The MacKinnon's Bride (20 page)

He didn’t so much as move as she watched. He
lay there upon the forest floor, his big body crushing the bracken
beneath. She gauged the light frantically through the sparse-limbed
trees; it was fast growing dark.

What if they couldn’t find him before the
sun made its final descent? She recalled what Broc had told her
about Ranald—in what condition his body had been found—and fear
squeezed her heart.

Sweet Jesu, she couldn’t bear for that fate
to be Iain MacKinnon’s, no matter that she wanted to loathe him
still.

She couldn’t go, God help her, but she
couldn’t!

Spurring her mount back, she reined in
beside him, dismounting quickly, kneeling at once at his side.

He lay so still, so still that Page’s heart
thumped and fear deluged her.

Desperate to hear his breath, some evidence
that he yet lived, she placed her cheek against his lips, warm
still with the sweet elixir of life. Her eyes closed with relief
when she felt his breath, so light and airy against her face.

Thank God!

She couldn’t have borne it.

Thank God, thank God, thank God!

For the longest instant she couldn’t move,
so benumbed was she with giddy relief.

Of a sudden, a hand caught her at her nape,
and then his eyes flew open. She felt his lashes flutter against
her cheek but couldn’t move for the clasp he had upon her neck. She
filled her lungs with a gulping breath as his grip held her more
firmly against him. His nostrils flared, as though scenting her,
and then he groaned and clenched his jaw.

Her heart began to hammer fiercely. It
pounded erratically, the sound of it echoing like savage drums in
her ears. She tried to draw away, alarmed by the currents that
jolted through her at the intimate position of their bodies.

“
Nay,” he
rasped.

The single word was a plea, a tormented
whisper that bore more desperation, even, than did the depths of
her very soul. And God help her, that more than the force of his
grip held her quiescent against him.

For an instant, neither of them spoke; he
simply held her to his face, his lips pressed against her cheek,
with a desperation that Page had thought only she knew.

She stirred, and his grasp tightened.

“
Don’t go,” he pleaded,
and she could feel his heartbeat quicken against the palm she had
braced at his chest.

“
I...” Page swallowed
convulsively. Unreasonable as it seemed, she took fierce pleasure
in the simple request. It choked the breath from her lungs. “I... I
feared to have killed you,” she confessed softly, and closed her
eyes, allowing him to move his lips against her face.

Sweet Mary... soft, warm, and sweet... his
lips were... making her daft. She trembled with keen pleasure.

His breath came labored, as did her own, and
his whisper was hot and sweet against her face, and still he did
not release her. Page tried to writhe away, before her body could
betray her, but somehow, his lips found their way to her ear, and
he murmured, “Stay, lass...”

Sweet Christ... Page thought she would die
from the sensations that swept through her at his plea, at the
warmth of his breath against her lobe... the way that he seemed to
be savoring her face... like a blind lover seeking knowledge of the
one he loved... though Iain’s fingers were his lips... and he was
making her insane.

“
Are... are you hurt?” she
found the wits to ask. Her fingers slid into his hair, searching,
secretly reveling in the thick healthy texture of his
hair.

“
Nay.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at his answer,
and then he whispered in her ear. “Why did you come back?”

“
I... I don’t know,” she
answered, and truly she didn’t.

“
I’m verra glad you did,
lass.”

“
I shouldn’t have,” she
acknowledged softly.

“
But you did.”

“
Aye.” Page swallowed
convulsively, for his lips began to move tentatively against her
cheek once more. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. She closed her eyes
to savor the feel of them caressing her face. Sweet Heaven above,
she had never known a heart could feel so taxed and still continue
to beat.

That her flesh could feel so sensitive to
the touch.

That her body could yearn so...
desperately.

Her body, not her heart, she reminded
herself, for her heart was entombed in stone—stone walls she had
erected herself with blood and mortar, and painful precision. Only
her father had the power to bring them down, and instead he had
helped to build them, handing her the bricks, one by one, that she
might lay them firmly upon the foundation that was her life.

