The Groom Says Yes

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Tomorrow we will find Richard?” she asked.

  “We can try.”

  She nodded. “I’d best be home. He might come looking for me there.” She drove away.

  Mac crossed the bridge. He could see the Davidson house. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Sabrina, but he trusted that the right words would come to him. He just prayed she gave him time to say them—

  A sinister shadow crossed in front of the house and blended in with the darkness. Two more figures also moved, one going around to the back of the house.

  And then there was a third. The house was being attacked.

  Mac began running.

  Rolf was barking madly. He bravely charged down the stairs at the men filling the hallway.

  “No, Rolf,” Sabrina cried. But the dog didn’t listen, snapping at the two men who started up the stairs toward her. The third went running down the hall as if on a hunt.

  The first man up the stairs backed away from Rolf, but the man behind him shoved him aside. He lifted a club and slammed it against the dog.

  Rolf went wild. He leaped for the man, grabbing the material of his sleeve in his teeth. The man lifted Rolf and threw him over the side of the stairs.

  Sabrina screamed her outrage and went running to help her pet, but the man with the torn sleeve grabbed her by the wrists.

  She kicked and attempted to bite him. He was a big man. He shook her hard. “Where is the Irishman?”

  Her response was to lift her knee. It didn’t hit where she would have liked to kick the man, but it did land in his soft belly and caused him to grunt in pain. He did not release his hold but twisted her arm, pulling her closer to him.

  “Tell me where the Irishman is, and I’ll be nice to you when I have you.”

  She’d not thought of rape. Her mind grew frenzied. She struggled to free herself, then, as if by magic, the man released his hold. She fell to the steps, landing hard on her hip. Rolf was barking again. She wanted to tell him to stop, to save himself—and then, she saw the smaller man go rolling down the stairs where Cormac Enright with his broad shoulders and lean muscles had thrown him.

  “Where is the Irishman?” Mac asked. He now had the man who had attacked her bent over the banister. “Here’s the Irishman. What do you have for me?” He held the man by his neckcloth, which he twisted painfully around his throat. “Are you all right, Sabrina?” Cormac asked.

  She nodded, too afraid to speak except to say, “Rolf, come here.” The dog ignored her, running to the back of the house, where there was the sound of running feet.

  “Who sent you?” Mac demanded of the man, pulling down his mask.

  Before the man could answer, his two companions had regrouped and charged up the stairs to help their fellow.

  “Cormac, watch out,” Sabrina cried, and ran to her bedroom. She grabbed the iron poker and the shovel that leaned against the hearth and, so armed, dashed to Cormac’s aid, ready for battle.

  Cormac was already doing a magnificent job. He had the advantage over the men trying to grab him. They couldn’t fight more than one at a time on the stairs, and Mac was taller and stronger.

  That didn’t mean they weren’t going to try to take him down. There was no doubt in Sabrina’s mind they were there to silence Cormac for good.

  “Cormac, here,” she said, and came up behind him with the poker.

  “Lovely,” he said with satisfaction. “Stand back.”

  He swung the poker. It made a satisfying whipping sound as it sliced the air, then he wielded it like a sword.

  Sabrina stood on the top step behind him, her shovel held high, ready to bash in the first man who made it past Mac. She yearned to give them a pounding.

  The men backed away, and the one nearest the door tripped over Rolf who was making an effective nuisance of himself at the foot of the stairs. The brigand flailed his arms, reached for something to hold, and grabbed the coat of the man nearest him. That man lost his balance as well, and the two of them rolled over each other to the bottom of the stairs.

  They lay there groaning.

  The big man looked at his companions on the floor, then back up to the deadly poker that was pointed at his nose.

  “That leaves you all alone, mate,” Cormac said. “So tell me, who sent you?”

  The bully wasn’t so certain of himself anymore. He glanced up at Sabrina. She shook her shovel at him, and he turned tail and ran. He was a clumsy beast. He fell over his companions, scrambled up, and ran out the door.

