Sabrina couldn't help but smile in return. An air of frailty clung to him,
yet she could not help but think he must have been a fearsome presence in his
youth. "I begin to see where Ian gains his height." She barely reached his
shoulder. His burr, she noticed, was thicker than Ian's.
Beneath his plaid, thin shoulders lifted. He gave a wheezing laugh. "Oh, it's
in the MacGregor blood, to be sure." Just then a sotted soldier weaved by. He
fell, nearly crashing into her. The man managed to rise and stagger off.
Malcolm shook his head. "Ye must forgive us, lass. We are Highlanders, and
Highlanders need no excuse to make merry. And now that our chieftain has
returned—and with a bride yet… " He shook his head. "Now come and join the
feast,” he invited.
He nodded to the nearest table. Before she knew it, food and drink were
placed before her. Malcolm had eased into the seat across from her. "They tell
me you are from Dunlevy, eh?"
Sabrina nodded.
"Where Ian fostered," he recalled. A shaggy white brow cocked high. "Then ye
must have known Ian when he was a swaggering young lad."
She chuckled. "I did indeed. He used to call me the bonny bratling."
"And she used to call me a Highland prince," said a voice just behind her.
"Why is that, do you think, Uncle?"
Sabrina stiffened. Ian proceeded to take the empty place next to her. So he
had finally deigned to acknowledge her, had he?
Her earlier vow was forgotten. "I can tell you why, Uncle. Because he
possessed the lordly arrogance of a prince"—her barb was swift and smooth—"and
still does."
Fraser had seated himself astride the bench next to Malcolm. On hearing her
reply, he erupted into laughter. "I do believe this bonny lass has brought you
to your knees, Ian! Why, methinks she is just the one to tame the
MacGregor!"
Sabrina braved a glance at him. That hard mouth was curved in a smile, but
she knew he was piqued.
The night progressed. Ian maintained his place beside her. Sabrina was
agonizingly aware of his nearness. His lean thigh stretched beside her own, but
little conversation passed between them—not that there was a shortage of
well-wishers. Sabrina's head began to spin with names and faces—she prayed she
would remember all on the morrow. Many of those, she reflected dryly, would
remember little of the night just past.
Unlike his clansmen, Ian ate and drank sparingly, though one of his kinsman
boasted how the new chieftain had, at his inauguration, drank a horn of wine to
the dregs without falling down.
But her husband was not so unaware of her as she thought.
The fresh, clean scent of her was dizzying. It addled his brain… and his
senses. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and twist her mouth up to
his, claiming its sweetness for his own. All the while he'd tarried here below
with his men-at-arms, his mind had been occupied with thoughts of none other.
While Kirby gave him an account of the fortnight's events, he’d wanted to say to
the devil with duty. He longed to turn, mount the stairs, and crawl into the
bath with his bonny bratling…
Would that have shocked his lovely bride? He had his suspicions. And tonight
he would know if he was right, by God. If she was indeed a virgin. Tonight…
His mouth compressed. He chafed inside, for with him she was as cool and
elusive as ever, while beside him she accepted a tender tidbit from a distant
cousin. Emboldened, his cousin pulled her up to meet his brother across the
hall.
There was scarcely a man in the hall tonight who could tear his eyes from
her. With but a look, with naught but a smile, she entranced. She enticed. He
scowled, for she touched off a hundred different emotions inside him: jealousy,
possessiveness. A brooding darkness slipped over him. He had wed her. Made her
his bride. She was his…
And his alone.
Music sang out from somewhere. With burning eyes he watched as Fraser pulled
her into his arms.
She danced a lilting tune with him, then another… Her gown swept high,
displaying a flash of shapely leg, a provocative flare of the hips.
The bench scraped loudly against the stone floor. He was across the hall
without being aware he'd moved.
Still laughing, she bowed low, then gracefully rose upright. When her gaze
tangled with his, her smile slipped away. Her eyes flooded with dismay.
Ian took ice-cold fingers within his grasp. She tried to tug free. He
wouldn’t allow it. Instead he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Unaware of the tension between them, Fraser grinned at them both. "You'd best
take care of her, man—else I will."
"Aye," said another. "A wife with both beauty and vigor. You must value her
greatly!"
"Oh, he values his horses far more than I." Though her tone was light, he
could feel her straining not to touch him. "I heard it from his lips. Is that
not so, husband?"
"What is this?" Fraser was aghast. "Surely you jest!"
"Nay," said Sabrina. "On our journey here, I was captured by English reivers.
Aye, Ian came after me, but he was prepared to pay well for the return of his
horses. Indeed, he said he would be well rid of me. It’s obvious he meant to let
them have me."
So she would embarrass him, would she? He slipped an arm around her waist and
brought her close against his side. She would learn not to spar with him.