Ah, but her soul... her soul had yearned and
soared, flying from its confines within the prison of her heart,
like a specter walking through solid walls.

Her body yearned now, too, and God help her,
she had not the will to deny it.

Her fingers unknowingly tangled within his
hair, and she was unaware that he eased his grip.

“
I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Forgive me, lass.” He kissed her cheek while his arms urged her
down upon him. “I didna mean to hurt you...”

“
I know,” Page cried, and
somehow knew that it was so. And then she couldn’t think at all,
for his hands had somehow found their way to her face. He cupped
her cheek as he had that first night... with a tenderness that
stole her breath and heart away, and tears sprang to her
eyes.

chapter 17

The desire she revealed to him so
unabashedly made Iain’s heart trip painfully. It sluiced through
his soul like a hallowed stream of light, banishing shadows from
the darkest cobwebbed reaches.

“
I shouldn’t,” she
whispered. “Shouldn’t want...” And the desperation he heard in her
voice tore at his soul. He shouldn’t want her either, but he did.
God help him, but he did.

He turned her face to meet his .gaze. “But
you do?”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead
upon his. “Nay.”

He drew away a fraction, staring into her
eyes. Deeper shadows descended upon the forest, bathing them in
gloaming light, but still he could see the bewilderment in her
eyes.

The truth.

“
I spy it in your gaze,
lass,” he said.

She denied it once more, a quick jerk of her
head that convinced him not at all.

“
I shouldn’t,” she
persisted.

He cupped her chin, drawing it up so that he
might better see her lips when she spoke. “That look tells me
otherwise. It speaks to my lips...”

He drew himself up and placed his lips to
her beautiful chin. “It begs for this...” Instinctively she tilted
her head low, of her own accord, and he covered her mouth with his
own, tasting her lips, tentatively at first.

Page felt every sweet caress deep into her
soul. Every soft foray across her lips sent her heart into a wild
skitter.

Sweet Mary, how she wanted this...

How she wanted him.

Never in her life had she craved anything
more...

What could possibly be wrong with taking
what little he would give her? What did it matter that she would
leave him? It wasn’t... and didn’t, she told herself.

What if this one instant in time were to be
her fleeting moment of happiness? Her one chance at this sense...
of belonging... of feeling... wanted...

Would she regret never taking it?

She knew he couldn’t possibly love her, nor
could she love him, for they were strangers. And yet... he did want
her. She knew it by the way he touched her... so gently, and yet
with so much ardor that it made her heart cry out with joy.

His tongue swept across her lips with a
relish that made her heart squeeze painfully. Page opened her mouth
to his gentle prodding, his erotic, demanding caresses, and her
body quivered as his tongue swept inside, boldly, plundering her
mouth... teasing her tongue, until

she moaned with delight and joined him in
the gentle play.

It was the sweetest taste of bliss.

Everything she had ever dreamed.

“
Tell me now ye dinna want
me, lass,” he challenged her, tearing his lips away from her
mouth.

He left her with her eyes closed, unable to
open them to the tangible world. Lord, she wanted to go back...
experience every delicious shudder all over again.

“
Aye,” she whispered
breathlessly, never opening her eyes. If she didn’t open them, it
didn’t have to be real...

She could pretend...

“
I do—God in Heaven help
me, but I do...”

At her honest admission, pleasure so keen it
was almost pain shot through Iain. And then he groaned as an
entirely different sort of pain dizzied him. It burst through his
limbs when he tried to lift himself from the ground to better kiss
her senseless. “Ah... Christ...” He closed his eyes against it.

He heard her gasp of alarm. “Are you hurt?”
she asked once more, and he could see the concern in her eyes, hear
it in her voice. It was like a balm for his soul.

