The Lover

The incident left Sabrina feeling vaguely discontented. Although Niall continued to play the charming lover in the ensuing days, he was never again as forthcoming as he’d been those few sunlit moments by the burn.

She was dismayed, however, when their tenuous affinity was threatened in a manner she never expected: by the promise of peace with the Buchanans.

It began some five weeks after the Beltane festival, when Eve Graham held a musical evening for the surrounding gentry. That night the McLaren and his bride engaged in their first significant argument, one which developed into a battle royal.

Sabrina grudgingly admitted she was partly to blame. Perhaps she should never have become caught up in the puzzling intrigue that presented itself that night.

She had donned one of her new garments for the occasion—a striking sack-back gown of rose silk with an ivory under-petticoat supported by small hoops.

She was finishing her toilet in front of the cheval glass when Niall returned to their bedchamber, carrying a small casket, and dismissed the maidservants who had helped her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he came up behind her.

She did look pleasing, Sabrina thought, viewing herself in the glass. Her unpowdered hair was dressed in a softer, more natural style, with curling tendrils that formed a halo around her face. She had eschewed paint, merely allowing a touch of rouge at cheekbones and lips to enhance her complexion, as Niall had shown her how to apply. The exquisite gown was flattering to her slender figure, the boned bodice pushed against her breasts, accentuating the ripe swell of her bosom above the square neck.

Shyly, Sabrina met his gaze in the glass. “You…truly think I am beautiful?”

“Aye…beautiful and vibrant…Magnificent in every way.”

Niall watched her eyes brighten with a flash of pleasure, and felt a sense of deep satisfaction. He had been right about the rose color for her; it brought out the richness of her hair and eyes, the luminous warmth of her skin. But it was Sabrina herself he needed to convince. He was determined to make her see what a marvelous woman she could be, to believe in her own feminine power.

“Look at yourself…” he ordered softly. One hand lifted to her bare, silken shoulder. “How could any flesh-and-blood man resist? Look at this lustrous hair…so dark and rich and shot with the red and gold of a Highland sunrise. These remarkable eyes that can flash with fury or passion. This delicate face, with the fine cheekbones and full, kissable mouth…This long, slender throat. This skin, so soft and glowing…You bring me to my knees, cherie. As you will every other gentleman present tonight.”

Sabrina felt herself flushing. Niall’s praise warmed her immeasurably. She had tried hard to please him during the past weeks, striving to become the sensual woman he wanted her to be. In truth, she felt like a different person entirely from the staid spinster who had traveled here to the Highlands to pay a visit to her dying grandfather. Tonight, however, she was overwrought with nerves. This would be the first true test of her new identity, attending a function with guests other than their clansmen.

“Faith, you’re tempting, mouse,” Niall breathed in a husky intimate tone, his thumb caressing the bare curve of her throat.

He was tempting, as well. Having chosen more formal attire than a Highland kilt, he wore a long flaring coat and matching waistcoat of pale blue brocade, with white satin breeches and silver-buckled shoes, and a froth of lace at throat and wrists. The effect was bold, rugged, elegant. His sun-bronzed complexion and unpowdered raven hair, drawn back by a ribbon, would make the other painted, bewigged lords and gentlemen appear ghostly and effeminate.

Sabrina was gazing at him in admiration when Niall casually presented her with the jewel casket. Opening it, he drew out a pendant encrusted with delicate rubies.

Sabrina gasped at the costly gems as he fastened it around her throat.

“Perfect,” Niall observed appreciatively.

Her fingers rose to touch the pendant. “Niall…I wish to thank you.”

“There is no need, sweeting. The jewels belong to the McLaren’s lady. As my wife you are entitled to wear them.”

“Not just for the jewels, although they are splendid. I mean…for your excellent tutoring these past weeks.”

He smiled briefly and pressed a light kiss in the curve of her neck. “’Twas entirely my pleasure. You have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.”

His touch was casual, but all Sabrina could think of was Niall’s soft, demanding mouth, his hard fingers, arousing her to heights of passion she’d never dreamed of.

It came as a disappointment when he merely offered his hand to escort her below to the waiting carriage.

By the time they arrived, however, Sabrina was beginning to feel a reckless sense of daring. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful, indeed almost powerful, and confident enough of her feminine charms to fulfill Niall’s prophecy.

The Widow Graham’s home was a stately dwelling built within the last decade, without the aged charm or enduring strength of the McLarens’ Creagturic. Scores of expensive candles lit the immense drawing room, which was crowded with guests clad in a blaze of silks, satins, and costly brocades.

Eve met them at the entrance, resplendent in a ravishing gown of pale yellow silk damask heavily embroidered with ribbons and lace.

“How delighted I am you could come,” the widow said to Sabrina, though her gaze lingered on Niall. “I trust you will be pleased by the music, my dear. I have arranged for a singer with the most divine voice, as well as performances on the pianoforte and harp. I mean to show that we Highlanders are not such savages as one might think. Pray, let me make you known to my other guests….”

As the introductions were made, Sabrina was grateful for Niall’s insistence upon gowning her in a manner befitting a laird’s wife. The company included not only the local gentry and clan chiefs, but noblemen and military officers from distant districts, and several prominent Englishmen as well.

It gave her a moment’s pause to realize Owen Buchanan had attended along with two of his sons. Beside her, she felt Niall go rigid as he spied the Buchanan. The sheer animosity bristling between the two men was apparent, though they remained in opposite corners of the room.