Eve Graham came to mind. His former mistress would cure him of this strange malady, Niall was certain. She would cool his fever and help him conquer the obsessive feelings of jealousy and possessiveness that had begun to haunt him of late.
Perhaps then he would be able to control the insatiable hunger his own wife roused in him.
Chapter
Fourteen
They didn’t speak of their fierce quarrel beside the loch or of Sabrina’s interrupted liaison with Keith Buchanan, yet a dark tension remained between them, as did the perplexing question regarding the cattle raids.
Too incensed to let the matter drop simply because her domineering husband commanded it, Sabrina pondered discussing the puzzle with her grandfather. However, when she paid an unexpected visit to Banesk the following morning, she received a greater shock than she bargained for.
A storm had blustered through the Highlands during the night, leaving a gray mist hanging low over the heathered hills. Rab bounded happily beside his mistress’s horse…until they neared Clan Duncan’s family seat, when his ears pricked forward nervously. It was several moments more before Sabrina recognized the clash of steel—swordplay, she had no doubt.
Fearing an assault on her grandfather’s castle, she set her spurs to her mount and raced forward, her heart lurching. She slowed only when she came to a clearing. Through the swirling gray mist she could detect two combatants. One of them she recognized as Liam Duncan.
The other, to her vast startlement, was her elderly grandfather.
“Aha!” Angus exclaimed heartily as he parried a wicked thrust with a heavy blow of his own broadsword. “Ye’ll no’ harm me w’ that wee jab. A bairn could do better.”
It took her a moment to realize they weren’t trying to murder each other, but were honing their battle skills on the practice field. Even so, it was sheer madness for an invalid to attempt such exertion.
“Merciful heaven, Grandfather!” Urging her horse forward, Sabrina drew up behind him. “What are you doing out of bed?”
He spun around to face her with the agility of a man half his age, though he was panting slightly. “Sabrina, lass…I wasna expecting ye.”
“Evidently not. You’ll kill yourself with such folly.”
“Nay, I’m as hale as may be—” He broke off suddenly, looking somewhat guarded. “I’m well enough, lass. Dinna fash yerself.”
“You’re well?” She stared blankly in confusion. “A month ago you were on your deathbed.”
His bushy white brows drew together warily. “Ah…” He cleared his throat. “In truth, I was ill for a time. The ague in ma chest gave me fits. But I’ve recovered.”
Her breath checked sharply. “That was what ailed you? An ague? You said your heart was failing you.”
Angus had the grace to look self-conscious. “Aye, ma heart was a bit weak, too. ’Twas a bad bout, but I’m well enough now.”
Sabrina felt herself grow white about the mouth. He was not at death’s door—and apparently never had been. “Your illness was all pretense?” she asked faintly.
“Not all. I was ill, in truth. Just no’ so ill as ye believed.”
Dazed, she shook her head, a turmoil of emotion assaulting her: hurt, confusion, betrayal. His desperate infirmity had been feigned. “You deliberately deceived me,” she whispered.
“Aweel…”
“You said I was the last hope for the future, that it was vital I wed the McLaren to save our clan.”
“’Twas for a good cause, lass.”
“A good cause?” Her voice trembled. “Is that all you have to say? You lied to me, tricked me into agreeing to your plans…I wed Niall only because I thought you were dying. Because Clan Duncan needed a leader to protect them from the Buchanans after you were gone.”
“Aye, but I feared ye would refuse the marriage unless the need was dire. Come, lass, admit it. Ye wouldna even have come to the Highlands had ye not thought me dying.”
No, she would never have come. She would never have wed a legendary rogue who resented having her as his bride…or fallen so desperately, hopelessly, in love.
Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut. Angus had played on her sympathies and her clan loyalty in order to win her compliance. She felt a stark hollowness in the pit of her stomach.
She glanced at Liam Duncan, who lowered his eyes. “Were you an accomplice to his plan?” she asked.
“Nay,” Angus interrupted his reply. “Liam knew naught of this till after the nuptials.”
Sabrina shifted her gaze back to her grandfather, who was starting to scowl.
“Come now, lass, would ye rather I’d died in truth?”
“No, of course not. I’m glad you’re well. What distresses me is your deception—” She recoiled as another thought struck her like a blow. What had he told Niall in order to compel him to wed her?
