And she would have been wrong.
The wind was a roar within her ears, and the sun shining down upon her face was like the hand of God warming her wind-chilled brow. She stood in amazement, marveling over the glitter of blue that stretched forth between one cliffside and the next. Jesu, but she could feel every sensation acutely here—the crispness of the air, the warmth of the sun’s rays, the caress of the wind.
She couldn’t imagine why the window would have been boarded—it seemed a shame to take for granted something so incredibly beautiful as this view. Glenna’s explanation had been reasonable enough... when one stopped to think of the dangers to a small child, although Page doubted she would ever have considered such a thing. But then, she was neither a mother nor a father, and was like never to be protecting one of her own.
Lord, but even the breeze was sweet with the scent of wild heather!
Instinctively she leaned out to seek the elusive scent, to inhale it more deeply into her greedy lungs.
“Nay!”
The thunderous command startled her.
Page spun about, her hand flying to her breast, to find Iain standing in the room. She’d not even heard him approach. “You startled me!” she accused him.
“Get away from that window!” He came toward her, his eyes narrowed wrathfully. “Now!”
Page took a step backward, alarmed by the purposeful look in his eyes, the glassy sheen to them. He looked at her as though he did not quite recognize her.
“I said get away from the bluidy window!” He lunged after her suddenly, before she could take another evasive step, and seized her ruthlessly by the arm. He spun her about, dragging her within the chamber.
Alarmed, Page struggled against him. Never had she seen him so enraged, so crazed! The flickering gold of his eyes shimmered with the intensity of angry, burning flames. The transformation in him was frightening. “You’re hurting me!” she protested, grimacing.
Sweet Jesu, but he didn’t seem to hear her!
He jerked her after him, hurled her heedlessly across his bed. Page landed, disoriented, but didn’t dare wait to catch her breath. She scurried to the far side of the bed and turned to face him there, watching him warily.
“Who the bluidy hell said you could open that gaddamned window?” he demanded.
Page shook her head, unable to speak. She didn’t know this side of him. Never once had he looked at her so cruelly, or spoken so harshly. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she could have done to provoke him to such an extreme—not when she’d worked so incessantly at it before and had never even managed to prick his temper at all! God’s truth, she’d been more in danger of inspiring his laughter than she ever had his fury!
Reasoning that he was not lucid this instant, she yielded, “I’m sorry. I... I didn’t know... I didn’t realize... Iain?”
Strange how, though she knew the lengths to which her father would go, she’d always stood her ground with him. With Iain, she was certain he’d never harm her—ever—and yet she felt the need to conciliate.
Still, she wasn’t about to come anywhere near him until the cloud of rage cleared from his eyes!
It was the look upon her face that recalled Iain to himself.
She crouched upon his bed, her eyes watching him with that same intensely guarded look she’d given him that first night he’d met her. It was wariness, not hatred he saw there.
Not revulsion.
He blinked, focusing.
Christ, it was not Mairi at the window... not Mairi shrinking from him at the far end of the bed.
And still he couldn’t help but shudder at the look in her eyes. At the black rage in his heart. So many years he’d kept the emotions buried. Damn, but he wasn’t simply angry with Mairi for leaving their son—he despised her for it! Unwilling to betray his emotions, Iain turned his back to Page and sat upon the bed, his body tense and trembling with restraint.
He sat for what seemed an eternity, staring at the open window.
Blue skies for as far as the eye could behold.
Malcom would have his seventh winter soon.
He looked about him, seeing his chamber for the first time in so many years... He’d always loathed this room. Even before Mairi... he had suffered the dreams. Her death had only intensified them.
Only, this moment... there was something different about it, he thought... something bright and cheery. He’d seen it this way before... but the difference this instant... was the presence of the woman at his back.
He started when he felt her delicate tap upon his shoulder. His breath caught, but he didn’t turn to face her.
Christ, but he didn’t know what to say.
She likely thought him a madman.
And he could scarce blame her for it.