A Promise Given (26 page)
It was all Sabrina could do not to slap the smile from Margaret's face. Her
eyes flashed. "We shall see," was all she said. "We shall see."
And all at once it was Ian who was the aggressor, all supple grace and latent
power. An iron fist struck low in the belly brought Alasdair to his knees. But
Alasdair's arms shot out and in the next instant he’d brought Ian down atop him.
They struggled, rolling and twisting. Then they disappeared into the shadows,
lost from view.
A harsh, guttural cry split the night, carried on the wind, high and
away…
Then there was silence.
Endless, horrible silence.
Sabrina could not stand it. The fear that tore through her turned her veins
to ice. She stretched out her hands and stumbled forward.
"Ian… Ian!"
His name was a sound of anguish, a fervent prayer. Then suddenly he was
there, tall and strong and powerful, striding toward her. She threw herself
against him, desperate to reassure herself that he yet lived.
"Ian… is Alasdair—"
"Dead."
They'd both forgotten about Margaret, who now screeched like a creature from
hell.
"You wretch!" Foul, vile curses poured from her lips. "He is dead… dead!"
Enraged, she launched herself at Ian.
But she still held the torch… did it slip from her grasp… or did she fling it
to her feet…? Yet it did not matter, for the flames had caught the hem of her
gown, licking upward…
A curdling scream filled the air. Margaret clawed at her breast. Ablaze in
flames, that fiery figure pitched herself over the curtain wall.
It lasted forever… it was over in but an instant.
For Sabrina, it was too much. Her mind recoiled in horror.
Her body went limp. She slumped against Ian in a dead faint.
A voice called to her, luring her from the dark void into which she'd fallen.
She was in her bed, for she could feel the softness of the mattress beneath her.
Gentle fingertips traced the smoothness of her cheek. Sabrina turned her face
into the caress, for she'd have known the touch of those lean, strong hands
anywhere.
But all too soon, the horror of remembrance battered her. She sat up with a
strangled gasp. Ian's features swam before her, his eyes rimmed with
concern.
"Margaret—" she choked out.
"She's dead, love." His voice was very quiet. "Take comfort from knowing she
is where she wished to be, with Alasdair, wherever that may be."
Sabrina could not help it. She shuddered.
Immediately Ian's arms encircled her, pulling her close. Held fast against
him, her trembling gradually subsided.
She drew back and peered anxiously toward the end of the bed. "Is
Elizabeth—"
He smiled slightly. "She is fine, Sabrina."
But Sabrina needed the assurance only the sight of her child could provide.
Her eyes mutely begging his understanding, she slipped from his arms. A glance
revealed he spoke the truth. Elizabeth slept soundly, her cheek plumped out
beneath her, her miniature rump stuck high in the air. Sabrina smiled slightly
as the infant let out a bubbly sigh.
Ian remained where he was, seated on the edge of the bed, his expression
grave. His eyes snared hers, and he held out his hand.
Sabrina inhaled raggedly. All at once she felt inexplicably shy. Three steps
brought her within reach, and she held out her own.
Their fingertips touched. His hand curled warmly about her own, drawing her
down beside him. Unable to look away, she watched as he weaved his fingers
through hers, strong and tight, reassuring despite the tempest still swirling
inside her.
Her gaze slid away. "All this time," she murmured, "Margaret was alive. I—I
still cannot believe it… I—I hate to say it, but… I almost think she hated me,
even when we were children. I—I am ashamed to say, I—I did not know whether to
believe you when you said you did not tell Papa I was in the stable throwing
dice that long ago day. But she was the one who told him, and not once did I
consider it might have been Margaret."
"I know, sweet. I heard."
All at once Sabrina's eyes were swimming with tears. Biting her lip hard, she
ducked her head, her emotions all ajumble.
"Sabrina! What is this?"
But she only wept the harder, her tears hot and scalding.
