A Promise Given (21 page)

In the weeks that followed, Ian wondered if his beauteous wife knew at what
cost he left her. Her tears that morn he departed sent joy leaping high as the
mountains within him, even as he was plunged into the depths of despair at
knowing he must go.

From the very first time he'd seen her again, she had ensnared him. His
heart. His mind. His every sense. She was mistress of his heart, captor of his
soul. Though other men betrayed their wives, his temptations were not swayed,
for Ian was well aware he would find no pleasure in another woman's arms.

Nightly she came to him. Naked and sinuous, with hair of fire and kisses of
flame, luring him ever deeper within a lair of sweet seduction. In his dreams,
she gave to him, all bare silken limbs. He saw her as she leaned over him, her
hair dancing across his belly… and lower, there where the pulse-beat of desire
thrummed hard and aching… And then it was his turn. With lips and tongue he
tasted her flesh. Lingering. Driving her half-wild until she shattered in his
arms and echoed his desire, crying out her need of him. In his dreams she
surrendered as never before, and he was lost, drowning in the heat of her
passion.

Aye, she haunted his dreams, the loneliness of the night, his every waking
moment. He craved her heart… but did she give it elsewhere? He possessed her
body, but would she ever be truly his?

Jealousy ate at his insides like a slow poison, for there was still much that
lay between them, he acknowledged wearily. It had crossed his mind that the babe
she carried might not be his, but such doubts were ruthlessly swept aside. She
swore she did not love Jamie MacDougall, yet everything within him warned that
even were it so—if she did not love him, then she still cared deeply.

Was he a fool to believe the babe she carried was his—not Jamie's? Despite
the doubts that sometimes blistered his mind, there was no denying the truth—she
had come to him a maid. And if the babe were expected midsummer, she must have
conceived when first they lay together.

He chafed with every day that kept him from home—from her!—but he had pledged
his sword to the Bruce and he was a man of his word. And in truth, the Bruce
needed him now as never before, for it seemed the English troops were
everywhere. The Bruce's army was small;  the English numbered far more, and
so they sought to strike and plunder  and ambush those smaller factions and
thus defeat the whole. But that was not all, for the Comyn supporters and kin
were ever a thorn in their side—they would not cease their goal of seeing the
Bruce toppled from the throne.

Ian prayed daily that he would not fall in battle. Feelings against the
English ran high, and the Bruce was more determined than ever to keep the
English from Scottish soil.

Ian wanted nothing more than peace—peace for the land he so loved. Peace
within his castle and upon his lands, and time with his wife and his child, time
spent contentedly basking before the blaze of the fire.

But he feared for Sabrina, for he'd not forgotten that someone had locked her
away. But who? And why? Was it an accident? It did not seem likely, he admitted.
Was it possible she was in danger of her life? All these questions and more
plagued him endlessly, which was why he'd left her with Fraser, for he knew his
friend would protect her life with his own.

The emerald green of spring had begun to spread full across the land when
several chieftains from the north decided to lend their favor—and troops—to
rally behind the Bruce. At last Ian was able to make his way back to Castle
MacGregor.

Shouts went up from the tower one afternoon as he and his men approached.
Several men set their heels to the flanks of their mounts and galloped toward
the gates. Ian brought up the rear, though in truth he was in no less haste to
be home once more.

Inside the hall, he smiled and nodded and laughed and spoke, but all the
while his eyes restlessly searched the growing crowd for his wife. Then he spied
a small, slight figure hurrying in from the kitchens.

Sabrina.

Their eyes caught. Surprise widened hers—surprise and something that made his
heart fly and soar amongst the clouds. A slow-growing smile graced those sweetly
curved lips, a smile so dazzling and pure he felt blinded. A surge of pride and
fierce possessiveness swelled within his breast.

The sounds around them faded into nothingness.

'Twas as if they alone occupied the world…

Her feet carried her slowly forward, one before the other, then faster and
faster until she was running.

He caught her up against his chest—close against his heart—for it was there
that she dwelled. Now and evermore.

Their lips met and clung, a long, blissful exchange of tender emotion, at
once rousing both satisfaction and yearning within him. A loud guffaw from the
corner reminded him anew that they were not alone. Reluctantly he released her
mouth.

