His arm untangled and he was flung to the ground.
His head impacted with a crack that reverberated clear into his unconscious mind.
It took Page an instant too long to free herself from the angry fog that had enveloped her. Realizing suddenly what she’d done, she whirled her mount about, and sat, horseflesh rippling impatiently beneath her as she stared at the body lying so still upon the ground.
Sweet Mary, what had she done to him?
Some part of her wanted to go to him.
Her heart twisted painfully.
She turned to stare in horror and panic at the path that led to freedom, and for an instant was anguished and torn.
There would never be a greater opportunity for escape.
And some part of her wanted to go—to her father—some part of her truly did, but the greater part of her could not leave with him lying there as he was.
So still.
Her father’s enemy, she reminded herself.
A liar and a faithless cheat.
The man who had treated her with nothing less than kindness. The man whose worst crime against her had been to give her a name her father had never stirred himself to bestow.
Suisan.
Her heart wrenched. She wondered what it meant.
The sound of it upon his lips, like a lover’s whisper, had made her heart leap, had filled her eyes with tears she’d never dared to shed.
Aye, and she’d dared in that moment to love him, this fierce stranger, whom she dared not even like.
Her heart hammered as she stared at the body lying so still before her.
The realization that he pitied her had turned her heart to stone, her thoughts to fury.
She came aware of tears streaming down her cheeks.
Sobs rang in her ears—her own?
Jesu, but why should she weep for this man?
How could she not go? She’d waited all her life for her father to want her, and now that he did, she must go to him! She must!
Jesu, but this man had betrayed him, had broken faith. Why should she care that he lay there?
Possibly dying.
Possibly dead.
Her stomach twisted.
He didn’t so much as move as she watched. He lay there upon the forest floor, his big body crushing the bracken beneath. She gauged the light frantically through the sparse-limbed trees; it was fast growing dark.
What if they couldn’t find him before the sun made its final descent? She recalled what Broc had told her about Ranald—in what condition his body had been found—and fear squeezed her heart.
Sweet Jesu, she couldn’t bear for that fate to be Iain MacKinnon’s, no matter that she wanted to loathe him still.
She couldn’t go, God help her, but she couldn’t!
Spurring her mount back, she reined in beside him, dismounting quickly, kneeling at once at his side.
He lay so still, so still that Page’s heart thumped and fear deluged her.
Desperate to hear his breath, some evidence that he yet lived, she placed her cheek against his lips, warm still with the sweet elixir of life. Her eyes closed with relief when she felt his breath, so light and airy against her face.
Thank God!
She couldn’t have borne it.
Thank God, thank God, thank God!
For the longest instant she couldn’t move, so benumbed was she with giddy relief.
Of a sudden, a hand caught her at her nape, and then his eyes flew open. She felt his lashes flutter against her cheek but couldn’t move for the clasp he had upon her neck. She filled her lungs with a gulping breath as his grip held her more firmly against him. His nostrils flared, as though scenting her, and then he groaned and clenched his jaw.
Her heart began to hammer fiercely. It pounded erratically, the sound of it echoing like savage drums in her ears. She tried to draw away, alarmed by the currents that jolted through her at the intimate position of their bodies.
“Nay,” he rasped.
The single word was a plea, a tormented whisper that bore more desperation, even, than did the depths of her very soul. And God help her, that more than the force of his grip held her quiescent against him.
For an instant, neither of them spoke; he simply held her to his face, his lips pressed against her cheek, with a desperation that Page had thought only she knew.
She stirred, and his grasp tightened.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken against the palm she had braced at his chest.
“I...” Page swallowed convulsively. Unreasonable as it seemed, she took fierce pleasure in the simple request. It choked the breath from her lungs. “I... I feared to have killed you,” she confessed softly, and closed her eyes, allowing him to move his lips against her face.
Sweet Mary... soft, warm, and sweet... his lips were... making her daft. She trembled with keen pleasure.
His breath came labored, as did her own, and his whisper was hot and sweet against her face, and still he did not release her. Page tried to writhe away, before her body could betray her, but somehow, his lips found their way to her ear, and he murmured, “Stay, lass...”