The Munro Clan Highlander Collection (The Munro Clan Highlander Romances)

by Marilyn Stonecross

  The rest of the evening vanished into a haze of drink and chatter, and she even accepted dances from unwitting gentleman callers.

  But always she felt Ramsey’s eyes on her.

  * * *

  Two goblets of wine and a bit of bread later, Sabrina realized she should have eaten before attempting to down half the cauldron.

  Her vision had gotten the slightest bit hazy, and she could not recall why, exactly, she had been so angry earlier—what was there to be angry about with all these marvelous festivities? She danced with young men she had never seen before, saw her uncle whirl by in the arms of a rather corpulent maid from a neighboring village, and spun until she could no longer see straight.

  No wonder my uncle drinks as he does, she thought ruefully, finding her way back to the drinks and taking another goblet. It does rather put things in a more appealing light.

  “Yer going to make yerself ill, Sabrina.”

  She froze with the goblet half-filled. She knew that voice and its bemused cadence, though it had deepened somewhat over the years. She finished pouring her goblet, straightened up, and attempted to look as composed as possible when she turned around.

  One look at his arched eyebrow suggested she did not look quite as composed as she hoped, but then, he seemed to have gotten into his cups as well. “Hello, Ramsey,” she said quietly. “Or is it Laird Munro now?”

  He shrugged, his gaze raking up and down her body and bringing heat to her cheeks. “Ye may call me what ye wish. Ye are looking...well.”

  “I look a fright,” she said bluntly. “Though I thank you for the compliment.”

  Her heart skipped about nervously when his gaze drifted lower, taking in her shape. She thought she saw admiration there, thought perhaps there might be hope for them after all. He met her gaze again, his smoldering dark eyes boring into hers. “Ye’ve grown up right nicely.”

  “So have you.”

  She spotted one of the castle ladies approaching at a rapid pace and made a quick decision. Sabrina drained half of her goblet, set it down on the table, and held out her hand to Ramsey. “A dance, Laird Munro?”

  He hesitated.

  She stomped down her fear—he could not reject her. Not now. “For old time’s sake, no more.” She jerked her head toward Lady Margaret, whose stride had almost quickened to a flat-out run. “I’m only trying to save you. Margaret cannot dance to save her life, and will make fools of both of you.”

  He acquiesced, his big hand nearly engulfing hers. He led her out onto the dance floor, and Sabrina glanced over her shoulder in time to catch the murderous look Margaret sent her way. No doubt the little busybody would stir up all manner of trouble tomorrow out in a misguided effort at revenge, but it hardly mattered now.

  Now...

  Ramsey’s arms came around her as the musicians shifted into a faster melody, and Sabrina realized this might not have been her best idea of the day. The wine had left her full of energy, but her feet were sluggish in responding, and she stumbled over the steps of the unfamiliar dance.

  Ramsey dropped one hand to the small of her back, holding her mostly upright. “Ye are too drunk for this dance, lass.”

  “I am not,” she said. “I am no drunker than you, Laird Munro.”

  “Aye, but yer half me size, as well.” Still, there was a warm glint in his eye, and she thought he relaxed minutely. “Ye are well? The years have been kind to ye?”

  She nodded, reveling in his closeness. He was so big, so big and warm and strong...

  “Good. I hoped only for the best for ye, when I left, I didn’t...” He paused, and they worked their way through an overly complicated set of steps that left Sabrina’s head spinning. Ramsey picked up where he’d left off, pulling her closer, lowering his head to whisper into her ear. “I am sorry it ended as it did, lass.”

  The words were years too late, but at least they had come. She smiled blearily up at him, half-wondering if this were some strange, exotic dream, if the festivities around them would dissolve into haze and leave her alone with Ramsey.

  “You did not have to leave,” she finally said. “You could have stayed.”

  “And dishonored ye? I’d have hanged meself first. Ye deserved better than that. Ye still do.”

  “But you are a lord now,” she said. “I mean, a laird. It’s different, isn’t it?”

  His arms slackened slightly around her. “Sabrina, lass, it has not changed that much. I go back to strife and suffering, and ye...ye will have a better life than I could offer.”

  Why is he doing this? She frowned up at him, and her expression drew forth a smile. He looked so weary, so tired of it all—yes, he’d grown into a fine, handsome man, but what toll had the years taken on him? “Will you not stay a few days?”

  “I dare not, Sabrina.”

  “But why?”

  He let out a long-suffering breath. “Ye know as well as I why not.”

  He still felt for her! He’d just admitted it! She stopped dancing to stare up at him beseechingly, and he dragged her through one or two additional steps. “Ramsey, I’ve waited for years for you to come back, will you please just listen—”

  “Nay,” he said. “Nay, lass, we must not. It’s not possible.”

  “But—”

  “’Twas a mistake to dance with ye,” he murmured. “Ye’re all fire and emotion, and I can scarcely keep up even now. God help me when yer not into yer cups.”

