The Lover (20 page)

Eve apparently shared her reasoning, for she slipped her arm through Sabrina’s.

“I meant what I said,” the lady remarked kindly. “It will be difficult being wed to so practiced a cavalier.”

Sabrina nodded. She feared she was in store for a vast deal of loneliness and heartache.

“But I must confess,” Eve added with a wistful sigh, “I do envy you.”

Sabrina saw little of her husband for a space, for he was in great demand with the female guests. After his obligatory dance with the dowager, he favored a half dozen fortunate damsels with his attentions, making them flush with pride at being chosen.

Sabrina supposed she could not blame him for his conquests. Niall McLaren was recklessly amorous and irresistible to women, his flirtation as natural and effortless as breathing.

Fortunately she was given little time to dwell on her abandonment. First she was claimed by her stepfather and then several of her clansmen in various Scotch reels that left her breathless and parched. When Geordie offered her another whisky, she accepted gladly.

It was midafternoon before Niall returned to her side. Sabrina felt her heart thrum and her nerves dance at his nearness. Why did she have this overwhelming feeling her life had begun again? She would prefer to attribute her weakness to the potent drink she’d consumed. She’d been sipping on the whisky, and although it made her light-headed, she was glad for the courage it gave her. She could face her new husband stoically.

To her dismay, though, Niall smiled at her in apology, a devastatingly attractive expression that made her pulse race. “Forgive me for deserting you, sweeting. I could not excuse myself sooner.”

Sabrina took a deep breath in an effort at calm. “Far be it from me to interfere with your pleasures,” she said, striving for indifference.

“It was not as great a pleasure as you credit.”

“Oh, yes, I recall. You prefer more active sport. Perhaps I should remove myself from the company so that you might proceed with seducing the ladies present.”

Niall eyed her sharply, but Sabrina forged bravely ahead, although her senses seemed to be swimming. “There is no need for you to remain at my side, my lord.”

“It would be wiser for me to do so, for appearances sake.”

“Ah, of course,” she retorted with an irrepressible hint of bitterness. “You would not wish these good people to learn of the travesty of our courtship, or realize that you were forced to wed me.”

“I told you, mouse, I am resigned to our marriage.”

Her spirits plummeted further.
Resigned
was not what she wished her husband to feel for her.

Before she could answer, Niall placed a finger under her chin, scrutinizing her intently. “It seems you have little head for whisky after all.”

“My head is perfectly clear, thank you.” Sabrina lifted her chin regally, but spoiled the effect by raising a hand to her temple. “It is my vision which troubles me.”

He chuckled, which vexed her profoundly. She was amusing him again.

“You needn’t worry, sir. I am resigned as well. My expectations of our union are meager. This is to be a marriage of convenience, only. I won’t require you to dance attendance on me.”

She could see one jet-black eyebrow winging upward. “You seem eager to be rid of me.”

“I simply wish to spell out the terms of our relationship. You made it perfectly clear that you desire your freedom. Well”—she took a deep breath—“I wish to make clear that you are free to take your lust elsewhere. I shall raise no objections.”

Niall regarded her soberly, trying to judge her sincerity. His new bride seemed to be giving him permission to seek his carnal pleasures in other beds.

Her generosity relieved him, yet strangely piqued him at the same time. He wanted no fits of temper or tearful pleas to deal with in a wife, no clinging limpet who fancied herself in love and expected vows of undying devotion in return.

It should delight him to find her so agreeable; this was precisely what he wanted, was it not? Sabrina was an inexperienced virgin. He doubted she could satisfy a man of his lusty nature, or that she would even wish to try. He should be pleased that she would not complain if he were forced to fulfill his sexual needs outside the marriage bed.

“Perhaps in future,” he replied, his voice liquid and smooth, “I will ‘take my lusts elsewhere,’ as you put it. But not this night. On the eve of a wedding, it is usual to consummate the marriage vows. Or have you forgotten?”

