Dazed, she shook her head, a turmoil of emotion assaulting her: hurt, confusion, betrayal. His desperate infirmity had been feigned. “You deliberately deceived me,” she whispered.
“Aweel…”
“You said I was the last hope for the future, that it was vital I wed the McLaren to save our clan.”
“’Twas for a good cause, lass.”
“A good cause?” Her voice trembled. “Is that all you have to say? You lied to me, tricked me into agreeing to your plans…I wed Niall only because I thought you were dying. Because Clan Duncan needed a leader to protect them from the Buchanans after you were gone.”
“Aye, but I feared ye would refuse the marriage unless the need was dire. Come, lass, admit it. Ye wouldna even have come to the Highlands had ye not thought me dying.”
No, she would never have come. She would never have wed a legendary rogue who resented having her as his bride…or fallen so desperately, hopelessly, in love.
Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut. Angus had played on her sympathies and her clan loyalty in order to win her compliance. She felt a stark hollowness in the pit of her stomach.
She glanced at Liam Duncan, who lowered his eyes. “Were you an accomplice to his plan?” she asked.
“Nay,” Angus interrupted his reply. “Liam knew naught of this till after the nuptials.”
Sabrina shifted her gaze back to her grandfather, who was starting to scowl.
“Come now, lass, would ye rather I’d died in truth?”
“No, of course not. I’m glad you’re well. What distresses me is your deception—” She recoiled as another thought struck her like a blow. What had he told Niall in order to compel him to wed her?
“What hold did you have over Niall to force his hand?” she asked slowly.
“Why do ye think I had to force him?”
“Because he clearly never wanted a marriage between us.”
“’Twas a debt of honor his da owed. I saved Hugh McLaren’s life once.”
Her heart twisted painfully. “So it wasn’t simply his wish to wed an heiress, as you claimed. I wondered. He was too anxious to avoid the betrothal, and too relieved when I broke it off. That would have been the end of it, except that I was wounded in the raid—”
Her eyes narrowed in dismay as another notion occurred to her. “Did you deceive me about that as well? About the Buchanans stealing our cattle?”
“Now, lass—”
“You said Owen Buchanan himself led the raid.”
“Aweel…perhaps he wasna the one.”
“Perhaps it never happened at all! That would explain why they deny initiating the thieving, why they accused us of breaking the truce. Did you steal their cattle first?”
“Nay, ’twas not the way of it. But I may have been mistaken about their thievery…”
Sabrina raised a hand to her temple, a sick sensation of disbelief gnawing at her insides. It was all beginning to make sense. “You said the bloody Buchanans would ravage our clan if we had no laird strong enough to prevent it. But Clan Duncan never needed saving from the Buchanans, did they? You orchestrated the entire threat.”
Her grandfather’s ruddy features took on a pleading expression. “Ye dinna ken, lass. I acted for the good of the clan.”
“Oh, I think I ken well enough,” Sabrina replied raggedly. “We could have had peace. Dear God, Owen Buchanan had already agreed to a truce! We could have settled the feud for good, or at least enjoyed a momentary calm. Instead you deliberately rekindled the conflict. Merciful heaven, Grandfather…People could have died! Niall was almost killed during that raid—and two of the Buchanans were wounded. So was I, for that matter.”
His heavy brows drew together mutinously. “Even so, I had to act. Ye had broken off the betrothal and wouldna listen to reason. I had to show ye the danger. Ye needed to see what would happen if Clan Duncan didna unite under a strong leader.”
“So you risked a bloody war to force my hand.”
“Mayhap I did, but I had no choice. I’m growing old, lass. Our clan needed a laird, and the McLaren was the right mon to succeed me. Ye were the only one who could provide him.”