The Lover (17 page)

Niall scowled. “I particularly told you to remain at home.”

“No, you did not. You merely refused to take me with you.”

“For good reason. As you witnessed, lifting cattle is dangerous business. It was reckless and foolhardy, accompanying a raid.”

“Perhaps so, but”—her chin lifted—“I don’t recall having to answer to you, sir.”

Niall swore beneath his breath. His fingers tightened on her chin in warning.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t take advantage of wounded damsels,” Sabrina hastily reminded him.

He seemed to recollect himself. Releasing her, he returned his attention to her arm. “The bleeding seems to have stopped. Let us see if we can make you more comfortable.”

She clenched her teeth as he wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm. His hands were long-fingered, strong, elegant, his touch gentle enough to almost take her mind off the pain.

“Now,” Niall said softly when he was through. “We should remove your gown so you can attempt to sleep. Where is your nightshift?”

Sabrina exhaled sharply. “My…nightshift?”

“I presume that
is
what you sleep in?”

“Yes…but I have no intention of showing it to you.”

“A certain display of modesty is pleasing in a lass, but less so in a wife. When we are wed, I shall attempt to break you of the habit.”

Sabrina abruptly felt the remainder of her breath rush from her lungs. Her eyes flew wide as she stared at Niall. “I fear I misheard you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you not understand?”

“You said…‘When we are wed.’”

“So I did.”

“You cannot be serious.”

His eyes held hers, brilliant as sapphires. “Loath as I am to correct a lady, I am not given to jesting on matters of such import. You may consider us betrothed.”

She stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

“Pray contain your delight,” Niall said wryly. When she still remained mute, his black brow rose another degree. “I suppose your lack of mental acumen can be attributed to the blow to your head.”

Sabrina sat up, bristling despite the aching throb of her wound. “All my faculties are in satisfactory working order, my lord, thank you!”

“Then you might try for a modicum of enthusiasm.”

“Why should I be eager to wed you?
You
have no wish to wed
me
.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “In truth, the prospect terrifies me.”

“Then why on earth would you even consider it?”

“A demonstration of nobility, perhaps?”

“This is no laughing matter!”

“No…in truth, it is not.” Sobering, his blue gaze held hers steadily. “Very well, then. I intend to wed you because of the debt owed to your grandfather. And to Owen Buchanan.” At the thought of his mortal enemy, a dark emotion passed like a fuming wave across Niall’s eyes. “I pay my debts,” he added softly, his resolve showing in the determined line of his jaw. “And Clan Duncan needs my protection. The Buchanans’ theft yesterday was proof enough of that.”

Sabrina frowned, knowing he was right. With her grandfather dying, her clan was far too vulnerable. They needed to unite under a strong leader. Had Niall been laird, it was unlikely Owen would have dared strike.

“I understand,” Sabrina said carefully, “that you feel an obligation to defend my clan, but there must be some way other than marriage.”

“Regretfully nothing else comes to mind.”

Sabrina raised a hand to her aching temple, trying desperately to think. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, as if she had drunk too much wine. “Perhaps I could lead Clan Duncan as laird. I could take my grandfather’s place—”

“Now I perceive the brandy talking.”

“You could teach me what I need to know,” Sabrina insisted.

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “You have the mettle, tiger, I don’t doubt that. But not the training. It would take years to bring you up to snuff. Meanwhile Buchanan would carve up Clan Duncan for trout bait.”

“But…I don’t wish to marry you. And I’m certain you don’t want to be saddled with a wife for the rest of your days.”

For a moment, Niall hesitated. If an adequate successor for Angus could be found, then he might escape the clutches of matrimony…But no. For too long now he had avoided this particular responsibility.

And perhaps marriage to Sabrina would not be the hardship he’d envisioned. In truth, several of his previous objections toward her had been laid to rest in the past few days. She was not the self-effacing mouse he’d first thought her. Nor was she some feckless lass who ran at the first sign of trouble. It was possible she would even make an adequate mistress for his clan. She exhibited a passion for her beliefs that was unusual in a lass. And she cared for her kinsmen.