“What hold did you have over Niall to force his hand?” she asked slowly.
“Why do ye think I had to force him?”
“Because he clearly never wanted a marriage between us.”
“’Twas a debt of honor his da owed. I saved Hugh McLaren’s life once.”
Her heart twisted painfully. “So it wasn’t simply his wish to wed an heiress, as you claimed. I wondered. He was too anxious to avoid the betrothal, and too relieved when I broke it off. That would have been the end of it, except that I was wounded in the raid—”
Her eyes narrowed in dismay as another notion occurred to her. “Did you deceive me about that as well? About the Buchanans stealing our cattle?”
“Now, lass—”
“You said Owen Buchanan himself led the raid.”
“Aweel…perhaps he wasna the one.”
“Perhaps it never happened at all! That would explain why they deny initiating the thieving, why they accused us of breaking the truce. Did you steal their cattle first?”
“Nay, ’twas not the way of it. But I may have been mistaken about their thievery…”
Sabrina raised a hand to her temple, a sick sensation of disbelief gnawing at her insides. It was all beginning to make sense. “You said the bloody Buchanans would ravage our clan if we had no laird strong enough to prevent it. But Clan Duncan never needed saving from the Buchanans, did they? You orchestrated the entire threat.”
Her grandfather’s ruddy features took on a pleading expression. “Ye dinna ken, lass. I acted for the good of the clan.”
“Oh, I think I ken well enough,” Sabrina replied raggedly. “We could have had peace. Dear God, Owen Buchanan had already agreed to a truce! We could have settled the feud for good, or at least enjoyed a momentary calm. Instead you deliberately rekindled the conflict. Merciful heaven, Grandfather…People could have died! Niall was almost killed during that raid—and two of the Buchanans were wounded. So was I, for that matter.”
His heavy brows drew together mutinously. “Even so, I had to act. Ye had broken off the betrothal and wouldna listen to reason. I had to show ye the danger. Ye needed to see what would happen if Clan Duncan didna unite under a strong leader.”
“So you risked a bloody war to force my hand.”
“Mayhap I did, but I had no choice. I’m growing old, lass. Our clan needed a laird, and the McLaren was the right mon to succeed me. Ye were the only one who could provide him.”
Angus took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to ward him off. “Don’t, Grandfather!” Anguish seized her features. “Nothing you could say can justify the risks you’ve taken with other people’s lives. You thought to play God—” She shook her head. “I had best leave before I say something I would forever regret. Rab, come!”
Without waiting, she whirled her horse and rode blindly toward home, anger and hurt and humiliation warring within her breast. She had been used as a pawn in her grandfather’s machinations, played for a fool, while he had imperiled hundreds of lives.
Worse, Niall had been given no choice but to wed her. She’d been forced on him through subterfuge and guile. He’
d submitted to the marriage only because he thought her clan endangered. But there’d been no reason for them to wed.
Shame flooded Sabrina at the thought. How could she ever face him now? Did he even know about Angus’s sham illness?
Her heartbeat faltered. When Niall learned he’d been tricked, would he want to end their union? It was too late to petition for a grant of annulment, but he might wish to be free of the alliance he had never wanted.
Dismay swept through her with the power to make her tremble.
There was another issue to resolve as well. The feud with Clan Buchanan. Perhaps it was not too late for peace. Owen had wanted a truce all along. And once Niall learned the truth about the cattle raid, it might temper his hatred for his foes, enough for him to reconsider an end to the hostilities. In any event, the matter of the cattle thefts must be set right with the Buchanans.
But first, Sabrina thought with a bleakness she couldn’t shake, she had to speak to her husband and discover if he still wanted her for his bride.
As she neared Creagturic, Sabrina steeled herself to face Niall, but when she rode in, she discovered that her crucial conversation would have to wait.
Eve Graham had come to call.
Sabrina left her horse with a groom and her dog happily sniffing for rodents, and entered the house. Rigid with nerves, she went upstairs.
Her guest was not in the drawing room, she discovered to her surprise, nor was she in any of the other chambers on that floor. The serving maid, Jean, thought Lady Graham might have ventured to the orchard behind the castle, for she’d glanced out a window earlier and had seen the laird strolling with the lady there.
