The Lover
He would have to earn the right to her hand.
If he sincerely wanted to resume his place as her husband, if he truly meant to give her his love and loyalty, then he would have to prove it.
Only later that morning did Sabrina begin to comprehend precisely what her renowned rake of a husband meant when he vowed to change tactics. She had been relieved when Niall left the house before breakfast, but to her dismay, he awaited her when she stepped outside accompanied by a maidservant.
“May I be of service, milady?” he queried, sweeping her the exquisite bow of a cavalier.
Sabrina shook her head, resolved to be patient. “I require no assistance, thank you, sir.”
“Where are you bound?”
“To market, if you must know.”
To her surprise, Niall dismissed the maid. The meek lass was so awestruck by the handsome Highland laird, she could only bob a curtsy and, with a pleading look at her mistress, flee back inside the house.
“I shall carry your parcels, pet,” Niall asserted innocently, anticipating Sabrina’s disapproval.
“You cannot possibly be interested in shopping for dinner.”
“In truth, my soul shrivels at the prospect, but I have a keen interest in sharing your delightful company. If this is my only avenue, then I accept with magnanimity and grace.”
Determined to repress her amusement and resist his charm, Sabrina turned and started down the narrow street. Following, Niall captured her arm, tucking her hand within the crook of his elbow. “Can you fault me for desiring a liaison with my own wife?”
She smiled sweetly. “I fault you for making a wretched nuisance of yourself.”
“’Tis not my intention, pet.”
“No? Then what is your intention?”
“To show you how greatly I’ve reformed. That I’ve come to my senses.”
“On the contrary, your senses have gone begging.”
“I can fully understand your skepticism. But I’ve changed my wicked ways. It remains for me
to convince you of my devotion.”
“It will require an extraordinary degree of convincing.”
“I am up to the task. If you wish to be wooed, so be it.”
Sabrina halted in her tracks, gazing up at him. “I don’t wish to be wooed.”
“You deserve it, nonetheless. I made a grave mistake neglecting to shower you with the proper attention before our union. A mistake I intend to rectify forthwith.”
Sabrina took a deep breath, realizing he would insist on escorting her, whether she wished it or not. Niall McLaren was a bold, daring devil accustomed to gaining his way in all things.
“There is absolutely no need for this charade,” she replied as she resumed her pace toward the market square of old Edinburgh.
“’Tis no charade. I want the world to see how enamored I am of my wife.”
Sabrina’s only reply was a shrug.
The market was crowded and noisy, filled with the cries of fishmongers and butchers, bakers and flower merchants, all vociferously urging customers to sample their wares.
It came as no surprise to Sabrina when Niall appeared as much at ease here as he would in the most lavish ballroom or bedchamber. What took her aback was his deliberate display of affection. He was obviously intent on courting her, staking a public claim—and calling attention to his devotion in a highly visible manner.
His solicitation proved highly embarrassing when they came to a puddle of mud on a street corner. Before she knew what he was about, Niall had swept her up in his arms and carried her safely across. And then he had the audacity to chuckle at her flushed cheeks and snapping eyes.