On the other hand, perhaps that too was natural. His heart was still pumping from the recent sword fight, and although the battle was over, his violence leashed, the blood was still surging thick and hot through his veins.
His lack of control vexed him, however, so that when Sabrina protested that she could walk, he reacted more harshly than he intended.
“Be still,” Niall commanded. “You’re in no condition even to stand. For once you’ll do as you’re told.”
Inwardly Sabrina bristled at the unfairness of his rebuke, but she hadn’t the strength to argue.
As if she weighed no more than a thistle, he lifted her in his arms and set her on his horse, then mounted behind her, settling her back against him. Her bottom nestled snugly between the hard muscles of his spread thighs, and he wrapped his plaid around her, sharing its warmth.
“Hush, now. You need rest.”
Sabrina shut her eyes against the ache in her head. She felt so warm and secure in Niall’s embrace, so safe and cherished…She felt herself being lulled by the sway of the horse…
The next thing she knew, Niall was lifting her into his arms, carrying her across the courtyard at Banesk. In the darkness he made his way swiftly toward the manor house.
Once inside, Sabrina roused herself from her daze. “Please…don’t awaken Grandfather. His heart cannot bear the excitement.”
“Hush, sweeting. You show concern for everyone but yourself. Where do you sleep?”
Sabrina caught her breath at the question, which only made her head pound harder. “What does it matter?”
“I’m taking you to bed.” She discerned his faint grin in the moonlight that slanted through the high window. “I don’t intend to ravish you, if that’s your fear. I draw the line at taking advantage of wounded damsels. Your arm needs dressing.”
He mounted the back stairs swiftly and quietly.
“This isn’t at all proper,” Sabrina protested lamely. “You should call for one of the household women.”
“There’s no need. I can see to it well enough. Which chamber?”
“The last on the right…but you cannot…you shouldn’t be in my bedchamber. You’ll cause a scandal.”
“If I do, it will scarcely matter. You’ll be my wife soon enough to still any gossiping tongues.”
Her brows gathering in a frown, Sabrina shook her aching head to chase away the fog. Clearly she had misheard.
She knew she should object in stronger terms to his brazen intimacy and make him set her down, yet she didn’t want Niall to release her. She wanted the strength of his arms around her, needed their promise of warmth and safety and comfort. Against all common sense, she hungered for his touch and the shameful pleasure he aroused in her.
It was folly, she knew. It was dangerous to let herself yearn for things she couldn’t possibly have. Foolish to succumb to the treacherous heat of desire. Laughable to think this man would ever want her.
Silently cursing herself for her weakness, Sabrina closed her eyes with a weary sigh.
In a moment she felt herself being gently lowered to the bed. With quiet efficiency then, Niall lit a candle, flooding the chamber with a golden glow. She heard a soft rustling as he moved around the room, searching for items he would need.
The feather mattress gave way as he sat beside her. When he reached for her left arm, Sabrina winced, more from his nearness than any jar to her injury. Plague take the man, why did her heart lurch so wildly at his merest touch?
She felt a gentle probing along her arm, then a sudden shaft of pain that brought tears to her eyes.
“I regret this must be done, sweeting.”
Slicing the fabric of her gown with his dirk, he peeled away the left sleeve to expose a deep gash in her upper arm. The raw flesh glistened darkly with blood in the candlelight.
Sabrina bit her lip hard to stifle a moan.
“I confess,” Niall said to distract her, “at knifepoint is not my preferred way of undressing a lady.”
Sabrina rallied enough to respond archly, if breathlessly. “I shall not ask you what is.”
Her brave pretense in the face of pain made his heart wrench, yet he scrutinized her wound in silence, carefully probing. The blade had sliced through the fleshy outer part of her arm. “It could be worse,” he said critically, restoring his dirk to his belt. “But it should heal cleanly. I shall return in a moment.”
