The Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  Her hand moved to her breastbone, as if to slow the painful pulsation of her heart. She didn’t want a husband who could offer her only discretion.

  “I won’t make the ideal husband, but I will provide protection for you and your clan.”

  Her clan. It always came back to that.

  “You haven’t even proposed,” Sabrina muttered mutinously.

  “How remiss of me.” Niall sketched a brief bow while still sitting on the edge of the bed. “Mistress Duncan, will you condescend to do me the great honor of bestowing your hand in marriage?”

  His tone, edged lightly with irony, stung her. She would not be the one condescending, of course. Sabrina quivered with the daunting knowledge that he was far out of her realm.

  “I thank you, my lord, for your kind offer,” she replied slowly, in a tone of voice appropriate for dealing with the dullest of human minds, “but I must decline.”

  “I shan’t accept no for an answer.”

  “You cannot make me agree!”

  The smile he bent on her stole her breath and raised her ire at the same time. He was too bold, too cocksure. “Would you care to put my powers of persuasion to the test?”

  When she remained helplessly silent, a knowing gleam lit Niall’s beautiful eyes. “I do believe I have stumbled on a valuable discovery in dealing with you, tiger. In future, when I want to bend you to my will, I shall simply seduce you into compliance.”

  A feeling of panic rose up in Sabrina. “But I don’t wish to marry you, I tell you!”

  “That is quite beside the matter. Now…regarding that nightshift. Do you require help undressing?”

  “No! I do not! And most certainly not by a vaunted libertine.”

  “Careful, my pet. You are in supreme danger of being kissed.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You do have the most annoying habit of challenging me.”

  With a casual determination, he bent closer, making Sabrina’s heart leap in alarm. She tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to run. Niall leaned over her, his mouth capturing hers as he pressed her back among the pillows.

  His tongue probed the locked line of her mouth, then slipped inside, hot and hard. Sabrina’s pulse lurched madly. She could feel the lithe power of his chest as he weighed her down with his embrace, could feel the tender passion of his intoxicating lips overwhelming her…

  He kissed her for what seemed like hours, coaxing, exploring, subduing…He was deliberately, skillfully arousing her, seducing her till she was dizzy, melting. Her skin burned where it was crushed to his hardness, while all her senses screamed with need.

  She moaned beneath the sensual onslaught. His kiss was raw torment, yet when his lips eventually withdrew from hers, she felt empty and aching.

  He was cruel to taunt her so, Sabrina reflected bitterly as he drew back. The hot light in his eyes might have been flattering had she thought it directed at her, but she harbored no illusions that he desired her. She was a female body, an available receptacle for his lust, that was all. He was merely using his legendary skills to persuade her to do his bidding.

  Niall cleared his throat, forcing himself to relinquish his hold, as well as thoughts of any further indulgence tonight—an indulgence he was beginning to crave.

  His own gaze enigmatic, he surveyed Sabrina’s lovely face, flushed with anger and passion. It was all he could do to summon a shred of gentlemanly resolve. Sabrina was wounded, and the last thing she needed at the moment was his amorous attentions. “You need rest, sweeting. I shall take my leave now.”

  “Finally, at last,” she returned too breathlessly.

  He stood. “Perhaps you should tuck yourself into bed. Can you manage it on your own? I don’t trust myself to do it.”

  “I don’t trust you at all. And my answer is still no!”

  Niall gave her a sweeping bow before turning to the door. “We shall see, tiger.” The glance he cast over his shoulder was bright with self-assurance and amusement. “I fancy taming you is going to be a delight.”

  Chapter

  Seven

  She was delusional. She had been dreaming, Sabrina prayed when she woke late the following morning. Niall McLaren had not invaded her bedchamber last night and summarily announced the resumption of their betrothal.

  But while her head no longer ached so fiercely, her bandaged arm still throbbed wickedly, confirming the violence of the previous eve. Her pain was no dream. And she very much feared she was in her right mind.

