“Ach, but Lagan,” Dougal protested. “I dinna need a bath, and I surely dinna wish to follow her into the loch. She can bathe herself, and we can watch from the bank.”
Kerwyn raised his hand. “I’ll bathe wi’ her,” he said with a wink, and a laugh, amused by himself.
“And I,” agreed Kermichil, sharing a private smile with Kerwyn.
Page shuddered at the lecherous looks that suddenly appeared in their eyes, the knowing glances they exchanged between them.
And then suddenly they were all peering at each other just exactly so, mumbling in their Scots tongue and laughing, racing to strip down to their bare buttocks.
Page’s eyes went wide.
This, she hadn’t quite bargained for.
All at once they began to stampede toward her, and it no longer mattered that Angus stood between her and safety. She gave a little shriek of alarm and ran toward the lake, wading in quickly. The frigid water struck her like icy palms, snatching her breath away, but she ignored the sting of her flesh and rushed headlong into the deepest water.
Neither had she expected it to be so cold!
When she was far enough out that she could no longer stand, and was certain no one had followed, she turned, treading water, trying to stay afloat despite her limbs tangling in her billowing gown, and watched, stupefied, as the entire lot of naked Scotsmen frolicked like babes in the water. They had all of them discarded their scant clothing and now stood in the shallow water, splashing water at each other and laughing uproariously. Although she’d definitely not mistaken the lecherous glances they’d given her, they’d somehow forgotten her presence now, preoccupied as they were with their own revelry.
Only Angus, Broc, and Lagan remained upon the bank.
Grinning at the lot of them, Lagan walked away without sparing Page another glance. He shook his head and laughed as he went.
Broc, for his part, stood laughing—laughing and scratching at his lovely blonde locks, and the thought struck Page suddenly that he was the one man here who was in most need of a bath. There was no other way to rid himself of those fleas. In a momentary lapse, she thought to tell him so, and then decided against it, reminding herself that she didn’t care whether he ever rid himself of the accursed contagion. The sour-tempered behemoth was no concern of hers at all. Let him suffer the vermin, for all she cared. She hoped he scored his skin raw.
Angus, on the other hand, stood glaring at her—as though to blame her for the loss of good sense in the grown men surrounding her.
Her gaze traveled the lot of them. None of them were paying her any attention. Kerwyn stood in shallow water, bending over to dunk his gnarled head into the frigid lake. He brought it up, shaking water like a wet beast, and making horrendous noises that sounded to Page’s ears like a wounded animal. To her amazement, she watched as Kermichil did the same, and then stood waiting for Kerwyn to try again, as though they were having some curious contest of sorts. Page could scarce imagine what they might be competing over. Whose head would turn blue first from the cold?
Her teeth were chattering as her gaze returned to the bank where Angus was waving for her to come nearer. Although she was tempted to try to make her escape now, while the lot of them were preoccupied, she did as he bade her, knowing that Angus could foil her plan long before she set it into motion. The old man was wily as a fox, and he was watching her too closely for her to even attempt an escape as yet. The last thing she needed was for him to begin shouting at her now and draw attention.
Resisting the urge to cast a longing glance at the spot where the horses were tethered, Page waded back toward shore, but not all the way. She stopped when Angus gave her leave to, remaining at a safe distance from the others. And then she began to wash herself, pretending an interest in a nonexistent stain in her gown. She scrubbed at it incessantly, taking quick peeks at the old man watching from the shore. When she’d taken long enough with that self-imposed task, she dared her first duck beneath the water to wet her hair, coming up quickly, watching Angus and the others as she unplaited her hair. Still, no one but Angus watched her. Even Broc wandered away. But she knew it was a matter of time before they tired of their child’s play and decided to plague her once again, so she didn’t linger once her hair was unbound. She plunged into the water once more, this time taking her time to resurface.
Knowing Angus would be watching, she took great pains to remain in the same spot, and didn’t dare wait too long before lifting her head above water. She didn’t intend for Angus to call the guards after her. On the contrary, her intent was to stay beneath the water longer and longer, until he lost interest—until she deemed it long enough a time to make a mad dash toward freedom.
He was staring anxiously when she resurfaced for the second time, but Page continued on, pretending to bathe, until at last it seemed he was not quite so suspicious. She dunked herself a few more times just for good measure, and on the final time found him busy speaking with Kerwyn and Kermichil.
Knowing her time was limited, Page made her final dunk beneath the water’s surface. This time, she dove deep and propelled herself in the direction of the horses, praying to God that her direction was not wrong. She knew instinctively this would be her only opportunity.
She swam with her eyes open, despite the sting of the cold, and swam with all her might, hoping her path wasn’t visible from the water’s surface.
Once she reached the bank, she resurfaced slowly, praying for the cover of foliage, and nearly cried with relief and joy when she found herself in the very heart of the leafy enclosure and heard the soft nickering and chewing of horses at their leisure.
She’d made it.
Thus far.
But she knew her time was short, and she still needed to steal a mount without their noticing—else she’d not get very far. She wasted little time worrying about the probability of being caught, for she had no time to spare. Virtually any moment Angus would sound the alarm. Even as she slipped from the water, she kept expecting to hear his cranky old bellow.
