She returned her attention to Malcom, her curiosity piqued. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He was still peering up at her, his little brows drawn together in an adorable little frown. He seemed to be considering how best to answer, and then yielded, “Paintin’.”
Page’s brows lifted. “Painting?” she asked with some surprise. “Oh, I see.” The rascal, he was too shy to show his artwork. She smiled, and knelt at his back, hoping to coax him into bringing the art piece out from under his tunic. His gaze followed her down, and his little face remained screwed in a wary frown. “Might I see your painting?” she asked softly, coaxing him as she would a shy pup. “I very, very much like to paint myself,” she told him truthfully, and then waited patiently for him to decide.
“Weel,” he said, twisting his little lips as he considered. “I suppose ye can,” he yielded, and started to fiddle with the something beneath his tunic. Page smiled in triumph, and then to her horror, watched as he began to pee upon the ground. “See,” he said, with some pride, lifting a finger to point at the wet dirt before him. It was then Page noticed that part of the ground was damp already.
“There’s horns,” he pointed out delightedly, “and there’s eyes. I’m doin’ a nose just now.” And then he groaned in complaint, when his stream ended abruptly, “but I ne’er can finish ‘cause I always run out!” He turned to her then, wrinkling his forehead in childish disgust.
Page knelt there behind him in openmouthed shock, her face flaming. She didn’t know what to say.
“’Tis... quite... lovely,” she stammered, and then screeched in fright when the MacKinnon came and placed a hand upon her shoulder. She shrugged free of his touch, leaping to her feet.
Malcom peered up at his father, his smile suddenly beatific once more. “Halloo, Da!” he said, beaming. “I was showin’ Page my goat!”
“Were ye now?” the MacKinnon asked, frowning, and then he turned to look at her, his scowl deepening.
Page took a defensive step backward. “I... I... I didn’t realize!” she said at once, stammering over her words. She shook her head in horror. “I... I would never have interrupted—I-I never imagined!”
The MacKinnon peered over his son’s shoulder at the ground before his son’s feet, his brows drawn together.
Malcom shrugged. “She asked to see my goat, da, but it wasna finished,” his son explained, eyeing Page as though she’d suddenly gone daft.
The MacKinnon’s stern face broke into a grin then. He turned to Page and said, looking much as though he would break into hoots and howls of laughter, “He’s a boy, lass, what can I say?”
Malcom was still staring up at his father, frowning. “But, da,” he complained, “I didna get to finish again!” And then he turned to Page and declared, “Sometimes me and my da match to see who can piss the farthest.”
The MacKinnon was quick to place a hand to his son’s lips, shushing him. “Malcom!”
Forsooth! Page didn’t think her face could grow any hotter than it was already.
“Me da always wins,” Malcom’s little voice announced, undeterred, his words muffled through his father’s fingers. It was obvious he was very proud of his father’s accomplishment. He tugged his father’s hands away from his face and boasted, “On ‘count of he’s bigger, ye see. Right, da?” he asked, peering up at his father for witness.
Page lowered her gaze, blinking.
“Taller, lass, taller!” the MacKinnon proclaimed, reaching out and lifting her face to his. “Because I’m taller,” he explained quickly.
It was only then Page realized where she’d been staring, and her eyes widened in comprehension. She felt like swooning! Her face burned hot with embarrassment, and her only comfort was that the MacKinnon’s blush was nigh as deep as her own must be. His cheeks were high with color.
She turned abruptly, feeling like a peagoose, and walked away, wishing to God she’d never woken up this morn at all. Jesu, but she didn’t think she’d ever be able to face him again—father or son!
The MacKinnon came after her, and then his footsteps halted abruptly. “Page!” he barked, his voice like a clap of thunder.
Page froze, blinking at the sharpness of his voice.
And then she realized what it was he’d said, and her knees went weak beneath her.
Mother of Christ!
He knew.
Her mind raced, trying to discern how he could possibly, and then she realized belatedly that Malcom had used her name yet again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the world away. Lord help her, but she’d never felt more like crawling into a hole and remaining there the whole of her life. Now, in truth, she couldn’t bear to face him.