  The maidservant who attended Sabrina that morning bubbled over with cheer and good wishes. It seemed that while she slept, Niall had informed their clans of their definite intentions to wed. The ceremony would be held three days hence, precisely as planned, since the wedding invitations had never been recalled.

  More frustrating, Sabrina endured a dismaying visit from Angus, who unwisely rose from his sickbed to convey his irrepressible delight. His joy made Sabrina’s spirits sink further. With the ruthlessness of a warring chieftain, Niall had taken matters out of her hands. Short of fleeing back to Edinburgh and forswearing all obligation to her clan, she would be compelled to go through with the marriage.

  In truth, it was the right decision, Sabrina knew. It was simply that Niall’s supreme arrogance galled her.

  She was further dismayed when a widowed neighbor of her grandfather came to call. When the lady swept into the morning room, Sabrina could not repress a momentary twinge of envy. Mistress Eve Graham possessed a lush figure and a pair of cool, calculating hazel eyes, which she used to assess Sabrina minutely.

  The raven-haired beauty seemed surprised at what she found. But then she appeared to catch herself and affected the introductions with a musical laugh. She refused all offer of refreshment, but settled herself on the settee beside her hostess.

  “How dreadful, my dear,” she said, surveying Sabrina’s new arm bandage. “I heard of your terrible wounding.”

  “It is hardly more than a scratch,” Sabrina demurred politely.

  “Even so, the entire countryside is talking of your bravery.”

  “But it really was nothing.”

  “You are too modest. Why, Niall declared he might have been killed, if not for your quick action.”

  Sabrina felt a sharp pang in the vicinity of her heart. Something in the way Mistress Graham had said his name hinted at a deeper relationship than mere friendship.

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last,” Eve said warmly. “You cannot know how I’ve longed for another lady with which to share confidences. You must tell me all about yourself…”

  They spoke for a time, with Mistress Graham asking probing questions about Sabrina’s family and home in Edinburgh, while relating something of her own past.

  “I remember Edinburgh with great fondness,” the widow said, sighing. “The soirees, the balls, the assemblies…My dear husband accompanied me there frequently, so that I might have a moment’s respite from the dullness of the Highlands. Here we have only country dances and primitive customs harking back to feudal times. It is fortunate for us you have come. The clans are in great need of the civilizing influence of women. I’ve long believed there would be far less feuding among us if our lairds had proper wives to advise them…Which leads me to the real purpose of my visit.”

  Eve hesitated, eyeing Sabrina speculatively. “I came to offer my help with the wedding arrangements, Mistress Duncan. With all due modesty, I am quite proficient at managing fetes.”

  Sabrina was hard-pressed to think of a polite answer. “In truth, the issue of my marriage to the McLaren is not quite settled as yet.”

  “How odd. Niall asked me to assist with the wedding feast and so forth.”

  “Did he, indeed?” she asked tartly.

  Eve seemed not to notice her sharpness. “I confess, it surprises me that he would choose you as his bride…But perhaps I can see the appeal to a man of his stamp. He called you ‘a tiger in mous
e’s clothing,’ I believe were his words.”

  Sabrina felt her own surprise at the admiration in the widow’s tone. A beautiful woman undoubtedly familiar with male adulation, Eve Graham would hardly consider “tiger” a flattering appellation. But she apparently believed Niall thought so.

  “Niall is making a great presumption,” Sabrina answered. “I have not agreed to wed him. Indeed, I withdrew from the betrothal only a few days past.”

  One delicate raven eyebrow rose. “Surely you jest. Sabrina—may I call you by your given name? Sabrina, how can you think to spurn him?”

  “I know it is shocking of me, Mistress Graham,” she murmured wryly.

  “Do call me Eve. I must say this is unforeseen.” The lady’s mouth turned up in amusement. “How many women do you suppose have ever refused him?”

  Unexpectedly Sabrina found herself liking the amiable widow. “Very few, I imagine,” she admitted candidly, an answering smile in her voice.

  “You must possess great fortitude. No woman can resist him. Niall McLaren can charm anything in skirts.”

