The Lover

“Punishment,” he said tauntingly.

Sabrina arched against the fiery sensation that streaked through her. “Don’t…”

“Such an obedient, accommodating wife,” he observed mockingly. “So compliant and submissive…”

She glared up at him. “You have a positive genius for rousing my ire.”

“And you, my sweet, have a decided knack for rousing me.”

Releasing her abruptly, Niall rose and began hanging her wet garments before the fire to dry.

Sabrina watched warily as he removed the rest of his own clothing, then returned to the bed. Despite her obvious reluctance, he joined her beneath his plaid, wrapping them both in the thick wool.

As he held her naked against him, Sabrina could feel his heat seeping into her frozen limbs. She lay cupped into his body, her throat hurting with the need to c

ry. Niall had demonstrated very aptly how weak she was where he was concerned. He had taken her in anger, and she had submitted with humiliating eagerness. Perhaps he had been swept away momentarily by lust, as she had, but his heart had remained untouched, while she allowed hers to be trampled on like so much dust.

I don’t want to love him, she thought in despair. Loving him was both reckless and foolish. It left her so terribly vulnerable.

She raised her fingers to her mouth, still swollen and tender from the violence of his lovemaking. The conflict had not been settled between them, she knew. The tension still remained, dark and palpable.

She wasn’t mistaken. When Niall at last spoke at her back, his voice held a silken edge of warning. “You are my wife, mouse. I’ll thank you not to forget it.”

Sabrina stiffened. “I have not forgotten.”

“Then know this.” His low voice reverberated against the sensitive nape of her neck, making her shiver. “I will never permit you to take Keith Buchanan as your lover.”

“I don’t want him as my lover. And I’ve given you no grounds to think otherwise! I did not come here for a liaison with him.”

“Indeed.” His tone was acerbic.

“I did not! Had you given me the least chance to explain, I would have told you why I came. I wished to discuss peace with him.”

“Peace?”

“Yes, peace.” Sabrina held fast to her temper as she raised herself up on one elbow. “There is something peculiar about the accounts we’ve been given of the recent cattle raids—their order, I mean. Keith Buchanan claims his clan did not initiate the first attack, that they would not break a truce after giving their word.”

Niall made a sound in his throat that was pure scorn.

“I know…I admit I did not want to believe him at first, either. But Keith swears they did not start the raiding.”

He gave her a fierce glance. “How can you vindicate the bastards so readily?”

“I am not vindicating them. I am just trying to discover the truth.”

Restlessly Niall rolled over on his back, drawing the plaid with him. “The bloody Buchanans are thieves and murderers. You should ken that. They’re to blame for the death of your own father as well as mine.”

“Indirectly perhaps, but that was an accident. And it was a long time ago.”

“A Highlander has an excellent memory,” Niall muttered darkly.

Sabrina bit her lip in frustration. Yet she could not let this opportunity pass without attempting to make Niall view the situation with some degree of objectiveness. He had been enemies with Clan Buchanan for so long that he knew no other way.

“I can understand why you bear them such hatred,” she said carefully, “but we will never have peace as long as the feud continues.”

“Then we will never have peace.”

“I cannot accept that.” Earnestly Sabrina gazed down at him. “Will you not at least talk to them?”