"Ah, but there was never a chance of that, love. After all, I've yet to claim
my husbandly rights."
The gasp she emitted was gratifying.
"Aye," he went on. "Our journey here took four nights and days. Since
Alasdair slept little more than an arm's length away . . " He let the
sentence trail off. “So you see, we've yet to spend the night alone."
There was a shout of ribald laughter. "You’ll never get a wee bairn that
way!"
"Fer shame with ye, man!"
"Begone with ye then, or ye're no' the man we thought ye were!"
Ian bore the good-natured ribbing. He glanced at his bride. Her cheeks flared
crimson. "Aye," he said with slow deliberation. “It’s a situation I must remedy…
and what better time than now?"
With that he swept her from her feet and high into his arms. She did not
struggle until he began to ascend the steps and the hall was behind them. When
she did, his hold merely tightened.
"Be still!" he hissed.
She went rigid in his arms. Ian’s steps carried him swiftly to his chamber.
He breached the entrance and closed the door with the heel of his boot.
Slowly he lowered her, sliding her down his body that she might feel his
power and strength. The instant her feet touched the floor she backed away.
The tapers in the wall sconces flickered over her form. Her beauty struck him
like a blow to the middle. He could hear the sound of her breathing, quick and
ragged.
"This—this has gone far enough, Ian." There was a ragged tremor in her voice.
"You—you challenged me and I admit, I spoke rashly—"
He shook his head, amused by her bravado, though it was hardly convincing.
“It’s not your apology I want, Sabrina."
She gave a tiny shake of her head, her eyes both accusing and pleading. "What
then, Ian.
What?"
His gaze roamed her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts beneath soft
crimson wool, the narrow span of her hips before returning to her face.
"You," he said softly. "I want you."
She went pale. "What do you mean?" she whispered.
His regard never wavered. "It means you are right where I want you. In my
castle. In my chamber. And soon"—a hint of a smile curled his lips—"soon you'll
be in my bed."
Even while Sabrina was furious that he had announced to all that he would bed
her, an icy shock ripped through her. Her head swam dizzily. This could not be
happening. It could not…
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that this was but a dream—a dream from
which she might awaken. But alas, when her eyes opened, he was still there, tall
and powerful, the width of his shoulders obliterating her view of the door.
She spoke wildly, the first thing that came into her head. "You said you—you
did not want me in that way."
"Nay. I said there were others as fair as you." He advanced a step.
She retreated. "And far more willing," she recalled. "So why do you not go
find one?"
His eyes seemed to sear her very soul. "I think not. You swore before God to
be my wife. You cannot hold me at bay, Sabrina. You cannot hold the night at
bay. Very soon," he promised, "there will be nothing between us, not even these
words which you party so long and so well. I'll claim what is mine… and I’ll
claim it now."
"What!" she cried. "Will you gag me like the English reivers did?"
"Nay," he said, his tone almost lazy, "for I can think of another way to
silence your lips—a much more pleasurable way"—his gaze fell to her mouth—"for
both of us."
Icy fingers of dread crawled up her spine. He was set on this course—set on
her!
Desperation filled her breast. "You forget, Ian, you married me only to ally
our families. And you would bed me only to—to spite me! To crush my pride, to
assert your will over mine!"
He smiled as if he knew her veriest thought… her every fear—a smile as black
as his heart!
"Ah, now you’re the one who forgets, lass—for I meant what I said. You see, I
do want it. I want
you
," he said again.
But all at once his voice was harsh. "Now will you come to me willingly, as
you said you would the night we wed? Or will you challenge my manhood anew and
taunt me with your lover Jamie? Or will you fight me like a vixen and a shrew?
'Tis up to you, Sabrina. But know this. No matter your choice, the outcome will
remain the same."
Sabrina's gaze fell upon his hands. They rested now upon his hips, lean and
dark and powerful. She pictured those hands against her flesh, binding her to
his will…
She swallowed. Her limbs trembled, as if she were ill from fever.
Slowly he circled her. "What is this, lass?" he mused. "Why, I could almost
believe you are afraid of me—of this night. Yet I wonder why you should be. Why
this strikes me, I cannot say. After all, you're a woman who is no stranger to a
man's possession—and this from your own lips."
Sabrina looked away. There was that in his tone which demanded the truth. Oh,
but she could almost believe he knew she'd never lain with Jamie—with any man.
Faith, but he was a devil!
There would be no surcease, Sabrina realized. The silence ripened, along with
her unease.
He stopped before her. The length of two swords lay between them. He touched
her nowhere, yet she felt him with each and every sense she possessed.
"Well, lass? You've naught to say? Come here, then."
She went, on shaky legs, praying he would not see her trembling.
