The Lover

Frowning uncertainly, she queried, “You have seen my grandfather? Is he very ill?”

“I fear so. He asked that I act as your escort for the last leg of your journey.”

“Oh…” The thought of having to endure this man’s company for the next two hours was distinctly unnerving. “That is not really necessary, is it? Liam and Geordie are accompanying me.”

“The Highlands can prove dangerous to the unwary, mistress.”

His tone seemed hard, almost as if he were issuing her a warning. Sabrina fell silent, not knowing quite how to react. Finally she said quietly, “I hope we meet under happier circumstances than the last?”

She could see the challenge in his eyes swiftly banked, to be replaced by a fleeting look of sadness. She was struck, not for the first time, by the suspicion that there was far more to Niall McLaren than met the eye. He apparently held more complex feelings than the usual libertine. She had seen his pain at his kinsmen’s deaths, and knew he must have cared deeply for his family.

“I suppose you could call them happier,” he replied with cryptic dryness. He glanced around the taproom. “Have you no tire-woman attending you?”

“I did not like to impose on any of the women in our household. They are unaccustomed to traveling such a distance or being away from home for any length of time.”

“Still, you should have female companionship.”

“I am not entirely without companionship. In addition to my kinsmen, I have Rab for protection. Rab,” she said lightly, “guard.”

Bristling, the giant dog bared his teeth up at the man—but only for an instant. When the McLaren offered his hand for the animal to sniff, Rab whined once, uncertainly, and then licked the laird’s fingers hungrily.

Sabrina winced in dismay. Her canine guardian did not appear fierce enough to frighten a rabbit.

Niall must have had the same thought, for his beautiful mouth curled at one corner.

“He is usually more cautious with strangers,” Sabrina said defensively.

“I trust so.”

Sabrina froze when he propped one booted foot on the bench beside her. Reaching down, he gently fingered a tendril of her hair as it fell across her cheek.

“I wondered what the true color was.”

The intimate gesture startled her, as did his intent scrutiny. She felt her breath cease. If he intended to intimidate her, he was succeeding. That careless, indiscreet charm was so potent it was almost a visible force—reaching out to her, enveloping her. For an instant the others faded away. It was as if she and Niall McLaren were the only two people in the room.

“You should never hide your hair beneath powder, mistress. It is more fetching without it.”

She found herself glad that as a general rule Scotswomen didn’t cover or powder their hair, and sorry that the hood of her traveling cloak had disheveled the careful arrangement of her rich brown tresses she had made that morning.

When Niall McLaren continued studying her, she felt a dissatisfaction with her looks such as she hadn’t felt in years. But then Sabrina shook herself. She could hold her own with this rake. The blood of Scottish kings ran in her veins. She was a chieftain’s granddaughter, even if she had lived away from the Highlands for much of her life.

With cool aplomb, she lifted her chin. “I shall take your opinion under advisement the next time I dress for a ball.”

“And you should loosen that severe knot, as well,” he murmured. “The style is not right for you.”

“Are you such an expert on ladies’ coiffures, then?”

“Say rather, I am a connoisseur.” He grinned casually. “I’ve always considered a lass’s hair much bonnier flowing free, spread over my pillow.”

Sabrina felt her breath catch at his outrageous remark. Pretending a sophistication she didn’t feel, though, she said pointedly, “Perhaps you should return to your companions, my lord. They doubtless are missing you.”

The McLaren’s dark blue eyes widened fractionally in mock dismay. “I believe I have just received my dismissal. How lowering.”

Ignoring his dry commentary, Sabrina glanced at Liam. “Should we not be on our way?”

“Aye, if ye’ve rested enough.”

“Are you certain then,” Niall asked, “that you won’t accept my escort?”