Both her hands tenderly imprisoned within his, he stepped back. He gazed the
length of her, his regard long and hungry and avid and making no effort to hide
it. A smile curled his lips, for there was a new ripeness to her figure. Her
breasts were full and plump, and her belly was unmistakably round; yet still she
was lovely beyond measure.

Two bright spots came to her cheeks. "Ian! You should not look at me so!"

All at once he felt a lightness in spirit he'd not felt in ages. "And why
not?" he found himself teasing. "All who know me can attest that I've ever an
eye for a fair maid."

She glanced about, making certain that no one heard. "Come now; " she
protested. "I am hardly a maid."

"Ah, but you are most certainly fair." He tucked her hand into the crook of
his elbow. Though she protested anew, he could tell she was well pleased.

It was a time for celebrating, for all those who had left with him had
returned safely. There was feasting and dancing and laughter aplenty long into
the evening hours. Sabrina sat at his side, telling him of all that had
transpired in his absence. He was most relieved to learn there had been no
further disturbing episodes. Mayhap he'd been wrong. Mayhap she'd been locked in
the chamber below-stairs by some bizarre accident. Though how such could happen,
he was indeed puzzled.

Just then a curious hound thrust his cold snout beneath the back side of
Fraser's kilt. With a cry Fraser leaped high in the air, his expression
stunned.

Everyone roared.

Fraser whirled, his features ferocious. "Begone, you mongrel!" he shouted at
the offending beast.

The hound had dropped to his belly. He laid his muzzle on outstretched paws.
Turning huge, sorrowful eyes upward, he howled mournfully.

Even Fraser's outrage turned to laughter.

Ian's eyes had shifted to his wife's lovely profile, as if to memorize her
every feature. " 'Tis good to see you smile," he said softly.

"And 'tis good that you are home," she returned.

Her words reminded him that he had yet to be alone with his wife, and it was
indeed his most fervent wish. Getting to his feet, he feigned a huge yawn.

"I fear it has been a long, tiring day," he called out,  “and having
spent many a night on the cold hard ground, I look forward to spending this
night in the warmth of my own bed."

"And the warmth of your lady's arms!" someone proclaimed heartily.

"Aye, and that too!" Ian grinned widely. Turning to Sabrina, he extended his
hand and tugged her to her feet. Together they left the hall.

Once they were alone in their chamber, he drew her to the chair before the
hearth, where a welcoming fire cast out light and warmth. Seated with her snug
in his embrace, he gave a fervid prayer of thanksgiving that God had seen fit to
bring him safely home again. He was a most contented husband, and before long he
would be a father as well. And though he ached to make love to his wife, just
now it was enough to hold her, to feel the softness of her body against his, the
fragrant scent of her hair… all that was far dearer to him than he had ever
imagined.

But all at once she ducked her head. He frowned.

"What is it?" he murmured. "What is amiss?"

Her lashes lowered, shielding her gaze from him. With her fingers she plucked
at the folds of his shirt. "Ian… I—I almost dreaded the day you would return,
for I was certain you would doubt me…"

"Doubt you?" He was puzzled. "How?"

He felt the deep breath she took. "When you left, we had no chance to speak
of—of the babe… I thought you might think that…'twas Jamie's babe I
carried."

Now was not the time to confess that he had indeed.

"But it is not, Ian… and I know not how to convince you…"

Ian studied the small fingers curled within his, feeling how she
trembled.

"You need not convince me," he told her, and God above, all at once it was
true. Whatever had existed between her and Jamie—what still might exist— he knew
she would not lie. Deceit was simply not in her nature.

A finger beneath her chin, he guided her eyes to his. "Listen to me, sweet,
and listen well. I know that  there were angry words between us then, but I
do not forget that you were a maid when you came to me as my bride. And despite
your feelings for Jamie—whatever they were, whatever they are now—you are my
wife, and I do not believe you would forsake the vows you made before God so
easily."

He paused. His gaze delved deep into hers. "Once I asked that you trust in
me, that you not doubt me. And indeed, I would ask no less of myself than I ask
of you. But this I must know. You will soon bear my child, Sabrina, and there
was a time when I believe you'd have been most horrified by the prospect." He
paused. "But what of now?"

