His mouth curved in dry amusement. “Melodrama does not become you, sweeting.”
Her hazel eyes grew serious. “But you mean to end it for good between us.” It was not a question.
“The notion had occurred to me,” Niall replied truthfully.
“I know you want me.” Reaching down, Eve pressed her palm against his trews, caressing the bulge at his groin. “I can feel how huge and hard you are.”
Niall winced at the ache in his erection. “I am human, after all, cherie. And as I said, your charms are quite delectable.”
“But not enough to make you change your mind.”
Self-mockery laced his low laugh. “Lamentably, no, although it pains me greatly to say so.”
He returned home, feeling vexed and restless. Sabrina was nowhere in evidence, a fact which annoyingly relieved him as he washed Eve’s scent from his skin.
It was Liam Duncan who first made Niall realize his wife was missing. Late that afternoon, Liam rode to Creagturic to seek an audience with Sabrina, and seemed unduly concerned when she was not to be found.
“Where could the lass be?” he asked Niall gravely. “I made cert she would have come home.”
“She is not at Banesk? She meant to visit her grandfather.”
“Aye, that she did, but I fear the lass was muckle fashed.”
Niall’s gaze narrowed. “Mayhap you had best explain.”
In a minimum of words, Liam disclosed what Angus had done—the old man’s duplicity in gaining protection for Clan Duncan by wedding his granddaughter to the McLaren—while Niall heard him out grimly.
“I didna ken Angus’s cheatry, my lord,” Liam vowed, “till after the deed was done. He’s hale now as any lad in his prime.”
A muscle in Niall’s jaw hardened. “I suspected as much, but in all honor I could not challenge his word.”
“But ’twasna fair you should pay the price.”
“It was my decision to wed Sabrina in the end. And I must allow, I—”
It was just at that moment that Geordie Duncan came rushing into the great hall.
“There’s word of Mistress McLaren!” he exclaimed without preliminaries. “The bloody Buchanan has her.”
Niall felt his breath stop as cold fear smote him. “How do you ken?”
“He sent Angus a demand for ransom for Mistress McLaren’s safe return—three hundred head of cattle.”
Niall clenched his jaw so hard his teeth grated. “Should that bloody bastard harm a hair on her head…”
He left the sentence unfinished as Geordie added, “Angus has summoned our clan together to effect her rescue. He desires ye to come at once.”
“Aye, I’ll come. Liam, find John and raise the cry,” Niall commanded as he turned to bound up the stairs in search of his claymore and targe. “We’re for Buchanan’s lair!”
The fighting men of Clan McLaren were swiftly mustered, while Geordie rode to Banesk to intercept Angus. An army of mounted Highland warriors was soon galloping toward Buchanan’s castle.
They slowed as they approached the massive fortress, surprised to find the gate open and the portcullis raised.
Niall held up his hand, signaling his men to halt. For a moment the only sound was that of snorting steeds and chomping bits.
“Think you ’tis a trap?” Angus asked Niall warily.
“Mayhap. You’ll bide here till I can discover what goes.”