A Promise Given (7 page)

Had she been standing, she would surely have fallen to her knees. Her fingers
curled around the carved arm of her chair in a death grip. Her ears roared with
the pounding of her heart. She could scarcely believe she'd heard aright!

Ian had yet to deliver her of his regard. Oh, but he looked so smug, so sure
of himself!

Her lips compressed. Her mind rebelled. "You cannot mean that.'”

“Oh, but I do," he returned promptly. "And indeed, I will."

Those silver eyes were all agleam. Blast his hide, he was enjoying this!

"You're mad if you think I'll marry you!" she cried.

Her father surged to his feet. "By God, you
will
wed him, Sabrina!
You'll do as you're told for once!"

Sabrina turned pleading eyes to him. "Have I no say in this?"

Papa's jaw thrust out. "The matter is already decided!"

This could not be happening. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to
clear it. "Dear God," she numbly.

"What! Now you pray?" Rage propelled him around the table. He stood directly
before her. "I've done my best to put the fear of the Lord into you, all to no
avail! Well, now you know you should have prayed when you were a child! Mayhap
then you'd not be so disobedient and willful!"

His censure stung, but Sabrina was determined not to show it. Valiantly she
raised her chin. "I cannot marry Ian. I am already betrothed to Jamie
MacDougall.”

“I’ll kill him before I'll let you wed that blackguard! Do ye hear me, girl?
By God, I'll kill you."

And looking at him now, she well believed it. Though she was frightened of
his anger, she met his blistering gaze head-on.

"I cannot marry Ian," she repeated doggedly. "I will not."

"You will. You will not dishonor me." He jerked her to her feet, his fingers
biting deeply into the soft skin of her upper arm.

Sabrina stifled a cry of pain, then raised her head. Her heart leaped
fearfully, but she ignored it. Instead she gave a tiny shake of her head. "No,
Papa. I will not."

His lips twisted. An expression of such malice crossed his face that she
nearly cried out. Then without warning, his hand came up. He struck her
viciously across the cheek.

The blow felled her. Sabrina slid to the floor, stunned. Too late she
realized she should have expected it. Flecks of white floated before her eyes.
Her stomach turned sickeningly.

She didn't hear Ian leap to his feet so suddenly his chair crashed to the
floor. Nor did she see her father draw back his fist for yet another blow.

Steely fingers curled around his thick wrist. "Strike her again, Duncan, and
you'll wish you had not."

His tone was all the more deadly for its quiet. Duncan's eyes flickered. His
face went from fiery red to ashen gray. Only then did Ian release him.

Duncan stepped back. Gruffly he said, "Margaret would never have been so
insolent."

Ian's countenance was rigid. "Sabrina is not Margaret," he said through his
teeth. "But you never could see that, could you?"

Duncan blanched anew.

"The wedding will take place tomorrow," Ian said coldly. "See to the
arrangements."

Duncan nodded and left the room.

Sabrina was only dimly aware of voices buzzing above her head. She closed her
eyes, fighting back nausea, aware of her cheek throbbing like a red-hot brand.
But she struggled instinctively when a strong hand descended on her
shoulder.

"Stop!" commanded a voice above her. “It’s only me, Sabrina."

It was Ian. She opened her eyes to discover he knelt beside her. An arm
around her shoulders, he pulled her to a sitting position. His expression was
grave, his eyes thunder-dark with concern.

Stupid, foolish tears pushed to the surface. Sabrina swallowed them, wanting
desperately to succumb to the temptation to lean back against the strong comfort
of his embrace. But this was all his fault…

Lean fingers traced the broken, puffy skin on her cheekbone. His touch
displayed a gentleness that was totally at odds with the sudden flames that
leapt in his eyes. He swore a vile oath.

"That bastard. He's struck you before, hasn’t he?"

Sabrina did not answer; nor was there any need to. In the instant before her
gaze slid away, he saw the truth there.

"You have my word I will not treat you thusly. You will come to no harm by my
hand."

Her throat burned, for she was still perilously near tears. She longed to
snap that she knew how well and true he kept his promises. "Indeed," she managed
unevenly. "And a promise given is a promise kept, is it not?"

