“Aye, revenge has a measure to do with it. If I can do them an ill turn, I will, with great pleasure.”
Sabrina shook her head apprehensively. She didn’t want blood on her conscience. She felt guilty enough as it was, for rekindling the feud.
Imploringly she placed a hand on Niall’s sleeve. “Please,” she entreated. “I want to make amends. Take me with you.”
“You heard your grandfather. You’ve caused trouble enough.”
It stung to be dismissed as a nuisance, although he had ample justification. But Sabrina refused to concede. If Niall allowed her to accompany him, she might possibly redeem herself by helping recover the lost herd. More crucially, she could try to restrain his vengeance. “Causing trouble was far from my intention.”
“You know nothing about lifting cattle,” he replied tersely.
“No, but you could teach me.”
“If I were daft enough—which I’m not.”
“But I want to help.”
Niall stared down at her with reluctant admiration. She was gazing at him so earnestly that he felt an unexpected tenderness.
His harsh expression softened. Essaying a smile, he reached up to tuck a stray tendril behind Sabrina’s ear. “’Tis too dangerous, lass. You could be hurt. Leave the cattle reiving to more experienced hands.”
Chapter
Six
Under cover of misty darkness, Sabrina urged her sturdy Highland pony along the hazardous trail beside Geordie’s mount, the swirling fog muffling the animal’s hoofbeats.
Niall would be vexed to discover she was acting counter to his wishes. Yet she could not possibly have endured the suspense, waiting tamely at home, fretting while he led her Duncan clansmen on a retaliatory raid against the enemy Buchanans. The tension would have driven her mad. Particularly since she was to blame. She felt responsible for the recent assault on her clan, and desperately wanted to make amends.
Her grandfather at least understood her compunction. When she had applied to Angus, he’d granted her permission to accompany the reivers, so long as she didn’t get in anyone’s way. In truth, he seemed gratified by her concern. Cattle raiding was a rudiment of every Highlander’s education, but more critically, Angus wished her to see how urgently Clan Duncan needed a leader to unite them against the Buchanans.
Niall was right about her participation, Sabrina knew. Her inexperience would likely prove more hindrance than help to her kinsmen. But she would do nothing more than observe.
The talk at supper had been all about the impending raid. Geordie, who lived above the mews at Banesk, was to accompany Liam and several other Duncans to join the McLaren at midnight at the edge of Buchanan land. A dozen men only would carry out the raid, the better to maintain stealth.
With a casualness she didn’t feel, Sabrina questioned Geordie about the plan.
“We’ll ride against bloody Owen Buchanan himself,” her cousin divulged with relish, “and claim our cattle under his very nose.”
Geordie’s enthusiasm for the task was evident. A moonlit cattle raid was a Highlander’s favorite sport, but vengeance against the Buchanan added a prime enticement.
Sabrina couldn’t share the pleasure of wreaking havoc upon a rival, even one who had deceived and betrayed her. In truth, the recent turn of events dismayed her. To many Scots clans, a feud was more game than war, but she feared the conflict with the Buchanans would never end till the Highlands ran with blood.
Her apprehension increased as the hour drew near. After supper she busied herself finding the proper attire. Then, dressed as a lad, she went down to the stables in advance to await Geordie’s coming.
Now she rode beside him, nerves raw, heart thudding.
The darkness held an uncanny chill. The night was shrouded in veils of gray mist, the midnight sky lit only by a thin sliver of moon. Shivering, Sabrina drew her borrowed Duncan plaid more tightly about her and wished she’d dared bring Rab along. She had left the dejected animal behind, knowing she couldn’t control him if events got out of hand.
When they heard the quiet murmur of voices up ahead, Geordie drew his horse to a halt, and Sabrina followed suit.
“Ye’ll stay here, out o’ sight,” Geordie whispered. “Niall willna be glad to see ye.”
“Yes, certainly.”
He rode on, while Sabrina slipped quietly to the ground. Inching forward, she found a place to observe, taking care to remain hidden by thick-growing bushes of gorse and bracken.