She made her way swiftly through the trees and bushes, not daring even to risk a glance in Angus’s direction.
She wasn’t particular about her mount. Choosing one, she untethered it quickly, realizing belatedly that it was the one upon which poor Ranald was bound—and not very well, at that. But rather than take the time to choose another horse, and then more time to untether the beast, thus risking a chance of notice, Page drew up her courage and mounted in front of poor Ranald. Unfortunately, the horse seemed not to appreciate the fact that she was dripping wet, and protested, snorting and prancing.
And suddenly she heard the warning shout, and knew her time was ended. Panicking, Page spurred the horse with the heel of her foot. The animal reared, and Page held on for dear life. To her dismay and horror, it danced backward, trying to unseat her. Nickering furiously, it retreated into the water. And then startled, it reared once more. Page clung to its withers as though to save her very soul. Poor Ranald slid off and dove into the water as the horse surged from the lake and broke into a furious gallop. She heard shouts and curses behind her, more splashes as men dove in frantically after poor Ranald, but she dared not turn to look, fearing they would still be too close. When at last she dared to look back, it was to find a mob of shouting, cursing, naked Scotsmen chasing far behind her. Even as she watched, a few turned and raced back for their mounts, but it was too late.
Far too late.
Page was free.
She breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward freedom, fully intending to flee them, even if she had to run morning till eventide.
She dared only one more backward glance, and couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter at the hilarious sight they presented.
Naked and furious, they ran, chasing after her.
Chapter 19
It was by far the last thing Iain expected to find upon his return.
His first thought as he reined in to watch the spectacle was, how the devil had she ma
naged to undress thirty some odd Scotsmen?
He’d wholly expected to find she’d half driven them mad, and was afeared to discover they’d murdered her before his return, but this... this, he had not anticipated—to find her racing away upon a stolen horse, and all his men panting and bellowing like idiots as they chased her, shielding their nakedness with their hands, some with one hand, waving furiously with the other for Page to return. A mere handful had evidently returned for their mounts, for they came belatedly, riding as naked as bairns out of their mothers’ wombs.
“What are they doin’, Da?” his son asked, sounding as bewildered as Iain felt.
“I wish I knew son,” Iain answered after a moment. “I wish I knew.”
Iain didn’t know whether to be angry or amused, so he sat there rather bemused instead, watching the scene unfold and wondering how one puny woman could cause so verra much trouble.
He didn’t have the chance to ponder it long, for his son reminded him of the obvious. “I dunno either, though I think she’s gettin’ away, Da.”
“I’ll be daft if she isna, son,” he agreed, and waved Kerr toward him, handing Malcom to his man, and directed them both to return to camp and await him there. Then he spurred his mount after Page.
“Obstinate lass,” he muttered to himself.
So why didn’t he simply let her go?
He could easily sacrifice a mount for the sake of her safe return home, and appease any guilt he might feel over leaving her to fend for herself. If she had any sense of direction at all, she’d soon enough be ensconced within her father’s walls. He’d not retrieved all the scraps she’d discarded and she’d come upon them soon enough. They would serve to guide her back home.
If he let her go...
So why didn’t he?
Because he didn’t want to, that’s why. It wasn’t only because he feared for her safety at the hands of her father. He simply didn’t want to.
Something inside him snapped as he watched her race away—some twist of emotion that felt more like fear.
She was slipping away, shadows creeping in. A heavy door clanging shut. Darkness.
Leaning purposefully over his steed, Iain urged his mount faster, closing the distance between them, coming at her from the left flank, and drawing alongside her. Preoccupied as she was with the naked mob pursuing her, he took her quite by surprise. He didn’t think in that moment, merely acted, reaching out to pluck her from her saddle. She shrieked in alarm, and for an instant was too startled to fight him. He drew her against him, holding her imprisoned within his arms.
“Let me go!” she demanded, regaining her wits at once. “Let me go! Let me go!” Realizing who had captured her, she squirmed against him all the more furiously, soaking his tunic along with his breacan.
“Nay, lass,” he growled. “I told ye I wadna, and I willna!”
“Lunatic Scotsman,” she railed at him. “Do you not realize you might have killed me?”
He didn’t respond. In truth, he didn’t know what to say to that bit of logic, for he’d not thought about anything at all, except stopping her. Some dark fog had enveloped his brain, some undeniable sweep of emotion that left him trembling still. The same way he’d felt after Mairi flung herself from his tower window. Only, his reaction to that he understood. This, he did not.
“You might have warned me,” she said furiously.
Aye, he might have, if he’d been brainless enough to do so. “So ye might lead me on a merry chase? I dinna think so.”
He didn’t bother to return as yet. Instead he rode on, trying to determine what the devil had come over him. A backward glance told him that her mount had slowed enough for his men to overtake it. But he knew he couldn’t allow her to remain in her wet gown and catch her death, and neither did he intend to have her undress before his men.
She needed privacy.
And he desperately needed to hold her.
“Why can you not let me go?” she asked furiously.