He’d seen her compassion firsthand. He could still recall, these many months later, Sabrina’s quiet sympathy at her aunt’s ball when he’d been stunned by the news of his brother’s death and father’s fatal wounding—how comforting and calming her manner had been. Even in his shock and grief, he’d felt her solace, felt her lending him strength…

Grimly, Niall raised the brandy glass to his lips and drained the remainder, before saying determinedly, “You are bespoken, and that is the end of it.”

Sabrina pressed her lips together, realizing he was not inviting debate on the subject. “That is not the end of it! It is scarcely the beginning. I shall not wed you.”

“Yes, you shall.” There was a note of authority in his voice, despite the dulcet tone.

Their eyes clashed…locked. All at once their exchange was less a dialogue than a battle of wills.

Niall regarded the young woman in the bed with unwilling admiration. She looked almost beautiful with her dark eyes flashing, her chin raised at a defiant angle. For all her meekness, Sabrina Duncan could summon the cool hauteur of a duchess—proud and strong and damned if she would give an inch.

“I can see,” Niall observed dryly, “that you are cursed with the Duncan obstinacy. You rival your grandfather in that regard.”

Sabrina shook her head. Her objection was not merely obstinacy. If Niall were forced to marry her, he would eventually come to despise her, and she couldn’t bear that. “I hardly think you are qualified to judge me, sir.”

He ran an assessing eye over her. “You were eager enough to wed me only a few days past.”

“I was never
eager
. I merely agreed to comply with my grandfather’s wishes.”

“His wishes have not changed. And Angus had the right of it on one point. You need a husband to keep you out of mischief.”

“Mischief!”

Niall grinned. It occurred to him that he was sparring with her for the sheer pleasure of watching her bristle, of seeing that fire kindle in her expressive eyes. The spitting tigress was a fascinating contrast to her usual demeanor—and to all the other females he’d known, as well. It intrigued and aroused him.
She
aroused him. She managed to conjure in him the desire to best and subdue and possess her.

Realizing he was deliberately trying to provoke her, Sabrina took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. “In light of recent events, I have changed my mind. I’ve decided I have no desire to marry, ever.”

“Ever? Surely a lovely lass such as yourself doesn’t wish to be left on the shelf.”

“I am entirely resigned to spinsterhood.”

“You shouldn’t be. It would be a terrible waste.”

“It would be a worse waste to wed you. You’d make a wretched husband.”

“I agree. Why do you think I’ve avoided the parson’s noose so long?”

“Perhaps because no woman was fool enough to have you.”

His eyebrow shot up. The light dancing in his eyes mirrored the amusement playing on his lips. “I’ll have you know, mistress, I’m considered quite a matrimonial prize.”

“Then some other lady may claim you, with my blessing.”

“Your grandfather will be devastated.”

Sabrina hesitated, acknowledging that truth.

Niall shook his head ruefully. “Come now, wedding me will not be so onerous. I fancy we can contrive to rub along well enough.”

“There is more to marriage than merely ‘rubbing along.’”

“Indeed? Pray tell.”

“There is compatibility, for one. You were entirely correct. We wouldn’t suit in the least. Faith, we cannot even hold a simple discussion without arguing. We would fight all the time.”

“Fortunately, I like shrewish women.”

“You like
all
women,” she retorted, ignoring his jibe.

“Aye, ’tis true.” His self-deprecating grin held a contagious charm. “Females are my besetting sin, I admit it.”

“You have a vast number of besetting sins!”

“But I also have several sterling qualities, which you are set on overlooking.”

Sabrina took a steadying breath, trying to steel herself against that sinfully easy charm and the warm laughter in his eyes. He had stolen a thousand female hearts—but he would not steal hers. “Sterling or no, they cannot outweigh your undesirable traits. I’ve told you, I have no desire to marry a lecher.”

Glancing down at his sleeve, Niall plucked at an imaginary speck of dust. “I suppose you would expect fidelity.”

“What a singular notion,” Sabrina replied with sarcasm.

The midnight color of his eyes held her captive. “I’ve told you, lass, I’m not inclined to be faithful. But I can promise you I will endeavor to be discreet.”

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.”