Sabrina shook her head dazedly. She couldn’t possibly give Angus a response just yet. At the moment she was too weary and stunned to make any rational judgments.
“Grandfather…I must have time to think…I cannot make such a momentous decision without giving it careful consideration.”
“Well, take yer time, lass—but I should like to hold the ceremony before the week is out, before the Buchanans take it into their dim heads to gain advantage from my illness. Now, lass…I must rest. Will ye leave me for a time?”
“Yes…of course, Grandfather,” Sabrina said courteously.
“Send Liam to me when ye see him…”
Angus sank deeper into the pillows, his eyes already closed in exhaustion. The discussion had taken a toll on his fading health, Sabrina noted with regret.
Quietly she let herself from the chamber and nearly stumbled over Rab, who had been waiting anxiously for her. Absently she stroked the dog’s huge head, before turning to descend the stone stairs to the great hall below. Her footsteps lagged while her mind whirled.
Wife.
She was being offered the chance to become Niall McLaren’s wife.
A pulse of excitement throbbed within Sabrina before she could repress it. What would it be like to be the wife of a man like that? To share his home and his bed? To bear his children? To feel his touch, his passion each night…
No, it was absurd to feel such anticipation. She didn’t have even the least liking for him. Yet she couldn’t deny that he had invaded her dreams far too often. There was something about Niall McLaren that compelled fascination.
He was a man as dangerous and beguiling as the Highlands itself. A boldly sensuous lover whose name women whispered like a prayer.
And as dismaying as it was for her to admit, his kiss had done something to her that night in the garden. Changed her in some indefinable way. He’d stirred a fiery, restless need in her, arousing a fierce yearning deep inside a secret part of her.
Before that night she had been satisfied with her life. She was virtual mistress of her stepfather’s household, running his affairs and supervising his account books. And she enjoyed a measure of independence unusual for an unmarried woman.
She’d convinced herself she needed nothing more from life. She might still be a romantic, but she’d learned to repress any reckless longings. She might have suffered a painful betrayal by a feckless suitor, but she’d hidden her hurt well. She was too pragmatic to pine over lost wishes and broken dreams.
At least she had been until Niall McLaren.
Fiercely Sabrina shook her head. She was mad to be remembering their moonlit encounter with anything other than distaste. His kiss had meant nothing to him but vengeance, an exercise in frustrated carnal desire.
And yet…since that night she was no longer so content to watch from the sidelines, experiencing the unsatisfying life of the perpetual onlooker. She didn’t want to be left on the shelf, resigned to dull evenings with her stepfather’s account books.
She was not born for so little.
All of her life she had been quiet and responsible, but in recent months there’d been moments when she’d felt longing well up inside her, gathering like a fountain ready to erupt. She felt desperate to live, to have adventures, to feel passion. She wanted to experience life to the fullest. To decide her own role, influence her own fate. She wanted to make a difference in the world.
As now. Her clan needed her.
Now she must make a choice.
Was she willing to put obligation and duty before all else? Could she endure a marriage of convenience with a profligate rogue in order to protect her clan from the bloody feuds that ravaged the Highlands? She was half Highlander by blood. And the bonds of family and duty were strong, the call of danger and excitement even stronger…
She was halfway down the stairway when she became aware of an unnatural quiet in the hall. Sabrina glanced down to find a sea of faces gazing up at her solemnly. In the crowd, she recognized Liam and Geordie, but the rest were unfamiliar to her. Apparently, though, the men of Clan Duncan had gathered in the hall and were waiting to speak to her.
Liam had been chosen spokesman, it seemed, for he stepped forward as she reached the last stair.
“Mistress Duncan, if we might beg a word with you?”
“Yes?” she replied politely.
“We wish you to know that…should you wed the McLaren, we’ll follow him, every last man of us. You have our oath on that.”
It was a public pledge, she realized. Liam was abdicating his position as her grandfather’s successor and accepting the McLaren as chief. He was putting the good of the clan above personal power or gain.
Could she do any less?