  “If he had indeed attempted to charm me, I daresay I would have succumbed, but from the first he made it quite clear he wanted no part of me or my grandfather’s plans. The bald truth is, he has no more desire to enter into an arranged marriage than I do. And I have no wish to endure a profligate for a husband.”

  “He is an irresponsible rogue, doubtless, but oh so charming. And with such exceptional skill…”

  The remark was probing rather than boastful, but Sabrina flushed at the intimacy it implied. “His skill impresses me but little. I am more concerned with his character.”

  “Well…I suspect it will be difficult for you to withdraw now that Niall is set on moving forward. The clans are expecting a union.”

  “I know,” Sabrina said rather bleakly. “And I shall not forsake them. My kinsmen must have a laird. I…only wish it were someone other than Niall.”

  “Such misgivings before marriage are not unusual, darling. But I daresay it will not be so bad, being wed to Niall. Having such a magnificent lover should be some consolation.”

  The remark, meant to be encouraging, merely made her spirits sink further. A magnificent lover would want an equally superb partner in his bed. At the very least, a bride who could hold a candle to the countless beauties he had known.

  “Well,” the widow said briskly, “I had best take my leave if I mean to accomplish anything today. Don’t concern yourself with the wedding arrangements, my dear. You may rely on me to handle everything.”

  Eve rose and drew on her gloves. Before she turned to go, however, she glanced sympathetically at Sabrina. “I have only one word of advice, my dear,” she said a bit sadly. “When you wed Niall, do not think to give your heart to him. He will only return it, bruised and battered.”

  Sabrina forced a smile. She had given her heart freely once and had it rejected. She had no intention of ever repeating that painful mistake, especially with a notorious rake like Niall McLaren. He would slice her heart to ribbons if she allowed it. “I shall heed your warning quite earnestly, I assure you.”

  With the Widow Graham’s aid, the plans for Sabrina’s marriage moved forward at lightning speed. Sabrina numbly endured the storm of activity around her as the women of Clan Duncan burst into action, readying for guests who would travel from miles away, and preparing food and drink for the wedding feast.

  Her one consolation was her stepfather’s arrival late the following day. When a footman came to alert her, Sabrina ran down the steps to the hall, where he was being shown in.

  “Papa Charles,” Sabrina exclaimed. Laughing and crying at once, she launched herself into his welcoming embrace, and remained there clinging to his lean form, drawing comfort. It was a long moment before she permitted him to draw back.

  Tall and spare to the point of gauntness, Charles Cameron appeared stern and forbidding until one glimpsed the lively twinkle in his gray eyes. Presently, however, he looked exhausted from his long ride, and more than a little dismayed.

  “Never tell me these are tears, lass?”

  “No,” Sabrina lied, wiping away the telltale moistness. “I am merely glad to see you.” She hadn’t realized how much she missed him, or yearned for his counsel. “You should not have come all this way.”

  “Pah, my only daughter is to wed, and you tell me I am not invited to witness it?”

  Sabrina felt herself smile at his teasing. “Of course you are invited. But your trade cannot bear your absence.”

  “My clerks can handle the business for a few days.”

  “That is not what you claim when you wish me to review the account books.”

  “I did not say they could supplant you, lass. Their errors will doubtless drive me into penury, if you can no longer oversee them. But enough of that. Tell me what you are about. First I receive Angus Duncan’s invitation to the wedding celebration, then your letter saying the betrothal was canceled. Then the missive I received yesterday from Laird McLaren said the betrothal was resumed and that you are indeed to wed tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Papa Charles. I fear I have gotten myself into a fix.”

  “Have you now?” His gentle gaze held deep concern.

  Sabrina looked away. “You must be weary. Let me show you to your chamber and make you comfortable.”

  “All in good time. What I wish to know is, have you gone daft, or is this marriage truly what you desire?”

  “I haven’t gone daft. I…think it is for the best. Our marriage will unite our clans and provide the Duncans with a powerful ally.”

  “I can see Angus Duncan’s fine hand at work, or I miss my guess.”

