The MacKinnon’s Bride(98)

The tale he would tell was clear in his mind: As this was the first time Iain had left her completely unattended, she would naturally choose it to make her escape. And certainly she would wish to take the boy with her to appease her father.

Such a shame she’d not realized how abruptly the bluffs ended.

And of course, it would be much too dark for her to realize until she and Malcom had already plummeted over the cliff to the rocks below.

Such a bluidy rotten shame...

Of course, he knew the reality would scarce be so simple. He was fully aware he’d need use some... persuasion... to get the wench o’er the cliff.

Malcom would be another matter entirely. The brat would give him little enough trouble. He would simply lift him up by his stout little-boy arms and toss him o’er the ledge.

The very thought made him smile—not that he particularly cared to hear the lad’s screams, o’ course, or to hear him suffer and plead—but he was goddamned tired of looking at his bratty li’l face.

Och! And only imagine what a misfortune it would become... were Iain to find their bodies broken together upon the rocks below... the woman he loved—once more—and his beloved son...

Certainly it would be conceivable that he might find himself unable to cope. That was his hope. After all... what man wouldn’t find it unbearable to lose two women—both having flown to escape him—and then his only son?

In the end, wouldn’t it seem perfectly comprehensible that the three would tragically meet the same fate?

Such poetic justice!

Damn, but if Iain didn’t think of ending it so himself, Lagan would surely find a way to prescribe it.

And with that thought he quickened his pace, feeling a rush of excitement o’er the confrontation at hand. He had no notion how long Iain would be gone from his chamber, or to where he had gone—nor did he intend to linger for anyone to spy him stealing up the tower steps. He climbed them swiftly, his footsteps lithe and full of purpose. The light within the tower had faded with the gloaming, and though he noted the absence of lit torches, he didn’t take the time to consider why Glenna would be so slow to light them tonight.

Whatever the reason, it worked to his favor.

At long last, the waiting was over, and Lagan would finally see justice done—for the father he’d never known, the mother he’d never claimed, and the brother who had never even once looked into his eyes and spied the truth between them!





Page was uncertain what it was that woke her—some sound, something—but she opened her eyes to a room filled with the gray shades of twilight. Sated from the afternoon’s exertions, she stretched lazily, and turned, only to find a scream caught in her throat. Startled, she lurched up in the bed, jerking up the sheets to conceal herself.

The shadow came forward, revealing himself. “I wasna certain whether to wake ye, or nay.”

“What are you doing here?” Page demanded of him.

“‘Tis the lad,” Lagan told her. “Malcom. I wouldna trouble ye, lass, were he no’ so distressed.”

“Malcom?” Her brow furrowed with worry. Whatever ill will she felt for Lagan, she set aside for Malcom’s sake. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Lagan was silent a moment, his expression grave, and Page’s heart began to hammer with fear. “What is it?” Her gaze swept the room. “Where is Iain?”

“Well, you see...” Lagan knelt beside the bed, peering quickly at the door as he did so. And then his gaze returned to Page, and it seemed fraught with worry. “I canna tell his da... ‘Tis his da he’s afeared for.”

Page’s brows knit. “I do not understand.”

“Ye see...” He glanced up at the window and then back. In the fading light his face was ashen with despair. “He overheard his da shouting at ye, lass... an’ he’s afeared ‘tis happened again.”

“What has happened again?” Page asked, following his gaze to the window once more. Her brows lifted in comprehension, and her gaze returned to Lagan. “Surely he cannot think his da would—”

“Och, lass, but he does!”

“Nay!” Page exclaimed in dismay. “However could he think such a thing!”

Lagan’s mouth twisted into a grimace. He peered down at the floor between them. “Secrets have their way o’ revealin’ themselves,” he told her.

Something about the tone of his voice sent a quiver racing down her spine. “Aye,” she agreed, and clutched the covers more firmly to her breast.

“If he could but see ye... then he would know he fears for naught. Will ye come?”

“Of course,” Page assured him. “Where is he?”