He released her. But he did not bid her good night as she thought he would.
Instead he murmured, "Your father should not have said what he did last
eve."
Sabrina blinked. "What did he say?" she asked faintly.
His regard was unsmiling, his expression unreadable. "That you are not so
fair as Margaret."
Sabrina's face burned painfully. She took a fortifying breath. "I do not
mind. Nor do I envy her. I- I accept her as she is. And I accept what I am as
well."
"It was cruel of him." He sounded almost angry. "Nor is it true."
Once again, she knew not what to say, and so she said nothing. But in that
ringing silence…
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Sabrina's heart leaped like a frightened doe. He stood so close—it was verily
impossible to breathe.
His head bent low. She couldn't tear her eyes from his mouth. There was a
stab of some unknown feeling low in her belly. But he merely ran a fingertip
down her cheek.
"Sleep well, bratling," was all he said.
The tender gesture so startled her that she could scarcely breathe. She did
not move for long moments after he turned and walked away.
He had called her lovely. Why?
Why
? Ugly, would have been more like
the Ian of old. But it was just as he'd said. She was no longer a child.
And— oh, but she could not lie to herself!—Ian was the most handsome man
she'd deigned to lay eyes upon…
“We missed you at supper."
Sabrina had glanced up when she heard the door creak open. Margaret stood on
the threshold. She beckoned Margaret inside, then quickly sat up from where she
had been lying on the bed.
She smiled at Margaret. "Oh, I've no doubt my absence was a welcome
respite for all who crave peace quiet."
“Actually it was rather dull," Margaret complained. “I can’t remember a meal
so utterly boring.”
Sabr
i
na's mind sped straight to Ian. Had
he
missed her too?
She caught herself in mid-thought. God in heaven, what was wrong with
her?
On impulse, she patted the spot next to her on the blanket. "Come sit," she
invited.
Margaret hesitated, then did as she was bid. "I can stay but a moment," she
warned. "I am to play chess with Alasdair in the hall."
Sabrina couldn't help but feel wounded. In but a few days, Margaret would be
leaving here for the Highlands. Never again would they live together as
sisters.
A voice in her mind chided that Margaret would miss her not a whit. Countless
times throughout their lives she had approached Margaret—to talk. To sit. To
simply share her company. But somehow Margaret had always managed to make her
feel unwanted, as if she were naught but an inconvenience. Sabrina loved her
sister; she greatly admired her grace and gentility. But the warmth she had
sought in her sister was simply not to be, at least not for her, and it had ever
been so. A pang of guilt shot through her, for in her childhood she had oft felt
far closer to Ian than her own sister…
Ian. Faith, why must he be ever in her mind? His image flashed before her:
dark, craggy features, his tall, spare form. Did Margaret find him as handsome
as she did?
Margaret sighed. "What is it, Sabrina?" Her tone was impatient.
Sabrina bit her lip. “It is nothing,” she murmured. Drawing up her knees, she
hugged them to her chest.
Margaret grimaced. "I can tell you've something on your mind. Out with
it."
Sabrina felt her face grow hot. “It’s nothing. I've no wish to trouble you
further—"
"Tell me, Sabrina." Margaret looked as stem as an old hen.
"All right, then. You see, I was just wondering if he"—she finally decided
there was naught she could do but blurt it out—"I wondered if he had… had kissed
you!"
"Who?" Margaret's tone was sharp.
Sabrina blinked. "Ian." Indeed, who else could she have meant?
Margaret did not look pleased. "Nay," she said shortly.
Sabrina's lips parted. "Never?" she whispered.
"Such things should be done only between husband and wife. And we are not yet
husband and wife."
Margaret's voice rapped out; she was obviously affronted by such audacity.
"Why do you ask such a thing?"
Why, indeed… Because she had wanted to know what it was like to be kissed by
Ian… because she'd thought he was going to kiss her, and she'd wondered what it
would be like if he had… because she had kissed Jamie and she wanted to know if
it was the same…
Oh, but her mind was all amuddle! And all at once she was deeply ashamed that
she had kissed Jamie, for Margaret made it sound so—so wrong. But was it wrong?
She and Jamie would someday be husband and wife…
"I- I don't know," she stammered. Gathering herself well in hand, she
summoned a smile. "It’s just me, Margaret, being silly and fanciful again. Now
go and have your game of chess with Alasdair."
Margaret cast her a glance that proclaimed she'd surely lost her mind—and
mayhap she had. But already Margaret was gliding toward the door.
"Good night, Sabrina," was all she said.
"Good night, Margaret."
It was a long, long time before Sabrina slipped into the arms of slumber.