  “Ramsey...” she pressed close to him, tilting her face up. “Ramsey, please...”

  “Ah, lass, I would. Were it up to me, I would.”

  His big hand caressed her chin, then slid along the side of her neck. “Sabrina...”

  He was going to kiss her. He had to kiss her!

  “Beg pardon, Laird Munro!” Lady Margaret’s high-pitched voice grated on Sabrina’s nerves, and the simpering creature giggled as she sidled up to them. “My father very much wished to speak to you as you promised...”

  Ramsey released Sabrina immediately. “Of course, my lady,” he said, bowing to her. He glanced Sabrina’s way, a warning in his eyes. “Lady Sabrina, I enjoyed our dance.”

  “Likewise,” she said, unable to keep a little bit of frost from her voice.

  Margaret smiled at her before they hurried away, leaving Sabrina glowering after them. Little wretch, she thought, heading back to the wine and her forgotten goblet. I can probably drink a bit more tonight...

  ***

  The next morning, Sabrina leaned over the still waters of the pond and sighed at her reflection.

  In the early dawn hours, with the sun peaking over the tops of the full, summer trees, she looked awful. Terrible. Sabrina supposed she might look more presentable had she spent the night in the pen with the pigs.

  She drank too much last night, emptying at least four goblets worth of the cursed Devil’s brew, and now her head, her stomach, and her vanity were paying the price.

  It was all Ramsey Munro’s fault, and had she thought she’d get the chance to see him and tell him so, Sabrina might have been able to fight off the dizziness and stand for a moment or two. But her head reeled and stomach protested, so Sabrina stayed in the very spot she kneeled in.

  It was not long before the first traitorous tears fell from her eyes. He’d broken her heart, just like he did all those years ago when he left. She’d never imagined that Ramsey’s return could actually hurt worse than his leaving, but he’d proven her wrong. She let all of the emotions from last night’s festival bubble to surface and spill over, crying and coughing, sputtering and cursing so much that she failed to hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

  “Child, what is wrong with you? You look a mess!”

  It was Isabel, her maid and confidante since the passing of her parents seven years ago. The Welsh woman was in her forties, with no children or family of her own. To Sabrina and her uncle Ernald, Isabel was family.

  Sabrina wiped at the tears, but it was pointless. They were not slowing.


  “I’m fine, Isabel. Really. You can go back and tell Uncle Ernald that I haven’t thrown myself into the pond in despair.”

  “Not yet, maybe,” Isabel said, plunking herself on the large rock next to Sabrina. “But soon, if I hadn’t found you.”

  Isabel leaned close to Sabrina and narrowed her eyes, inspecting her charge.

  “He’s not worth the tears, child,” she said finally. “If that man is too blind to see what a worthy woman you’ve grown up to be, then he don’t deserve you. I should have turned him out to the wilds when I first spied that pin-headed Scot all those years ago.”

  Sabrina smiled at the thought of the pin-headed Scot as a boy. Ramsey Munro arrived on the de Montfort estate as a gangly fourteen-year-old runaway. Sabrina was eight. She’d followed the “beast boy,” as the servants had called him, day after day as he went about the chores the steward had given him under the earl’s orders.

  “It’s not bloody fair,” he’d groused. “I could be hunting!”

  “I won’t tell, if you want to go,” Sabrina had said once. She must have been fifteen then, and he twenty-one. She’d been dimly aware that Ramsey had grown quite handsome as he grew older, but until that day, she was sure she had never struck him as anything more than a child.

  That day, though…

  They had crept off into the forest together, he with a bow, she carrying a small satchel for lunch. No one had questioned de Montfort’s niece, and they had passed the guards as easily as they pleased.

  “Ye do this every day?” he’d asked, marveling at her freedom to travel.

  “Not every day. Just when I want to get away from my tutor, or Lady Margaret. She’s rather annoying you know.”

  They had walked for miles, further than any young woman of her standing would ever be expected, yet she did not complain once, even though her feet were aching through her slippers. Ramsey had eventually lowered his guard, speaking to her as he would his brothers.

  They had talked of hunting and game and swordplay, and he had told her what he remembered of his parents and his homeland.

  “I’ll visit one day,” she’d said.

  Ramsey had laughed. “’Tis no place for ye, little lass,” he’d said. “’Tis no place for anyone anymore, but we’ll make it right again.”

  It has been years, and you’ve not made it right again. She knew the fate of his people weighed heavily on Ramsey, had seen it in the slope of his shoulders and the circles beneath his eyes.

  But would he not even give her a chance?

  No, she thought. He won’t. You saw that last night at supper.

  “Sabrina?” Isabel asked.

  Sabrina looked up. “Sorry…just…thinking.”

  “Of him?”

  Sabrina blushed and looked away. “I’m sorry. He’s just…”

  “I don’t care if he is rich now,” Isabel went on. “He’s got no right carrying on with that Margaret Curtmaine right in front of you like he did. Fat little hen-pecker she is…he deserves her!”

