The MacKinnon's Bride (The Highland Brides, #1)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

Despite the past hostilities between their clans, his own resentment dissipated in the face of this momentous occasion, and though he couldn’t say he’d loved her before this moment, he thought he might now, for she lay abovestairs, struggling—and a heinous struggle it was—to gift their babe with its first wondrous breath of life. She was havin’ his bairn. Ach, but he was proud of her.

Her last coherent thought before she dozed was not unlike that of a stray pup’s, she reflected somewhat lamentably... for it occurred to her to wonder, then, if the MacKinnon would think to keep her. God save her, but the foolish notion kindled just the tiniest spark of... something... Something so absurdly unreasonable, she refused to give it name.

“I’m merely a man, lass. Keep wiggling that backside so insistently, and I’ll be sorely tempted, I assure you.”

Page refused to allow herself to feel defeat. For all of her twenty years she had fended for herself. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to find her way home. In the meantime, she fully intended to keep her word. The MacKinnon, indeed, was going to be a miserable man.

She had always loved the land. A wildling, her father had called her. It didn’t matter; it had never disturbed her in the least that he’d thought her so, for she’d always felt more as though she were Nature’s child than his.

God’s teeth, but what would he explain? He wasn’t even certain he understood it himself. That he’d been driven to the lie? That he couldn’t bear to hurt her? That something about the beautiful, contentious, troublesome wench sitting so stiffly before him brought out a fierce protectiveness in him... something apart from the lust she aroused in him?

Like a wolf scenting his mate, it was all he could do not to bury his face into the crook of her neck and breathe the essence of her into his lungs.

He was beautiful, in truth—a man she could only have dreamt of loving, for no man who looked as he did could ever want her in return.

He’d come into her life and had made her feel again—all these accursed emotions she’d tucked so neatly away.

The MacKinnon had risen. So, too, had his son, leaving her to sleep alone upon the breacan. Well, she berated herself. What had she expected? A morning kiss from the mighty MacKinnon? A waking hug from his son? Hardly! They weren’t her family, she reminded herself. They were her gaolers, naught more—no matter that they’d shared a sweet moment the night before. It meant naught. Less than naught. Save to her, it seemed. It had filled her with a sense of belonging so keen and so beautiful that this morning she could only mourn its loss.

Well, who would protect her from the MacKinnon? she wondered irritably. Aye, she’d already determined that he’d not harm her, but what of her heart, and her soul, and her body? She was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t comprehend, though she knew it was a dangerous longing. And still she couldn’t stop herself from yearning.

He was the first man ever to have awakened her body to life... the first whose touch she’d ever craved... the first man who’d ever wanted her...

She wanted him, she admitted wantonly. And she wanted him to want her. Her enemy.

Even so... not caring what his reaction to her brazenness might be... she bent to brush her lips against his whiskered jaw. She kissed him softly, but with all the emotion she possessed in her heart. She wanted him to cherish her, wanted him to make love to her, wanted to embrace him just so for the rest of her days.