Before she did, she prayed she might dream of her beloved… of Jamie.
Dream she did… but not of Jamie. Nay, it was Ian’s strong features who
flitted through the darkest realm of her mind.
Little did she realize it was much the same in the chamber down the hall.
For Ian, too, sought to fill his mind with visions of the beauty he would
soon wed…
Instead he dreamed of Sabrina.
It was early the next afternoon when Edna sought out Sabrina where she was
checking stores in the larder.
"My lady," she whispered, then beckoned to her.
Sabrina quickly stowed her keys in the pouch fastened to her gown and hurried
to where the maid lurked in the doorway.
"What is it, Edna?"
"Your Jamie wishes to meet you at the pond, my lady,” the maid told her. "As
soon as you are able."
Sabrina bit her lip. She hated the doubt that crowded her mind, but she was
all at once reminded how Edna had revealed to Ian what she would have preferred
remain secret.
"Tell no one of this, Edna." Her tone was unusually stern. Within her eyes
was a silent warning. "Do you understand?"
Edna's gaze flitted away. "Aye, mum," she said in a tiny voice.
Sabrina squeezed the girl's shoulder to soften the sting. She could not find
it in her heart to be angry with her. "You are a dear, Edna," she said softly.
"Should anyone ask, you know not where I am."
Edna nodded. Sabrina's steps carried her quickly away. She departed the keep
from a little-used entrance next to the stables.
The day was warm and bright, alive with the scents and sounds of late summer.
Slivers of sunlight streaked through the treetops high above. The air vibrated
with the hum of insects. Birds shrieked to one another, heedless of the visitor
below.
At last the pond came into view. Sabrina halted.
The sweep of her gaze scanned the clearing. Where, she wondered, was he…
?
A tall figure stepped out from behind a stand of trees, tall and handsome,
clad in rough linen shirt and leggings.
"Jamie!"
With a cry, Sabrina picked up her skirts. Her heartbeat quickened as she
hurtled toward him. He caught her close. She clung to him and buried her face
against his chest, craving the security only his presence could bring .. needing
desperately to drive away the haunting dreams of a dark-visaged face with eyes
that glimmered like steel.
Jamie's low voice, grainy-rough with an edge of laughter, rushed past her
ear. "With a welcome like this, I do believe I should stay away more often."
A wisp of a smile curled her lips. Suddenly she felt rather foolish indeed.
"I missed you."
One thick golden brow hiked upward. "So I gather, lass," he said in his
soft burr. "So I gather."
An arm about her shoulders, he led her toward a patch of soft, mossy ground.
Jamie sat, then gently urged her down with a tug on her hand.
"I heard the news that Margaret is to be wed to the MacGregor."
Sabrina nodded. "The wedding is planned for tomorrow."
"Good! Then I can ask your father for your hand—" He broke off when he saw
her expression. "What is it, love? Our turn will come next, I promise."
Sabrina's gaze had turned cloudy. "Papa may be difficult," she said
quietly.
His smile of encouragement vanished. "Because I am a MacDougall," he said
flatly.
Never in her life had Sabrina felt so helpless. "Because your family supports
the Comyns."
Jamie scowled. "I do not seek to marry him. I seek to marry his
daughter."
Sabrina laid a hand on his arm. “We will find a way, for I swear, I will not
let Papa keep us apart—" She broke off at the expression of guilt that
flitted across his ruddy features.
Panic, swift and merciless as an arrow to the heart, swept through her.
"What?" she cried softly. "What is it?"
He clasped both her hands in his much larger ones. The sudden agony she felt
was mirrored on his face.
"You know how much I long to make you my bride, Sabrina." His voice was
hoarse with all he felt.
Wordlessly she nodded. Her eyes clung to his.
"And you do not doubt that I love you."
She did not. But there was something wrong. She searched his features but
could find no answer there. "But what?" she said faintly.
He hesitated. "But we may have to wait a wee bit longer than we hoped. For
there is not just the matter of your father's consent "
"We could run away. To a place where we are not known—"
His voice cut across hers. "I cannot."
Sabrina went very still. "Why not?" she whispered.
There was an endless silence before he spoke. "It’s said the Bruce will soon
return."
An eerie prickling trickled up her spine. Alasdair had predicted the very
same the night he and Ian had arrived. Should she tell Jamie? She hesitated,
feeling as if she were caught fast in a spider's web with no way to free
herself.
"But that has naught to do with us—"
"I cannot abandon my family. My cause. The Bruce cannot remain king. I pray
that you will forgive me, but… I must leave soon."
