The Lover (38 page)

The moment he saw her, he leapt to his feet, bristling with indignation that she would dare show her face to him. Before she could say a word edgewise, he launched into a verbal attack.

“I dinna ken what deep game yer playing, lass, but I’ll no’ abide any more of yer Duncan treachery.”

“’Tis no treachery,” Sabrina said, forcing a smile. “I’ve come to offer apologies for my clan. I can explain about the raids, if you will allow me. And perhaps afterward…you might listen to my proposal.”

The pleasure was missing, Niall thought, frowning as he returned the beautiful widow’s fervent kiss. His loins were aroused, yet he felt strangely…dispassionate.

He knew that physically Eve could satisfy the needs of his body. Her voluptuous, perfumed flesh was no different now than the scores of other occasions when he’d taken her to their mutual delight. Yet somehow he no longer found his former mistress quite as desirable as in the past.

Worse, he found it difficult to summon even a semblance of enthusiasm for his task. To his dismay, while he was kissing Eve’s lush lips, stroking her splendid breasts, his thoughts kept straying to another woman, another lover, this one a slender, defiant lass with lustrous dark eyes that could spark with fire or soften with passion.

His own wife.

Niall’s jaw hardened in annoyance.

Faith, he’d intended to purge himself of his craving for Sabrina, to vanquish his ridiculous obsession by losing himself in some other female’s silken flesh, but it wasn’t working the way he’d intended. The pleasure he normally experienced with lovemaking was dismayingly absent.

Inexplicably he felt
dis
satisfied.

Eve was too perceptive not to sense his lack of ardor. Her eager caresses tempered, then ceased altogether. When she lifted her head to study him, her lips were still wet and red from their kisses.

“Never tell me I have lost my touch,” she said lightly.

Solicitously Niall reached up to run his thumb across her cheekbone, delicately tinted with paint and rouge. “Never, sweeting. You’re as delectable as ever.”

“Now why do I find that difficult to credit?” She managed an arch smile. “You would not, perhaps, be experiencing a twinge of guilt due to your recent married state, would you now?”

Niall frowned and refrained from replying. Incomprehensibly he did feel guilt—and anger because of it.

Eve gave a musical laugh as she stared at him. “How droll. I never would have suspected it of you, the Darling of Edinburgh. You must have indulged in countless affairs with married ladies. I confess astonishment that you should balk now that the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak.”

Niall’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t presume too far, witch. My temper is not the sweetest at the moment.”

Smiling archly, she shook her head. “Truly you should not let a minor breach of your vows concern you, Niall. After our long acquaintance, it cannot be said that you and I are
strangers
. And you know I can be discreet. Sabrina never need know.”

“Sabrina’s a canny lass.”

Eve’s sigh was heavy with despair. “I suppose this means you intend to cast me aside.”

His mouth curved in dry amusement. “Melodrama does not become you, sweeting.”

Her hazel eyes grew serious. “But you mean to end it for good between us.” It was not a question.

“The notion had occurred to me,” Niall replied truthfully.

“I know you want me.” Reaching down, Eve pressed her palm against his trews, caressing the bulge at his groin. “I can feel how huge and hard you are.”

Niall winced at the ache in his erection. “I am human, after all, cherie. And as I said, your charms are quite delectable.”

“But not enough to make you change your mind.”

Self-mockery laced his low laugh. “Lamentably, no, although it pains me greatly to say so.”

He returned home, feeling vexed and restless. Sabrina was nowhere in evidence, a fact which annoyingly relieved him as he washed Eve’s scent from his skin.

It was Liam Duncan who first made Niall realize his wife was missing. Late that afternoon, Liam rode to Creagturic to seek an audience with Sabrina, and seemed unduly concerned when she was not to be found.

“Where could the lass be?” he asked Niall gravely. “I made cert she would have come home.”

“She is not at Banesk? She meant to visit her grandfather.”

“Aye, that she did, but I fear the lass was muckle fashed.”

Niall’s gaze narrowed. “Mayhap you had best explain.”

In a minimum of words, Liam disclosed what Angus had done—the old man’s duplicity in gaining protection for Clan Duncan by wedding his granddaughter to the McLaren—while Niall heard him out grimly.

“I didna ken Angus’s cheatry, my lord,” Liam vowed, “till after the deed was done. He’s hale now as any lad in his prime.”

A muscle in Niall’s jaw hardened. “I suspected as much, but in all honor I could not challenge his word.”

“But ’twasna fair you should pay the price.”

“It was my decision to wed Sabrina in the end. And I must allow, I—”

It was just at that moment that Geordie Duncan came rushing into the great hall.

“There’s word of Mistress McLaren!” he exclaimed without preliminaries. “The bloody Buchanan has her.”

Niall felt his breath stop as cold fear smote him. “How do you ken?”

“He sent Angus a demand for ransom for Mistress McLaren’s safe return—three hundred head of cattle.”

Niall clenched his jaw so hard his teeth grated. “Should that bloody bastard harm a hair on her head…”

He left the sentence unfinished as Geordie added, “Angus has summoned our clan together to effect her rescue. He desires ye to come at once.”

“Aye, I’ll come. Liam, find John and raise the cry,” Niall commanded as he turned to bound up the stairs in search of his claymore and targe. “We’re for Buchanan’s lair!”

The fighting men of Clan McLaren were swiftly mustered, while Geordie rode to Banesk to intercept Angus. An army of mounted Highland warriors was soon galloping toward Buchanan’s castle.

They slowed as they approached the massive fortress, surprised to find the gate open and the portcullis raised.

Niall held up his hand, signaling his men to halt. For a moment the only sound was that of snorting steeds and chomping bits.

“Think you ’tis a trap?” Angus asked Niall warily.

“Mayhap. You’ll bide here till I can discover what goes.”

