Free The MacKinnon's Bride by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

answer.
    Page wasn’t about to let him lapse into
silence so easily now. He’d provoked her well enough. “What,
prithee, did you mean to do? And what would you have me do? Laugh
hysterically because I’ve been abducted by a barbarian Scotsman?
Converse with you over the wonders of Christendom? I hardly think
so!”
    His chuckle surprised her. Low and rich, it
rumbled against her back. “You’re a saucy wee wench, for
certain.”
    Page bristled. “I’m no wee wench—and aye, so
I’ve been told! Do not think I mean to apologize for it,
either!”
    “ Temper, temper,” he
reproved, clucking his tongue at her. “Tell me, then, lass... what
wonders might we converse over were ye amenable to
conversing?”
    “ Hah!” Page exclaimed.
“With you? I should think I would never be amenable—and cease, if
you will, to call me lass! It...” Confused her. “Disturbs me,” she
said petulantly.
    He chuckled again, flustering her all the
more, and then bent closer to whisper in her ear. “Verra well,
lass, then tell me what ye would have me call you instead.”
    Her nerves were near to shattering.
“Naught!” She shrugged away, moving as far forward as was
physically possible. Only then did she realize he hadn’t been
holding her any longer. How long now since he’d released her? How
could she not have noticed? Sweet Jesu, had she lain against him
contentedly all this time? “I would have you call me naught!” she
spat. “God’s truth, I would have you cease to speak to me at
all!”
    “ Rest, then, and I willna
trouble ye any further, lass.”
    “ Sweet Jesu! I’ve no wish
to rest!”
    “ Then you do wish to
converse?”
    Page thought she could hear a smile in his
voice. She jerked her head about to catch his smug expression and
said, “I do not!”
    “ Och, lass, make up your
mind,” he said, and Page clenched her teeth and tried to convince
herself not to slap the arrogant smile from his face.
    “ I asked you not
to—”
    “ I know, wench. Ye dinna
wish for me to call you ‘lass, but you havena said what then I
should call—”
    “ My name is none of your
concern!” she assured.
    He smiled then, flashing perfect white
teeth. “Verra well, lass. If you will, then.”
    “ Mary!” she lied, trying
not to note the boyish dimple that had appeared, as well. “My name
is Mary!” She turned around, averting her gaze, more than a little
rattled by his too easy manner.
    Wasn’t her abductor supposed to be cruel
with his words rather than winning? Why should he care over her
comforts, or her preferences, for that matter? “Are you pleased
now?” she asked him. “You can bloody well call me Mary!”

 
     
     
     
     
     

chapter 7

     
    Of all the names she might have spouted,
Mairi was the last one he expected. He’d been unprepared for the
sound of it upon her lips.
    Bloody hell, nothing else she might have
said could have spurred him into silence more swiftly. He’d been
determined to melt the icy walls surrounding her, win her over to
his people. The last thing they needed was a bitter wench to burden
them. They’d already had one of those to contend with.
    Mairi.
    Even these six years later, they were all
still reeling with the legacy she’d left them.
    What would he tell Malcom on the day his son
should ask of his mother’s death?
    He didn’t know. But Iain wasn’t certain he
could ever speak of it, for the memory of that morning tormented
him more than anything in his life. He could scarce think of that
high window without suffering a sweat and his knees turning as soft
as boiled meal.
    His wife had loathed him so much.
    Even Malcom hadn’t been enough to keep
her.
    Sweat beaded upon his forehead. He closed
his eyes, warding away the image of her standing before the high
window. The vision passed before his eyes in a flash of white-hot
pain.
    Mairi.
    He wasn’t certain he could call the lass by
that name. He couldn’t even bear to think of her as such. The very
thought of the name