  “Grandfather has his heart set on the marriage, true.”

  “But what is your heart set on?”

  “I am not really certain.”

  “Do you love this man, Sabrina?”

  “No,” she said a bit too emphatically. “How could I? I have only recently made his acquaintance.” And what she did know of Niall was not encouraging.

  “Lass, I know you,” Charles warned. “You will not be happy without love.”

  Sabrina shook her head. She had once dreamed of finding love, but this was the sort of bargain women had been making for centuries, an arranged marriage for political advantage. Love did not enter into the reckoning.

  “My happiness is not the most important concern. There are lives at stake…the future of an entire clan.”

  Her stepfather patted her hand. “Well, you’ve a keen head on your shoulders. And I doubt you would do anything foolish. If you mean to carry through with it, I can only support you. I’ve brought something for you. Your mother would wish you to have it.”

  He opened the valise he’d brought, and drew out a garment. Carefully unfolding it and smoothing out the creases, he held it up to the light for her inspection.

  Sabrina drew a sharp breath at the lovely sight. The billowing gown was made of ice blue stiffened brocade, embossed with silver thread and pearls in a pattern that was repeated in both the petticoat and stomacher.

  “’Tis the gown your mother was wed in—twice, though not at the same time.” Charles grinned. “Once to your father and once to me.”

  Tears filled Sabrina’s eyes as reverently she held the gown to her breast. For a moment she felt as if her mother were with her again, and it gave her the courage she was sorely lacking.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered huskily, profoundly grateful for his thoughtfulness.

  Her wedding day dawned bright and clear. The rugged green hills held a breathtaking spring glow, Sabrina saw from her bedchamber window, but the sight did little to cheer her flagging spirits or ease her misgivings.

  After a light meal of oatcakes and milk, an army of maids descended upon her, including the Widow Graham’s dresser. Sabrina allowed herself to be bathed and perfumed and painted, but she refused to let them pomade her hair. Remembering Niall’s preference for unpowdered locks, she caught her dark tr
esses up behind, letting them sweep over her shoulder in several long curls. When she had donned the voluminous petticoat, she was laced into the gown and stomacher.

  Her looking glass told her the effect was pleasing, but her dark eyes seemed too large for her pale face.

  “Mouse,” Sabrina said accusingly, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She wanted to look beautiful for Niall—

  The realization caused a small pain deep inside her chest. It was a fruitless endeavor, fretting over her appearance. No coiffure or gown could make her beautiful enough for a man like him.

  When she was fully dressed, Angus rose from his sickbed in order to present her with a gift, a silver casket which held her grandmother’s jewels. The Duncan ruby was a huge polished stone set in a filigreed pendant, and Angus insisted she wear it.

  His craggy face beamed as he surveyed the effect. “’Tis a wise thing yer doing, lass.”

  Her stepfather arrived just then to escort her below to the waiting carriage. “Come, ’tis time for you to go.”

  Her heart began pounding as a surge of belated panic struck her. In a short while she would be asked to pledge vows of loyalty and service, obliged to honor Niall McLaren till the day she died.

  “Faith, lass, your skin is like ice,” Charles exclaimed.

  “’Tis to be expected,” Angus chimed in. “She’s overwrought with bridal nerves.”

  Overwrought indeed, Sabrina thought wryly. She felt the weight of her entire clan on her shoulders. And she had little confidence in her judgment. Was she taking the right course, or was she striking a bargain with the devil?

  Angus did not accompany them to the kirk for the morning ceremony, some half league away. The wedding feast, set to begin at noon, would be held at Banesk so he could attend for a brief time. The bride and her stepfather traveled by carriage over rutted trails, where they were to meet the groom at the door of the kirk.

  Niall was awaiting her, Sabrina saw as the vehicle drew to a halt. As he aided her descent, she chided the sudden drumming of her heart. It was ridiculous how anxiety and misgivings could suddenly give way to joy at merely seeing him again. Joy and relief. She had feared he might not bother to show up for his own wedding and leave her stranded at the church steps.