The MacKinnon’s Bride(81)

“Aye.”

Page cast another glance about, her eyes trying to perceive the room in a different light, but there was nothing present to give her even the slightest clue of him. “It... appears so... very... desolate,” she remarked, frowning.

“It serves its purpose well enough,” Iain said. “What need have I for finery when my eyes willna see it whilst I sleep?”

Page’s own bedchamber had been as chaste as a monk’s cell, but not by choice. To make it appear less so, she had usurped forsaken baubles from her father’s home, stealing them into her own chamber in order to enliven it. Her frown deepened at the piteous thought.

Iain hadn’t moved from where he stood, holding the burning taper. He was watching her curiously while she studied the room, waiting, it seemed, for some response from her. Curse him, too, for it seemed he was always watching! Scrutinizing. Waiting.

The very sight of him elicited such conflicting emotions, for while he was the one person in her life who’d made her feel cherished, he was also the one person who compelled her to see herself as she was.

And she didn’t like what she saw... save when she looked into his eyes.

And even then, she recalled all of which she’d been deprived.

He gazed at her as though she were precious... and therein lay the heart of the matter, for she knew herself as unworthy.

All those years she’d pretended she didn’t care... he’d made them all a terrible lie. Aye, for she cared with every fiber of her being—hurt with every last drop of blood that was wrung from her heart.

And it was Iain MacKinnon’s fault, because before him, she had been blissfully numb.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell me,” she said irascibly, “did your mother never teach you better than to fling unwilling women over your shoulder?”

His brows collided, and his jaw went taut. He peered away. Good, let him suffer it, if he would! She might have slapped him, in truth, for she was still blenching over the looks his people were giving her as he’d carried her into his home. How dare he treat her so commonly!

And then he turned to face her, and though he deserved considerably more than her anger for treating her so coarsely, Page regretted her outburst the instant she saw the look upon his face. It was obvious she’d managed to wound him, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was that made his eyes seem so melancholy of a sudden.

“Och, lass,” he answered, his expression sober, if not entirely contrite, “the burden o’ my manners doesna fall to my minnie at all.” He cast a glance at the floor, and then met her gaze once more, his golden eyes shadowed. “I knew her not, y’ see.” The candlelight glinted upon his eyes. The glimmer mesmerized her as much as his admission moved her.

“Oh,” Page said softly. She felt a keen stab of guilt.

“She died giving me birth.”

Their gazes held, locked.

Embraced.

“I... I did not know.” More than she had, she sensed he’d suffered the loss of his mother. It was wholly discomposing the way his simple revelation affected her. With nary more than a few words, he’d managed not only to defuse her anger, but to make her long to cast herself into his arms and share his misery.

“Dinna fash yourself o’er it,” he said softly, nodding, his eyes fixed upon her still. “How could ye have known?”

“I never would have—”

“Hush, lass,” he broke in, carrying a finger to his lips. “I’m no wee bairn to need suckling at her breast. ‘Tis all right.” His eyes narrowed then, slitted, lowered from her eyes, to her mouth, and then to her breast, lingering there.

She knew at once what he was thinking, and her heart skipped its normal beat. Her breath caught as she followed his gaze to find that her body had somehow betrayed her. A guilty flush crept into her cheeks, through her body, warming her.

“Nay?” she asked, gulping in a breath as she lifted her face to meet his heavy-lidded gaze once more. He was still staring at her bosom. And then suddenly realizing what it must sound as though she were asking, she said much more firmly, “Nay! Oh, nay, you are not!”

His lips curved ever so slightly and he blinked, lifting his gaze once more to her face.

In the depths of his smoldering eyes Page saw the stark intensity of his desire for her, and shamelessly rejoiced in it. Her breath accelerated, and her heartbeat quickened with the knowledge that he wanted her still.

Warmth flared through her. “Neither... neither did I,” she revealed, swallowing convulsively. Her thoughts scattered.

He moved toward her, and Page felt her legs go suddenly weak. Heat suffused her. He stopped to set the candle upon the brazier. “Neither did you what?” he asked softly.