An odd look crossed his features. "Aye,” he said.

She pushed at his hands, mortified beyond belief that Ian had borne witness
to her humiliation. "You need not coddle me," she told him, her voice very low.
"I am fine."

He released her immediately, as if he found her suddenly abhorrent. As she
stood upright of her own power, she didn't see the way his eyes hardened to
stone.

After a moment she regained her bearings. Could Ian be reasoned with?
Desperation filled her breast. God above, she had to try.

Slowly she raised her head. If she had to beg, then so be it. "Stop this
marriage, Ian. Stop it now while you still can."

He was like a wall of iron. "I will not dishonor my father's memory by
disregarding his wishes."

"But he meant for you to marry Margaret, not me!"

"It's you who's blind yourself, Sabrina. It was my father's greatest wish
that our clans be allied. Margaret was decided upon simply because she was the
elder. But now Margaret is gone."

He made it sound so simple—but simple it was not! Her frustration must have
shown, for his gaze seemed to drill into her.

"You are a fool if you think your father will allow you to marry Jamie
MacDougall." Baldly he stated his prediction. "Marriages are made for expedience
and gain.”

Deep in her heart, she knew he was right. But she could not admit it—nay, not
to him, not even to herself. "I cannot do this," she said fervently. "Dear God,
I cannot!"

"I suggest you ready yourself, Sabrina. Our marriage will take place on the
morrow. There is naught you can do to stop it."

No hint of a smile broke the grim line of his lips. He was utterly ruthless,
utterly determined. As he spun around, Sabrina felt as if a cold wind had blown
across her heart.

She could not help it. Bitter despair descended like a shroud of darkness.
Her heart felt trampled, as if trod upon by a thousand hooves. She sank to the
floor and wept.

An hour later she was dry-eyed and determined. Her mind flew like clanging
swords. If she could somehow get to Jamie, they might escape. He would not yet
be gone. She didn't care where they went. She would even live among the cursed
English! She cared only that she was far, far away from Ian… far enough away
that he might never find her.

The evening meal that night lasted an eternity. She could feel Ian's gaze on
her, burning and dark. Papa's was thoroughly disapproving. Even Alasdair
appeared unusually subdued. If he was surprised by the news that she was to
marry his cousin, he said naught. Still, she was nervous. Fervently she prayed
she would not reveal herself.

When it was done, she fled to the sanctuary of her chamber. Once there, she
gathered some clothing and stuffed it into a small pouch. When she was certain
that all in the keep lay abed, she crept through the darkened corridors and out
into the bailey. Quietly she saddled the little mare she always rode.

The moon climbed slowly aloft. She was grateful for the light it cast upon
the land like a silvery torchlight. If the darkness had been like a thick,
oppressive blanket smothering the earth, she might never have ventured
forth.

Soon she was skirting the forest, for she possessed not the courage to breach
its shadowy depths. She chided herself inwardly, for  it would take her
longer this way. But soon the winds began to blow. The shimmering light from the
moon began to fade. A dense bank of clouds began to gather dark and ominous
across the sky. Sabrina grew nervous. Her courage began to erode. She jumped at
every little sound. Somehow she gathered her wits in hand. She reminded herself
that Jamie lived just over the next rise. She could make it. She
had
to.

A leaden mist began to fall. Within minutes it escalated to a downpour.
Sabrina shivered, for the air had been warm when she'd left. Foolishly she’d not
thought to bring her mantle.

And then it happened. A tremendous light flashed before her. A zigzag of
lightning split the sky, as if cast by some mighty hand from above. An
ear-splitting blast of thunder roared across the land, followed by a sharp crack
that shook the very earth.

Her mare was terrified. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She bolted forward,
nearly unseating Sabrina. Sabrina crouched low over the mare's neck, twisting
her fingers in the animal's mane, while the mare ran on as if she were being
pursued by the devil himself. Branches pelted her face. A startling gust of wind
nearly stole her breath. Then the mare lost her footing. With a horrible sense
of the inevitable, Sabrina felt herself pitch violently to the right. The mare's
mane slipped through her fingers. With a stricken cry, she landed hard upon her
back.