Sabrina sank back among the pillows. The next thing she knew Niall was sitting beside her again, a brandy decanter and glass in his hands.
“I could not find the laudanum. Here, drink,” he urged, holding the glass to her lips.
She forced herself to swallow a sip of the burning liquor. “My aunt warned me…about gentlemen who press spirits upon unsuspecting females.”
He favored her with a slow, brilliant smile. “You are the least unsuspecting female I know, Mistress Duncan. Even had I any nefarious designs upon your person, there would be little danger in my succeeding.”
There would be little chance of him having designs upon her person, either, Sabrina thought sadly.
At her wistful look, Niall paused, gazing down at her pale face. How could he find her so appealing? The circumstances were not the least conducive to dalliance. He could understand his earlier desire for her in the wake of the sword fight. Then, his blood was pumping with anger and battle-lust and that compelling aphrodisiac, danger. But it offered no explanation for his powerful feelings of attraction now.
Devil take it, he was beginning to be positively haunted by visions of bedding this lass. Mayhap the mouse was a witch! He wanted to taste her again. He wanted to join her in her virginal bed, to stretch out beside her and cover her with his body. He wanted to ease between her silken thighs and explore the hidden depths of her sensuality…
Damn and hellfire, he had to remember that she was injured—a wound she had sustained while protecting him.
His jaw clenching, he forced himself to say calmly, “I shall let you escape with your virtue intact this time. But we must take care of your injury.”
He cleansed the blood from around the gash, then glanced at her regretfully. “I fear this will hurt, sweeting, but it’s thought to keep wounds from putrefying.” As quickly as possible, he poured a stream of the potent liquor on the wound.
Sabrina cried out in pain, her back arching in shock. She would have shot up off the bed had Niall not pressed both hands over her shoulders to hold her down.
“Easy now.” Watching as she bravely struggled against the pain, he bent closer. “It’s over now, lass,” he whispered against her temple. He held her thus for a moment, breathing in the clean, sweet fragrance of her hair.
Panting, Sabrina lay rigidly, waiting for the savage ache to subside. “My kinsmen,” she said through gritted teeth, “may not hold me in great affection, but they would not thank you for murdering me.”
He drew back a little, returning a grin that was magical. “Would they not?”
“If I should expire…you might have difficulty disposing of my body.”
“I shall hide it in the clothes press.”
A murmur of ill-advised laughter broke from her lips, which abruptly made her moan.
“Be still, tiger. Save your strength.”
“Not a tiger…” she muttered breathlessly. “A mouse…you said so yourself.”
“I was wrong. You gave me a rare turn, taking that blow on my behalf.”
“It…doesn’t signify.”
“I think it does,” Niall replied a bit grimly. She felt his fingers tenderly brushing her hair back from her damp brow. “I am rather fond of living, and I might not have survived but for your intervention.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“Any Highlander might, but a Lowland lass…As Geordie said, you’re a brave lass. And there’s little a Highlander admires more than bravery. You’ve made your clan proud.”
Sabrina shook her head. She had wanted to make her clan proud of her, but s
he wasn’t a saint. “I was terrified.”
Niall placed a finger under her chin. “As well you should be. Which reminds me…I’ve a score to settle with you, mistress.” His penetrating gaze pinned her. “What the de’il were you doing out in the hills at night, putting yourself in such danger?”
“I only thought to watch the raid,” Sabrina said meekly. “I accompanied Geordie—”
“By God, I’ll have his ears.”
“He wasn’t to blame. Grandfather gave me permission to go…and I would never have interfered had the need not been dire.”
Niall scowled. “I particularly told you to remain at home.”
“No, you did not. You merely refused to take me with you.”
“For good reason. As you witnessed, lifting cattle is dangerous business. It was reckless and foolhardy, accompanying a raid.”
“Perhaps so, but”—her chin lifted—“I don’t recall having to answer to you, sir.”
Niall swore beneath his breath. His fingers tightened on her chin in warning.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t take advantage of wounded damsels,” Sabrina hastily reminded him.
