The Lover (6 page)

Suddenly, though, his gaze returned with relentless precision to
her
. It seemed almost as if he were gauging her reaction to his dalliance.

To Sabrina’s utter dismay, then, Niall rose and casually strode toward her. She felt her heart flutter wildly as she watched his long, powerful legs come ever closer. He gave the impression of effortless grace, of power and strength held lightly under control.

She was grateful when her dog Rab rose to his feet and stood at attention.

Niall paid the huge mastiff no mind. Pausing before her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, he swept her a deep bow. “Welcome to the Highlands, Mistress Duncan,” he said in a lilting Scottish voice that somehow mocked her.

Against her will, Sabrina lifted her gaze to meet his stunning blue one. Managing to swallow the dryness in her throat, she replied, “I confess surprise that you even recognize me, my lord.”

“Your grandfather mentioned that you would be arriving today. And I know your kinsmen.” He nodded to Liam in greeting, then raised one dark eyebrow. “She does not know?”

The elder Highlander shook his head. “Angus wished to broach the matter himself.”

“Know what?” Sabrina asked, puzzled.

Niall’s penetrating blue eyes returned to her. “Your grandfather will apprise you soon enough.”

Frowning uncertainly, she queried, “You have seen my grandfather? Is he very ill?”

“I fear so. He asked that I act as your escort for the last leg of your journey.”

“Oh…” The thought of having to endure this man’s company for the next two hours was distinctly unnerving. “That is not really necessary, is it? Liam and Geordie are accompanying me.”

“The Highlands can prove dangerous to the unwary, mistress.”

His tone seemed hard, almost as if he were issuing her a warning. Sabrina fell silent, not knowing quite how to react. Finally she said quietly, “I hope we meet under happier circumstances than the last?”

She could see the challenge in his eyes swiftly banked, to be replaced by a fleeting look of sadness. She was struck, not for the first time, by the suspicion that there was far more to Niall McLaren than met the eye. He apparently held more complex feelings than the usual libertine. She had seen his pain at his kinsmen’s deaths, and knew he must have cared deeply for his family.

“I suppose you could call them happier,” he replied with cryptic dryness. He glanced around the taproom. “Have you no tire-woman attending you?”

“I did not like to impose on any of the women in our household. They are unaccustomed to traveling such a distance or being away from home for any length of time.”

“Still, you should have female companionship.”

“I am not entirely without companionship. In addition to my kinsmen, I have Rab for protection. Rab,” she said lightly, “guard.”

Bristling, the giant dog bared his teeth up at the man—but only for an instant. When the McLaren offered his hand for the animal to sniff, Rab whined once, uncertainly, and then licked the laird’s fingers hungrily.

Sabrina winced in dismay. Her canine guardian did not appear fierce enough to frighten a rabbit.

Niall must have had the same thought, for his beautiful mouth curled at one corner.

“He is usually more cautious with strangers,” Sabrina said defensively.

“I trust so.”

Sabrina froze when he propped one booted foot on the bench beside her. Reaching down, he gently fingered a tendril of her hair as it fell across her cheek.

“I wondered what the true color was.”

The intimate gesture startled her, as did his intent scrutiny. She felt her breath cease. If he intended to intimidate her, he was succeeding. That careless, indiscreet charm was so potent it was almost a visible force—reaching out to her, enveloping her. For an instant the others faded away. It was as if she and Niall McLaren were the only two people in the room.

“You should never hide your hair beneath powder, mistress. It is more fetching without it.”

She found herself glad that as a general rule Scotswomen didn’t cover or powder their hair, and sorry that the hood of her traveling cloak had disheveled the careful arrangement of her rich brown tresses she had made that morning.

When Niall McLaren continued studying her, she felt a dissatisfaction with her looks such as she hadn’t felt in years. But then Sabrina shook herself. She could hold her own with this rake. The blood of Scottish kings ran in her veins. She was a chieftain’s granddaughter, even if she had lived away from the Highlands for much of her life.

With cool aplomb, she lifted her chin. “I shall take your opinion under advisement the next time I dress for a ball.”

“And you should loosen that severe knot, as well,” he murmured. “The style is not right for you.”

“Are you such an expert on ladies’ coiffures, then?”

“Say rather, I am a connoisseur.” He grinned casually. “I’ve always considered a lass’s hair much bonnier flowing free, spread over my pillow.”

Sabrina felt her breath catch at his outrageous remark. Pretending a sophistication she didn’t feel, though, she said pointedly, “Perhaps you should return to your companions, my lord. They doubtless are missing you.”

The McLaren’s dark blue eyes widened fractionally in mock dismay. “I believe I have just received my dismissal. How lowering.”

Ignoring his dry commentary, Sabrina glanced at Liam. “Should we not be on our way?”

“Aye, if ye’ve rested enough.”

“Are you certain then,” Niall asked, “that you won’t accept my escort?”

“I thank you, but no,” Sabrina assured him. “I should not like to take you away from your pleasures.” Glancing at the other table where Cora had been, she added archly, “You seem well occupied in ruining the local wenches.”

His eyes gleamed in appreciation. “More disapproval, mistress?”

“How you choose to spend your leisure is no affair of mine.”

“Indeed. But that has yet to prevent you from voicing your opinion of me.”

“I believe I have confined my remarks to common knowledge. Your exploits are adequately documented.”

“Aye, I’m a reprobate of the first order. You would do well to remember it.”

“You have given me scant reason to forget it,” she retorted tartly. “Both times we have met, you’ve been indulging your libertine propensities.”

When his lips tilted in arrogant amusement, Sabrina wondered if he had any notion just how devastating that half smile was. But of course he did. He looked as though he could read every thought that passed through her head.

