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.”