"Come now, lass. You wound me. You make me feel the most unsightly man in all
Scotland."
Both hands were on her shoulders now, disturbingly warm and strong. As he
spoke, his gaze roved over her features, one by one. Sabrina thought hazily that
his expression was oddly hungry. But then his mouth came down on hers…
And then she wasn't thinking at all.
His arms came around her, trapping her fast against his body. She shuddered,
but not with distaste. Aye, if only it were so!
When at last he raised his head, he was no longer smiling.
"Undress me, lass." The order came low and tight.
Her eyes flew to his face. "Ian!" His name broke from her lips, an urgent
plea. "I pray you… I- I can not!"
For one mind-splintering moment, she was certain he would make her. Something
blazed across his face, something she did not fully understand. Then abruptly, a
black brow climbed high.
"Very well, then. As before, if you do not do it, I will."
Unbeknownst to her, she clenched her hands before her. God save her soul, but
she could not look away as he stripped.
He stood before her, all sleek, sculpted muscle sheathed in bronzed,
hair-roughened skin. His shoulders gleamed in the candlelight, hard and smooth.
Dense, dark curls matted the whole of his chest and abdomen. Her gaze strayed
helplessly lower…
Her throat constricted. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't.
Before her very eyes, his staff turned to an iron pike.
Unconsciously she gauged and measured… Some small, faint sound escaped. She
trembled, convinced a night of horror awaited her.
"What is wrong, Sabrina? You are no innocent. You've surely seen a naked man
before. Why, you've seen me naked—and of your own free will."
Her gaze jerked back to his face. His smile was unpleasantly lazy.
"Aye," she managed, "but you were just a boy!"
"So I was. And I asked once before if you liked what you saw." There was the
tiniest pause. "I would ask again now."
It was true. She had wanted to see. And deep inside, there was a part of her
that had curiously wondered about the changes manhood had wrought…
"I see far more than I wish," she blurted.
One lean hand clamped her shoulder. She jumped. His laughter scraped her
nerves raw.
" 'Tis your turn now, lass."
He moved so that he stood directly before her, so close she could feel the
heat of his body. Cool gray eyes captured hers. Before she knew what he was
about, he'd swept her gown from her shoulders. It puddled around her feet. Her
chemise followed suit. All too soon she was as naked as he.
The backs of his knuckles trailed across the taut plane of her belly. He
smiled.
Sabrina blanched. His gaze was boldly irreverent—it left no part of her
untouched. Why, he even gazed at the red-gold fleece between her thighs. Her
arms lifted, that she might shield herself.
"Nay, Sabrina." His hands shot out, shackling her wrists to her sides.
"There's none to see but mine eyes."
Shame scalded her cheeks. Oh, but he mocked most cruelly. "The very eyes I
seek to avoid!" she cried.
His expression grew chill. "The eyes of your husband, I would remind
you."
"I need no such reminder!" She wanted to run. To hide. But he had yet to
release her.
His mouth thinned. His hold on her wrists relaxed though his tone was laced
with steel. "There is no shame in standing before me so."
But there was. A world of it. Something broke inside her then. Her only
thought was of escape. She wrenched away and lunged madly for the door.
But alas, he was too quick for her. A long arm snaked out and snared her
about the waist. The room whirled giddily as she was spun into his binding hold…
and high into his arms.
The next thing she knew she was lying on the bed, carried down with the
weight of his body.
Never had she been so wretched. Her composure was in tatters, her pride
sorely bruised. "Stop this game. You toy with me and well you know it!" She
pushed against his shoulder but he was immovable as stone.
His eyes were glittering pinpoints of light. "How so?"
She bit back a strangled sound of anguish. "You—you know!" she choked
out.
He loomed above her, his shoulders wide and gleaming like oiled oak. "What,
Sabrina? What do I know?"
Sabrina was unable to say a word. She lay beneath him, shaking and spent, her
emotions clogged fast within her breast.
Ian’s eyes were dark as a Scottish sky in winter. "Tell me true, Sabrina, and
tell me now. Did you lay with Jamie?"
She flinched from his angry demand. The air was stifling as he beheld her,
his lips ominously thin.
Mutely she shook her head. She could do no more.
"You claimed he'd made you his, when in truth you’ve lain with no man. You
are a maid, aren't you, Sabrina?"
She buried her face against his shoulder. "Aye," she cried brokenly.
"Aye!"
The arms around her grew tense, so tense it seemed he might snap her in
two.
"Look at me, Sabrina."
His rigid tone compelled compliance. Slowly she raised her head. An endless
storm brewed in the fire of his eyes. His regard was almost blistering.
"You think I do this to bring you pain? To punish you?”
