The MacKinnon’s Bride(49)

And he intended to discover what Broc was up to. The lad was the last person Iain might have suspected of recreancy, but the evidence was there before him. Iain had thought at first that Broc meant to confront her, but even after their heated discourse, the lass continued to drop her scraps. Whatever his reason, Broc was aiding her. That much was plain to see.

Conspicuous as well were her continued glances toward him. The yearning reflected within the depths of those overwise brown eyes squeezed at his heart. It wasn’t Iain she coveted, he thought, but the affection between Malcom and himself. He sensed that even as he sensed the heat of her gaze upon him, and God, he felt the overwhelming desire to take her into his arms, soothe away her pain.

Emotions warred within him.

Bloody hell, but if she didn’t cease to look at him with such obvious longing, he wasn’t certain he was going to be able to restrain himself. He was only a man, after all, a man too long without a woman. It was becoming more and more difficult to recall himself to the fact that it wasn’t him she desired, but something else he couldn’t give her. He didn’t have it in him to give. Once he had thought to open his heart; now it was sealed tighter than a tomb.

And still she drew him.

She was lovely, aye, but there was something more.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt so utterly distracted by a woman. Not even Mairi had affected him so. His wife had been beautiful, but her heart had been poisoned against him. Loving her had been a duty. Wanting her had been unthinkable.

But he wanted FitzSimon’s daughter.

His warning to her last night had not solely been to distract her, and the effect her glances were having upon him was painfully physical. His body craved the things she silently asked of him. Christ, but he might have been blind and still sensed her presence.

Like a man thirsting for water, and maddened by its scent upon the air.

He was on edge.

He turned to find her staring, and his blood began to simmer. Brazen thing that she was, she held his gaze, her dark eyes smoldering, reflecting a carnal knowledge he knew she couldn’t possibly possess... or could she?

The possibility aroused him, evoked new images. His heartbeat quickened.

Or was it his own reflection he saw mirrored there in the fathomless depths of her eyes, his own dark yearnings?

Suddenly her eyes sparkled with challenge, or mayhap defiance, and she snapped the reins, urging Ranald’s mount toward him. Iain turned away, recognizing the battle to come, knowing it would be near impossible to watch her approach, anticipate her, and still keep his reason when she confronted him.

God’s truth, but for someone who was supposed to be a hapless hostage, she acted more like a haughty queen, snapping rebukes to Broc, and sending daggers with those lovely eyes. Mostly in his direction and Iain could scarce keep from grinning at the thought.

And then he sighed, for those beautiful, wide brown eyes of hers were too expressive for her own good.





chapter 16





It was the look upon his face that provoked Page—that arrogant twist of his lips that made her feel as though he mocked her somehow.

What could he possibly know? The cur! Certainly not that she was dropping the scraps of cloth—else he would have put an end to it long ere now.

And lest he be a sorcerer, nor could he possibly have divined her wicked thoughts. They were hers, and hers alone to contend with, and if her cheeks were high with color, ’twas simply because the wretched man had driven them forward, ever forward, never stopping, never resting. She was weary. And she had to do the necessary, besides—since after noon.

Page hadn’t complained even the first time, determined as she was not to speak to a one of them. She’d long determined that Broc was a flea-bitten moron! Scarce had he spoken a kind word to her all day, and his only saving grace was that he fiercely loved his little Merry Bells. Jesu, but she’d be willing to wager he even slept with the beast—wouldn’t doubt that it was where he’d managed to catch his fleas. And she was nearly certain he had them now.

Just to be certain she didn’t fall heir to a few, she edged her mount away from him, and tried not to be overly amused when he bragged to Kerwyn about the animal’s keen intellect. Kerwyn, for his part, ignored her. He listened to Broc’s boasts with half an ear, and an enduring smile that suggested he’d heard the tales before.

Then there was Angus. Angus was an addle-pated old fool, staring at her as he did so oft—as though she were some confounded riddle to be deciphered. God’s truth, but he was unsettling her—nigh as much as his laird. Her only comfort lay in the fact that he obviously thought the MacKinnon all the more daft, for the looks he cast in Iain’s direction were decidedly bemused.