Angus looked as if he might protest, but one glance at Niall’s savage expression silenced him.

His claymore drawn, Niall urged his mount forward and rode alone across the drawbridge, into the bailey. Not a soul was in sight, nor any hint that the Buchanans expected a visit of retribution.

It made no sense.

The massive wooden door to the tower swung wide just then, and Keith Buchanan stepped onto the upper landing of the stone entrance stairs. He wore a leather frock coat but no sword. Apparently he was unarmed. “Greetings, Laird McLaren,” he called down to the yard. “We expected Angus, but you are welcome as well.”

“Where is she?” Niall demanded, his tone explosive with rage.

“Safe and sound—and ’tis not what ye’re thinking.”

“My thinking be damned! Tell me where my wife is, or God rot you, I’ll slice your gullet open and feed your vitals to the corbies!”

“I’ll gladly spill what I know, if ye allow me the chance. Your lady is here of her own accord.”

Niall made a visible effort at control, though his eyes remained narrowed in mistrust.

“She came here to seek peace.”

Niall’s jaw clenched as he stared. “The de’il she did,” was his muttered curse, but the knife-edged tone was blunted with the briefest hint of uncertainty.

“Pray, come and see for yourself.”

Keith stepped back, gesturing within the tower.

Dismounting, Niall held his claymore at the ready and swiftly climbed the entrance stairs. He followed the son of his fiercest foe through a great hall and up a winding flight of stone steps, to a chamber that was apparently used as a salon. Even before he reached it, he heard the sound of Sabrina’s laughter.

“Check, sir! I warned you not to risk that move.”

His hand clenched on his sword hilt, Niall stood in the doorway, staring grimly.

Before a crackling hearth fire, Sabrina sat facing Owen Buchanan across a chessboard, obviously at ease, while the Highland chieftain scowled down at the knight she had just captured.

“See you, milord,” Keith said smugly at Niall’s shoulder. “’Tis no abduction. Your lady is clearly enjoying our Buchanan hospitality.”

    Chapter    
Fifteen

As if sensing Niall’s presence, both Sabrina and the elder Buchanan looked up.

Owen grimaced, his good humor disappearing instantly. “I’ve won our wager, lass. I told ye he would come.”

“So you did.” She offered the Buchanan laird a charming smile. “It seems I owe you half a crown. But I shall have to redeem it by trouncing you soundly in our match.”

Niall moved into the room, his face set like flint, anger hooding his gaze.

“He doesna look pleased to find ye here,” Owen said.

Sabrina’s smile cooled. “I think you may be right. But he’s doubtless concerned that I’ve set up a flirtation with you. You must forgive him. His suspicious nature, I fear, results from lurking behind too many bedchamber doors, avoiding jealous husbands.”

Owen threw back his head and let out a roar. “By God, lass, ye’re a treat for an old man!”

“I trust you mean to explain the meaning of this, wife,” Niall said through gritted teeth.

Turning, Sabrina eyed him calmly. “If you wish. I have had an exceedingly pleasant visit with Lord Buchanan. I came to apologize for our clans’ breaking the truce, and for my grandfather’s deception. You might be surprised to know Angus was never as ill as he led us to believe.”

“So Liam informed me.”

“Did he also tell you that Grandfather orchestrated the entire tale of cattle thievery by the Buchanans? He duped us into retaliating for a raid that never happened.”

Niall disciplined his expression into unreadability. “I am not concerned with what Angus might have done. I’ve come to escort you home.”

She folded her hands serenely in her lap. “But I am not inclined to leave, my lord.”

“Sabrina,” Niall said warningly, fury flaring through him at finding his wife in league with his enemies. He had expressly forbidden her to go near the Buchanans, and here she sat defying him to his face.

“I intend to speak to my grandfather,” she insisted. “I anticipate his arrival any moment.”

Niall gathered his control, willing himself to patience. “Angus is here, awaiting my word.”

“Then he should join us. He owes the Buchanans three hundred head of cattle, and I intend to see that he pays it.”

“That is the price demanded for your ransom?”

“It is not a ransom precisely. Those cattle actually belong to the Buchanans. Angus would merely be returning those we took, with interest. I think it fair payment for the grief he caused.”

“And if he chooses not to pay?”

“Then I will remain here for some time.” When Niall simply stared, Sabrina explained. “I will consider returning home with you only under one condition, sir. When you’ve held a civilized discussion with the Buchanans to address ending the feud. Until then I intend to remain here as Lord Owen’s guest.”

He regarded her as if she had suddenly sported horns. “You are interfering in matters beyond your purview.”

“I don’t think so. Faith, it astounds me how men only think of fighting. You should leave the negotiating to women. We at least rely on reason.”

His eyes blazed with warning, but she refused to back down. “I intend for Grandfather to accept a truce with the Buchanans. And I expect you to help persuade him.”

“Indeed? Why the bloody hell should I?”

“I think,” Sabrina replied with sugary sweetness, “you might find it difficult to explain why your wife chooses to remain with your blood enemy. And why you cannot fetch her home.”

“It would be the work of a moment to carry you from here.”

“You could take me by force, perhaps, but I shall simply return at the first opportunity—unless you are prepared to keep me under lock and key for the rest of my days.”

Somehow she kept from flinching as Niall’s gaze warred with hers.

After a moment, his jaw clenched. “Do you ken what you’re asking of me?”

“I believe so.” Her expression softened. “But Owen swears he did not order the ambush of your father and brother, and I believe him.”

“Aye, lad,” Owen said quietly. “I had naught to do with such a foul deed, and I would hae stopped it had I kenned of it. Hugh was a good mon, and a worthy foe. Despite our differences, he dinna deserve such a dishonorable end. I grieved at his death, ’tis God’s holy truth.”