“No,” Sabrina said in a suddenly small voice, unable to meet his eyes. “I have not. But I…I thought perhaps you might prefer a marriage in name only.”

“I’ll have no one question the validity of this union. On the morrow you will be my wife in every respect.”

Sabrina felt her heart falter. She would be required to bed Niall after all. She’d thought—hoped—he might forgo the duty, given the circumstances. She was certain he had no true desire for the task. And the prospect of having Niall McLaren initiate her into the act of lovemaking daunted her. She could never measure up to his other lovers.

“Very well,” Sabrina replied, summoning remarkable aplomb. “But after tonight, you have full license to take up with your paramours, if you so wish.”

“I am all gratitude for your consideration,” Niall said wryly.

The graceful evasion told Sabrina little, and she couldn’t help stubbornly pressing the matter. She glanced pointedly at the Widow Graham to make certain he could not misunderstand her. “I would, however, appreciate a warning as to which ladies are your discarded love interests, so I might attempt to avoid embarrassment in future.”

“Are you certain she is discarded?”

Sabrina caught her breath at the sudden shaft of pain that shot through her.

Seeing the hurt in her eyes before she lowered her gaze, Niall voiced a mental oath. He had baited her for a response, out of pique or in an effort to test her indifference, he wasn’t sure. But his mouse with tiger’s claws did not deserve to have his former mistresses flaunted in her face. She had wanted this marriage as little as he did.

He bent closer. “Come, let us cry pax, sweeting. This is no time to be quarreling.”

She felt the heat of his body, the strength of the arm that he draped so casually over her shoulders. Such nearness alarmed her, as did his attempt to charm her. “I don’t
wish
to cry pax.”

“You would rather fight? If so, we may do so in private. Indeed, love,” he murmured as if they were alone in a bedchamber, or alone in a bed, “it might prove enjoyable.”

Sabrina stiffened. “I am not your
love
.”

A semi-grin, more devastating than its whole counterpart, sauntered across his mouth. “’Tis a figure of speech, merely that.”

She was not proof against such sensual charisma. It made her ache with longing.

Sabrina closed her eyes, damning herself for the wanting. Her desire for him dismayed her. It was imperative that she build up her resistance to that sinfully easy charm. She didn’t want to fall for this man, only to have him betray her.

And yet…she was but human. She wanted desperately to know what it was like to be held in Niall’s arms.

Marshaling her defenses, Sabrina gazed up at him defiantly. “If you expect me to fall at your feet like all your other adoring admirers, you are much mistaken.”

Niall laughed with an easy sensuality, as if he knew very well she would succumb to him eventually. “If you continue imbibing, you will fall at my feet out of sheer inebriation.” He took the glass from her hand. “Come, madam. I believe it is time to take our leave, before you’re entirely foxed.”

“I am not foxed! I have never been foxed in my life.”

“Perhaps that is part of the trouble, mouse. It might help you to shed some of your inhibitions were you to become soused now and then. For now, however, you will accompany me home like an obedient wife.”

Despite his light tone, Sabrina felt herself bristle. “I was not born to take your orders, sir. I am accustomed to being my own mistress.”

“So I ken. But I have no intention of arguing. If you refuse to accompany me, I shall simply toss you over my shoulder and carry you off. As you are now the Countess of Strathearn, I presume you would prefer a more dignified exit.”

“You wouldn’t…” She bit off the word “dare.”

His smile dawned slow and bright, as if he were anticipating the challenge.

Sabrina clenched her teeth, determined not to be provoked. The wretch had a talent for drawing intense reactions from her. A single word from him managed to touch off the fighting spirit in her. But she would not give him the satisfaction.

She shivered, however, when Niall bent and pressed his lips against the sensitive flesh just behind her left ear. “The bedding will be a pleasant experience, I assure you,” he whispered, the words like velvet on her skin. “I promise you a night you will long remember.”

