The Lover
“Ye might at that.”
She forced a smile. “And do you always greet strangers with such a threatening display of force?”
“If they be Duncans, I do.”
“Faith, and I had heard so much about the famed hospitality of the Highlands. Surely the tales could not be so wrong. I can scarcely credit such a reception, particularly since I came here with the express intent of speaking with you.” Sabrina glanced pointedly at the menacing broadsword one of his cohorts held aloft. “I assure you, sir,” she added lightly, “if you put aside your weapons, I shall not harm you.”
The laird’s eyes widened fractionally, but then he gave a rough chuckle of appreciation and waved to his clansmen to lower their blades. Keeping a wary eye on Geordie, Owen made her a gallant bow from horseback. “Forgive ma men, mistress. ’Tis devoted to me, they are.”
“I am certain it is well deserved. I’ve heard countless tales of your exploits.”
She heard Geordie make a sound deep in his throat like a snort, but ignored it. “If we might have a moment in private, sir, I have a proposal to put forth for your consideration.”
The laird’s gaze narrowed in suspicion, but he must have deemed her harmless, for he nodded. When Sabrina made to dismount, Owen swung down from his horse and assisted her, giving her hope that she was not dealing with an unreasonable man.
“Shall we walk?” she asked with a winning smile. When she turned to stroll along the path, away from the others, Owen Buchanan had little choice but to accompany her. She was grateful, though, when Rab trailed cautiously at her heels.
“Now what is this business you wish to speak to me about?” Owen demanded as if growing impatient.
“The relationship of our two clans,” Sabrina answered quietly. “The difficulties have preyed heavily on my mind.”
“Ye are but a lass. What do ye ken of clan affairs?”
“Merely what I have been told. But it seems foolish to continue fighting among ourselves. I had hoped”—she took a deep breath—“there might be a way to put an end to generations of bloodshed.”
Sabrina was not surprised when the Buchanan’s gaze narrowed in distrust. “Did Angus send ye to treat w’ me?”
“No. In truth, he has no idea I am here.”
“’Twas my understanding you were to wed the McLaren.”
“True. But I’ve come to realize that he…” She hesitated as if choosing a delicate explanation. “Niall McLaren will not make the most ideal husband.”
“Too randy for yer taste, is he?” Owen chuckled. “Aye, I can see how a proud lass wouldna favor her mon tupping the maids.”
A flush rose to her cheeks. “I would prefer not to share my marriage bed with half the female population of Scotland, yes. In any case, the sole purpose of our union was to ally our clans against the Buchanans. But if I could be assured we were in no danger of attack from your clan…if we could count you as an ally…it would spare me the necessity of marrying the McLaren.”
Owen raised a brawny hand to stroke his beard. “Whyever should I wish to befriend Clan Duncan? We’ve been foes for as long as memory serves.”
“Because it will be far more profitable for you.” Sabrina paused and turned to face the laird directly, her expression earnest. “Perhaps you have heard that I am an heiress? I would be willing to pay handsomely to ensure the safety of my clan. A feu-duty, if you will. In exchange for your word to end the war between us.”
“Ye’re offering to pay for peace?”
“Precisely. With payments to be made quarterly or yearly, as you choose.” In feudal times, it was in fact common for weaker clans to pay a protection fee to more powerful ones. In reviewing the account books of clan activities from years past, Sabrina had seen evidence of such expenses.
“Hmmm. What sum did ye have in mind, mistress?”
She frowned, as if giving the question careful consideration. Yet having learned a trick or two from her stepfather, who was as shrewd a businessman as they come, she offered much less than she was actually willing to pay. “I thought fifty head of cattle quarterly would be adequate compensation.”
She was startled when Owen suddenly reached out to grasp her elbow. The fine hairs on her nape stood up as he brought his face close to hers, his expression menacing.
“If ye’re such an heiress, mistress, it stands to reason yer kin would be willing to pay for yer freedom. I trow ye’d fetch a bonny ransom.”
Sabrina swallowed hard, realizing he was threatening to take her hostage, and reached for her dirk.
“Or mayhap I might wed you meself,” Owen mused darkly, “since ma own wife is lang gone. Or give ye to one of my sons.”
She could feel her heart pounding against her breast as his grip tightened painfully. It was not unheard of for an enterprising laird to capture a bride and forge a clan alliance by force.