Niall and Eve in the orchard? An inexplicable misgiving gripped Sabrina.
She considered waiting for them to return, but chided herself for acting the coward. Making her way from the manor, she followed the stone path up a hill, to the walled orchard where apple and cherry and quince trees grew in gnarled profusion.
She faltered when she heard hushed voices emanating from beyond the stone wall, yet she took a deep breath and forced herself to peer over the top edge. The intimate scene that greeted her barely a stone’s throw away made her blood turn cold.
The beautiful Widow Graham and the handsome Laird McLaren were lying on his plaid in the grass, embracing.
Sabrina clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. She knew she should go, yet she remained riveted where she stood, paralyzed by the sight.
Niall lay on his back with Eve straddling his hips, kissing him fervently. The skirts of her elegant gown were hitched up, while her bodice was loosened nearly to her waist, baring her ripe, heavy breasts.
Pushing herself up then, Eve grasped both of Niall’s hands and guided them to cover the swollen mounds.
His expression was strangely grim as he gazed up at the beautiful woman above him. “You’re a randy tart, sweetheart.”
“As I recall, you used to consider that one of my charms.” Provocatively, Eve arched her back so that her peaked nipples jutted forward into his palms. “You still enjoy my charms, do you not, Niall?”
His fingers closed over her nipples, squeezing lightly. Eve released a whimpering moan, shutting her eyes and letting her head fall back.
Sabrina stared, riveted with anguish, the air trapped in her lungs. The erotic image of those strong bronzed fingers cupping pale voluptuous breasts would be forever branded in her memory, as would Niall’s face, taut with sensuality as he pleasured another lover.
She took a stumbling step backward, a sick fury cramping her heart. When Eve gave another moan of delight, Sabrina choked back a sob and forced her feet to move. Turning, she fled before they could see her.
She ran, tears blinding her eyes.
Somehow she made her way back to the house and found herself in her bedchamber, their bedchamber…the one where Niall had stripped away her innocence and initiated her into lovemaking. Where he’d shown her so many hours of indescribable pleasure. Where they’d begun to build a bond of tenderness and trust between them….
Desperately Sabrina clutched at the bedpost, bracing herself against the wild trembling that had invaded her limbs. Betrayal burned like acid inside her, while a savage pain raked her heart.
She felt cold, sick inside, beset by tumultuous emotions, one bleeding into the other. She hadn’t expected this awful pain in her heart, this heaviness in her chest that threatened to strangle her very breath.
“Niall…” she whispered in agony.
How close she’d come to confessing her love for him, to baring all the secret longings of her soul. The remembrance made her ill with craven self-knowledge. She had only been deluding herself to think her libertine husband would ever come to care for her. That he might be faithful to his vows.
Sabrina raised a hand to her eyes, fighting the tears, the raw ache in her throat. In truth, she shouldn’t be so devastated. She’d always known she was wed to a notorious rake. Niall had been entirely honest with her from the first. He’d told her—indeed, on more than one occasion—that he would never be faithful to her. She couldn’t complain if he sought his pleasures outside the marriage bed.
She dashed a hand roughly across her eyes. She would not die, no matter how searing the pain was at just this moment. She was strong enough to endure it. Indeed, she would have to develop thick calluses around her heart if she was to survive this mockery of a marriage.
Her head came up. She would not be relegated to so pitiful a role as the spurned wife. She would never let Niall know how deeply he had wounded her.
Yet she couldn’t wait for him to return. She couldn’t face him just now. Not until she had regained some measure of composure and gathered the remnants of her shattered pride.
Her spine stiffening, Sabrina returned to the barn, where she called for her horse. As she rode away, she drew her cloak around her, almost grateful for the coldness that had crept through her body. Lead lay where her heart belonged, numbing the pain.
She was unsure at first where she was headed, but she found herself riding in the direction of the Buchanans’ land. Remembering her earlier confrontation with her grandfather, then, she set her jaw and spurred her horse onward.
To her relief she came across Keith Buchanan on his way home. She had no desire to face his father alone.
When she explained her purpose, Keith willingly escorted her back to the castle. They found Owen about to sit down to dinner in the great hall.
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. Th
e pleasure he normally experienced with lovemaking was dismayingly absent.
Inexplicably he felt dissatisfied.
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.”
The Lover Page 27