Though her heart wrenched, she understood. Oh, there was a part of her that
wished she could rage and scream and cry that she might keep him at her side…
but this was a matter of honor and loyalty.
A matter of duty.
"How soon?" she whispered.
"Two days. I know I should have told you earlier, but I awaited word from my
uncle in the Highlands." He hesitated. "Tell me you do not hate me, Sabrina.
Promise me you will wait."
Her heart turned over. He was so brave. So torn. Very gently she cradled his
face between her palms and gazed into eyes as blue as the bonny sky.
"I will wait," she said softly.
His eyes darkened. "Then let me hold you just once more… let me kiss you that
I might remember the sweet taste of your lips, that you might be with me
evermore…"
With a groan he crushed her against him. Her arms slid up and twined around
his neck. She clung to him shamelessly, cherishing the moment, not quite
understanding the fierceness of his kiss, but wanting to give him all he sought
and more.
The weight of his chest pressed her to the ground. His mouth on hers was hot
and potent. One hand slid upward from her waist to just beneath her breast. His
thumb raked brazenly across the tip of her breast. Sabrina's heart slammed
against her ribs, for this was play in which she had no experience.
She felt his fingers in her hair, loosening her braid.
"Please, love." His words were a hoarse mutter against her lips. "Do not say
me nay."
What her answer would have been, she would never know. At precisely that
instant, her eyes flicked open; they widened in sheer horror.
For once again, it seemed, she was not alone…rather, they were not alone.
Ian stood but an arm's length above them.
Somehow she managed to tear her mouth free of Jamie's. Frantically she pushed
at his shoulders. "Stop!" she gasped. "Th- there is someone here!"
A curse broke from his lips. He twisted and bounded to his feet, only to come
face to face with Ian. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded. He reached for the
dirk at his waist.
By now Sabrina had struggled to her feet. She grabbed at his arm. "Jamie,
no!" she cried. "It’s Ian!"
Shock flooded his features. She felt the muscles in his forearm loosen.
"Margaret's betrothed?"
"Aye."
This came from Ian; it spun through her mind that never had a single word
sounded so ominous.
His mouth was a forbidding, straight line. His jaw was clenched as tight as a
babe suckling on its mother's teat. It flooded her mind that he was not just
angry. He was furious.
Ian transferred his burning gaze to her face. "I see you are quite
recovered."
His voice was heavily laden with mockery. Though it took every ounce of
courage she possessed, she refused to back down. Deliberately she slid her other
hand around Jamie's elbow. "Jamie and I are to be wed," she informed him
loftily.
He laughed, a sound that held no humor. "Indeed. Well, methinks your father
was right, Sabrina. This lad"— he spoke the word as an insult—"wants naught but
one thing from you."
Beside her, Jamie stiffened. "That is not for you to say—"
"No? My eyes do not lie." Ian made the pronouncement flatly. "I know what I
saw. You touched her as no honorable man would touch a woman he seeks as his
wife."
So he had seen Jamie's band on her breast… Mortified, Sabrina wished she
could vanish into the air, like the faeries of legends past.
Jamie flushed. "You know nothing. And I will not answer to you—"
"And I demand no answer, though indeed, I should kill you where you stand
here and now."
Jamie bristled. He drew himself up to his full height. "I fear no one, least
of all you."
"Brave words, lad. But only a fool believes himself invincible." Ian's hard
was on his dagger. "However, I am prepared to be generous. Leave. Leave, while I
offer you the chance. For I vow I'll allow this tryst to go no further."
Sabrina's heart leaped to her throat. Though Jamie was tall and well-muscled,
Ian was broader and outweighed him. Thin-lipped and tense, Ian's shuttered
features bespoke a chilling coldness. In a contest between the two, she feared
Jamie might well be the loser.
"Go," she pleaded. "I am fine. He will not harm me. There is no point in
staying—"
Jamie gave a muffled exclamation. "And leave you with him? Nay, Sabrina—"
Panic swelled in her breast. "Yes! Jamie, please!" she pleaded.
He scowled. "Sabrina—"
With her eyes she implored him. With her lips she beseeched him. "I will have
no blood shed because of me. Go. Go now."
Time hung never-ending. She feared he would not listen. Then at last his eyes
flickered. His tone conveyed his regret. "Remember I leave two days hence to
join the battle to restore the Comyns to the throne. If you need me before then…
"
"Do what you will… what you must." With tremulous lips she smiled. Her heart
ached, for she knew not when she might see him again. "And remember, I will be
waiting."
His eyes darkened. He dragged her into his arms and pressed a passion-filled
kiss on her lips. Sabrina clung to him desperately, caring not that Ian
watched.
