The MacKinnon’s Bride(96)

Page approached him warily, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gasped when he started. He didn’t turn to look at her, seemed discomposed, and she wanted so much to ease his burdens... as he had done so often for her.

They were true, she realized, as she watched him stare so intently at the window—the rumors she’d heard about his wife.

And yet it was evident from his expression, from his reaction to the open window, that the memory pained him still. The connection had never occurred to her—the barred window and the death of his wife. It hadn’t occurred to her.

She swallowed, gathered her courage, and lifted her hand to his clenched jaw.

Her heart lurched when he leaned into it, allowing her to comfort him, and her breath caught when he turned to look at her suddenly.

His golden eyes were full of grief.

“‘Tis true, then? Your wife...”

For a long instant he didn’t reply. He removed his face from her hand, sitting rigid before her. “What?” he asked her, his whisper sounding pained. “Is it true that I murdered her? That I pushed her from the window?”

“Nay!” Page said with a rush of breath. She shook her head vehemently. “I never did think so!”

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “She killed herself.” His voice broke. “Leapt... from that window.” He turned again to the wide, unobstructed opening, nodding.

Page experienced the most overwhelming desire to embrace him in that instant. She let herself, her heart quickening...

For the first time in her life, she didn’t worry about rejection... or her own tattered soul. She wrapped her arms about the man she loved. Though he stiffened at the unexpected show of compassion, he allowed it.

For a long instant they remained just so.

“It seemed she preferred death... to me,” he admitted softly, brokenly. “Her final words were... I want ye to know... the thought o’ ye ever touchin’ me again did this... You killed me, Iain.”

Page’s eyes stung with tears for the pain he’d endured at her hands.

“I hear those words still in my dreams.”

He shuddered at the confession, and her heart swelled with emotion. “I understand,” she said softly. “I do.” All this time she had never guessed he could be suffering the same as she—he with his good humor and his easy manner. Sweet Jesu, but she knew what it felt like to be unloved, to be cast aside.

They were the same.

He turned to look at her, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Aye,” he said, “I know ye do, lass.”

Not this time. She wasn’t going to allow him to divert her attention—for once, it wasn’t about her. “I’m stubborn and canny,” she told him. “Don’t worry about me.” And she smiled softly—for the first time in her life knowing of a certainty it was so.

He gave her a halfhearted smile, a slight turn of his lips.

Jesu, but she wanted to love him, wanted to nurture him—wanted him to know that not only would she gladly bear his touch, but she craved it fiercely! And in that instant she knew that she loved him truly. It had to be love, for she was unafraid to offer him all that she had to give—no matter that he had the power to wound her as did no other. Were he to rebuff her, she knew she would never recover.

Even so... not caring what his reaction to her brazenness might be... she bent to brush her lips against his whiskered jaw.

She kissed him softly, but with all the emotion she possessed in her heart.

She wanted him to cherish her, wanted him to make love to her, wanted to embrace him just so for the rest of her days.

He groaned, the guttural sound low and tormented, and Page felt her body quicken in response.

“Och, mo cridhe .. .fear mo ruin,” he whispered fiercely, turning and cupping her face within his callused hands. He closed his eyes and kissed her lips with a heart-jolting tenderness that stole her breath away.

Shuddering as he drew her down upon the bed and covered her body with his own, Page dared to pretend that his strangely muttered words were I love you.





chapter 30





It had been a long time since Iain had watched the sun set from his chamber window.

Even longer since he’d made love by the blush of its waning light. He’d forgotten how sweet it could be. Even more, he had never known the contentment that was possible in the sharing of two bodies.

Aye, he’d experienced those moments of gratification after a thorough loving... the physical sense of serenity. He’d wallowed in those pleasures like a lazy hound in the heat of a noonday sun. But he’d never imagined such a plane existed within the soul itself.

Exhausted from her day’s labor within his chamber, and their lovemaking, Page slept deeply beside him. Iain could scarce keep his hands to himself. He stroked her hair reverently, marveling that she slept so peacefully. He traced the outline of her body with his hands, afeared to touch her that she might wake, and yet unable to keep himself from appreciating the beauty of her form. Her long, lean limbs were tangled within the bedsheets. Her golden hair flowed down her back.