The MacKinnon’s Bride(5)

Hysterical laughter bubbled from the depths of her.

Her father’s prophecy was about to come true. Jesu! He’d always said she’d be her own ruin someday. That someday was now.

She should never have come out at night to wade alone. She should have brought Cora with her—now she was going to die for her recklessness.

What an empty-headed fool she was!

“Release me!” she shrieked, tearing at the sack with renewed determination. “Release me at once!”

Heart pounding, Page twisted and fought like a savage, kicking and bucking against their hold upon the sack. “Release me this instant, bloody rotten heathens—let me go!”

They broke into fits of laughter—but didn’t bother to comply!

Well! She wasn’t about to make this painless for them! Twisting and turning, she vowed that when they finally released her, she was going to pluck out their eyes!

If only she had her dagger!

But it lay somewhere along the bank along with—Mother of God!

Her struggles ceased at once with the realization that she was half naked to boot! Pure hysteria welled within her. She couldn’t have made it easier for them to ravage and murder her had she sent them bloody invitations!

And no one would miss her.

Her stomach wrenched.

Aye, she’d be fortunate enough if her father even noticed she was gone after a sennight. He was more attentive to his Scots guest than he’d ever considered being to her. Well, she thought despairingly, mayhap he would take note sooner, if only because she seemed to have the most unfortunate gift for getting herself into his ill graces—just as she had a genius for getting herself into trouble! She was ill fated, to be sure! He was bound to miss the mayhem.

Fueled with a fresh wave of desperation, Page began her struggles again, only to be jabbed with a knee for her efforts.

Damn their bloody heathen hides!

She didn’t care if they bruised her body until every inch of it was blue, she wasn’t going to simply lie quietly while they raped and murdered her!

The sound of new voices stopped her struggles abruptly.

Suddenly, without warning, the sack was overturned and she was tossed unceremoniously upon the ground.

Page shrieked in outrage.

Reeling, she surged to her feet, only to sway dizzily backward and fall back upon her rump to stare, dumbfounded, at the barest pair of limbs she’d ever laid eyes upon.

Strong male legs.

Bloody rotten luck.

Another giant.

Her gaze flew upward and locked with eyes that gleamed with amusement at her expense, eyes that were filled with arrogance and cool disdain. Sweet Jesu, but she’d seen that look too oft to mistake it! Like everyone else, he’d peered down his nose at her and found her wanting.

Well! She didn’t care what the dirty Scot thought of her! Particularly as he was likely to be planning ahead to her demise now that he’d changed his mind about the ravaging.





She didn’t look much like an earl’s daughter—more like a drowned wretch, Iain thought—save for the eyes. Nestled within them he spied all the haughtiness of her breeding.

Impudent little wench.

Like some mad, cornered hare, she looked ready to pounce upon him. And yet, for the briefest instant, when she’d first peered up at him, a flash of pain had shadowed those soulful dark eyes. A trick of the moonlight, no doubt, for as quickly as it had appeared, the look vanished, replaced by that fierce glare of open defiance she now wore.

That and little else, he couldn’t help but note.

A shudder coursed through him, for he hadn’t missed her bold appraisal of his legs. Had she been the least bit nearer and chanced to peer up his tunic, she might have earned herself an eyeful. Despite her bedraggled appearance, he found himself fully aroused by the sight of her. Christ, that body—even cloaked in mist and shadows, her graceful curves were more than discernible. Even through the silken shadows, her perfect breasts rose to tempt him, dark nipples plainly visible, teased by the cold night air.

His brows drew together as he considered her state of undress. Garbed in little more than her sodden shift, she seemed completely oblivious, in her anger, to the sight she presented to his men.

Shaking his head over her foolishness, he made an effort to dispel the images that accosted him: long luscious legs wrapped about his waist... full, ripe breasts arched in passion, beckoning to his lips... He knew the taste of them would be like manna from heaven.

Bones o’ the bloody saints, he was just a bloody man!

What sort of father allowed his only daughter to roam free at will? At night, no less?

“She was just where they said she would be,” his cousin disclosed.

“So she was.” Iain’s voice was husky with lust he couldn’t quite eschew.