Read The MacKinnon's Bride for Free Online Page A

stress
that her own father had lied yet again. The man before her no more
beat his son than he would beat her. The thought both relieved and
aggrieved her at once.
    Only belatedly did she realize he was
staring. “What are you looking at?” she asked peevishly.
    His lips curved. “I should think it would be
evident.”
    Page lifted both brows. “Are you wondering
whether I’d make a tasty meal?” she ventured caustically. “Don’t
bother, you would find me bitter, I assure you.”
    His lips turned a scant more. “Tempting
thought... but nay.” His expression turned sober. He reached
suddenly to brush a strand of tangled hair from her face, and Page
fancied biting off his fingers, so much fury was she feeling. He
merely held it there before her face, separating the damp strands
between his fingers. “I was simply wonderin’ at what ye were
thinking, lass.”
    Lass.
    The way he spoke the single word... as
though it were laden with affection, made her shudder to her soul.
“Naught,” she lied, and nearly choked on her anger and her grief.
“Only that my father—” He tucked the strand behind her ear, and her
thoughts scattered to the winds.
    “ I know... he’ll pluck oot
my eyes,” he finished for her, sighing, as he untucked the
checkered blanket from his belt. He drew it from his back, and
covered her with its formidable length.
    To Page’s dismay, it was warm with the heat
of his body, and the bestirring scent of him rose to accost her;
sunshine, horseflesh and man. Unreasonably, she found herself
wondering whether his skin would be swarthy from the sun, or
pale—somehow, despite the fact that she could not see him clearly
through the shadows, she knew he would be dark from his labors in
the sun.
    She imagined him bare chested, working...
and then realized he wore no breeches, and expunged the image at
once, shocked by the realization. Jesu, but she felt herself grow
warm even at the thought of him bared to the bottom. She found her
protests silenced by the fierce pounding of her traitorous
heart.
    Until he stretched out before her suddenly
and rested his head upon her lap. Then she found her voice at once.
“What, in the name of God, do you think you are doing, sir?”
    He grinned up at her and had the audacity to
wink, as well. “Sleeping, o’ course.” His long hair spilled over
her lap, dark as ebony silk.
    Jesu, but he was bare bottomed beneath his
tunic! “Not on me, you’ll not!”
    “ Ah, but ye’ve my breacan,
lass,” he pointed out quite reasonably, his voice silky. “Where
else would ye have me sleep but here?”
    “ In a tree for all I
care!” she hissed, and squeezed her eyes shut. No use, the image
accosted her behind closed lids with greater detail. “Stop calling
me lass!” she snarled, her eyes going wide.
    His eyes glinted by the light of the moon.
“Aye, lass,” he agreed, “but then what would ye have me call ye if
no’ lass?”
    He was mocking her, Page realized, and she
found herself mute with anger and chagrin. She’d be hung by her
toes before she’d reveal her name to the likes of him! “Oaf! Take
your accursed breacan! I’ll not allow you to sleep with me! Get off
me!”
    His lips curved roguishly.
“Ah, but I’m no’ sleepin’ wi’ ye, lass. I’m sleepin’ on ye,” he pointed out, without the
least compunction. “And nay, I’ll not. What better way to keep you
warm and free from harm?”
    “ What better way to watch
me while you sleep, isn’t that what you really mean!”
    His grin widened. “That too.”
    “ Arrogant wretch! I could
spit upon you, you realize. And I might do that! Just you wait and
see!”
    “ Aye... ye could,” he
agreed, “but then I’d be sorely taxed and have to send Lagan to
guard ye, instead and I’d be guessin’ my randy cousin would take
great pleasure in a buxom English lassie for a pilloo.” He snuggled
a little to prove his point, burying his face into her lap,
nuzzling between her thighs. His chest expanded