The Lover

Niall raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Your sentiments are perfectly clear. You have no desire to wed me.” She lifted her chin with evident pride. “Well, you may rest easy, my lord. You needn’t fear I will force your hand. There will be no marriage between us.”

“No?” He looked skeptical. “Yesterday you were set on going forward with the betrothal.”

“Yesterday my wits were addled, obviously. Today I am taking myself out of consideration for the position.” She smiled mockingly. “Do not look so dismayed, my lord. There are countless other women who are better qualified to be your bride. And doubtless there are dozens who would be delighted to wed you…who are captivated by your charm, your wit, your legendary lovemaking skills…But those attributes hold little appeal for me.”

Niall frowned thoughtfully at her pretense of indifference. “Are you certain, mistress, you are not speaking out of jealousy?”

Jealousy! Sabrina’s eyes flashed. “I wish you would disabuse yourself of the notion that I am enamored of you! My only concern is for my clan.”

Niall watched the angry color flush her cheeks and was torn between remorse and admiration. He should not have taunted her so, yet Sabrina Duncan enraged was fascinating, the picture of defiant pride.

She lifted her chin regally. “I’m certain you are an excellent laird, but I would go daft if I had to endure wedlock with you—” Realizing she was nearly ranting, Sabrina forced herself to take a calming breath. “You are not what I seek in a husband. I would as lief marry a chimney sweep—or a Buchanan. Indeed, perhaps I should consider such a course. Allying myself with the Buchanans would solve the dilemma my grandfather finds himself in.”

Niall’s brows shot together. “You cannot be serious. The bloody Buchanans are murdering devils.”

Seeing his sudden scowl, Sabrina smiled coolly. “Perhaps so. But whatever path I choose, it is no longer any concern of yours.”

“In point of fact, it is my concern, mistress. Our clans are still allied, even if not by marriage. The future of Clan Duncan is vital to me, particularly since the issue of succession is not yet settled.”

“Ah, yes, the succession…” She wanted to curse. It always came back to that. “Faith, I should have been a man,” Sabrina muttered under her breath.

Niall studied her for a moment, the tautness easing from the set of his jaw, while a faint light of humor entered his eyes. “And what would you do if you were a man, mistress?”

“I would solve this predicament without being weighted by the chains of my gender.” She squared her shoulders as she faced him fully. “Regardless of our rift, my grandfather is depending upon me to ensure the protection of our clan. And I don’t intend to let him down, even if I have to lead Clan Duncan myself.”

“Lead your clan? Is that not overly ambitious?”

“Women are capable of assuming the reins of lairdship,” she replied stiffly.

“Some are, aye, in some circumstances. But you have no experience, and Buchanan is a crafty bastard who understands only force.”

Sabrina bit her tongue to repress a retort, knowing she was speaking recklessly, out of sheer frustration. If Liam Duncan didn’t consider himself worthy to lead their clan, she certainly wasn’t. “Even so, you need no longer worry about it.”

Niall hesitated. “I would be willing to search for another potential suitor for you.”

His condescension rankled. “I can find my own husband, thank you,” Sabrina snapped, losing her hard-won calm. “Pray believe me when I say you may consider yourself free of any obligation to me or my clan. Rab, come!”

She spun on her heel to return to the house, but the mastiff didn’t obey. He merely looked at her and whimpered, his brown eyes confused and questioning.

Feeling betrayed by her dog as well as the libertine who’d stolen his affections, Sabrina flung over her shoulder, “Very well, you may both go to the devil for all I care!”

Niall felt himself frowning as he watched her incensed retreat, experiencing a curious regret. Once again the mouse had suddenly transformed into a tiger—a change that was remarkably appealing to his male nature. She was proud and stubborn and spirited as any Highland lass. He had not expected to be so intrigued by her, or to feel such a primal attraction.

Nor had he expected to win so easily. Without quite meaning to, he had managed to induce Sabrina Duncan to reconsider marriage to him. She was hurt and humiliated enough to free him from the betrothal.

So why then did he feel as if he had won a hollow victory…and lost something of inestimable value in the winning?

Angus took the news badly. That evening when Sabrina told him she had called off the betrothal, the aging Laird Duncan had a spasm that threatened to finish him for good.

In a wheezing breath, he demanded a whisky, and when at last he caught his breath, launched into a lengthy recital of all the reasons Sabrina could not withdraw now, chief of which was the threat the Buchanans posed with Clan Duncan virtually leaderless. Moreover, the wedding invitations had already been issued, and it was too late to recall them.

As for Niall McLaren’s debauchery, Angus excused it as youthful excess.

“Aye, he’s a lusty rake in truth, but ’tis certain he’s sowing his wild oats before settling down.”

“He must be anticipating a bountiful crop then,” Sabrina retorted with a bitterness she could not hide.