  His friends managed to help each other to their feet even as Mac came down the stairs toward them. They, too, ran.

  Mac slammed the door shut. “Stay there,” he ordered Sabrina. “I’m going to investigate the rest of the house.”

  “Stay here?” she repeated in a daze. “I couldn’t go anywhere.” Her knees suddenly weak, she sank to the step and let the shovel drop.

  Rolf watched Mac go down the hall. She called him. “Come here, Pup. Let me see you.”

  The dog lowered his head as if embarrassed he hadn’t been more of a guardian to her. “You were wonderful,” she said. “But are you all right?”

  The dog came up the stairs and wagged his tail. She hugged him, and that was when the tears came. In fact, her whole body was trembling, and the sleeve of her dress had been torn. Her hair was also hanging halfway down her back.

  Rolf laid his head in her lap.

  She could hear Mac closing the back door and righting pieces of furniture that the men had knocked over. He came walking down the hall. Glancing up, he saw she was crying.

  He took the stairs two at a time and knelt in front of her. “Here, now, did they hurt you?”

  His dark eyes were full of compassion.

  “They scared me,” she admitted. “I’m so glad you came back, but why did you?”

  He looked down at her as if she’d asked the strangest question in the world, then he smiled, that endearing, lopsided smile of his.

  “For you,” he answered. “I came back for you.”

  His words seemed to shimmer in the air all around her. He’d returned for her. Silly, awkward, provincial her.

  Of course, she kissed him. She must.

  And he was kissing her back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mac fell back a step as Sabrina flung herself in his arms. She had been so brave.

  Her kiss was powerful, unrestrained.

  And he returned it with all the passion in his being. He could have lost her. He hated to imagine what those animals would have done to her, but she was whole and vibrant and his. He knew that now. She was his.

  He began undressing her.

  She offered no protest. Instead, her fingers became as busy as his own.

  Clothing was pulled down over shoulders or tossed aside. Laces were undone and buttons released.

  The kiss had to break for Mac to remove his boots. It also gave him the opportunity to sweep her up in his arms and carry her into her bedroom. He went straight for the feminine, frilly bed and set her on the floor. The remaining pins in her hair fell. She looked gloriously disheveled in the lamp’s golden glow. Her bodice rode low over her breasts, her shoulders bare.

  His Sabrina.

  Other women might stand on ceremony, but she was ruled by her passions, by her heart.

  He sat on the bed and held his booted foot up. “I need help,” he stated.

  She laughed, surprised but trusting.

  Laughter, who would have thought the sound of it belonged in the bedchamber?

  She tossed her hair over one shoulder and reached for his heel.

  She pulled, and the exertion caused her gown to slip lower. Sabrina stopped and looked down at her one exposed breast, the nipple rosy, hard, and tight.

  Mac had never seen anything so beautiful.

  She glanced at him, speculation in her eye. “You knew that would happen.”

  He smiled. “I hoped it would happen. Come, my darling, I have another boot.” He placed it in fr
ont of her.

  A pout came to her lips. She had not made any move to cover her breast, and he was delighted. Sabrina’s tastes were much like his own. He enjoyed the earthiness of making love. He considered it a gift.

  “Is it fair I give all?” she challenged.

  He laughed. His neckcloth was on the floor beside his jacket in the hall. It was a small matter to pull his shirt over his head.

  She rewarded him by pulling her arms from her sleeves. Her dress fell to the floor. Her petticoats were tied around her waist, but her chest was bare, her breasts delightfully enticing. She placed her hand on his chest, leaning her body against his, and Mac forgot about the boot.

  Instead, he kissed her, his hand at her hip, smoothing over her buttock, working the ribbons of her petticoats free. His woman. His.

  She broke the kiss, looked into his eyes, and whispered, “I am amazed that you are in my life.” She ran her hand over his shoulder and down his arm. Their palms met, and fingers laced.

  “I was wrong to choose Father over you. Especially after what he did.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But I was afraid.”

