Sabrina sat up, bristling despite the aching throb of her wound. “All my faculties are in satisfactory working order, my lord, thank you!”
“Then you might try for a modicum of enthusiasm.”
“Why should I be eager to wed you? You have no wish to wed me.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “In truth, the prospect terrifies me.”
“Then why on earth would you even consider it?”
“A demonstration of nobility, perhaps?”
“This is no laughing matter!”
“No…in truth, it is not.” Sobering, his blue gaze held hers steadily. “Very well, then. I intend to wed you because of the debt owed to your grandfather. And to Owen Buchanan.” At the thought of his mortal enemy, a dark emotion passed like a fuming wave across Niall’s eyes. “I pay my debts,” he added softly, his resolve showing in the determined line of his jaw. “And Clan Duncan needs my protection. The Buchanans’ theft yesterday was proof enough of that.”
Sabrina frowned, knowing he was right. With her grandfather dying, her clan was far too vulnerable. They needed to unite under a strong leader. Had Niall been laird, it was unlikely Owen would have dared strike.
“I understand,” Sabrina said carefully, “that you feel an obligation to defend my clan, but there must be some way other than marriage.”
“Regretfully nothing else comes to mind.”
Sabrina raised a hand to her aching temple, trying desperately to think. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, as if she had drunk too much wine. “Perhaps I could lead Clan Duncan as laird. I could take my grandfather’s place—”
“Now I perceive the brandy talking.”
“You could teach me what I need to know,” Sabrina insisted.
His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “You have the mettle, tiger, I don’t doubt that. But not the training. It would take years to bring you up to snuff. Meanwhile Buchanan would carve up Clan Duncan for trout bait.”
“But…I don’t wish to marry you. And I’m certain you don’t want to be saddled with a wife for the rest of your days.”
For a moment, Niall hesitated. If an adequate successor for Angus could be found, then he might escape the clutches of matrimony…But no. For too long now he had avoided this particular responsibility.
And perhaps marriage to Sabrina would not be the hardship he’d envisioned. In truth, several of his previous objections toward her had been laid to rest in the past few days. She was not the self-effacing mouse he’d first thought her. Nor was she some feckless lass who ran at the first sign of trouble. It was possible she would even make an adequate mistress for his clan. She exhibited a passion for her beliefs that was unusual in a lass. And she cared for her kinsmen.
He’d seen her compassion firsthand. He could still recall, these many months later, Sabrina’s quiet sympathy at her aunt’s ball when he’d been stunned by the news of his brother’s death and father’s fatal wounding—how comforting and calming her manner had been. Even in his shock and grief, he’d felt her solace, felt her lending him strength…
Grimly, Niall raised the brandy glass to his lips and drained the remainder, before saying determinedly, “You are bespoken, and that is the end of it.”
Sabrina pressed her lips together, realizing he was not inviting debate on the subject. “That is not the end of it! It is scarcely the beginning. I shall not wed you.”
“Yes, you shall.” There was a note of authority in his voice, despite the dulcet tone.
Their eyes clashed…locked. All at once their exchange was less a dialogue than a battle of wills.
Niall regarded the young woman in the bed with unwilling admiration. She looked almost beautiful with her dark eyes flashing, her chin raised at a defiant angle. For all her meekness, Sabrina Duncan could summon the cool hauteur of a duchess—proud and strong and damned if she would give an inch.
“I can see,” Niall observed dryly, “that you are cursed with the Duncan obstinacy. You rival your grandfather in that regard.”
Sabrina shook her head. Her objection was not merely obstinacy. If Niall were forced to marry her, he would eventually come to despise her, and she couldn’t bear that. “I hardly think you are qualified to judge me, sir.”
He ran an assessing eye over her. “You were eager enough to wed me only a few days past.”
“I was never eager. I merely agreed to comply with my grandfather’s wishes.”
“His wishes have not changed. And Angus had the right of it on one point. You need a husband to keep you out of mischief.”
“Mischief!”