The Lover

John paid them no mind, nor did he even seem to notice her.

“Yer to be the new laird, Niall,” the brawny Highlander said gravely. “Ye must come home.”

“Yes…home…at once…”

Bestirring herself from her own numbness, Sabrina interrupted quietly. “You will want your horse, sir. Shall I direct you to the stables the back way and thus avoid the crowd?”

He blinked as if dazed and focused his gaze on her face. “Aye…the stables…”

“I will make your excuses to my aunt,” she murmured, her tone gentle, compassionate.

She took his hand to lead him deeper into the garden, yet she evidently had underestimated his resiliency. His jaw clenching, he shook off her clasp suddenly and drew himself up to his full, imposing height.

The long-fingered hand that had so recently caressed her with such erotic strokes closed on the hilt of the rapier, while his handsome features hardened with cold fury, leaving no sign of the sensual lover who had played such havoc with her senses only a short while ago.

This man was a stranger. A man of purpose, of danger. The son of a fierce chieftain, with the blood of countless generations of savage Highland warriors running in his veins.

Sabrina shivered involuntarily. Niall McLaren had no need of her direction or her support. Instead she felt a brief flash of pity for his enemies, who would soon know his wrath.

“Aye.” His harsh voice was unrecognizable as he agreed softly. “Make my excuses, mistress. I’ve a matter of grave import to settle in the Highlands.”

Chapter

One

The Scottish Highlands

April 1740

His teeth clenched as the frenzied, panting woman beneath him wound her legs tighter around his hips, drawing him deeper into her voluptuous, writhing body. Her naked breasts strained lush and wanton against his palms as with an expert rhythm, Niall McLaren satisfied his former mistress’s ravenous need.

They hadn’t managed to attain the bedchamber upstairs. Eve had not permitted it. Instead he had taken her standing in the drawing room, not pausing to remove his leather breeches or her silk dressing gown. Pressing her back to lie on the whist table, he had plunged deep between her welcoming thighs, not surprised to find her wet and pulsing for him.

She was flame-hot with desire, begging him in erratic whimpers for the intense pleasure only he could give her. And in his present mood, Niall was more than willing to comply. He had called at her elegant manor house directly after his meeting with Angus Duncan. And just now he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the dark grip of passion.

He succeeded momentarily with their primitive, restless coupling. His blood surging thick and hot, Niall covered her fully with his body, thrusting into her sleek, heated passage with a driving motion of his hips. His lips smothered her wild moans as his fingers closed tauntingly around the hard-peaked nipples of her lush breasts.

Another tremor shook her and Eve cried out with ardent hunger. Yet only when he felt her first convulsions ripple around his shaft did he allow himself his own gratifying release. Urgently Niall surged into her, propelling her over the edge to an explosive, cresting pleasure.

His own climax followed swift and fierce, his powerfully muscled body contracting with stabbing pleasure as Eve quaked and sobbed beneath him.

Even when it was over, she clung to him with feverish strength, still impaled on his receding erection, gasping as the aftershocks of his violent release abated.

“Welcome back, my bonny rutting stallion,” she exhaled at last, the breathless, throaty sound loud in the hushed quiet of the room. “I had almost forgotten what a ferocious lover you can be.”

Perhaps, Niall thought unamused, because he rarely displayed such violence in his lovemaking. Just now he’d employed little of the finesse he was renowned for, although the sated woman sprawled beneath him seemed well pleased by his savagery.

The candles on the carved mahogany sideboard flickered, sending shadows dancing over her beautiful features. Eve lay gazing up at him contentedly, her pale skin glowing from exertion and arousal, her smile languorous.

Niall murmured a muted oath. He had gratified her lust and his own, yet it hadn’t managed to cool his temper. His frustration hadn’t diminished with the appeasement of his body, nor had he found the oblivion he’d sought in her arms. His dilemma still hadn’t changed.

He must shortly wed a bride not of his own choosing.

Disentangling himself from Eve’s silken limbs, Niall pulled down her skirts to cover her naked thighs and fastened his breeches. Then turning, he made for the crystal decanter on the mahogany side table and poured himself a tumbler full of malt whisky.

Declining his silent offer of a drink with a shake of her head, Eve lay back on the table, stretched her arms lazily above her, and gave a replete sigh.

“To what do I owe the honor of this call, my lord? I vow I haven’t been ravished so well since…since your last visit. It has been months since you’ve shared my bed, Niall. Indeed, I’ve scarcely even laid eyes on you since you became laird.”