The Lover (30 page)

Never accomplished at hiding her emotions, Sabrina felt despair claim her features at this reminder of Niall’s former intimacy with the beautiful widow.

Eve immediately assumed an expression of sympathy. “I feared this would happen, Sabrina. That rogue of a husband has bewitched you. I warned you to keep your heart safe.” She sighed. “’Tis only to be expected, I suppose. Niall is a champion seducer of females. That handsome devil knows the key to a woman’s heart.”

“And what is that?” Sabrina asked, half in curiosity, half in envy at Eve’s wealth of experience.

“Why, fulfillment, my dear. He provides a woman with whatever she craves most. He treats a lady like a tavern wench, and a tavern wench like the finest lady. A lass who covets respectability will swoon for a man who will honor and worship her, while a gentlewoman thrills at the chance to behave scandalously.”

Fulfillment,
Sabrina reflected. That was indeed what Niall offered.
He can make an ordinary woman feel beautiful and desired.

“But I have no wish to play the wanton,” she murmured, her thoughts distracted.

“There are scores of women who would give a king’s ransom to take your place,” Eve returned frankly.

Sabrina stiffened. She had to remember that for all the widow’s generosity, Eve was still a foe when it came to her husband.

“Beware, my dear,” Eve suggested. “Niall never remains satisfied for long. Perhaps you should make an effort to attach him. If I were in your position, I would fight for him with every weapon at my command.”

“Attach him? How?”

“Well, certainly not by wearing your heart on your sleeve! You must never permit a man to know you’ve been captured.”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

“The thrill for men is in the chase, Sabrina. If they win too easily, they become bored and lose interest.”

“But you just advised me to fight for Niall.”

“Yes, but you must be extremely subtle about it. The object is to arouse him, not drive him away. A man like that much prefers to be the predator than the prey. Trust me in this, I
know
. I held him longer than any other of his paramours, and it was
not
by pursuing him overtly. In the game of dalliance, it is deadly to admit your surrender. You must remain elusive, Sabrina. In any event, ’twill be good for Niall to realize he does not have you at his beck and call.”

“
That
I can agree with,” she murmured wryly.

“It would not hurt, either, to encourage the interest of other gentlemen as well. If you are sought after by others, it piques a man’s vanity and encourages him to compete for your favor.”

“It seems somehow…disloyal to my marriage vows.”

“Never! All is fair in the battle of love, and you are vying for a prize of inestimable value.”

Sabrina smiled weakly. The prize was Niall McLaren’s wayward heart.

Watching her, Eve shook her powdered, bewigged head. “Faith, why am I confiding this to you? You are my chief rival.”

It was all too true, Sabrina thought, her heart wincing. The widow very obviously wanted Niall back in her bed.

Nevertheless, the advice plagued her long after her visitor had gone.
Should
she attempt to fight for Niall? Could she win his regard if she dared try? Could she possibly hope to hold him with her own charms?

The following day gave Sabrina reason to hope. Preparations for the holiday kept her busy, but after helping make pies and seeing to last-minute details, she donned the traditional form of women’s Highland garb: a simple bodice of blue homespun with a white muslin fichu tucked over the bosom, secured by a brooch, and a skirt made of green and blue tartan cloth, belted at the waist. The cloth was long enough to drape over her shoulders like a plaid.

Her breath caught when her husband’s eyes roamed over her with approval. “You are a fetching sight, mouse.”

No more fetching than he was, Sabrina thought mutely. Wearing the McLaren kilt and plaid, Niall looked every inch the bold Highlander. “I would have thought the neckline far too modest for your taste.”

He responded with a slow, deep curl of the lips. “For my taste, aye, but for the mistress of Clan McLaren, ’tis entirely appropriate.”

“I am overwhelmed by your adulation.”

“Termagant,” he remarked mildly, a teasing light in his eyes.

Offering his arm, Niall escorted Sabrina beyond the outbuildings of Creagturic to a distant meadow where the festivities were beginning.