Yet it was difficult to dislike him. His mind was uncommonly sharp, and his boldness appealing, even if it often caught her off guard—as it did now when he reached out to take her fingers and bow over her hand. The facile charm was automatic, effortless, yet it disturbed her all the same.

“I shall take my leave, then.”

She wanted desperately to withdraw her hand from the sensual invasion of his, but he wouldn’t release her. As he raised her fingers to his lips, Sabrina silently cursed him. It was unfair, how this man’s mere touch left her breathless and set her heart to pounding. Indeed, it was criminal that this dangerous rogue should be left free to unleash his compelling sexuality on helpless females.

He seemed aware of his potent affect on her, too, for his eyes were wickedness itself as he pressed a delicate kiss on the sensitive skin at her wrist.

The careless caress sent wanton images flooding through her mind, images of her surrendering to his seduction in a moonlit garden. The appalling realization struck her that she wanted to surrender again…

In almost a daze, she heard his low, musical voice saying, “As you please, mistress. But we will follow close on your heels,” he added for Liam’s benefit, “should you require aid. Never let it be said that a McLaren shirks his duty.”

Sabrina was infinitely grateful when he at last released her trembling hand—and rather startled when his striking features suddenly turned cool.

“There’s danger in the Highlands,” he repeated. “You would do better to return home to Edinburgh where you belong.”

Sabrina glanced up at him sharply. The menace she had sensed in him before was back, as was the hint of smoldering anger she’d glimpsed in his eyes when she’d first arrived at the tavern. She wasn’t imagining that the air was filled with a new kind of tension as Niall McLaren stepped back a pace.

“We shall doubtless meet again,” he murmured grimly, making Sabrina certain he was not looking forward to the occasion.

    Chapter    
Two

“Wed?”
Sabrina gasped, feeling the air flee her lungs. “You wish me to wed the McLaren?”

She stared at her grandfather as he reclined weakly against the pillows.

“Aye, lass,” the old Highlander rasped. “You’re the last hope of Clan Duncan. Your union with our McLaren allies will secure the future of our clan.”

Dazed, she shook her head. So
this
was the meaning of her grandfather’s urgent summons. She had scarcely arrived at his bedside when Angus launched baldly into his proposal, with no thought to sparing any sensibilities she might have.

“I’m dying of a weak heart, lass, and I must settle my affairs before I go. ’Tis left to you to save our clan.”

The fierce Highland chieftain she remembered from her childhood didn’t look as ill as she’d feared, Sabrina thought distractedly. The natural ruddiness of his age-lined cheeks shone through his pallor. And while he seemed to suffer a shortness of breath, his constitution appeared nowhere near as frail as she expected.

“I…don’t understand,” she said finally.

“What dinna ye understand? Yer kin need ye, Sabrina.”

“No…you’ve made that clear. But Niall McLaren…he cannot possibly have agreed to the marriage.”

“Aye, that he has.”

Still stunned, she raised a hand to her temple. “But why? Why would he wish to wed
me
?”

“Ye’re an heiress, are ye not?”

Of course, Sabrina thought with a twinge of bitterness. Her dowry was her chief attraction for any suitor.

But that did not explain why Niall McLaren would choose
her
over any other genteel woman of fortune. With his title and his devastating appeal and his legendary powers of seduction, he could doubtless have any bride he wished. He had not even seemed pleased to see her this afternoon—

A flush of embarrassment besieged Sabrina as she remembered her brief encounter with Niall McLaren several hours ago at the tavern. He
must
have known about her grandfather’s plan all along. Was that why he’d scrutinized her with such smoldering—almost hostile—intensity? And why he had tried to warn her away from the Highlands?

Because he was not eager for the marriage?

“There must be any number of heiresses he could choose from,” she protested.

“None that would suit so well. Our lands march together, and we share the same enemies. He’s laird of a powerful Scots clan, willing to fight our foes to the death.”

Sabrina glanced around the darkened bedchamber, lit by a single candle. She vaguely remembered Angus’s medieval manor house from her childhood. This room clearly belonged to a fighting man. More weapons than tapestries graced the stone walls, and the chamber boasted few comforts other than the massive four-poster bed and a huge hearth. It should have struck her as cold and gloomy, yet inexplicably she found it intriguing. This had been the Duncan Clan’s family seat for over a hundred years.

“Still,” she murmured, “that doesn’t seem reason enough for the McLaren to agree.”

“I tell you lass, he’s willing. ’Tis not so far-fetched that he should look favorably on the union. The marriage will bind our two clans together.”

Perhaps it wasn’t beyond the
realm
of possibility that Niall McLaren should be willing to wed her, Sabrina conceded. Political marriages between clan allies were entirely common, after all—indeed, the rule rather than the exception.

“Can ye not see how vital it is that ye wed him?” Angus demanded, the question an urgent plea. “When I’m gone, the bloody Buchanans will ravage Clan Duncan if the laird is no’ strong enough to prevent it.”

Sabrina nodded unwillingly. She understood very well what her grandfather wanted of her. He wanted her to marry a laird powerful enough to protect her clansmen from their enemies.

But his choice of husband for her…The very notion of wedding Niall McLaren dismayed her. A rogue and a libertine. He would as soon break her heart as look at her.

No, the thought was preposterous. They were supremely ill-suited for marriage. In truth, they had rubbed each other wrong from the first.

“Is there no one else who can act as your successor?” she asked unhappily.

“Liam would be next in line. He’s a good mon, but no’ so good as the McLaren. Liam himself kens it.”

“But…surely there must be someone else who can take over—”

“Nay, there’s no one. Do ye no’ ken I would hae acted were there another choice?”