  Sabrina looked up at the mention of Margaret. As she left the hall to go to her chambers last night, she remembered seeing the annoying daughter of a neighboring earl clinging to Ramsey’s thick forearm. She’d done her best to wipe the image from her mind, but thanks to Isabel, it was all she could think about now.

  “Word buzzing around the great hall this morning is that he intends to talk to Sir Renauld and ask for Margaret’s hand,” Isabel said quietly, jerking Sabrina back to the present “I know you’ve loved him from the moment he arrived, Sabrina. I didn’t want you to hear the maids gossiping, or worse yet, from Margaret whenever she wakes up and graces us all with her presence.”

  So this is what utter defeat feels like, Sabrina thought. Though she didn’t know what to expect with Ramsey’s return, this certainly wasn’t it.

  “Can you please give me a moment, Isabel,” Sabrina finally said. “I’m afraid I’m going to be sick again, and I’d like to keep any shred of dignity I might have left.”

  The maid fussed a bit about leaving her charge out unchaperoned, but Sabrina managed to convince her with a promise that she’d only be moments behind, and in a much more presentable state. As Isabel hobbled off, Sabrina turned back to the still water in front of her and splashed her face a few times.

  Any minute now, Ernald and the guests would wake up and begin to assemble for the morning meal. She’d have to face Ramsey and his bride-to-be and maintain her poise, lest she shame her uncle’s name.

  “Stupid girl,” she said, splashing the reflection in the water staring back at her.

  ***

  The visit did not improve.

  Ramsey and Ernald spent a good several days together, ostensibly discussing the Munro men that Ramsey would be lending to his cause. In reality, Ramsey knew the instant he left Ernald’s chambers, he’d run into Sabrina, and that could not happen.

  God’s blood, she had grown up well. It had taken every bit of self control to keep from grabbing her hand and dragging her off into an antechamber to have his way with her.

  She would have gone with him. He could see it in her eyes.

  “Sabrina is still fond of you,” Ernald remarked.

  Ramsey froze. “She was most accommodating at the feast.”

  The older man laughed. “She has always fancied you, Ramsey; there’s no need to hide from that. Will you act on it?”

  “By doing...what?” he peered at the man, his brow furrowing. “What have ye in mind, de Montfort?”

  Ernald shrugged. “She is of an age to be married. Past it, in fact. Some wonder if there’s not some young laird that she hopes returns?”

  Oh, no. No. This could not happen. Not here. “Ernald, are ye trying to push me into marrying your niece?”

  “Merely suggesting it would not be so terrible a thing, Ramsey. You needn’t look so horrified; I know she’s not unattractive.”

  “It’s not that, Ernald. It’s...she doona belong in Scotland anymore than I belong here, in England. I cannot leave my people, but I can scarcely bring her home when the Gunns run rampant, trying to destroy us.”

  The older man nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “Perhaps at a later time, when the Gunns are no longer such a threat...”

  Ramsey held his tongue. By the time the Gunns had ceased their hostilities, Sabrina would likely be wedded to some wealthy English lord, producing heirs and spending her time running a keep. I will be a distant memory.

  He left the Lord de Montfort’s chamber long after the evening meal, and thought he might be able to escape any unwanted attention. Lady Margaret had taken to following him around when he didn’t explicitly tell her he had business to tend to, but he could scarcely be rude to the daughter of a powerful man. So he put up with her attentions, each moment hoping something would happen to drag him away from her.

  He paused at a window, contemplating the light left outside. A good tankard of ale with his brothers might lift his mood.

  He saddled his horse and headed for Treadwell, pausing only to tell his groom he’d return after dark. The ride into the village was easy, and the sun had fully set by the time he reached the tavern where he knew the lads would be staying.

  “Ramsey!”

  He froze.

  Small hands grasped his upper arm, pulling him back into the stable. He turned around to confront a small, cloaked figure, and his stomach ground up into a small knot. “Are ye mad?” he barked, knowing exactly who it was even before she pushed back the hood.

  Sabrina stared at him defiantly. “You can’t just avoid me the entire time you stay.”

  “I was doing a bloody good job of it,” he muttered. “Why are ye here? It’s dangerous for you to be out after—if your uncle—”

  “My uncle is indisposed while trying to placate Lord Archer at the moment,” she said smoothly. “Ramsey, I must speak with you. Why do you keep running away?”

  He recognized the jab, but could not help but rise to the bait. “I’m not running away, ye little ta
rt. I’m protecting us both.”

  “From what?”

  He stared down at her.

  Sabrina let out a sigh. “Yes, protect me from yourself, is that it? Very gallant of you, my laird. Maybe I don’t want protecting.”

  “As yer arrival here evidences.”

  He thought she would stamp her foot, but she just glared up at him. “Do you think so little of me? For God’s sake, Ramsey, I’ve followed you this far. At least hear me out.”