At last Jamie raised his head. He pressed a finger to her lips, and then he
was gone.
Sabrina watched him disappear into the forest. All the while she felt the
fire of Ian's gaze upon her. When at last she turned back to him, the heat of
fit seemed to burn clear inside her.
"Why are you so angry?" she asked daringly. "Because I am with a man? Or
because that man is a MacDougall?"
"It is very clear your father would not approve of a MacDougall.”
“It is none of your affair!" she retorted hotly.
His smile was tight. "As your future kinsman, I believe it is."
She glared her ire—but could find no argument within her—save one.
“Jamie loves me."
"He loves what lies between your thighs."
Sabrina's eyes widened at his bluntness. "You are crude!" she gasped. "And
you are wrong, for Jamie
does
love me."
He made a sound of disgust. "You mistake love for lust, lady."
Resentment and rage simmered inside her. "I need none such as you to protect
my virtue."
"Virtue?" His lip curled. "You have none."
"And who are you to judge? Who are you to know of a woman's wants? Ah, but I
forget." She mocked him as he mocked her. "You’ve been to France and so you know
all there is to know of love."
He gazed at her with thinly veiled disapproval. "You are as unmanageable as
ever. Your father should have curbed your wildness long ago."
Her eyes narrowed. "How dare you speak to me so!”
“You would dare speak ill of me… if I let you."
A sudden burst of recklessness washed over her. "You could not stop me!" she
taunted.
Aye, and unwisely. Indeed, oh, so unwisely… for all at once he seized her by
the shoulders.
He stared down at her, an unmistakable glint in his eye. "Ah," he said
softly, "but I do believe I could." He smiled, a smile that sent a chill to
every corner of her heart. "I find I’m curious, Sabrina. What wicked ways have
you learned as a woman?"
Sabrina suppressed a shiver. She
had
curbed her wickedness.
Regardless of what Ian thought, Papa had seen to that.
But she would not yield, not to him. "What would you know of a woman's wants?
You may exceed Jamie in years, my Highland prince"—the childhood nickname she'd
had for him came ready to the fore, emerging without conscious remembrance; only
now it was a jeer, and she tossed her head boldly—"but I daresay Jamie is far
more skilled in the arts of pleasing a woman."
Had she known what the insult to his manhood might provoke, she would never
have taunted him.
"Ah, but he is just a boy, Sabrina. And he gave to you the kiss of a boy. But
this"—his hands tightened on her shoulders—"this is the kiss of a man."
He took her wholly by surprise. Sabrina had no chance to prepare herself. No
chance to evade him. He'd said he would not hurt her… but one terrifying glimpse
of his eyes, glittering and blazing, and she feared she was wrong.
His mouth came down on hers, hard and consuming. He kissed her with ruthless
intimacy, parting her lips with the demand of his.
Her hands came up between them. She sought to push him away, but he was as
immovable as a pillar of stone. A tiny whimper, a sound of protest, escaped
her.
He raised his head. She felt the touch of his eyes like the slash of a
sword-point. "What, Sabrina! Do I rob you of your sport as he robbed you of your
virginity?"
His arrogance knew no bounds. "He robbed me of nothing. What he took was mine
to give… and freely given!"
Time swung away while each tested the resolve they found in the other's eyes.
And then he did what she did not expect, not in a thousand years.
His arm clamped hard about her back. He pulled her full and tight against
him. They were welded together from breast to belly, the softness of her thighs
wedged against his own. Lean fingers tangled in her hair, turning her mouth up
to his…
He kissed her anew.
Aye, he kissed her anew… but now he sought to please where before he'd sought
to tame. A little shock went through her, and suddenly Sabrina was seized with a
far deeper fear.
His kiss was so very different than Jamie's, she thought with a shiver.
Jamie's was sweetly worshipful, while Ian's was heady and persuasive and
strangely erotic. Aye, she decided hazily, 'twas so very different…
Yet not distasteful.
She struggled against an insidious pleasure. Deep in her heart she was
appalled that she could feel such a thing with this man—she was appalled at both
of them! She could feel the rhythm of his heart drumming hard against her own.
She gave a little moan—of surrender or denial, she knew not which.
Her fingers curled against the soft wool of his plaid. Her lips parted
beneath the pressure of his. All thought, all sanity, scattered to the far
reaches of the earth. There was only the hot seal of his mouth against hers,
hungrily demanding, darkly passionate.
It ended as suddenly as it began. He lifted his head and stared down at her.
Sabrina's legs buckled, as if she were without courage or strength. She would
have collapsed had he not caught her.
