“Is it?” Her voice dripped scorn.
“Indeed. As a male, I cannot spawn another man’s by-blow.”
“So that gives you license to rut with anything in skirts?”
She could feel Niall’s narrowed gaze piercing her. “I need no license to seek other companionship. I made no promise of fidelity when I agreed to this damnable union.”
Flinching, Sabrina dropped her own gaze, her lowered lashes masking the pain.
“I will not warn you again, madam. Keep away from the Buchanans,” Niall commanded tersely, before lapsing into silence once more.
They spoke not a word for the remainder of the short journey. When they reached Creagturic, Sabrina went directly upstairs to their bedchamber.
Niall did not join her—not then, nor anytime during the long night. For the first time since their marriage, Sabrina found herself forsaken. She lay alone in the vast bed, missing her husband’s warmth, his hardness, his magnetic presence. Finding sleep impossible, she tossed and turned and punched her pillow a dozen times, brooding in anger. To think he believed her capable of adultery…She would never behave so dishonorably.
His double standard infuriated her as well. ’Twas not fair! She was constrained by her vows of fidelity to be faithful, while he suffered no such constraints.
Far worse, she loved the wretched man!
Damn him, damn him, triple damn him…If he wanted fidelity and loyalty from her, he should be willing to give it himself.
Sabrina rose blurry-eyed the following morning—long after Niall had already left the house. She was too mortified to ask where her husband had spent the night, though she was certain the servants knew.
When noon approached, she informed Mrs. Paterson that she meant to call on her grandfather. Then, drawing on a cloak and collecting her dog for protection, she had a horse saddled and defiantly rode out to meet Owen Buchanan’s son.
It was a dangerous course, Sabrina knew. Yet she refused to allow Niall to dictate her every action, refused to lie down like a doormat while he heartlessly trod over her. And in truth, more than defiance drove her. She had hopes of ultimately getting to the bottom of the mystery regarding the cattle raids.
Keith Buchanan was right. Something smelled rotten. The Buchanans believed that she had started the conflict, that she’d duped them by pretending to arrange a truce. Owen’s fury at her on her wedding day had been entirely genuine, Sabrina remembered. He’d accused her of tricking him into leaving his herds unguarded. Of course she had not. Indeed, she’d blamed them for the betrayal. But what if they were no more guilty than she was? If the Buchanans had not struck the first blow, it was understandable they would feel wronged after Niall’s midnight raid and his wounding of two Buchanan kinsmen.
Sabrina clenched her teeth in frustration. Clearly she couldn’t discuss the situation with Niall. He was too blinded by hatred to ever see the Buchanans as anything but thieves and murderers. But if there truly were a chance to promote peace, she couldn’t miss it because she was too timid to stand up to her infuriating, domineering husband. Most certainly if his best interests would be served.
Niall was absurdly misguided to accuse her of seeking to put horns on him. Keith Buchanan had shown no amorous intentions toward her. Indeed, just the opposite; he seemed more inclined to wrap his fingers around her throat and throttle her. There would be no impropriety in their meeting in broad daylight. And such a gray, damp day was scarcely conducive to romance. A heavy mist hung low over the rugged hills, obscuring the highest peaks.
Her thoughts occupied, Sabrina scarcely noticed her surroundings, yet as she and Rab passed verdant forests and valleys, the majesty eventually worked to soothe her temper. When she came to a rushing burn, she followed its path to a lush, pine- and bracken-covered glen. In the distance, the tranquil waters of a loch gleamed silver, its banks heavily treed.
The shrill cry of a curlew pierced the quiet as she drew her mount to a halt. Near the shore stood a typical crofter’s cottage, whitewashed stone with thatched roof. From the chimney, lazy wisps of smoke swirled upward toward the rain-laden skies, tingeing the air with the scent of peat fire. Beyond the croft, a saddled horse grazed peacefully.
The raven-haired man leaning negligently against the trunk of a rowan tree had his back to her, but he turned when he heard the soft thud of her horse’s hooves.
Keith stared at her a moment, one hand on the hilt of his sword, as she came to a halt before him. “Welcome, milady.”
Sabrina managed a smile. “Do you mean to run me through, sir?” she asked lightly.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. “’Twould be a mistake to attempt it, if what I hear about ye is true. Ye would acquit yerself well enough to threaten my manhood. Nay, ’tis yer animal I seek to defend myself against.” With his head he gestured at the giant dog, who was standing at attention, ready to attack if need be.
“Oh, forgive me…” Sabrina called to her dog and told him to be easy.
Keith’s guard relaxed. “I thank ye for coming, milady.”
“There is no need to thank me. I would like to solve this mystery as much as you would.”
“I gather the McLaren denies dealing in treachery.”
“I did not ask him about it. Niall…was rather angry last night. He doesn’t know I’ve come—”
No sooner had the words left her mouth when she heard the rhythmic sound of hoofbeats behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, Sabrina drew a sharp breath when she recognized the black horse emerging from beyond the crofter’s hut, moving toward her at an easy canter. While the horseman possessed raven hair like Keith Buchanan’s, the powerful shoulders were draped in a McLaren plaid.