The MacKinnon’s Bride(78)

As she watched in awe, kith and kin appeared from the thatch-roofed dwellings, and gathered anxiously along the single worn path that led to the donjon itself. With craned necks and murmured voices they awaited the cavalcade.

Malcom’s animated voice and Iain’s ensuing laughter drew Page’s attention to father and son riding beside her. His brooding countenance vanished, replaced with an expression of supreme pleasure. Father and son seemed to forget her in their moment of homecoming. Page didn’t care. Their joy was infectious.





Understanding what it was his people sought to know, Iain suddenly lifted his son from before him upon the saddle and seated him high upon his shoulders. Arms flailing, Malcom shouted to his kinfolk, a gleeful Gaelic greeting, and Page found herself smiling over his exuberant display.

Caught up within their exhilaration, Page blinked away the sting of tears. Iain’s laughter at his son’s excitement made her heart swell. What must it feel like to be so loved? Jesu! To love so much in return?

So constricted was her chest suddenly, Page could scarce take a breath. In profile, Iain MacKinnon’s smile was stunning, but when he suddenly turned to look at her and winked, she thought her heart would leap from her breast.

“What d’ ye think, lass?” he asked her.

Page swallowed, and shook her head, unable to respond with her heart so firmly entrenched within her throat.

“Och, lass,” he said, and maneuvered his mount nearer. Gripping Malcom’s legs, he leaned as far toward her as he was able with his wriggling son seated high atop his shoulders. “Dinna look so glum,” he bade her, smiling. “They’ll no’ bite, mo chridhe.”

Page wasn’t so certain. She lifted a brow, telling him so without words.

He chuckled and turned to Angus, “Stay wi’ her, Angus,” he commanded.

The two shared an indecipherable look, making Page feel as though she’d missed something of import. She tried to recall what Iain had said, and couldn’t. Auld Angus nodded, and Page watched, still contemplating their silent exchange, as Iain rode to the fore of his men.

Angus watched him as well, she noted, his expression one of astonished bemusement. “My heart, you say?” the old man said to Iain, and shook his head. He cast her a meaningful glance, his lips curving softly as he turned away.

His heart, what? Did it ail him? Page wondered.

Though she could scarce share Angus’s mirth, she couldn’t suppress her own smile at the obvious clamor father and son elicited merely with their presence. She never would have guessed by the casual ease with which they all treated each other on the journey home, nor by the way they seemed so inclined to quarrel amongst themselves. While it was apparent they respected the MacKinnon and yielded to him always, they were unafraid to voice their convictions and stand apart. Seeing the furor over his return, it was more than evident these people truly valued their laird, and she couldn’t help but consider the differences between Iain and her father.

Her father’s men walked behind him always, skulking shadows ready to snatch his mantle lest it fall to the ground. But when they thought there were no ears about to hear them, they disparaged him to one another. Page had never blamed them. So oft they voiced the very sentiments she wished she had nerve enough to express.

“Wait until you see her!” Broc said, drawing up beside her.

“Who?” Page asked with a wistful sigh, her eyes still drinking in the sight of Iain riding with his son perched high upon his shoulders. She had the deepest yearning suddenly to be at his side, to see the smile of pleasure he wore upon his face, to know what it felt like to be cherished as he seemed to be.

Jesu, but she did know. He’d given her the briefest taste of it while she was in his arms, and she wanted to be there again.

“Merry Bells,” Broc clarified, and Page blinked, trying to determine what in God’s creation he was speaking of.

“She’s a verra smart dog,” he said, and Page choked upon a giggle. She concealed her amusement with a discreet clearing of her throat. She turned and found Angus smiling to himself. Jesu, but she thought she knew precisely what brought such a devilish turn to the old man’s lips. Broc, dear God, was relentless in the telling of his dog tales! In truth, if she hadn’t begun to like the behemoth so blessed much, she might have choked him long ere now for his incessant rambling over the beast!

He sat there, scratching his head, and searching the crowd.

“There she is!” he said suddenly, spying the dog, and then decreed, “Watch this!”

Page watched as he bade her. Following his gaze, she located the black and white spotted dog standing beside a young child who was busily scratching her back. Broc gave a whistle, and the dog’s ears perked at once. And then she suddenly came flying.