The MacKinnon's Bride by Tanya Anne Crosby Page B

his eyes. “I’m sorry, but
I canna.”
    “ You mean you will not!”
Page snarled at him.
    He nodded once. “If you will, then, aye, I
willna.”
    She swallowed her pride. “But my father,”
she entreated, her voice breaking. “He—”
    “ Your father is a
bastard!” he said impassionedly, though the blaze in his eyes had
extinguished somewhat.
    “ He bargained with you in
good faith!”
    His jaw clenched, and he averted his gaze.
For an instant he said nothing, and then he turned to face her once
more, resolute. “Your father conspired wi’ David to take my
son.”
    Page shook her head. “Nay!” she argued. “He
did not! Your King conspired with Henry! My father simply provided
your son safe harbor at David’s urging and King Henry’s command!
Naught more!”
    He seemed to be considering, and Page sensed
his hesitation and added hastily, “He told my father you abused the
boy. That he was so ill treated, he would not speak for fear of
chastening!”
    Still he seemed to be considering, but he
said nothing; instead he seemed to be waiting for her to
continue.
    Page swallowed, afraid to hope, her heart
racing. “So you see,” she urged him desperately, “he thought he was
helping your son. Let me go. You have your son, now let me go!”
    “ Nay, lass.”
    In the space of an instant, her hopes were
dashed. And so easily. “You are vile!” she spat, and twisted away
from him. “Get off me!”
    He complied at once, but didn’t go far. He
sat beside her, leaning an arm upon his lifted knee, his face
screwed with some emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. She hoped he
was suddenly conscience-stricken over his faithlessness, but knew
better than to hope for such a human emotion from a wretch such as
he.
    Page sat, too, glaring at him. “I swore I
would make your life miserable, and I will! I’ll not go
willingly!”
    “ But you will go,” he
avowed.
    It was getting dark now, shadows descending.
Page felt them seep into her heart. The numbness in her wrists was
fading now, and her hands and fingers were beginning to hurt. She
massaged them, embracing the pain. It was a welcome
distraction.
    He reached out suddenly and grasped her
wrist, not injuriously. Page started to jerk away, but he held her
fast.
    “ I’m going to bind your
wrist to mine,” he explained.
    Page opened her mouth to object, but he
stopped her with a curt gesture.
    “’ Tis the only way I’ll
allow ye to remain unfettered.”
    “ Unfettered!” Page
contended, incredulous. She tried to jerk her arm free, but his
grip was unyielding. “What do you call binding my wrist to
yours?”
    “ A safety measure,” he
relented.
    Page glared at him.
    “ The choice is yours,
lass...”
    She let her arm go slack in his grasp, and
snorted inelegantly. “What a choice! Bind me, then.”
    He did at once, binding her right hand to
his left hand, securing the bonds, and then with his other hand, he
removed the scarlet and black checkered blanket from his shoulders.
He muttered an oath as he floundered over its removal, and then he
glanced at her as though asking for her assistance.
    Page screwed her face at him and drew back a
little, thinking him mad. “You cannot possibly think I would
help?”
    His lips curved into a crooked grin. “I
dinna suppose you would, at that.” He eyed her discerningly, and
resolved to use both hands. He drew off his breacan and spread it
between them, lifting himself up to draw half of the blanket
beneath himself. Page considered a moment, and then did the same,
knowing she’d only spite herself if she resisted. He offered her a
little lopsided grin for her effort, but she refused to acknowledge
it. She didn’t wait for him to lie down, but did so at once
herself, taking up as much of the blanket as she dared, and a
little bit more.
    To her surprise, he didn’t complain when
there was only a sliver of blanket left for him. He simply lay upon
his apportioned share, half on the blanket, half off.
    So he meant