Awkwardly he touched her shoulder. "Sabrina," he said helplessly, "I know
this is hard. So much has happened. There has been so much death…"
Her dry, jagged sob was like a knife turning in his breast. " 'Tis not
that!"
He slipped a hand between the fall of her hair, watchful and waiting. "What
then?"
Suddenly she turned blindly into his chest." `Tis you!"
He drew her close, snug within the protective binding of his arms. "Me!
Sabrina, I—"
"I cannot stop myself from thinking… what if it had been you instead of
Alasdair?" She buried her face against the side of his neck. "Ian, if you had
died—" Her voice broke. She could not go on, for the thought was unbearable.
Ian went utterly still. There was something in the way she spoke…
His thumb beneath her chin, he urged her face to his. He stared into misty
green eyes, afraid to breathe, even more afraid to hope…
"Would you have mourned me?" he whispered.
Her eyes cleaved to his. "Aye," she said in a strangled voice, and then
again: "Aye! Oh, Ian, I—I love you,” she cried. Suddenly it was all rushing out,
like a dam bursting within her, and there was naught she could do to withhold
it. "I love you so! I—I think I fell in love with you long, long ago, when you
were just a boy…”
In that instant, his heart surely stopped beating. It resumed with thick,
heavy strokes.
He swallowed. "What about Jamie?" It was his turn to falter. "Sabrina, I
thought you loved him. When he died, you turned from me."
Her eyes darkened. "Ian, I was confused and sick at heart… but never did it
change what I felt for you. And… oh, please do not hate me! but I so wish
that he could have lived on, for he had so much life in him, so much to give…
"
"Sabrina, there is something I must tell you. Something you must know. He
could have slain me, sweet. He stood over me with his sword held high, but then
he lowered it, when he might easily have been done with me and escaped!"
Sabrina stared. A tremor of shock went through her. Ian felt that he should
have died. There was no need for him to say it aloud. With utter certainty she
knew it.
Her throat aching, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung.
His pain was vivid as a bloodstain. "I would have saved him if I could. But
he lowered his sword and stood there, and said that he could not kill me—that he
would
not kill me. I bade him give me his dagger, and stabbed it in my
shoulder, then called my stallion that he might flee. Only by then the Bruce's
men were there…" His voice grew ragged. "I tried to save him, Sabrina. Christ,
I—I tried!"
His cheek rested against hers; it wasn't until their tears mingled that she
realized he was crying, too. She felt him swallow, struggling for control.
"You cannot blame yourself, Ian," she said softly. "Mayhap it was God's will
that Jamie should die, that you might live. For as surely as He watches over us
from above, I know that even if I could, I would not change the outcome of that
day."
Tears standing high and bright in her eyes, she smiled achingly. "Aye," she
said huskily, "I would far rather have you beside me"—she pressed a finger to
his lips—"this day and every other."
Her heartfelt confession shook him to the core. Ian felt his heart turn
over.
He caught her fingers in his and pressed a kiss to her palm, capturing her
eyes with his own.
"I love you, Sabrina."
Her breath caught. Her gaze searched his. "Truly?" she whispered.
"Mmmm." He drew her close. His mouth grazed hers. He smiled against her lips.
"I love you, sweet."
Her heart fluttered, then soared. "And I love you, Ian. But I would know"—a
faint twinkle had begun to dance in her eyes—"do you promise to love me forever,
my Highland prince?"
He rested his forehead against hers. "I do so most heartily, lass. And a
promise given is a promise kept, as you well know." He smiled. "Indeed, it's a
promise I'll have no trouble keeping."
Sunlight poured from an azure sky, lighting jagged, granite peaks to silver.
The waters of the tiny mountain loch glimmered like a jewel, while a warm summer
breeze rippled the surface.
Nearly three summers had passed since that tragic night on the battlements,
and yet the healing had begun that very eve.
Seated on a blanket beneath the shade of a towering boulder, Sabrina looked
on as father chased daughter round the glen, a soft smile on her lips. Squeals
of delight filled the air as Elizabeth was snatched high in her father's
arms.
