The Lover

“We shall see about that, wife!”

His hand tangled in her hair in a fist of hard control as Niall brought his mouth fiercely down to cover hers.

Chapter

Thirteen

He was all angry fire and hard, dominating male. He kissed her savagely, ravishing her with his tongue.

Sabrina strained against him, struggling to no avail. When Niall at last raised his head, she was panting from exertion.

“Damn you…release me before I…I box your ears!”

“’Tis unwise to threaten a man when you’re in his power,” he warned, his voice as tight as his imprisoning arms.

She should have heeded his advice, but her blood was up now. When he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, she sank her teeth into his lower lip.

Niall cursed savagely and jerked back. Yet Sabrina hadn’t won. She gave a startled cry as he bent and heaved her over his shoulder like a sack of oats.

“Let…go…of me…you swine!” she exclaimed between breathless gasps.

“Nay, lass, not till we have this settled!”

Rab, to her further fury, remained neutral in their battle, barking playfully as with swift, sure strides, Niall carried Sabrina to the crofter’s hut.

Shoving open the door with his booted foot, he stepped inside, then kicked it shut behind them.

Inside, the dim interior was hazy with smoke. The peat fire burning in the hearth gave off a welcoming warmth to Sabrina’s wet, chilled body, but she scarcely needed the heat, so scalding was her anger. The instant Niall set her on her feet on the hard earthen floor, she swung at him.

Capturing her wrists, Niall ignored her resistance and glanced around the small cottage. The blackened rafters were hung with herbs and weapons, while in one corner of the room stood a rope bed with a heather-stuffed mattress.

“Fergus is away, I see. He’ll not mind if we make use of his bed.”

Sabrina glared at him. “You must be daft if you think I’ll allow you to make love to me!”

“Take off those sodden skirts, madam, or I shall do it for you.”

“Devil take you, you’ll not lay a hand on me!”

Niall clenched his jaw. Their argument had gone beyond anger or desire. He felt a wild need to mark Sabrina indelibly as his, to brand her with his scent, his touch, his taste, to drive the thought of any other man from her mind. She would never think of taking another lover when he was through.

His eyes returned the fire of her gaze. “Do not think to deny me, wife.”

His hard-looking mouth hovering over hers, he curled his fingers over the edge of her chemise, drawing down the fabric. When his palm covered her damp breast, her body responded with humiliating swiftness, the nipple tightening to a rigid, aching peak.

“Do you truly think any other lover can please you as I can?”

“Yes!” she retorted scathingly. “Any man would please me better!”

She twisted in his grasp, struggling fiercely. When she brough

t her knee up between his thighs, Niall barely prevented the blow from doing him an injury. He laughed at the sheer pluck of the wench and tightened his hold.

Lifting her up, he tossed Sabrina on her back on the heather tick. She scrambled to her knees, panting with such passionate fury that she would have scratched his face could she have reached it.

She was unutterably wild and glorious, Niall thought as fire ripped through his groin: her dark eyes flashing, her cheeks tinged with angry roses, her luscious breasts heaving, begging to be caressed. The jutting nipples drew his admiring gaze.

“You want me,” he observed. “I can see your aroused nipples, your flushed skin…”