Iain nodded with certainty. “And I canna blame him. The murderer deserves a judgment equal to the crime he committed.”
“What if the murderer turns out to be one of our own? What then?”
Iain sighed heavily. “Then, in truth, I will be forced to relinquish him to Montgomerie,” he said regretfully. “I cannot risk the amity of our clans—not even for Broc.”
Page nodded but averted her gaze. “Aye, well… I’m certain Broc has had nothing to do with any of it, anyway.”
Iain bent and kissed her on the cheek, not wanting her to worry. “As am I,” he agreed. His gentle wife had formed an attachment to Broc. He knew she would fret until they discovered the murderer’s true identity. As would he. No man among them was more beloved than Broc Ceannfhionn.
In truth, Broc had never once considered his own interests above those of the clan, and though Page and Broc had not begun their acquaintance joyfully, Broc had been the first to stand up for Page when his men had scorned her. Till the day he died, Iain would remain grateful to Broc for that.
His wife looked up at him, her beautiful eyes beseeching, “What do you intend to tell Montgomerie?” She worried at her lip, waiting for his response.
“Naught for now,” he reassured her and winked, hoping to set her at ease, and he felt rather than heard her sigh.
The worry lines vanished from her brow. She smiled and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him tenderly upon the chin. A quiver raced down his spine, as ever it did at her merest touch. “Have I told you lately that I love you, Iain MacKinnon?”
“Aye, my lovely wife.” He squeezed her gently, and his body stirred. “Broc will be fine,” he said. “As for me... “ He tugged at her arm and motioned her toward the stairs. “I believe I need a moment of your time.”
She laughed. “You are quite insatiable,” she told himwith meaning, but she was the first to run to the stairs. “Last one up has to be on bottom!”
Iain let her go ahead. Either way they both won, he acknowledged, as he lingered to watch her pert little derriere climb the stairs.
Damned if he didn’t like being under that bottom!
Let her think she’d won.
CHAPTER 11
Dust motes danced in the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the ramshackle roof.
Even before Elizabet sought him, she knew Broc wasn’t there. Somehow, his presence filled a room, even in silence and his absence left it gloomier than death.
He must have gone to speak with her brother, just as he’d promised. She was glad she didn’t have to face him first thing this morning.
Last night, she had been angry with him, but the truth was that she had invited his ardor. No matter how she wished to look at it, the fault was her own. If she hadn’t first invited him to share her blanket, he would never have kissed her in the first place. She had practically thrown herself into his arms, and her cheeks flamed with the memory. And now he was gone, and she wouldn’t blame him if he never came back.
Jesu, what would she do if he refused to help her now? What if it were true that Tomas wanted her dead? Who would champion her if not Broc? Who would even believe her?
Suddenly, everything had become so complicated.
Rising, she stretched the sleep from her limbs, letting the blanket fall to the ground. Her gaze fell upon the threadbare cloth that lay heaped at her feet. He’dreturned the blanket to her last night. The gesture moved her, though she told herself it did not. She bent to retrieve it and folded it thoughtfully, laying it upon the pallet, and then went to the door, pushing it open somewhat warily.
The day was sunny and beautiful and a soft breeze tousled her hair as she stepped into the sunlight. She let the door close behind her.
What harm could come of her stepping out for just a moment? She didn’t intend to go far.
The forest was full of life. She could hear birds chirping in the trees and creatures scurrying as she passed. Out here, with the sun shining down on her, nothing seemed so terrible. When he returned, she would face Broc like a woman and not hide like a child.
What was done was done, and there was no way to rescind her actions.
Nor did she entirely wish to, if she could be honest with herself. In those moments with Broc she had felt more alive than she had ever felt in her life. In fact, this morning, everything seemed brighter, more vivid. Her senses were keener and her heart pounded with more vigor. She took a deep breath and savored a moment of sweet purity. This land was wild but truly beautiful. She could hardly fault the Scots for defending it so fiercely.
She stopped and turned to consider the hovel with different eyes.
It was a simple dwelling, and its owner must have been a simple person. Unlike those women she’d grown accustomed to at court, this woman had lived entirely without luxuries. There was no extravagant bed upon which to lay her head at night. No kitchens, no corridors to be lost within, no gardens in which to brood. But she had been free—completely and utterly free!
Had she been happy?