The pair had started toward her. Sabrina's heart turned over as two small
hands came out to frame lean, dark cheeks.
"I want a kiss, Papa," came the childish demand.
There was a flash of white teeth. "A kiss! And why should I," Ian teased,
"for you are a wee bonny bratling."
A giggle floated into the air. "But I am
your
bonny bratling!" came
the childish retort. Shiny red lips puckered.
"Aye, my lassie, that you are. And you are as irresistible as your
mama!” With that he smacked a loud and noisy kiss upon his daughter's
lips. Elizabeth gave a high-pitched shriek, but puckered up for yet another. Her
father obliged her, then deposited the little girl on the blanket next to her
brother.
Pushing himself up on chubby forearms, her brother grinned at her. Perched on
all fours, his knees tucked up beneath him, he rocked back and forth.
Elizabeth promptly turned emerald-green eyes up to her father. "I want a
sister!" she announced “Do you now?" He reached for her, pulling her into his
lap. “ Then you must have a nap, my dove."
As her mother could have predicted, Elizabeth started to pout, then abruptly
stopped. Long, black curls tumbled over her father's arm as she gazed up at him
solemnly.
"If I nap, Papa, will my sister be here when I awake?"
Ian chuckled. "Nay, love, not that soon. And I fear I must have your mother's
help on that score."
Elizabeth clasped chubby hands together before her. "Mama!” she implored.
"Will you help Papa?"
Sabrina's mouth twitched. There was not a mother in the world who could
resist such a plea. Her eyes caught Ian's; a decided gleam had appeared in his
and one dark brow arched in utterly wicked amusement. Her cheeks turned pink,
for there was no mistaking his meaning. His gaze roved her face. The hot flare
of passion and possessiveness she glimpsed there thrilled her to her toes. There
would be no objections from her—nay, not a one. Indeed, the very thought made
her tremble with longing.
“I suppose I could be persuaded to, love." She wagged a finger. "But you must
take a nap, dearest. And then your papa and I shall see what we can do."
Satisfied with the answer, Elizabeth wiggled from Ian’s arms, lay down beside
him and was soon fast asleep. Ian fixed covetous eyes toward his wife. A slow
smile spread across his face, but at that very instant his son let out a howl of
protest. The babe's face crumpled and he turned woeful eyes toward his
mother.
Ian scooped up the fretting infant. "I know what you want, lad," he said with
a sigh, "and I must say, I envy you your feast."
Sabrina had already bared her breast, for she knew the babe was hungry. Ian
dropped to his knees and delivered their son into her waiting arms; the baby
turned his head, wasting no time availing himself of his nourishment. Ian
laughed at his eagerness. Bending low, he kissed the crown of the babe's head;
then, turning ever so slightly, he pressed his mouth to the sweet ivory flesh
that nourished his son. Sabrina's breath caught. Her fingers came up to curl in
the dark hair that grew low on his nape, the veriest caress.
No words passed between them as Ian stretched out beside her, and indeed,
none were needed. They were each content in the moment, content with the world…
aye, and most assuredly… with each other.
The babe suckled noisily. Sabrina traced the arch of one dark brow. Unbidden,
her mind traveled back to the night he was born. It was snowy and blustery and
bitterly cold, and as the pains grew more intense, she bemoaned the fact that
her child had chosen just such a wintry night to make his entrance into the
world.
Meredith the midwife had delivered him, with assistance from Edna and Mary,
who was once again back at Castle MacGregor. Again to Meredith's utter
disbelief, the babe's father was present throughout, there at her side.
And again, it was Ian who eased their son into her outstretched arms, the
proudest of smiles gracing his lips.
'Look, sweet," he said with a laugh. "Look what we have here."
"Aye"—her voice caught midway between laughter and tears—"another wee
Highland prince!"
Together they counted fingers and toes and proclaimed him the handsomest lad
ever born. It was then, held snug in her husband's embrace, that she tipped her
head to the side.