The small band of Highland raiders was armed to the teeth.
In addition to the Duncans, she recognized John McLaren, Niall’s second in command, and his cousin Colm. And of course Niall himself. When a shaft of moonlight touched his features, Sabrina felt her heart give a feminine jolt. She suspected she would never grow accustomed to his rugged masculine beauty.
From their muted conversation, she deduced that Colm had already scouted out Buchanan land.
“’Twill be easy pickings,” the Highlander asserted.
“Perhaps too easy,” Niall replied. “I find their laxness hard to credit. Their cattle should be better guarded. Owen kens we’ll strike back and soon.”
“It could be a ruse to trap us,” Liam Duncan offered.
“Indeed.” Despite his grim tone, Niall grinned, his teeth a white glimmer in so much dark and shadow. “Yet trap or no, we’ll show the bloody Buchanans the folly of plundering Duncan herds.”
Sabrina shivered at the note of satisfaction in his voice, suspecting that at that moment at least, his love of danger almost rivaled his love of women.
The Highlanders spoke for a few moments more, refining their plans and strategies in case of discovery, and then turned to their horses. Seeing Geordie wave furtively to her, Sabrina waited till they had ridden off before remounting and following at a careful distance. In the swirling mist, she was required to give her full attention to the treacherous terrain. The rocky land dipped and twisted between craggy hills and ink-black forests, but she knew they were headed for the massive stronghold that was Owen Buchanan’s lair.
She judged it nearly an hour later when she heard the quiet rasp of steel as the Highlanders drew their broadswords. Halting her mount on a rise, Sabrina glimpsed a shadowed valley below, where herds of shaggy cattle grazed.
Her kinsmen rode silently forward, but she remained where she was, taking refuge behind a copse of junipers, where she could watch the proceedings. She held her breath as the men passed a crofter’s hut, her vision straining for any sign of danger among the ghostly cowsheds and haystacks. Appearances were deceptive in the obscuring fog, she knew, yet strangely there was no evidence that the Buchanan herds were guarded.
The raiders spread out and melded with the mist, their dark outlines fading from view. Sabrina felt her heart thudding as she waited in the taut silence.
They must have managed to cull out some two hundred head of cattle, for a short while later she saw a herd of softly lowing beasts moving slowly toward the north, driven by the raiders. They would not return home by the most direct route, Sabrina remembered overhearing. Niall meant to send the others back by a different path while he waited with Liam Duncan to fend off any pursuit.
When they disappeared from view, Sabrina let out a breath of relief. The raid had gone so easily, precisely according to plan.
She was about to turn her mount toward home when a shout of warning came from the distant crofter’s hut. A light appeared below, winking like a star, followed by the rapid staccato of hoofbeats from various directions.
Instinctively Sabrina plunged into the bordering black forest to hide, a moment before a dark, menacing figure came flying along the path at a gallop, broadsword drawn.
She caught the wicked gleam of steel, but the rider must have missed seeing her, for he raced on. She recognized Niall more from his silhouette than any distinguishable features, and was debating whether to follow when she froze at the sound of thudding horses’ hooves behind him.
An instant late
r a trio of mounted men burst from the tangled woodland. One carried a torch, which lit the night, while all three brandished weapons.
“After the bloody whoreson!”
“Aye, kill the bastard!”
Without pause they pounded after their quarry in hot pursuit.
Jolted to her senses, Sabrina desperately set her heels in her mount’s side and put him to the gallop. Ignoring the dangers of hidden footfalls and low-hung branches, she sped along the rocky path, clutching a fistful of mane and praying.
It was several moments before the path widened enough for her to see what was happening up ahead. In the glow of torchlight, the enemy leader raised a pistol and fired. A shot rang out, and Sabrina gave a cry of alarm. Yet there were no additional reports. She hoped it was because he had spent his bullet and could not take time to reload.
Yet the Buchanans were closing in on their quarry.
To her horror, Niall sharply drew rein and wheeled his horse to face his enemies, planting himself directly in their path.
