The MacKinnon's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

his face lost none of its masculine
beauty.
    It held her mesmerized.
    He seemed so young to lead, she thought,
despite that his hair proclaimed elsewise; dark as it was, the
shock of white at his temples stood out distinctly against the
black of his hair. It was braided, she noticed for the first
time—the silver at his temples. How old was he? His youthful face
declared six and twenty, no more, but his hair bespoke some two
score years and more. His cheekbones were high, his nose perfectly
aquiline, and his lips... his lips were the sort to make a woman
fancy stolen kisses. And his eyes... she still couldn’t make out
their color in the darkness, though she tried.
    Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her
ears.
    “ Ye’ve my word, lass, that
ye’ll no’ be harmed.” His voice was low and husky. “Dinna look so
woeful.”
    He stroked her cheek, and confusion flooded
her. Why was he being so gentle? Jesu, but she didn’t know how to
deal with this!
    Page jerked her face away from his touch.
“I—I was not!”
    He arched a brow. “Weeping?”
    He lifted his hand abruptly and Page
flinched, thinking he meant to strike her for the denial, but he
brought his thumb to his lips, instead, sinking his teeth there.
Watching her, he sucked the salt of her tears from his flesh. “Were
ye no’, lass?”
    A shiver coursed through her at his
gesture—the way that he addressed her—the way he continued to
stare. She tried to ignore the heat that suffused her under his
scrutiny, taking refuge in her anger. “No. I was not!”
    “ Nay,” he agreed, still
suckling at his thumb. “Of course not. You’re much too... fearless.
Are ye no’?”
    He suckled his thumb an instant longer, then
withdrew it from his mouth, and Page lapped at her lips gone
suddenly dry. She swallowed convulsively.
    “ Still... ye’ve my word...
ye’ll no’ be harmed.”
    Page closed her eyes, trying to blot out the
image of him kneeling before her. “How gracious,” she drawled,
concealing a quiver. She opened her eyes once more, narrowing them,
and her voice was steadier with anger. “In the meantime, my hands
are bruising at my back!”
    His lips hinted at a smile—the rogue—a smile
that snatched her breath away and made her heart flitter wildly.
Jesu, it should have made her yearn to slap his face instead! God
curse him for that! And her, too, for allowing herself to lose her
composure over a comely face!
    Her wits were addled for certain!
    “ Some things are
necessary,” he told her without the slightest trace of remorse,
“but verra well, I’ll grant ye a moment’s respite.” He fell back
upon his rump and reached behind her to free her hands.
    “ How generous... for a
heathen Scot!”
    He merely chuckled at that, and it
multiplied her confusion tenfold. What was wrong with the fool? Did
he not realize he was supposed to be angered by her quips? Page
wasn’t certain what to make of him—less so by the instant.
    He released her hands, and then slipped his
fingers across the small of her back. She squealed in alarm,
arching away from his touch. “What!” she shrieked, “do you think
you are doing?”
    He didn’t bother to beg her pardon, nor to
remove his hand. It burned her flesh even through her shift.
    “ You’re wet,” he
announced.
    “ Am I really?” She
recovered her composure and glared at him vengefully. “How
peculiar! I wonder if ‘tis because you abducted me wet from my
swim... refused to allow me to dry... and then thrust me away in a
damp corner far from the heat of the fire.”
    She tried to shrug away from his touch, to
no avail. “Remove your hand from my person this instant!”
    His brows drew together, though his eyes
glinted with unconcealed amusement. “You’re an impudent wench,” he
said, with too little heat, but he complied at once. “Did your da
beat you oft?”
    Once again Page found herself aggrieved by
his question. “Nay!” she countered, but she swallowed the ache that
rose like a goose