She lay there, stunned. Mercifully, she knew instinctively that she was not
injured, but it was an instant before she regained both wits and breath. An
eerie feeling prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Slowly she turned her
head. Another flash of lightning illuminated the darkness. It was then she
realized she was not alone…

Both horse and rider were silhouetted against the backdrop of the
storm-ridden sky, cast in silver for that mind-splitting instant. Sabrina's
heart seemed to stop, then resumed with thick, dull strokes. For one horrifying,
frozen moment she stared, praying she was wrong—hoping it was so. For though he
was dark and faceless, his features hidden in shadow, she knew it was he…

Ian.

Ian climbed the stairs slowly, his mind preoccupied. The words Sabrina had
spoken earlier gnawed at him.

A promise given is a promise kept.

The phrase was almost familiar. Indeed, he could scarce rid himself of the
notion… and then remembrance struck. From out of nowhere, some long-forgotten
memory leaped out at him.

A promise given is a promise kept, lad.

He had been sitting at his father's knee, staring up at his father's
countenance, bearded and intent. Aye, and it was not the first time he'd heard
those very words, he realized suddenly. Indeed his father David had sought to
instill in his son those very same qualities that made him a man of honor.

But it was an odd thing for Sabrina to say, was it not?

Sabrina.
The line of Ian's lips grew taut. He could not help it. He
was suspicious of her. Throughout the evening meal, she had scarce spoken a
word. Rather than the show of spitting defiance he'd expected of her, she had
sat with her head bowed low.

Her father had questioned her harshly when she'd first appeared at table. "Do
not yet sit!" he had roared at her. "You may join us only if you acknowledge
that this marriage between you and Ian will take place on the morrow."

Ian had quirked a brow and fixed his eyes on her like a hunter on its prey.
In turn, she'd avoided the touch of his gaze as if she were convinced he had
some horrid ague.

"I do," she had whispered.

She had been so accepting. Too accepting, Ian decided broodingly. Too… meek.
It wasn't like her. With every step that carried him toward her chamber, he was
more and more convinced of it.

He knocked loudly upon the oaken portal. When no answer came, he called her
name.

Still no answer.

Ian did not hesitate whatsoever. He threw open the door and stepped within.
His gaze sought the bed that occupied the center of the far wall. The coverlet
was mounded in the center of the mattress. He should have been satisfied. Aye,
and many a man would have been…

"Sabrina," he said loudly.

The figure beneath the mound of covers did not stir. Ian's eyes narrowed. His
booted feet echoed on the floor as he crossed to her. Sharply he spoke her
name.

Still no answer.

In one swift move he wrenched the coverlet downward. A muffled curse escaped
his lips as he gazed upon two fat pillows which occupied the place where her
body should have lain.

"That witch!" he swore.

Three steps carried him through the door and out into the corridor. A quick
search of the stables revealed her mare was gone. So she thought to escape, did
she? Well, the little witch could try, but she would not succeed.

It was that very thought that spurred him on through the darkness, on until
at last he found what be sought.

From high atop his mount, he watched her struggle b her feet. She did so with
all the dignity of a queen, noted dimly, admiring her spirit even as he fought b
control his anger.

He swung to the ground, then spoke but one command. "Come to me,
Sabrina."

Her chin climbed aloft. She spurned him outright. “Come to you?" she cried.
"Never!" Even through the dark gray shadows, he could see the sizzle in her
eyes.

"Why did you run, Sabrina? Have you lost the courage you once possessed?" His
lip curled. "You are not the Sabrina I once knew."

And this was not the Ian she had once known. His clenched jaw bespoke an
anger held tightly in check. The boyish youth she had once known was gone, and
in his place was a stranger she did not know—a man who was feared amongst the
Scots as the fiercest of warriors.

His tone verily dripped in icy scorn. The night allowed no glimpse of his
eyes, yet she knew, with all that she was, that his fury rivaled that of thunder
rolling across the earth. Sabrina did not want to admit that, deep within her
being, some part of her feared his rage.