Christ, he bloody well didn’t know if he was
hurt. He grimaced, for he’d come to, surprised to find her warm,
soft face nestled so intimately against his own, and was at once
ensorcelled by her scent, her nearness, so much so that he’d
somehow forgotten why the bloody hell he was sprawled in the middle
of the soggy forest floor to begin with.

He lay back down for an instant, and then
tried to move his legs. They moved well enough, he thought, though
they ached like the devil. He met her worried gaze, and felt the
need to reassure her, “Naught broken so far.” He smiled, not wholly
convinced himself.

Neither did she seem overly assured, and her
lovely brows drew together into a barely discernible frown.

“
Truly?”

Iain moved his legs again to show her,
grimacing, and then tried to rise. He fell back upon his rear, his
brows drawing together in discomfiture. “No’ broken mayhap, but a
wee unsteady.” He winked at her. “Och, but ye weave a wicked spell,
lass.” He grinned then, to be certain she understood he was jesting
with her. “I’ll be fine,” he assured, when she failed to smile.

He sat there upon his rump a long instant,
watching her as the sun continued its descent, and wished to bloody
hell that the moment’s spell hadn’t broken. In the dimming light,
her blush faded to shadows, but the delicate contours of her face
remained to bewitch him.

Och, but she was lovely. God’s truth, she
might have been wearing that infernal meal sack she’d rolled out of
so indignantly and Iain would have still thought her exquisite.

They stared at each other for what seemed an
eternity, neither speaking.

“
I’m sorry if I hurt you,”
he said at last. “Dinna mean to.” He leaned against one hand and
propped up a knee, watching her. She averted her gaze; the
silhouette of her face nodded against the twilight shadows of the
forest. Iain reached out, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes in the
darkness. “I dinna mean to,” he swore.

She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t
allow it. Forced to hold his gaze, she glared, making some choked
sound that revealed both her anger and her pain.

He’d meant well. Christ, but he had. It was
all he could do not to avert his gaze from her accusing look, so
much self-disgust did he feel.

She began to weep then, right there before
him upon the forest floor. Damn the pain; he drew her into his arms
and held her, her body trembling softly within his embrace.

Page clung to him, unable to refuse the
comfort of his strong arms.

How many times had she yearned to be held
thus? How many times had she wept alone?

Too many to recount.

It felt so good to be embraced... so good to
be held as though she were loved. For the space of an instant, she
could almost believe...

She buried her face into the crook of his
neck and was heartily grateful he could not see the tears she shed.
It was enough he could hear them. She couldn’t stop the tremors.
Heaven help her, she tried, but couldn’t.

“
What does it mean?” she
asked on a sob.

“
What, lass?” he
whispered.

“
Suisan.”

He peered down at her. She could feel his
gaze, and the sweet warmth of his breath, and dared to lift her
face to his.

“
It means
lily.”

“
Lily?”

“
Bonny and sweet,” he
whispered.

“
Nay,” Page
denied.

“
Aye, lass,” he murmured,
and continued to stare down at her. “Lovely...” He lowered his face
and touched his mouth softly to hers. “Sweet,” he whispered, and
then pecked her lips with another gentle kiss.

Page’s arms tightened about his neck, her
heart hammering like a ram, and near to bursting with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she relented softly, and prayed with all her heart
that he would deepen the kiss once more.

She wanted to give him everything. And her
body was all she had.

Hope, like weak candlelight, flickered
within her heart.

For an instant she thought he might, for he
stared down at her as though he would, his heart beating as
fiercely as her own, his breathing as labored. She almost drew him
down to her, so much did she wish for it, craving the gentle
reassurance of his warm lips, the hunger in his kiss.

He came so close...

She could almost sense the heat of his mouth
so near her own that her stomach fluttered wildly. His embrace
tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. In that intimate
position they remained for what seemed an eternity—a heartbeat too
long, for she lost the chance to lift her mouth to his lips and ask
for what he would give her in that wordless language that lovers
shared.