For an instant, the wispiest of smiles had grazed her lips, but now her smile
waned. Her eyes grew cloudy. She said nothing.

Ian stiffened. He would have put her from him, but she stopped him, placing
her hands on his forearms.

"Nay, Ian, nay!" she cried softly. “ 'Tis not what you think!"

"Then tell me that I may know." There was no give in his voice.

Her eyes clung to his. "I- I am glad of the child. Truly. Though I admit, it
happens far sooner than I anticipated. And… oh, I know 'tis foolish of me, but…
I am…" She gave a half-sob. "I am afraid!"

"Afraid!" He was stunned. "Why?"

She shivered. "My mother died in childbed."

His arms closed around her. A wave of fierce protectiveness swept over him.
He kissed her, tasting the fear of vulnerability.

"I'm sorry. I'd forgotten. But you are young and healthy, Sabrina. And there
is no reason to believe that  all will not go well, is there?" Almost
fearfully he searched her face.

She shook her head. "The sickness that plagued me in the mornings is much
better. And I've seen the midwife in the village. She says I am healthy and the
babe as well.”

“This is good news, is it not?" For some reason, she still appeared
troubled.

"Aye," she confided, then hesitated. "You will think me silly, but… when my
time comes, I-I wish it could be different! Mary is a dearling, but… if only
Margaret were here, I- I would not feel so alone!"

In truth, Ian had little experience with childbirth. Still, he was not so
inconsiderate that he could not understand her feelings. She had no mother to
confide in, no one to share her fears. She no longer had a sister, or any other
woman she was truly close to.

He offered what comfort he could. "You will not be alone, Sabrina. I will be
with you.”

Her eyes darkened. "You may well be with the Bruce, so I beg you, do not make
promises you cannot keep."

He remained staunch. “`Tis a promise I intend to keep."

And indeed, Sabrina prayed he would, for she wanted him with her. Today.
Tomorrow.

Always.

With his palm he cupped her cheek. His gaze never wavered from hers as he
murmured, "I missed you, sweet."

His words made her heart catch. His eyes were not cold as stone, but
shimmered with a warmth she was almost afraid to believe in.

These last weeks had been torture. She had missed him—missed him dreadfully!
But now he was home and—and his eyes were tender and suddenly a chorus sang in
her heart as never before.

Her smile was tremulous. "And I you, Ian. I cannot tell you how much—"

"Ah. Mayhap you could show me then. Indeed"—his crooked smile made her heart
turn over—"I should welcome it."

It was an invitation Sabrina could not deny. Lightly her fingers framed his
face. Her thumbs rested on the plane of his cheeks. Beneath her fingers she
could feel the pleasant roughness of his beard. A quiver tore through her. He
was so very, very handsome… Her fingertips moved, the veriest caress.

Gathering her courage, she kissed his mouth. As she did, one strong hand slid
up to cup the nape of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed, a wispy
sound that conveyed her pleasure in the moment—and in him. Her arms stole about
his neck. She felt him smile against her mouth, a smile she was given to return
in full measure. Timidly her tongue touched his, deepening the contact, twining
with his in a wantonly erotic mating that made her heartbeat clamor and reminded
her all too keenly how long it had been since he'd made love to her.

He made a sound low in his throat, and now the pressure of his mouth was
sweetly fierce and no longer hers to control. But saints above, she cared not,
for she gloried in the pressure of his arm tight about her back. In one swift
move she was lifted and borne to the bed.

In an instant he was beside her. He kissed her anew, feasting on her mouth as
if he were starved… as indeed they both were. One blunted fingertip skimmed the
delicate sweep of her collarbone. Boldly he dipped  within her bodice,
claiming the ripeness of her breast. Her nipples tightened and tingled. She
arched helplessly into his hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her mouth. Sabrina watched as he rose to his
feet beside the bed. She couldn't tear her gaze away as he stripped away his
clothing, his form bathed in the hazy glow of the fire. He was all power and
grace, his shoulders gleaming bronze and smooth in the firelight, his frame
forged of iron.