threshold, he turned to face her, then gave a low, mocking bow. "I'll
spend the remainder of the night outside your door," he said smoothly.
Sabrina blinked. "But… why?"
"Why, you ask?" He gave a short, biting laugh. “Because I do not trust you
not to bolt."
Sabrina was silent a moment. He had brought her here, and she'd been certain
she would bear the consequences of his rage as surely as she'd ever done her
father's. Only now he was doing the one thing she never expected—he was going to
leave her alone. Sabrina didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Instead she did neither. "I-I will not bolt," she said at length, her voice
very low. "You have my word. My-my promise." The oath cost her much. But unlike
him, she thought bitterly, she would keep.
His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "You needn't bother, lass. However
much you might wish otherwise, I fear I don't find your word particularly
reassuring just now."
Sabrina's jaw snapped shut. She glared her ire and struggled to find a
suitable retort. But by the time she opened her mouth, he was gone.
That very same night a dark figure slipped unseen from the keep. He rode long
and hard to a tiny crofter's hut hidden deep in the forest. He dismounted, then
strode to the door. Testing it, he found it open. Throwing it wide, he stepped
boldly within.
His gaze veered to the bed pushed against the far wall. "You did not throw
the bolt," he stated without preamble.
A soft trill of femmine laughter filled the air. "Why bother? I knew you
would come."
"Nonetheless, I do not think it wise that you be so careless."
Moist red lips pouted. "Why? Did not all proceed as planned?"
His frown eased. "Aye," he said with a grating laugh. "But you will not
believe what else has happened… he is to marry Sabrina."
The woman in the bed rose to a sitting position. "What! When?"
"On the morrow," came his reply. "You realize this will make things more
difficult."
The woman rose from the bed. Her covers fell away, revealing her naked form
beneath.
"Nay," she said with a slow-growing smile. “It will only make things more
interesting."
"How so?"
Her laugh was gloating. "The two of them? Why, I daresay, they will kill each
other! Ha!" Her smile widened. "If only they would! It would save us the
trouble."
He was silent a moment. "Will you follow soon?"
"Aye. I must." Her eyes glinted in the firelight. She beckoned him close.
"Now come, my lusty stallion. Let us not think of them, but of us." She slipped
from the bed, heedless of her nudity. Instead she arched her breasts and touched
her nipples with her fingers, a silent invitation.
The man sucked in a harsh breath. She was the lusty one, for no matter how
fiercely they coupled, she was ever ready for more. Her dismissal of his worry
troubled him no further, for she was a clever one; this he knew well and
true.
His rod already stone-hard, he needed no further encouragement. He shed his
clothes and moved to join her. But when he reached for her, she stayed him with
a hand on his chest and a shake of her head.
Wordlessly she dropped down on her knees before him. And indeed, speech was
impossible, for in but an instant her fingers threaded through coarse dark
hairs. He groaned as she stroked and explored. And then her mouth was filled
with him…
Soft, sucking sounds mingled with the man's groan of pleasure.
Ian MacGregor was forgotten.
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Sunlight bleached the sky when Sabrina awoke the next morn. At some point
during the night, with stark, painful clarity she came to the conclusion that
there was naught she could do to stop this marriage. inside she was secretly
devastated that her fate was no longer her own—wearily she acknowledged it had
never been her own.
You forget,
whispered a voice in her head,
it
was not Margaret's choice either to marry Ian.
A pang of guilt knifed through her. This was true, she admitted. But Margaret
had never been opposed to marrying Ian.
spend the remainder of the night outside your door," he said smoothly.
Sabrina blinked. "But… why?"
"Why, you ask?" He gave a short, biting laugh. “Because I do not trust you
not to bolt."
Sabrina was silent a moment. He had brought her here, and she'd been certain
she would bear the consequences of his rage as surely as she'd ever done her
father's. Only now he was doing the one thing she never expected—he was going to
leave her alone. Sabrina didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Instead she did neither. "I-I will not bolt," she said at length, her voice
very low. "You have my word. My-my promise." The oath cost her much. But unlike
him, she thought bitterly, she would keep.
His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "You needn't bother, lass. However
much you might wish otherwise, I fear I don't find your word particularly
reassuring just now."
Sabrina's jaw snapped shut. She glared her ire and struggled to find a
suitable retort. But by the time she opened her mouth, he was gone.
That very same night a dark figure slipped unseen from the keep. He rode long
and hard to a tiny crofter's hut hidden deep in the forest. He dismounted, then
strode to the door. Testing it, he found it open. Throwing it wide, he stepped
boldly within.
His gaze veered to the bed pushed against the far wall. "You did not throw
the bolt," he stated without preamble.
A soft trill of femmine laughter filled the air. "Why bother? I knew you
would come."
"Nonetheless, I do not think it wise that you be so careless."
Moist red lips pouted. "Why? Did not all proceed as planned?"
His frown eased. "Aye," he said with a grating laugh. "But you will not
believe what else has happened… he is to marry Sabrina."
The woman in the bed rose to a sitting position. "What! When?"
"On the morrow," came his reply. "You realize this will make things more
difficult."
The woman rose from the bed. Her covers fell away, revealing her naked form
beneath.
"Nay," she said with a slow-growing smile. “It will only make things more
interesting."
"How so?"
Her laugh was gloating. "The two of them? Why, I daresay, they will kill each
other! Ha!" Her smile widened. "If only they would! It would save us the
trouble."
He was silent a moment. "Will you follow soon?"
"Aye. I must." Her eyes glinted in the firelight. She beckoned him close.
"Now come, my lusty stallion. Let us not think of them, but of us." She slipped
from the bed, heedless of her nudity. Instead she arched her breasts and touched
her nipples with her fingers, a silent invitation.
The man sucked in a harsh breath. She was the lusty one, for no matter how
fiercely they coupled, she was ever ready for more. Her dismissal of his worry
troubled him no further, for she was a clever one; this he knew well and
true.
His rod already stone-hard, he needed no further encouragement. He shed his
clothes and moved to join her. But when he reached for her, she stayed him with
a hand on his chest and a shake of her head.
Wordlessly she dropped down on her knees before him. And indeed, speech was
impossible, for in but an instant her fingers threaded through coarse dark
hairs. He groaned as she stroked and explored. And then her mouth was filled
with him…
Soft, sucking sounds mingled with the man's groan of pleasure.
Ian MacGregor was forgotten.
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Sunlight bleached the sky when Sabrina awoke the next morn. At some point
during the night, with stark, painful clarity she came to the conclusion that
there was naught she could do to stop this marriage. inside she was secretly
devastated that her fate was no longer her own—wearily she acknowledged it had
never been her own.
You forget,
whispered a voice in her head,
it
was not Margaret's choice either to marry Ian.
A pang of guilt knifed through her. This was true, she admitted. But Margaret
had never been opposed to marrying Ian.
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