He seemed to recollect himself. Releasing her, he returned his attention to her arm. “The bleeding seems to have stopped. Let us see if we can make you more comfortable.”
She clenched her teeth as he wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm. His hands were long-fingered, strong, elegant, his touch gentle enough to almost take her mind off the pain.
“Now,” Niall said softly when he was through. “We should remove your gown so you can attempt to sleep. Where is your nightshift?”
Sabrina exhaled sharply. “My…nightshift?”
“I presume that is what you sleep in?”
“Yes…but I have no intention of showing it to you.”
“A certain display of modesty is pleasing in a lass, but less so in a wife. When we are wed, I shall attempt to break you of the habit.”
Sabrina abruptly felt the remainder of her breath rush from her lungs. Her eyes flew wide as she stared at Niall. “I fear I misheard you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What did you not understand?”
“You said…‘When we are wed.’”
“So I did.”
“You cannot be serious.”
His eyes held hers, brilliant as sapphires. “Loath as I am to correct a lady, I am not given to jesting on matters of such import. You may consider us betrothed.”
She stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.
“Pray contain your delight,” Niall said wryly. When she still remained mute, his black brow rose another degree. “I suppose your lack of mental acumen can be attributed to the blow to your head.”
Sabrina sat up, bristling despite the aching throb of her wound. “All my faculties are in satisfactory working order, my lord, thank you!”
“Then you might try for a modicum of enthusiasm.”
“Why should I be eager to wed you? You have no wish to wed me.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “In truth, the prospect terrifies me.”
“Then why on earth would you even consider it?”
“A demonstration of nobility, perhaps?”
“This is no laughing matter!”
“No…in truth, it is not.” Sobering, his blue gaze held hers steadily. “Very well, then. I intend to wed you because of the debt owed to your grandfather. And to Owen Buchanan.” At the thought of his mortal enemy, a dark emotion passed like a fuming wave across Niall’s eyes. “I pay my debts,” he added softly, his resolve showing in the determined line of his jaw. “And Clan Duncan needs my protection. The Buchanans’ theft yesterday was proof enough of that.”
Sabrina frowned, knowing he was right. With her grandfather dying, her clan was far too vulnerable. They needed to unite under a strong leader. Had Niall been laird, it was unlikely Owen would have dared strike.
“I understand,” Sabrina said carefully, “that you feel an obligation to defend my clan, but there must be some way other than marriage.”
“Regretfully nothing else comes to mind.”
Sabrina raised a hand to her aching temple, trying desperately to think. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, as if she had drunk too much wine. “Perhaps I could lead Clan Duncan as laird. I could take my grandfather’s place—”
“Now I perceive the brandy talking.”
“You could teach me what I need to know,” Sabrina insisted.
His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “You have the mettle, tiger, I don’t doubt that. But not the training. It would take years to bring you up to snuff. Meanwhile Buchanan would carve up Clan Duncan for trout bait.”
“But…I don’t wish to marry you. And I’m certain you don’t want to be saddled with a wife for the rest of your days.”
For a moment, Niall hesitated. If an adequate successor for Angus could be found, then he might escape the clutches of matrimony…But no. For too long now he had avoided this particular responsibility.
And perhaps marriage to Sabrina would not be the hardship he’d envisioned. In truth, several of his previous objections toward her had been laid to rest in the past few days. She was not the self-effacing mouse he’d first thought her. Nor was she some feckless lass who ran at the first sign of trouble. It was possible she would even make an adequate mistress for his clan. She exhibited a passion for her beliefs that was unusual in a lass. And she cared for her kinsmen.
He’d seen her compassion firsthand. He could still recall, these many months later, Sabrina’s quiet sympathy at her aunt’s ball when he’d been stunned by the news of his brother’s death and father’s fatal wounding—how comforting and calming her manner had been. Even in his shock and grief, he’d felt her solace, felt her lending him strength…
Grimly, Niall raised the brandy glass to his lips and drained the remainder, before saying determinedly, “You are bespoken, and that is the end of it.”