  “And now?”

  She made a small sound of capitulation. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that you are safe, and I am with you. We can leave Scotland. We can go anywhere. I just want to be with you.”

  Her faith and devotion humbled him.

  The kiss he gave her was not one of just passion. He kissed in loving gratitude that she was the person she was, the woman she was.

  It was a simple matter to finish undressing each other. He kissed her chin, her nose, her neck, her shoulder, her beautiful breasts. He rained kisses upon her. He worshipped her with kisses.

  He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Sabrina. His desire was hard and obvious. Hungry.

  “You are mine,” he said, looking down at her. Her head was on the pillow, her lush, dark hair spread around her. “Do you understand? Mine. Whatever happens, we are together.”

  “We are together,” she agreed, gifting him with a dazzling smile. Her fingers wound themselves in his hair, and she pulled him down to her.

  What man could resist such an invitation?

  Not Mac, not with this woman. Slowly, almost reverently, he slid deep inside her.

  Sabrina arched her back and released her breath, as if she’d feared pain and was pleasantly surprised. Her body stretched to accommodate him. She smiled. He smiled down at her, and she began moving, her actions innocent and untutored. He met her where she was, and, together, they discovered their rhythm. The intensity of the night before had been no mistake. They fit well.

  She whispered his name against his skin, her voice tinged with both wonder and passion. He lifted her in his arms, wanting her closer, positioning her. Muscles tightened around him intimately. The heat in her was building. He pressed deeper, anxious to give her everything she desired, forcing himself to hold back.

  And yet there came a moment when he couldn’t. Sabrina was so generous, so giving. Her movements quickened with her breathing . . . She whispered in his ear, “Mac, hold me.”

  Oh, God, yes.

  Release was more than just an act of lust and desire. It was a blessing, a benediction, a step closer to heaven than Mac had ever been. All because of her.

  Her arms and legs banded around him. Mac did the same. Their bodies melded together. Even their hearts matched beats.

  He buried his face in her neck, his lips drinking in her skin. His weight should have been crushing her, but she did not ask him to move, and he couldn’t have, even if she did.

  Slowly, holding her, the world returned to center.

  Cool air brushed against his skin, and he heard a sound. Looking up, Mac saw Rolf’s worried gaze staring at them. The dog hovered by the side of the bed.

  The sight caught Mac off guard and made him laugh.

  Sabrina had been lost in her own haze of completion. One arm was still draped over Mac’s shoulder while her other hand stroked his arm. Her leg was hooked over his. When he laughed, her eyes lit up. “I felt that,” she said, reminding him that they were still joined, which was fine with him. He never wanted to leave her.

  “What makes you laugh?” she wondered, and he nodded to the dog. She turned, reaching a hand for Rolf. She rubbed her pet’s head. “It’s good, Rolf. All is good.” Her voice sounded drowsy, satiated.

  Mac kissed her ear. “It is better than good.”

  She turned to him and brushed aside a lock of his hair that had fallen over his brow. “Cormac,” she whispered, then smiled, as if she liked the sound of his name.

  “Sabrina,” he answered.

  Her smile widened. “May we do that again? I’m not certain we have it quite right yet.”

  “Oh, we must practice often,” he assured her. “Every opportunity afforded to us.”

  “Can we practice now?” she asked, experimentally running her fingers down his rib cage.

  Mac was pleased that she wanted more. However, a man can only do so much—except he surprised himself when he felt himself stir.

  His body, his soul had been waiting for her, and now that he’d found her, they weren’t going to let her go.

  “I believe that is an excellent idea, my lady,” he said.

  He heard Rolf give a dog-laden sigh and trot off to guard the door.

  Both Sabrina and Mac laughed before settling into the very serious business of making love.

  They had joined twice, and Sabrina found himself curious to know if they could do it again. Cormac pleased her. He knew exactly what she wanted.

  Now, she understood the mysteries between men and women. No wonder Mrs. Bossley was so popular.