The late afternoon air was filled with mouth-watering aromas from the oxen and sheep roasting on huge spits, while beer and malt whisky flowed freely among the crowd. At the far end of the field, men played games: tossing the caber—a long, heavy wooden pole cast end-over-end—and the sheaf—a hay-stuffed burlap bag flung with a pitchfork. At the edge of a birchwood copse, bagpipes and fiddles provided music for dancing in the interval before supper.

Sabrina felt her heart sink at the sheer number of Niall’s former interests she recognized: Betsy McNab, the dairymaid of Banesk. Jean McLaren, the chambermaid of Creagturic. The beautiful Eve Graham. Fenella Fletcher, although that widow had brought her two young sons.

And yet, to her surprise, Sabrina discovered she had admirers of her own.

Geordie’s eyes went wide when he beheld her in full Highland dress. “Ye make a bonny Highlander, mistress,” he said, sounding startled.

Sabrina laughed. Niall’s efforts to increase her appeal were evidently working. “I would that my grandfather could see me.”

John McLaren came forward to greet her then. “Ye do us proud, my lady,” he said appreciatively.

Curtsying, Sabrina flashed him a smile. “A high compliment indeed, coming from you, sir. I feared you disapproved of me.”

“Nay, ye mistake me. ’Tis glad I am that Niall took ye for his bride. Not since his da passed have I seen the lad so carefree.”

Sabrina felt her smile waver. She glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who was occupied greeting others of his clan.

“In truth, our kinsmen are pleased to have ye as mistress,” John added.

“I suspect I cannot hope to measure up to Niall’s mother. By all reports, Lady McLaren was a saint.”

“Aye, but ye’ll do.”

Sabrina flushed at his unexpected praise.

To her astonishment, she found herself in great demand as a dancing partner. Niall claimed her for the first dance, a Highland reel, but afterward, the men of both their clans sought her out and kept her occupied, leaving her flushed and breathless from the sport.

She was flattered and a bit dazed by so much masculine attention. Geordie hovered beside her with a proprietary air, and she found herself enjoying a light flirtation, testing her newfound skills at dalliance.

As day melted into dusk, Niall returned to her and they partook of a delicious supper. He remained at her side even when night fell and the Beltane fires were lit.

In the chill air, Sabrina relished the warmth. A luminous full moon, huge and misty white, hovered over the dark hills as the merrymakers gathered around the bonfires to celebrate the pagan rituals of May Day.

Tongues of flame licked the night, while the pipes wailed a haunting melody. Sabrina watched in excitement and awe as a dozen Highland lads vaulted over the blaze, barely escaping the sparks that shot skyward.

As the night wore on, the revelry grew wilder. Within the fire’s glow, shadowy figures cavorted in frenzied abandon.

Sabrina fell silent as the heat and magic wove a dark enchantment around her. The whisky she’d imbibed had gone to her head, but it was Niall’s nearness that affected her more. To her surprise, he had not left her side.

“Ah, now the true frolic begins,” he bent to whisper in her ear.

“Frolic?”

He nodded toward the copse. Sabrina felt her heart beat faster as she watched a couple disappear into the dark wood, knowing their intent.

“Beware, lass, lest some bold rogue carry you off.”

Her breath wavered with telltale unevenness at his warning. Yet some devil prompted her next words. “Am I in danger of ravishment, sir?”

“Would you like to be?”

“I…believe so.”

The smoldering light that flared in Niall’s eyes mirrored the blaze of the flames.

Sabrina shivered at the sight, thrilling at the power of her femininity. Tonight she was no mouse. Tonight she was beautiful, the object of this remarkable man’s desire. It was a dazzling triumph to know that he wanted her.

And yet it would be unwise to capitulate so easily. She would do better to tease Niall, to pretend to resist his blandishments, though resistance was the last thing on her mind.

“I should think frolicking with your own wife too tame for a rogue like you, though,” she remarked lightly.

The sultry grin he gave her was pure seduction. “Let us put it to the test, shall we?”

