The Lover (16 page)

Her vision hazy, she tried to focus in the light of the pitch-pine torch. The dark beauty of his face filled her gaze as he knelt beside her.

“Niall…?” The words came out a muted croak, but he seemed not to hear. He was too busy condemning her folly of putting herself in danger.

“She refused to leave me, the wee fool. I thought my heart would fail when she charged into the fray.”

“Aye,” Liam Duncan agreed solemnly. “She could hae been torn apart by that pack o’ Highland rogues.”

“But she’s a brave lass, for all that,” she heard Geordie claim in her defense. “She took up the battle with nary a qualm. And t’other day, she scarce flinched when the Buchanan threatened to take her for ransom.”

“Owen threatened her?” Niall demanded sharply. “She never said so.”

“Mayhap she dinna care to mention it. She’s a proud lassie, and she doesna want us to fret o’r her. She’s a Duncan through and through.”

“Who would believe the lass could possess such spirit and courage?” John McLaren wondered aloud.

“Who indeed?” Niall murmured as if to himself.

Sabrina swallowed convulsively and tried again to whisper his name. He must have heard her then, for he bent closer.

“Can you speak, lass?” he queried, his voice suddenly deep and gentle.

“They didn’t…kill you…”

“No, they didn’t kill me—wholly to your credit.” His expression had softened, holding a tenderness that made her heart skip a beat. “We sent them fleeing.”

She tried to turn her head, searching for their enemies, but she saw no sign of the Buchanans. It seemed she was still in the forest where she had fallen. “They…got away?”

“Aye, but not unscathed,” Niall replied grimly. “I wounded the one.” In the golden glow of torchlight she could see his eyes: brightly blue, furious, beautiful. “Our kinsmen heard the pistol shot and came to our aid. The Buchanans fled when they arrived.”

“Aye, the bloody cowards,” Liam muttered.

Sabrina caught the look that passed between the men, grim with churning emotions. “Please,” she murmured, “there’s been enough bloodshed.”

Niall laughed darkly. “Not nearly enough. They’ll rue this night’s work, I promise you.”

She could have pointed out that the Buchanans had only been defending their holdings, but she suddenly spied the bloody cut on his right temple. “You’re wounded,” she said in dismay.

“Don’t fash yourself. ’Tis no more than a scratch. I would that I could say the same for you, lass. Where does it hurt?”

“My…head…my arm.” Both throbbed savagely.

His hands moved over her with gentle insistence. “You’ve a lump on your head and a nasty gash on your arm that’s bleeding. It wants tending.” Even as he spoke, he withdrew the kerchief from around his neck and fashioned a makeshift bandage around the bloody wound on her upper left arm.

“I’ll be all right….”

“Even so, we must get you home—before the Buchanans return with reinforcements.”

Sabrina shivered. She did want to go home. She’d seen for herself the reality of a raid, the blood and savagery, and she wanted no more part of it. She wasn’t trained to be a warrior.

Seeing her tremble, Niall brushed a loose tendril from her cheek. He couldn’t explain the startling emotions he was feeling toward her just now. He wanted to shake her for frightening him so—at the same time he wanted to crush her to him and comfort her till he banished her fear and his own.

Perhaps, though, his fierce urge to protect and shelter her from harm was only natural. Her wounding had resurfaced all the old fury he’d felt at his father’s murder, bringing out his most ferocious instincts. Or perhaps he merely needed to assuage his own guilt in some measure. Sabrina had doubtlessly saved his life, when she could easily have been killed. He’d watched in terror as she ran fearlessly to his side, hurtling herself at an armed brute twice her size.

More than guilt, though, more than the need to comfort and protect, he was aware of a fierce thundering in his blood, a primal reaction of male to female.

Yet now was not the time to dwell on his primitive impulses. For all her valor, Sabrina was unaccustomed to physical danger; shock had set in now, and she was shaking.

“I’ll carry her home,” he said to Liam and Geordie. “You’ll see to the cattle?”

“Aye, that we will.”

Niall gathered Sabrina in his arms and stood. He’d been wanting a reason to hold her, yet he was unprepared for the sudden shaft of desire that knifed through him at the feel of her softness. He felt his lower body harden painfully, a wild response that was irrational and totally inappropriate.

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 she 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.”