"Don 't you?" The words were wrenched from her, laden thick with the threat
of tears unshed. She could feel his anger clear to the bone. Despite his avowal
otherwise, she was certain he was bent on vengeance. She had lied to him and now
she would pay the price for her deceit.
"Nay, I do not!" His denial was vehement. "Listen to me, Sabrina, and listen
well. I am not like your father. I will not punish you. You will come to no harm
at my hand. Ever."
Little by little, the rage began to fade from his features. Yet still his
words were no less fierce.
"Aye, I wed you against your will. This I know. This I cannot change, nor
would I. You will share my castle, and aye, you will share my bed this night and
all others. You will someday be the mother of my sons. You are my wife in name,
and soon will you be my wife in deed and spirit as well. But I would not bring
you unto me with hurt and pain between us—I
will
not."
She knew what he was saying. She could not evade his possession, the duty of
the marriage bed.
"Now. Do you understand this?"
She flushed, aware that something had changed in the way he held her. His
hold was no longer angry…
But filled with possessiveness.
She nodded, unable to tear her gaze from his. Her hands came out to rest on
his forearms, as if to keep him apart, though it was not resistance she
intended. She ran her tongue over her lips. "Ian," she said faintly.
"Aye, lass?"
She was quiveringly aware of his body above hers. There was nowhere she could
not feel him, the brand of his skin hard and warm against hers.
"The candle," she said faintly. "Snuff the candle."
He shook his head. "Nay, lass."
She swallowed. "Then must we be… naked?"
For an instant he gazed into her eyes; she had the oddest feeling he was
wondering if he'd heard her aright. An odd little laugh escaped his lips, a
husky, male sound. Sabrina was not certain if she should be angry or
relieved.
Then suddenly his laughter ceased. His eyes darkened. He drew back that he
might gaze the length of her. There was no cold demand in his eyes now, only a
scalding heat that made her tremble anew. Her heart surely stopped in that
instant, then seemed to thunder wildly in her breast. No man had ever looked at
her so, not even Jamie.
A hand rested possessively on the flare of her hip. "You're beautiful, lass,"
he said quietly.
His words disarmed her. His look made her shiver both inside and out. A hot
ache constricted her throat. The breath she drew was deep and uneven. "Nay," she
said haltingly. "Nay, I am not—"
His mouth hovered but a breath above her own. "Would you rather I showed you?
No. I can see you don't. But I wish to."
His hand slid down her throat. A thumb beneath her chin urged her mouth up to
his.
'Twas a kiss like none other. Slow and deep, almost unbearably sweet. The
hunger she tasted in his mouth did but kindle a hunger of her own. She felt
herself weakening, drawn beneath his spell. She gave a half-hearted sound—nay,
not of protest…
Of surrender.
Her breath left her lungs in a long sigh. Her arms crept around his neck as
she yielded the promise of her innocence. As if he sensed her capitulation, a
lean hand slipped to the rounded flesh of her breast. His fingers now joined in
the assault on her senses.
With his hand he circled one swelling mound, first with his fingertips, then
his palm. Sabrina's pulse began to race. Her nipples began to swell and ache,
even before those devil fingers swept across one dusky peak. Sensation ran
rampant through her body, startling sensations never before known. Her low moan
echoed in the back of his throat.
But that was only the beginning. His mouth slid with slow heat down the
tender cord of her neck. He kissed the madly thrumming pulse at the base of her
throat. Her heart plunged into a frenzy, for he did not stop there.
For one mind-splintering instant, his dark head was poised above the swelling
fullness. She could feel the moist warmth of his breath there, and then his
tongue came out to touch the deep rouge disk. She inhaled raggedly, unable to
look away. A stab of divine pleasure shot through her. With naught but his
tongue he teased her nipples stiffly erect, first one and then the other. And
when he began to gently suck one straining dark peak, she thought she would die
of sheer ecstasy. Her breath grew shallow and quick.
She nearly cried out when he drew back. But then his mouth was on hers again.
Her lips parted, a wordless invitation. With nary a hesitation, he reclaimed the
honeyed interior, his tongue a boldly seeking invader.
Lean fingers traced a shattering trail down the staircase of her ribs.
The heel of his palm skimmed the hollow of her belly, back and forth, warmly
tormenting. In the back of her mind, she was certain the way he touched her was
wanton and scandalous. Surely other people did not do such things… A vague
protest formed in her mind. Awash in a dark, forbidden pleasure, it never found
voice.
He grew ever more daring.
Sabrina was shocked when his fingertips threaded themselves in the curling
thatch that guarded her womanhood. She clutched at the hardness of his shoulders
and inhaled sharply.
"Rest easy, lass." He soothed her with a husky murmur, trapping her lips
beneath his. Even as his tongue swirled far and deep, his fingers uncurled,
sliding deep within those silken curls, seeking her secret cleft.