The MacKinnon’s Bride(22)
Now, again, he drew her back against him and she wrenched forward, turning to glare at him. “Do you mind overmuch?” she asked, exasperated. “Force me to ride well nigh in your lap, if you will, but you cannot force me to abide your touch!”
“Suit yourself, vixen.” She felt his sigh more than heard it. “God’s teeth, but you’re a sour- mouthed wench, if e’er I knew one.”
“Truly?” she asked sweetly, mocking him. “I do wonder why that is.”
“‘Tis likely you were born that way,” he answered uncharitably.
Page felt like turning and slapping his arrogant face. “Nay, but you’re a mean brute!” she returned. “You must realize my father will come after us,” she apprised him. “He does not like to be thwarted, I assure you!”
For an instant he didn’t respond, and Page could almost feel his tension mounting at her back. “Will he?” he answered, after a moment. She thought he might have been contemplating the possibility. Good. She hoped he was considering the repercussions of his actions, and fearing for his life. Neither her father nor King Henry would stand for his perfidy.
“Sit back, lass,” he commanded, though not unkindly, and drew her against him once more, this time pinning her against his chest.
Page struggled against his unwelcome embrace, to no avail. “Arrrghhh!”
“You’ll end up lame riding in that unlimber position. Rest yourself. I willna bite.”
“I don’t believe you!” Page said through clenched teeth, sinking her nails into the arm that held her like plaster to his massive frame. “Sweet Jesu, but you’re a brute!” she accused him when he would not budge. Neither did he seem to be affected by the pressure she was inflicting upon his arm. Rather he sat there in stony silence, and it was as though he felt nothing at all. With a disgruntled sigh, she relented and released his arm, allowing herself to slacken against him, though she could not, by any means, rest.
“That’s it,” he said, bending to whisper his approval into her ear.
Page tried to ignore the shudder that swept down her spine at the solicitous tone of his voice.
“You havena spoken all the morn,” he said low, and his voice was like warm silk against her face, soft and soothing. She reminded herself that he was a faithless Scotsman, not some overly attentive beau who cared for her well-being. “I dinna mean to aggrieve you, lass.”
And still her heart hammered. “Did you not?” she asked, hiding her confusion behind anger.
His chest expanded with another sigh. He released it, and it blew across the pate of her head. The feel of it gave her gooseflesh. He didn’t answer.
Page wasn’t about to let him lapse into silence so easily now. He’d provoked her well enough. “What, prithee, did you mean to do? And what would you have me do? Laugh hysterically because I’ve been abducted by a barbarian Scotsman? Converse with you over the wonders of Christendom? I hardly think so!”
His chuckle surprised her. Low and rich, it rumbled against her back. “You’re a saucy wee wench, for certain.”
Page bristled. “I’m no wee wench—and aye, so I’ve been told! Do not think I mean to apologize for it, either!”
“Temper, temper,” he reproved, clucking his tongue at her. “Tell me, then, lass... what wonders might we converse over were ye amenable to conversing?”
“Hah!” Page exclaimed. “With you? I should think I would never be amenable—and cease, if you will, to call me lass! It...” Confused her. “Disturbs me,” she said petulantly.
He chuckled again, flustering her all the more, and then bent closer to whisper in her ear. “Verra well, lass, then tell me what ye would have me call you instead.”
Her nerves were near to shattering. “Naught!” She shrugged away, moving as far forward as was physically possible. Only then did she realize he hadn’t been holding her any longer. How long now since he’d released her? How could she not have noticed? Sweet Jesu, had she lain against him contentedly all this time? “I would have you call me naught!” she spat. “God’s truth, I would have you cease to speak to me at all!”
“Rest, then, and I willna trouble ye any further, lass.”
“Sweet Jesu! I’ve no wish to rest!”
“Then you do wish to converse?”
Page thought she could hear a smile in his voice. She jerked her head about to catch his smug expression and said, “I do not!”
“Och, lass, make up your mind,” he said, and Page clenched her teeth and tried to convince herself not to slap the arrogant smile from his face.