Slowly she brought her head up. Glittering silver eyes rained down on her,
but she could read nothing in the depths of his gaze, neither triumph nor
elation.
With a stricken sound she broke away from him. This time he made no effort,
neither to stop her nor help her. Ali at once she was shaking so that she could
scarcely stand. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips.
"What have you done?" she whispered, and then it was a wrenching cry: "What
have you done?"
She spun around and fled toward the keep.
In truth, Ian had no answer.
Nor did he know why he'd kissed her.
He knew only that he'd been angry—angry as never before that her wildness
hadn't abated—that she was still the daring little enchantress she'd been as a
child. A crimson mist of rage had come over him the instant he'd seen her with
Jamie—seen that wretched traitor daring to explore the round swell of her
breast.
Nay, he
did
know why he'd kissed her. He'd meant to teach her a
lesson—that she could not challenge him without paying the price.
He'd not expected the wave of passion that swelled within him the moment he
dragged her into his arms.
He didn't understand the way she had trembled beneath his touch. Oh, she had
resisted at first—they'd both been so full of emotion, so full of anger! But his
fury had given way to something else, something just as potent… just as
powerful…
And far more dangerous.
For now he knew how she felt beneath his hands, small and delicate and soft,
as if she would surely break in two. Yet she was startlingly lithe and firm.
He wanted… more.
He wanted… what could never be his. He wanted… her.
Sabrina.
He cursed her to the heavens… and damned himself thrice as blackly.
It was a long time later when he returned to the keep. He strode into the
hall and called for pungent ale. Perched on a wooden stool below a woven
tapestry, he drank deeply. The world had just begun to pleasantly recede when
the swirl of feminine skirts caught his eye. He stiffened as a form drew
near.
But it was only Margaret.
"My lord," she murmured.
Ian spared no greeting, for his mood was not tame. He gave a terse nod and
waited.
"I wonder if I might have a word with you." "What is it?"
She linked her fingers before her, as cool and calm as ever. "I would like to
stay on at Dunlevy for several days after the ceremony."
A muscle in his jaw jumped. "No," he said.
Her eyes flickered. "But, my lord, I've many things to—"
He was on his feet in a heartbeat. "No," he said again.
"Ian, I pray you—"
He slammed his fist against the wall. “We leave for Castle MacGregor
immediately after the ceremony, Margaret. That is final."
He strode away without a backward glance.
Sleep did not come easily for Sabrina that night. Her mind reeled when ever
she thought of it… Ian had kissed her. He had
kissed
her.
Nay, not just once… but twice.
Much to her dismay, she could think of naught else. His kiss had been like
fire, his body well muscled and strong…
Why it was so, she didn’t know. She loved Jamie. They planned to wed as soon
as they were able. So why this cursed awareness of Ian as a man, a very handsome
man indeed… ?
He had changed. He had changed from a gangly youth into a man of stark
masculinity. They hadn't always liked each other as children. Though he'd never
been one to treat her with scorn, at times there had been an air of haughtiness
about him, and it was that which had sometimes led her to provoke him. Certainly
she'd never been one to guard her tongue or mind her manners—nay, not then.
So why had he kissed her? Was it her fault? The question played through her
mind, an endless litany. Papa had always accused her of being bad. He'd scolded
her for not being more like Margaret. Mayhap he was right, and her soul was
tainted. Mayhap Ian could not help himself… Nay, he was not to blame
.
She
was, for she was as wicked as Papa had always said.
Margaret… she cringed inside. How could she face Margaret again after what
had happened? Now she knew what shame truly was. She had kissed the man who
would be her sister's husband…
Sweet Christ… and on the eve of her wedding!
It was the raucous sounds of activity below-stairs the next morning that woke
her. Sabrina was not surprised, since there had been a flurry of guests arriving
these last few days. She had just finished dressing when she heard a knock on
the door. In answer to her summons, Edna peeped inside. "My lady, is your sister
with you?"
Sabrina was on her knees searching through her trunk for a veil. Her tone was
distracted. "Nay, Edna, I've not seen her."
Edna made no reply. When Sabrina glanced up, the girl was still standing
there. She looked confused.
Sabrina frowned. "What is it, Edna?"
"My lady… her bed has not been slept in."
Sabrina scrambled to her feet. "Are you certain?"
Edna nodded. "Aye. I thought… mayhap… she spent the night with you… this
bein' her last night at Dunlevy…"
Sabrina shuffled backward through her mind. "I've not seen her since
yesterday morn." A prickly unease slithered up her spine; quickly she pushed it
aside.