"What shall we call him, Ian? What shall we name our son?"
He was silent for the longest time. One dark hand toyed idly with the babe's,
so strong, yet so very, very gentle. And then he said something she never
dreamed she might hear…
"Methinks we should call him Jamie."
Sabrina stared. Her lips parted. Her throat aching, she touched his sleeve.
Her eyes clung to his.
"But I thought… Ian, I thought you… that he…" Words failed her. "Why?"
was all she could ask. “Why?”
" 'Tis very simple, really. He gave me my life, Sabrina, when he could have
taken it just as easily. 'Tis a debt I cannot repay, and yet I owe him… so very
much… my very breath. And now, to name my son for him… it seems such a small
thing… and yet it seems the very least I can do." The faintest of smiles grazed
his lips. "I would name my son for a man of honor, a man of deeply held beliefs…
that is, if it would please you."
Her hand slipped within his. His fingers closed around hers warm and
strong.
Sabrina's heart spilled over, and so did her eyes. "It would please me," she
said shakily. "It would please me very much." She smiled through her tears. "Our
son will be named for a man of honor… but it's from his father he will learn the
true meaning of honor and respect."
He brought her fingers to his lips. "Then Jamie it shall be," he whispered,
his gaze holding hers.
Such tenderness filled her heart that she thought it would surely burst. In
that moment, she was certain she could not love him more.
Yet she did, with every day that passed, with every hour. And she knew it
would ever be so.
So it was that their son was named Jamie.
It was but a scant month later that Sabrina's father appeared at Castle
MacGregor to see his grandson. She had seen him but once before since her
marriage to Ian, when Duncan Kincaid had come to visit when Elizabeth was nearly
a year old. And though the distance between them was still there, Sabrina still
loved him.
Though she'd written to him on several occasions after Elizabeth's birth, she
hadn't divulged the truth of how Margaret had really died. Her father still
believed she had drowned that long ago day near Dunlevy.
It was better that way, Sabrina decided, and Ian agreed.
Nor did the dark hold any fear for Sabrina. It had gradually slipped away,
little by little, until it was no more. And now, the dark held only sultry
promises and vibrant whispers… and blistering passion untold.
Just then strong hands slipped beneath the precious bundle at her breast.
Jamie's mouth had slipped away from her nipple; his eyes were closed, his lashes
casting long shadows on his cheeks. Ian gently laid him next to his sister, then
silently rose and held out his hand to his wife. Sabrina did not hesitate, but
laid her hand within his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
With a nod he indicated the rock where they had first made love with such
wild abandon—a place that had seen many such encounters thereafter.
A roguish brow climbed high. "Do we dare…?" he whispered.
"We do," she said promptly, for now that both children slumbered peacefully,
it was time for their parents to turn their attention to each other.
Ian pulled her into the sheltering harbor of his embrace. "Ah, but you always
were a brave, bold lass."
Emerald green eyes sparkled up at him. "Never did you mind before this," she
reminded him. As they sank to the ground, nimble, daring fingers stole their way
beneath his kilt, finding and seeking and stroking.
He groaned his pleasure. "And I do not mind now." He pulled her astride him.
"That's the way, sweet. Now. Yes. Now…"
It was a long time later when they both tumbled down from that pinnacle of
bliss. Ian laughed softly when she collapsed atop him. Ian carried her back to
the blanket and lay down beside her. Propping himself up on an elbow, he gazed
at her, such unguarded tenderness on his expression that Sabrina felt like
melting.
A blunted fingertip came out to trace the fullness of her lower lip.
"Do you love me, lass?"
She trapped his hand against his cheek, her heart in her eyes.
"Immensely."
"And do you promise to love me forever?"
She twined her arms around his neck and pulled his head down. "I do," she
whispered against his lips… into his heart. "I promise to love you, and only
you"—she smiled—"forever and always."
And aye, she did.
proofing notes: converted from .doc file, corrected double hyphens to
endashes and corrected other minor OCR errors
June
2006