  In that moment, Sabrina knew that she was in love.

  Heart and head . . . they both came together . . . in love . . . with Cormac. She didn’t question her feelings or doubt them. One didn’t when one was certain.

  Love was the most extraordinary feeling. It opened her heart in a way she’d not known before.

  And she knew why she loved him. He’d just proven himself to her. Even after she’d sent him away, he’d come back to her. He hadn’t abandoned her.

  He wouldn’t.

  But for right now, she wanted to drift off to sleep. They had climbed beneath the covers, and she snuggled into his body heat, but he had something else on his mind.

  He put his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.

  Sabrina frowned her protest before sitting with him. She pushed her hair back. “What is it?”

  “When I pulled down the mask of that one man, did you recognize him?”

  She shook her head. “Should I have?”

  “Could he have been one of your uncle’s men?”

  Sabrina thought a moment of the stable lads at Annefield and the other servants. “No, those were not my uncle’s men. I grew up around those people. We are as close as family. I can’t imagine one of them threatening me in the way that man did.” A shiver of distaste went through her.

  “Then someone else sent them,” he said quietly. “And, frankly, there is only one other person that could be.”

  “Because there is only one other person who knows you are here,” she agreed, coming awake

  He nodded. “Owen Campbell.”

  “But why?” she insisted, then caught herself. They both knew. She could see Mac reaching the same conclusion. “He may have murdered Gordana Raney,” she said. “Why else would he want to protect himself? But I can’t imagine Campbell murdering a mere singer. He has standing. Why would he jeopardize all of that?”

  “I shall ask him when I confront him.” Cormac rose to his feet and reached for his breeches. “What I don’t understand is why your father is involved? Your uncle is the sort that will always find himself in with a bad crowd, but is your father of the same ilk?”

  “I may have found an explanation,” she said, remembering her discovery and pushed aside the counterpane. She, too, rose and reached for her dress on the floor. She thr
ew it on before going to her father’s room, where the lamp still burned, and the pieces of the gambling vowel were spread out on the dresser.

  Mac had followed her. He looked over her shoulder. She spread the pieces of paper out for him to see clearly.

  “Father owed Owen money. And there is no possible way that we could repay this amount.”

  “But it has been repaid. The marker is signed and torn up,” Mac said, thoughtfully pushing the pieces of paper together. “He earned it back.”

  “Yes,” Sabrina said, “by testifying against you, perhaps?”

  “And now, if your father isn’t dead, then he is afraid of Owen Campbell, which he should have been from the beginning. Campbell is a nasty character. He is not going to allow your father to walk the face of this earth with his knowledge of the truth of Gordana’s murder.”

  “Or he could. After all, Father lied under oath.”

  Mac shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Your father changed the terms of the agreement when he helped me escape. Campbell was beating your uncle because he wants to know where your father is. He may also be looking for the Reverend Kinnion, if he is still alive. Or Campbell may have been the one who attempted to shoot us outside the Tolbooth.”

  Sabrina lightly touched a scrap of paper. “At least Father did the right thing in the end.” She looked up at Mac. “But what do we do now? He could be in danger.”

  “He is in danger. You saw the look on Campbell’s face today. He wasn’t using force with your uncle because he was pleased.” He moved the pieces of paper around, and murmured, “Everything is related. There are connections, and they must make sense. Your uncle gambles, but your father doesn’t.”

  “Yes.”

  “But it is your father’s name on the marker.”

  “Perhaps he decided to do something foolish.”

  “Or, as we discussed, he might have had a good reason. However, the common factor is Owen Campbell. They went to the Rook’s Nest for a reason.”

  “They know Owen.”

  “Yes, but not everyone who owns such an establishment would want an easy mark like the earl of Tay for a patron.”

  “What do you mean?” Sabrina asked.

  “Tay is hard-bitten. He’s lost a great deal at the gaming tables. What did he have left to wager? Campbell would only let him play if he thought he could relieve him of his possessions.”