Broadsword raised, the leader gave a blood-chilling cry and charged. Sabrina heard the scraping clang of steel against steel an instant later. Her heart in her throat, she dragged her mount to a stumbling halt, gasping for breath.
She would forever remember the next moment like a hauntingly bad dream. Niall parried the first attack with ease, but hard on its heels came a second man, the vicious blow by another enraged Buchanan nearly unseating him.
Finding his sword ripped from his hand, Niall flung himself off his horse and dove for the blade. He rolled to his feet in a continuous, fluid motion, his fist clutching the hilt, but the leader gave him no time to recoup. Instead the man charged on horseback, lunging in a deadly assault.
Sabrina gave a cry of fear, an instant before Niall leaped behind the broad trunk of a birch tree, narrowly avoiding the arching downward slice of his enemy’s blade.
The silence that followed pulsed with tension, while the combatants regarded one another.
The torch had been flung to the ground but remained lit, so Sabrina could clearly see the Buchanan men in the flame’s glow as they dismounted. Apparently roused from their beds, they were bare-chested and barefooted, but had taken time to wrap their plaids around their waists. Half naked, their hair flowing wild, they seemed the epitome of savage warriors…warriors stalking their prey.
Their expressions fierce, they slowly moved forward, intent on encircling Niall, predators closing in for the kill…
“Niall…” Sabrina cried hoarsely, terrified by such uneven odds.
His head came up sharply, and he stared, as if taken aback by her presence.
Spying her along the path, Niall swore. “Sabrina, keep away!”
When he dodged a blow from one of his assailants, she made a choked sound in her throat.
“For God’s sake, go!”
Sabrina pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out again and distracting him, but even as she watched, the three men attacked at once.
Niall met their driving offensive with slashing steel, but even a novice could see he could not fight for long against such overwhelming might. She had to do something! He wouldn’t thank her for interfering, but she couldn’t leave him there to die.
Desperately Sabrina glanced about her. She was armed with a sword Geordie had given her, yet it would be useless except at close quarters, and she had little skill with the weapon, in any case.
Her terrified gaze found Niall again, engaged in a grisly dance with his assailants, his blade ringing against tempered steel. When a Buchanan broadsword cut swiftly through the air, Niall deflected the razor edge and parried with a strong blow of his own. Yet the man on his left lunged with a deft thrust, forcing Niall to stagger backward.
Not daring to think, Sabrina slid to the ground and scooped up a fist-sized boulder. Targeting the nearest Buchanan, she threw it with all her might. To her amazement, her aim was true, hitting the side of his head with a crack. He reeled and pitched sideways, landing hard on his shoulder. Rolling, he came to rest on his back, his vacant eyes staring heavenward.
As one, the two remaining Buchanans turned to eye her with fury. When the tallest took a half step toward her, Niall vented a curse and demanded his attention with a flurry of slashing strokes. The Buchanans resumed the battle, a murderous bloodlust in their eyes.
Desperately Sabrina wrenched her own sword from the saddle scabbard. She had no conscious recollection of charging into the conflict. All she could think about was helping Niall…getting close enough to strike the broad, naked back of the man who was hurting him.
She raised her arms for a two-handed blow, yet the Buchanan must have sensed her presence, for he spun around, his powerful arm swinging out in a clean, swift stroke.
She tried to dodge the blade but only managed to deflect the main impact. She felt a savage pain slice through her upper left arm as she stumbled. She heard a scream and knew it came from her own throat as the ground came up to meet her.
A tremendous roaring filled her ears, then a blessed silence as blackness claimed her.
Awareness returned gradually and painfully. Every part of her body throbbed. Her aching head was filled with the sweet-pungent scent of crushed bracken, her ears with Niall McLaren’s golden-throated voice, savage in its fury.
He was venting a blistering flood of Gaelic curses she was better off not understanding. Sabrina hoped his rage was directed at the Buchanans and not merely her, but she feared otherwise.
Her vision hazy, she tried to focus in the light of the pitch-pine torch. The dark beauty of his face filled her gaze as he knelt beside her.
