The Lover

Fenella smiled sweetly. Going to a chest in one corner of the room,

she pulled out a long length of the plaid fabric and held it out to Sabrina. “For ye, mistress.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean…I could not take it.”

“Please. ’Tis a wedding gift. Ye should have yer own plaid, now that ye’re a McLaren.”

Sabrina smiled, forcing back her dismay at such generosity. “I should be honored to wear it.” She stroked the fine wool as she settled on an oaken bench. “Are all the ladies of Clan McLaren so talented with the loom?”

“Aye, most. And we can set a neat stitch as well.”

“Cloth as excellent as this should fetch a goodly sum at market in Edinburgh.”

Fenella glanced over her shoulder skeptically, as if Sabrina had suggested she fly to the moon.

Just then they heard shrieks of youthful laughter mingled with excited barks coming from outside the cottage. Sabrina glanced out the low window to see Simon wrestling on the ground with Rab, while Shaw attempted to mount the dog like a pony.

“Your boys seem fine children,” she said somewhat wistfully.

“Aye, they’re the delights of my life. Niall has been like a da’ to them since my dear husband Gowin passed on.”

“Was that some time ago?”

“Four years.” Before Sabrina could say more, Fenella volunteered with quiet sadness, “Niall’s elder brother Tom was best friend to my Gowin. They perished together at sea. Niall’s grief was nigh as great as my own.”

Sabrina was aware of a stab of sorrow deep in her breast. A twinge of envy pricked her as well as she gazed at the rough-and-tumble boys. She wanted children, and wondered if Niall felt similarly. He had treated Simon and Shaw with fond indulgence, but no more so than an uncle might.

The visit ended too swiftly to the boys’ mind, with Sabrina promising to call again with Rab soon. As she rode away with Niall, she remarked on the proficient job he had done repairing the well stone.

He grinned. “Confess, cherie, you thought me solely fit for wenching.”

Her mouth curved wryly. “The notion had crossed my mind.”

“I have a few other talents besides.”

“Mistress Fletcher seems to agree,” Sabrina said probingly. “She is exceedingly grateful for the care you’ve given her and her sons.”

Surprisingly, Niall answered more soberly than expected. “I’ve given her no more than is due the widow of my brother’s friend. Despite my dissipated reputation, I’m not a man to take advantage of a vulnerable woman.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow, yet strangely she believed him. “I wonder, then, why you claimed to have no qualms about taking advantage of the serving maids.”

When Niall gave her a quizzical glance, she said with sugary sweetness, “You deliberately encouraged me to believe you were seducing Jean that day I discovered you naked with her in the herbal. But she has since told me you had injured yourself and she was tending your wounds.”

Niall showed no sign of remorse for misleading her. “Mayhap so, but as I recall, you had tried and convicted me before I could plead my case.”

Sabrina shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “It is a matter of supreme indifference to me, whom you dally with,” she lied.

“You wound me, sweeting.”

“I doubt it.”

He gave a warm chuckle. “You truly must learn the knack of flirtation, Sabrina. It isn’t politic to display your apathy so baldly to a man. You would do better to try and persuade me to change my licentious ways.”

She grimaced wryly. “In the first place, changing you would be nigh impossible. And in the second, I haven’t the talent to attempt a flirtation. I’ve never professed to possess your amorous skills.”

“Even so, you can learn. In fact, I mean to teach you.”

“Do you, indeed?”