He hadn’t answered as yet, and some traitorous part of Page was afeared that he might agree to her request. Ludicrous, she realized, but nevertheless true. “Will you take me back?” she persisted.
His answer was a sigh and a whisper in the darkness. “Nay, lass.”
Page released the breath she’d not realized she’d held. Was that disappointment she felt? Relief? God’s truth, she didn’t know, and she didn’t argue with him, couldn’t find her voice to do so.
The reed’s music faded, the haunting strains coming softer now.
“When I heard him speak to you, and realized he was not mute, I assumed Malcom could not understand the English tongue,” she remarked with some annoyance.
“Of course he understands,” he said. “I intend to teach him Latin, as well.”
Her surprise was evident in her tone. “You speak Latin?”
“D’ ye think it only an Englishman’s right to know God’s tongue?” he asked her.
Page bit into her lip to keep from revealing the lowering fact that she’d never been taught. That he, a savage Scot, would know these things, and she not, made her feel like the wretched waif she must appear.
Then again, when had she ever felt like anything more than a poor relation?
She sensed, more than saw, him turn to face her. His movement tugged at her arm just a little, but not enough to wake Malcom, who was lying so peacefully upon it. Jesu, her arm was growing numb, but she didn’t care. There was something so sweet about having him sleep there.
Something so right... and so breathtaking about lying beside his father.
Iain. Angus had called him Iain. Page savored the name privately.
Sheer foolishness, and still she stared, trying to spy the MacKinnon’s face through the shadows, her heart tripping against her breast. “He would not speak to me in my father’s house,” she yielded.
For an instant he didn’t respond, and her breath quickened painfully as she waited to hear his voice again.
“What would you have done in his place?” he asked her, after a moment.
“If I were a child alone in the hands of strangers?” she asked softly. Her gaze shifted to the shadow of the child lying so quietly beside her. “I... I don’t know.”
“He was afeared, is all.”
“I... I might have been, too,” she admitted.
“Are ye now, lass?”
Page swallowed.
“Afeared?”
“Should I be?”
“That I might hurt you?” he answered. “Nay. Ye dinna have to fear for that.”
Something about the way that his voice fluctuated, softened to a gruff whisper, sent her heart skidding against her ribs. It mesmerized her, seduced her, drugged her senses. He might have done anything to her in that instant and she wouldn’t have been the least prepared.
“What is it I should fear?” she asked him boldly, her heart beating faster.
The silence between them was deafening as Page awaited his response.
“That I might want ye,” he whispered, his voice deep and dark and silky.
Page choked. “M-me?” she stammered. “Y- you? Nay!” she said breathlessly. “You couldn’t possibly!”
He chuckled and reached out unerringly to seize her hand, drawing it toward him. It seemed to Page that her blood roared through her ears as he tugged her gently toward him, to place her hand upon his tunic, over that most private part of him. She was shocked unto death to find him full and hard, and in her astonishment, forgot to wrench her hand away. She couldn’t speak, so stunned was she.
“Dinna seem so surprised, lass,” he murmured softly, leaning closer.
Page’s body convulsed secretly as she felt his presence move toward her in the darkness, closing the space between them, until his son’s body was all that kept them separated.
Unreasonably, in that instant Page wished his son were not sleeping so peacefully between them, for she craved his father’s arms more than she’d ever craved anything in her life. “I—” She stammered and forgot what it was she’d meant to say.
“Aye, lass,” he swore, and his body pulsed beneath her hand, giving evidence to his words. “If my son wasna lying between us... you’d have much to fear.”
Page’s breath caught.
Sweet Jesu! Had he read her mind? Had she spoken aloud? The blood quickened through her veins, but she was too shocked by his bold words to be afraid. She felt his gaze pierce her through the darkness, and dared to ask, her heart hammering fiercely, “What... what is it... you would do?”
“’Tis a dangerous question ye ask.”
Page’s heart lurched. “You... you swore you would not hurt me,” she reminded him.