“Niall…?” The words came out a muted croak, but he seemed not to hear. He was too busy condemning her folly of putting herself in danger.
“She refused to leave me, the wee fool. I thought my heart would fail when she charged into the fray.”
“Aye,” Liam Duncan agreed solemnly. “She could hae been torn apart by that pack o’ Highland rogues.”
“But she’s a brave lass, for all that,” she heard Geordie claim in her defense. “She took up the battle with nary a qualm. And t’other day, she scarce flinched when the Buchanan threatened to take her for ransom.”
“Owen threatened her?” Niall demanded sharply. “She never said so.”
“Mayhap she dinna care to mention it. She’s a proud lassie, and she doesna want us to fret o’r her. She’s a Duncan through and through.”
“Who would believe the lass could possess such spirit and courage?” John McLaren wondered aloud.
“Who indeed?” Niall murmured as if to himself.
Sabrina swallowed convulsively and tried again to whisper his name. He must have heard her then, for he bent closer.
“Can you speak, lass?” he queried, his voice suddenly deep and gentle.
“They didn’t…kill you…”
“No, they didn’t kill me—wholly to your credit.” His expression had softened, holding a tenderness that made her heart skip a beat. “We sent them fleeing.”
She tried to turn her head, searching for their enemies, but she saw no sign of the Buchanans. It seemed she was still in the forest where she had fallen. “They…got away?”
“Aye, but not unscathed,” Niall replied grimly. “I wounded the one.” In the golden glow of torchlight she could see his eyes: brightly blue, furious, beautiful. “Our kinsmen heard the pistol shot and came to our aid. The Buchanans fled when they arrived.”
“Aye, the bloody cowards,” Liam muttered.
Sabrina caught the look that passed between the men, grim with churning emotions. “Please,” she murmured, “there’s been enough bloodshed.”
Niall laughed darkly. “Not nearly enough. They’ll rue this night’s work, I promise you.”
She could have pointed out that the Buchanans had only been defending their holdings, but she suddenly spied the bloody cut on his right temple. “You’re wounded,” she said in dismay.
“Don’t
fash yourself. ’Tis no more than a scratch. I would that I could say the same for you, lass. Where does it hurt?”
“My…head…my arm.” Both throbbed savagely.
His hands moved over her with gentle insistence. “You’ve a lump on your head and a nasty gash on your arm that’s bleeding. It wants tending.” Even as he spoke, he withdrew the kerchief from around his neck and fashioned a makeshift bandage around the bloody wound on her upper left arm.
“I’ll be all right….”
“Even so, we must get you home—before the Buchanans return with reinforcements.”
Sabrina shivered. She did want to go home. She’d seen for herself the reality of a raid, the blood and savagery, and she wanted no more part of it. She wasn’t trained to be a warrior.
Seeing her tremble, Niall brushed a loose tendril from her cheek. He couldn’t explain the startling emotions he was feeling toward her just now. He wanted to shake her for frightening him so—at the same time he wanted to crush her to him and comfort her till he banished her fear and his own.
Perhaps, though, his fierce urge to protect and shelter her from harm was only natural. Her wounding had resurfaced all the old fury he’d felt at his father’s murder, bringing out his most ferocious instincts. Or perhaps he merely needed to assuage his own guilt in some measure. Sabrina had doubtlessly saved his life, when she could easily have been killed. He’d watched in terror as she ran fearlessly to his side, hurtling herself at an armed brute twice her size.
More than guilt, though, more than the need to comfort and protect, he was aware of a fierce thundering in his blood, a primal reaction of male to female.
Yet now was not the time to dwell on his primitive impulses. For all her valor, Sabrina was unaccustomed to physical danger; shock had set in now, and she was shaking.
“I’ll carry her home,” he said to Liam and Geordie. “You’ll see to the cattle?”
“Aye, that we will.”
Niall gathered Sabrina in his arms and stood. He’d been wanting a reason to hold her, yet he was unprepared for the sudden shaft of desire that knifed through him at the feel of her softness. He felt his lower body harden painfully, a wild response that was irrational and totally inappropriate.
The Lover Page 11