Aye, Iain was a fool, but that was well and good, for a fool smitten by a woman was a fool of the greatest sort.
He planned to make short work of this requital. Iain would never know what befell him... until the moment ere he closed his whoreson eyes .. . and then he would tell him...
Everything.
Aye, he’d watch the bastard suffer the truth as he finally closed his eyes —just as he’d envisioned doing to Iain’s father.
In the meanwhile, he watched the scene before him with an inward smile, waiting for just the proper moment to step into the fray.
“What harm can come of my washing in the lake?” Page asked, her tone fraught with challenge.
She’d nigh had them convinced, and then Angus had been quick to remind them of her midnight swim, and the fact that she’d attempted to use the lake to make her escape, nearly succeeding in the endeavor. It seemed the majority of them could not swim, after all. She gave the old man a withering look, and informed him resolutely, “Well, the MacKinnon promised me a wash, and a wash I’ll be getting!” And she turned about to make her way down to the water’s edge, daring them to stop her.
Angus placed himself within her path, and Page swore beneath her breath. Rot and curse these stubborn Scots! “Ye’ll be takin’ one when the MacKinnon returns, and no’ a minute sooner!”
Page didn’t dare wait for his return. “And when might that be?” she asked. “Where has he gone?”
“To clean up ye’re bluidy mess,” the old man said cryptically, standing stubbornly before her, arms akimbo.
“You are a mulish, bearish old man!” she told him angrily. “Why is it you persist in plaguing me so? Isn’t it enough that you steal me away from my home, keep me in fetters and abuse me with your mouths? You would have me live in filth, as well? I am not accustomed to sleeping upon the dirty ground and I need a bath!”
“Och! I dinna wish to even trouble myself, ye saucy Sassenach wench! Though for some godforsaken reason, the MacKinnon is thinkin’ to keep ye!” He thumped his chest with a hand. “I’ll be seein’ that he does!”
Canny old man! Though they trembled, Page’s hands went to her hips in challenge. “Aye? And where might I go, prithee?”
He didn’t reply, and Page stood there staring, inviting him to answer. By God, she was going to escape this morning if it killed her!
Last eve she’d thought to never have another opportunity, but this morning one had presented itself like a miracle from Heaven. She’d been only half-awake when the MacKinnon had risen and unfettered himself from her, but in enough of a weary stupor that she’d not bothered to open her eyes. Nor had she dared to face him. And then he had gone—to Christ knew where, for there yet no sign of him and she felt desperate to leave before he returned.
Before he could look at her with that knee- weakening, soul-stirring gaze.
And leave, she would—if ever she could convince the old fool standing before her that a bath was a perfectly harmless pursuit.
“Certainly you cannot be afeared of me?” she taunted him.
Still he didn’t respond, merely continued to eye her as though she were some evil sorceress about to perform her witchery and vanish before his eyes. Page might have laughed at his vigilant expression and ready stance, save that she was too angry to indulge in even a shred of good humor.
“Really!” she persisted. “You cannot be afeared of me! Wherever would I go?” she asked a little hysterically. Her eyes scanned the immediate horizon, once again surveying her greatest vantage spot—where the forest trees hung like curious old men over the lake. Their foliaged limbs brushed the water’s edge, as though stretching downward for a cool drink. It offered a temporary hideaway.
If she could ever get herself into the lake.
The horses were also tethered near the far bank.
It was perfect.
It was time to play upon their vanity, Page decided, and her brow lifted in challenge. “Certainly the lot of you... how many?” She peered about, counting, and then turned to Angus. “I count at least a score of you,” she told him. “Certainly you can manage a single weakly woman?”
“Fie!” Angus exclaimed.
“Aye, Angus,” Dougal piped in. “Surely we can manage a single weakly woman?”
Page nearly laughed aloud at the question in his tone.
“Fie!” Angus exclaimed once more.
“I dinna see anything amiss wi’ allowin’ the lass to wash,” Broc interjected, stepping into their midst, and eyeing her knowingly. Page was almost thankful to the great behemoth. Almost, for then he added, “Och, but I would be verra pleased if she would bathe herself, dirty as she is. Can no’ ye smell that Sassenach stench?” he asked, and laughed uproariously.