Would that he had the answers to her questions.
But he didn’t. It somehow went far beyond the simple fact that he wished to save her from her father. In truth, that had been the very last thing on his mind as she’d been flying away from him. The one thought that spurred him more swiftly than any other was that she was slipping away... this woman who somehow banished shadows with her sultry sidelong glances.
Like a lad with his coveted prize, Iain held her securely against him, allowing the black fog to lift from his head, relishing the feel of her warmth beneath the cold, wet gown she wore. His hand splayed at her belly and he could scarce keep himself from noticing the tiny waistline, the delicate outline of her ribs.
“Let me go,” she pleaded.
“Nay, lass,” he answered. “I canna.
She drove him to the point of madness. Without even trying. This woman who vexed him unto death. She plagued him by day, and tormented him by night. And what a fool he was, because this was such pleasant torture.
“Aye, you can,” she argued desperately. “You can.” she said. “If only you wished to.” She began to sob as he held her.
Iain sat there quietly, his brain muddled.
If she asked again… he might.
But then she didn’t.
Instead, her breath caught on a final sob and she whimpered softly, arching backward, thrusting her head back against his shoulder as Malcom would sometimes do when he was weary.
At her innocent response, all thoughts were cast from his head, save for those of the woman in his arms. Inhaling the sweet scent of her into his lungs, he dared to hold her tighter. Unable to resist, he bent to bury his nose amid the soft curls that lay against the curve of her neck, once again inhaling the beguiling scent of her.
“There ye have it, lass,” he whispered. “For it seems I dinna wish to.”
He heard her soft intake of breath as his fingers gripped her shoulder, and her delicate shudder as his hand slid down her arm, and he knew she was not unaffected.
“I mean to keep you,” he said against her ear, before he could stop himself, and realized he meant it fiercely. “I want ye with all my soul.”
Page stopped weeping suddenly as she sat before him, still as stone. She could scarce breathe suddenly, much less weep.
Mere words. But words so compelling, they sent shock pummeling through her soul. Her heart skipped its natural beat, and her thoughts scattered to the winds. She closed her eyes and could feel every rise and fall of his chest at her back. Her heart felt near to bursting with joy over his avowal.
He wanted her truly?
She could hear it in his voice.
She could feel it in the way he touched her.
And Page wanted him too.
He bent to touch his lips to hers and Page thought her heart would shatter and her body would ignite to flame. Never had she imagined a kiss could imbue so much feeling.
He tore his lips away abruptly, and it wasn’t until that instant that Page realized the horse had stopped—or even that they were still mounted.
Somehow, when he kissed her, all the world ceased to exist. He made her feel as though there were only her.
When he dismounted, she knew what he intended, and when he lifted his arms out to her, Page slid into them without taking the time to consider consequences.
Her heart hammered fiercely.
Carrying her far enough away that she would be safe from being trampled, but no farther than he had to, Iain laid her down upon a bed of yellow crocuses, taking immense pleasure in the emotion so evident in her gaze, in the haze of her eyes.
He realized it couldn’t go much farther than this. Not yet. But he wanted this too much to think rationally.
For the longest instant, he merely gazed into her eyes, not daring even to blink, for fear of of closing his eyes and opening them only to find it all was no more than some cruel invention of his imagination.
He fell to his knees beside her, trapping her between his arms, and then he lowered
his head to kiss her once more, anticipating the sweet, welcoming warmth of her mouth upon his lips. “So beautiful ye are” he murmured against her mouth.
“Nay,” she said with a sigh, closing her eyes.
“Aye, lass,” he asserted. “Ye are.” And he deepened the kiss.
With all her heart, Page delighted in the the way his mouth seemed to revere her. Never in her life had she felt so cherished. Never in her life had she loved someone more.
But this was not love, she reminded herself. It couldn’t be.
To expect love would bring only heartache. Nay... but this was something else... and if she didn’t want for something more... something she could never have, then she would never be crushed by sorrow when it never came.
But Iain was a man consumed.
He realized he wanted more than to make her stay. He gazed down into her passion-flushed face, wanting her to look at him just so always... to bask in his kisses like a blossom opening to the warmth of the sun.
He realized the way to bind her to him was to not rush the moment. He’d attempted that with Mairi… and when morning came, she despised him just the same. And then she’d borne him a child, and he’d lost her forever. Heaven help him, he’d be beyond lost if he’d travel that road again. Nay, he must take care, for her, he decided.
For sweet, lovely Page.
For himself he would claim only the pleasure of seeing the happiness play out upon her face.
Nothing more.
He reached out, lifting her arm, placing tiny, delicate kisses upon her hand while taking them into his own, rubbing the backs lightly with his thumbs.
Page squeezed her eyes closed, abandoning herself to the moment. She felt the heat of his gaze upon her, but she wasn’t bold enough to meet his gaze just yet. And yet, as he kissed her, she was aware of everything. Every nuance. The subtle shifting of the breeze, the warmth of the sun against her skin wherever it touched her, the birds twittering somewhere high above. The sound of the grass as it succumbed beneath her. The elusive scent of the crocus. And the musky scent of the man who held her close.
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