    Chapter    
Eight

Quite unwillingly, Sabrina took leave of her kin in the most public manner possible. The afternoon was well advanced when the guests gathered to bid the bridal couple farewell. When Niall very deliberately drew her into his arms, Sabrina gasped to find herself crushed against unyielding male strength. Before she could protest, his lips boldly captured hers for a lusty, rousing kiss.

She might have struggled if not for the way Niall’s devastating expertise turned her knees to jelly.

“Go to it, lad. Give the wench a taste ’o yer blade!” a drunken Highlander called out.

“Dip into her honey pot!”

“Give her a wee bairn to do the McLarens proud!”

It was a long moment before Niall released her. Flushed and breathless and trembling with outrage, Sabrina lifted her head regally, but gave her husband a glare that promised a full accounting later.

With the crowd roaring approval, Niall lifted his bride upon his horse and swung up behind her.

“And just what was that spectacle in honor of?” Sabrina demanded the moment they were out of sight. She could still feel the warm imprint of his mouth on hers, the strength of his hard body at her back, though she told herself the fierce beating of her heart was due solely to anger and alarm.

Behind her, Niall smiled. The tartness of her tone held a telltale quiver that suggested she was more affected by his sudden display of passion than she pretended.

“Everyone present will remark my devotion to you,” he replied calmly. “If our enemies see that I have claimed you as my own, they will think twice before attacking Clan Duncan again. That
was
the prime purpose of our holy union, was it not?”

“I see nothing
holy
about it. I consented for expediencies’ sake, nothing more. And there was no reason for you to drag me away from the celebration.”

“Ah, but there was. The consummation, remember?”

“It could have waited.”

“Perhaps, but your grandfather was eager for us to get on with it so there would be no doubt we are wed. In fact, he advised me to beget an heir directly.”

Sabrina stiffened abruptly at his levity, but when she tried to draw away, Niall’s arm circled her waist and hauled her back into position.

He gave a soft chuckle. “Settle down, mouse. You are as prickly as a hedgehog.”

“I cannot be both animals!” she snapped.

Aye, she could, he thought ruefully. She was a lass to test the mettle of a saint, and he certainly was no saint. But he was certain he would easily conquer this infuriating, challenging wench—as soon as he could get her in his bed.

By mutual consent, they both fell silent for the remainder of the journey. A brisk Highland breeze bore the perfume of sweet-scented gorse, but Sabrina scarcely noticed. Her trepidation increased moment by moment as the false courage of the whisky ebbed. She felt like a prize of war, a helpless prisoner being carried off to her conqueror’s ancient castle.

As they approached the imposing stone edifice, she felt her heart begin to pound. Only a few clansmen had been left to guard against attack, so the castle seemed nearly deserted when they rode into the courtyard. Niall dismounted without a word and reached up for her.

Reluctantly Sabrina placed her hands on the hard width of his shoulders and felt the smooth muscles contract beneath her fingers. Her palms tingled with warmth as he grasped her waist and swung her to the ground.

To her further dismay, Niall deliberately took her hand and pulled her along behind him. The house was silent, their footsteps echoing on the stone flags. They met no one as they climbed the stairs, but Sabrina’s pulse beat faster when she realized his intent.

She held back when he led her directly to his bedchamber, but he drew her gently, relentlessly inside.

“My lord…it is still broad daylight,” Sabrina protested uneasily as he shut the door softly behind them.

“My name is Niall, sweeting. And it is late afternoon, an excellent time for a tryst.” He shed his plaid and tossed it carelessly in a chair.

Nervously Sabrina glanced around her. His bedchamber seemed appropriate for the man—beautiful and decadent. A giant four-poster bed curtained with burgundy hangings dominated the room, while a thick woven carpet embellished the floor. The covers of the huge bed had been turned down invitingly, and a fire glowed in the grate, taking the chill from the air. Even so, she shivered.