely profile, that she still hadn’t yet determined the color of his eyes.
What would he do when her father refused to deal with him?
A frisson passed down her spine; fear?
She refused to acknowledge it.
Her last coherent thought before she dozed was not unlike that of a stray pup’s, she reflected somewhat lamentably... for it occurred to her to wonder, then, if the MacKinnon would think to keep her.
God forgive her, but the foolish notion kindled just the tiniest spark of... something... Something so absurdly unreasonable, she refused to give it name.
chapter 4
Though Iain forced his body to rest, his mind worked ceaselessly through the night.
In his half-sensate state, he was wholly aware of where he lay. He could hear the lassie’s even, steady breathing when she dozed at last, and her fitful slumber when her dreams disturbed her.
He understood what those soft cries bespoke, for his own nights were too oft plagued by demons—worse since Malcom’s abduction.
She was afeared, he realized, and guilt pricked at him. Though she had too much pride to cower before him while awake, in her dreams she could scarce keep herself from it.
Despite that she was his enemy’s flesh and blood, Iain could only admire her. She’d masked her fear well, had stood up to him like the fiercest of she-wolves. In defense of his son, even! He only wished he didn’t have to resort to such measures that would cause her such distress, but it couldn’t be helped.
He would do anything to ensure Malcom’s return.
He was full awake come first light, but loath to move lest he wake her. For the longest interval, he lay, listening to the easy rhythm of her breathing, and savoring the delicate scent of the woman upon whom he was so intimately nestled. He smiled, remembering the indignant tone of her voice when he’d dared insinuate himself upon her person.