Sabrina pressed her lips together, realizing he was not inviting debate on the subject. “That is not the end of it! It is scarcely the beginning. I shall not wed you.”
“Yes, you shall.” There was a note of authority in his voice, despite the dulcet tone.
Their eyes clashed…locked. All at once their exchange was less a dialogue than a battle of wills.
Niall regarded the young woman in the bed with unwilling admiration. She looked almost beautiful with her dark eyes flashing, her chin raised at a defiant angle. For all her meekness, Sabrina Duncan could summon the cool hauteur of a duchess—proud and strong and damned if she would give an inch.
“I can see,” Niall observed dryly, “that you are cursed with the Duncan obstinacy. You rival your grandfather in that regard.”
Sabrina shook her head. Her objection was not merely obstinacy. If Niall were forced to marry her, he would eventually come to despise her, and she couldn’t bear that. “I hardly think you are qualified to judge me, sir.”
He ran an assessing eye over her. “You were eager enough to wed me only a few days past.”
“I was never eager. I merely agreed to comply with my grandfather’s wishes.”
“His wishes have not changed. And Angus had the right of it on one point. You need a husband to keep you out of mischief.”
“Mischief!”
Niall grinned. It occurred to him that he was sparring with her for the sheer pleasure of watching her bristle, of seeing that fire kindle in her expressive eyes. The spitting tigress was a fascinating contrast to her usual demeanor—and to all the other females he’d known, as well. It intrigued and aroused him. She aroused him. She managed to conjure in him the desire to best and subdue and possess her.
Realizing he was deliberately trying to provoke her, Sabrina took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. “In light of recent events, I have changed my mind. I’ve decided I have no desire to marry, ever.”
“Ever? Surely a lovely lass such as yourself doesn’t wish to be left on the shelf.”
“I am entirely resigned to spinsterhood.”
“You shouldn’t be. It would be a terrible waste.”
“It would be a worse waste to wed you. You’d make a wretched husband.”
“I agree. Why do you think I’ve avoided the parson’s noose so long?”
“Perhaps because no woman was fool enough to have you.”
His eyebrow shot up. The light dancing in his eyes mirrored the amusement playing on his lips. “I’ll have you know, mistress, I’m considered quite a matrimonial prize.”
“Then some other lady may claim you, with my blessing.”
“Your grandfather will be devastated.”
Sabrina hesitated, acknowledging that truth.
Niall shook his head ruefully. “Come now, wedding me will not be so onerous. I fancy we can contrive to rub along well enough.”
“There is more to marriage than merely ‘rubbing along.’”
“Indeed? Pray tell.”
“There is compatibility, for one. You were entirely correct. We wouldn’t suit in the least. Faith, we cannot even hold a simple discussion without arguing. We would fight all the time.”
“Fortunately, I like shrewish women.”
“You like all women,” she retorted, ignoring his jibe.
“Aye, ’tis true.” His self-deprecating grin held a contagious charm. “Females are my besetting sin, I admit it.”
“You have a vast number of besetting sins!”
“But I also have several sterling qualities, which you are set on overlooking.”
Sabrina took a steadying breath, trying to steel herself against that sinfully easy charm and the warm laughter in his eyes. He had stolen a thousand female hearts—but he would not steal hers. “Sterling or no, they cannot outweigh your undesirable traits. I’ve told you, I have no desire to marry a lecher.”
Glancing down at his sleeve, Niall plucked at an imaginary speck of dust. “I suppose you would expect fidelity.”
“What a singular notion,” Sabrina replied with sarcasm.
The midnight color of his eyes held her captive. “I’ve told you, lass, I’m not inclined to be faithful. But I can promise you I will endeavor to be discreet.”
The Lover Page 12