She returned a coquettish smile. “I have no wish to freeze to death, my lord. The night is far too cold to be engaging in such depravity.”

Watching her, Niall chuckled, the sound rich and amused. “There are times when you are too transparent, lass. The hunger in your eyes betrays you. Confess, you are yearning to indulge in a bit of wicked adventure. Come, mouse,” he said when she hesitated. “I will show you how it is done. I promise to keep you warm.”

“Very well…if you insist.”

“How charming to have such a docile wife,” he murmured huskily, a hint of laughter edging the words.

He took her hand and led her away from the bonfires, into the chill night. Sabrina could feel her heart hammering as they threaded their way through dark stands of alder and birch. Beyond the wood, plump grazing sheep dotted the meadow, their thick fleeces silver in the moonlight.

She told herself she was only satisfying her curiosity regarding the debauchery of a pagan festival. Yet when he discovered a hidden copse far from the revelry, Sabrina realized she was merely deceiving herself. The anticipation of being in Niall’s arms was enough to make her throb and burn, and the thought of the pleasure to come aroused a wonderful, moist, aching weakness in the secret place between her thighs.

Her pulse leapt violently when Niall paused to glance at her quizzically, his chiseled features heartbreakingly beautiful in the silvery shadows. Her gaze fastened on those sensual lips as he bent his head…

When his mouth touched hers, her breath fled. He kissed her lightly, but she was helpless against the surge of warmth that washed through her.

She wanted to cry out when he stepped back to spread his plaid on a bed of bracken, but he returned to her at once, his hands reaching for her hair.

His fingers pulled the pins from her bound tresses till the rich cloud tumbled down. “A man likes his woman’s hair down, hanging loose and free.”

His woman.
If only she could believe she meant that much to him. It was folly to think she could ever claim his sole attention—and yet he was here with her now. Tonight she alone could command his passion.

His fingers stroked her hair, tangling in the shining fullness. With a hushed delicacy, his hand dropped to the neckline of her bodice, freeing the fragile skin of her shoulders and breasts to the night’s kiss and to his own. Her breasts tumbled forward, begging for the touch of teeth and tongue, her nipples impudent spikes in the chill air.

Niall’s jeweled eyes took in her nudity, before his gaze lifted abruptly, midnight fire. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice husky with intimacy.

When he held out his arms, Sabrina went willingly into his embrace, her body craving his heat and strength, a force as powerful as the moon’s spell. He drew her down to the soft bed to lie beside him, breast to breast. His arms around her, Niall wrapped them both in his plaid. The fabric held his body warmth, his alluring scent, mingled with the aroma of woodsmoke and crushed bracken. For a moment he simply held her close, arousing her with his mere nearness.

But when his hands began moving over her skin in a soft murmur, Sabrina took a steadying breath and pressed a palm against his chest. “No…’Tis my turn. I mean to pleasure you this time.”

“Indeed?” His tone was smokily sensual.

“Yes.”

“Are you certain you can manage it?”

She saw the smile lurking in his eyes and resolved to meet his challenge. Niall was a champion at this game of seduction, and she a mere novice, but she intended to make love to
him
this time. To seduce
him
.

“I was taught by the premier rake of Europe. You yourself said I was an apt pupil.”

At the defiance in her tone, Niall acquiesced gracefully, his lips wanting to smile at this sign of his proper bride’s growing confidence in her allure. He could have caressed her, charmed her, seduced her into willing submission, but he wanted Sabrina to take the lead.

She was far different from other women he’d pursued. Sabrina understood loyalty and duty and sacrifice, yet she had no notion of the usual feminine arts—cunning or wiles or the carnal games of dalliance. Yet, he’d seen in her eyes the fire of long-hidden desire. He meant to jolt her from her prim notions, to dare her to fulfill the promise of passion he sensed in her, to heed her reckless heart. Despite her unrelenting sense of propriety, he knew she could be as wild as any woman he’d bedded.