A Promise Given (22 page)
He quickened before her very eyes.
Her mouth was suddenly as dry as parchment. His intent was obvious, but she
was suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of the changes these past weeks had
wrought on her own body. Her waist had thickened, her breasts were as full as
melons, and she felt swollen and ungainly. Of a certainty she did not feel
pretty or enticing!
Though she did not stop him, her fingers fluttered above his. But when all
that remained was her shift, she took a deep breath.
"Ian," she whispered, "must we be… naked?"
A black brow climbed high. "You asked that the very first time, lass. His
grin was utterly wicked. “`Tis how it's best done… or do you forget so
soon?"
Sabrina could not look at him. She could not.
Slowly his grin faded. One lean hand came to rest on her shoulder. Quietly he
said, "You need not be shy before me, sweet.”
“`Tis not that,” she said unevenly. “`Tis just that I am… different," she
finished lamely.
His gaze was steady on hers. "Different," he repeated. "How so, love?"
Love
. Her heart squeezed. Oh, why couldn't he understand? She
floundered, her throat achingly tight.
"Ian," she said helplessly, "I—I know that you are not blind. I am no longer
slim and—"
His fingers on her lips, he stopped her speech. "You think I do not desire
you?"
Sabrina nodded, perilously near tears. “I—I do not feel… desirable," she
blurted.
His eyes softened. "Listen to me, sweet. You are as beautiful now as you have
ever been." He shook his head and now it seemed that he was the one at a loss
for words. "How can I say this… You possess an allure—a feminine enticement that
makes me quiver like a youth."
Solemnly intent, he splayed his fingers wide across the hard mound of her
tummy. "I desire you as ever before, Sabrina… nay,
more
, for the sight
of my son rounding your belly swells my chest with pride—and fills my heart to
bursting." His tone was low and husky; it sent a tremor all through her. "I want
you, sweet. I want you as I want no other—as I have
never
wanted
another."
His declaration was all she needed to hear—all she had yearned for. With a
half-strangled sob, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him her lips,
giddy with relief. And when at last she was as naked as he, she offered no
protest.
Stretching out beside her, he caught at her hand, drawing it down over the
iron-hard grid of his belly. With unfaltering guidance he curled her fingers
around his burning shaft, filling her palm with himself.
"You once said I was as small a man as I was a lad." There was the veriest
trace of laughter in his voice. "Is that still true, lass?"
Her heart pounded so hard it seemed to jolt her entire body. "I think not,"
she said faintly.
His eyes darkened. "Touch me, sweet." Raw need vibrated in his voice.
"
Touch me
."
And touch him she did. She touched him as she had never done before… touched
him as she had always longed to do. Though she was shocked at her own
brazenness, she did not retreat. His size and breadth made her tremble, for he
was rigid and thick, massive and hot in her palm. Stunned at the contrast she
encountered, her fingers skimmed daintily over the velvet-arched tip of him,
then clasped him anew.
He swelled still further.
A heady sense of power carne over her. Guided by instinct alone, she slid her
hand up and down… up and down in a motion that seemed to drive him
half-wild.
"That's the way, sweet. Christ, you make me burn, both inside and out! His
whisper was low and strained. One more pass and his hips bucked wildly.
His hand clamped her. "Enough!" he said thickly. "Else I will spill myself
here and now."
But now it was his turn.
His eyes silver-bright and passion-glazed, he eased her back against the
pillows. With the pads of his thumbs he traced circles around the dark,
straining tips of her breasts. With a groan she caught at his head, guiding it
down to where she most wanted his kiss… With a rumble of laughter deep in his
chest, he gave her what she yearned for, painting her nipples with the wanton
lash of his tongue, leaving them shiny and wet and tautly erect.
His hand drifted lower, embedding themselves in the tight curls between her
thighs. With his thumb he teased the tight bud of pleasure nestled within deep
pink folds.
A lone finger stretched high and deep. Sabrina moaned as a hot, piercing ache
shot through her middle. Another joined its mate… Blistering flames shot through
her at the brand of his fingers high and tight and deep inside her. All the
while his thumb never ceased its tormenting foray, dipping and circling and
rubbing that quivering bud. She whimpered, feeling the tears her body wept,
sleek and damp on his fingertips, writhing against him and crying out her
need.
He kissed her, then, and the ravenous hunger she tasted in his mouth sent her
spiraling anew. He levered himself over her, his knees spreading her wide.
Enflamed almost past bearing, she clutched at him.
He braced himself above her, his features tense and strained. She touched the
rugged hollows of his cheeks, traced the curve of his mouth that brought such
rapture. Her fingers trailed over the binding tightness of his shoulders, loving
the feel of bulging muscle encased in sleek, smooth skin.
Their eyes met and held, and she saw in his the me soul-shattering
desire.
'Twas at that very instant he came inside her. His mouth sealed hers. His
shaft filled her, until she was abrim with him, so deep he touched her very
womb…
And seared her very soul.
‘Twas a joining that shook her as never before—a union not only of the flesh,
but of the spirit, a melding of souls. With aching tenderness he claimed her,
and she could not withhold a moan of sheer joy.
Her nails dug into his arms. "Ian," she cried softly.
“
Ian!”
With a groan he crushed her to him. Their hips met again and again, a wild,
burning frenzy. When she reached for him again, their hands locked. She arched
her hips as his churned wildly, to take all he could give and more. Her pleasure
crested, a burst of exquisite ecstacy. She felt her body tighten and contract,
convulsing around swollen flesh, over and over. And then she was flung high
aloft, as if she were floating, free of earthly bonds. Above her, Ian shuddered,
a scant heartbeat before he exploded inside her, a scalding release that
drenched her womb in fire.
When the winds of passion had calmed, he propped himself on his elbows and
kissed her, a kiss of infinite sweetness.
'Twas then that the babe saw fit to make his presence known—aye, and felt! He
thumped within her, there where her belly still pressed his father's.
Ian's eyes widened, with shock or fear, she knew not. He shifted to his side
in a lightning move that made her smile. "Sabrina," he breathed. "Was
that…?"
She chuckled. "Aye," she said, and now it was she who took his hand and
shaped it against her. With the pressure of her own, she kept his hand anchored
beneath hers, that he might feel his son move as she did. As if the babe knew
exactly what his father craved, he moved again, a great, rolling movement.
Ian's slow smile thrilled her to her very toes. He did not snatch his hand
away, but kept it there as if entranced.
"What do you think?" he mused. "Lad or lassie?"
She smiled. "Do you have a preference, then?"
"Nay," he said huskily. "As long as you and the babe are well."
His answer pleased her as nothing else could have. "We will have a son, I
think," she murmured sleepily. "Aye, a son." She nestled against his shoulder as
he slipped an arm beneath her and pulled her near. Exhausted, she soon
slept.
Ian's expression was tender as he kissed the place where their child lay
nestled within her. Weaving their fingers together anew, he let them rest on the
swell of her belly.
'Twas not long before he joined her in slumber.
Deep in the mist-shrouded Highlands, spring mellowed the land, bringing the
hills and mountains alive in a pageantry of color. Sabrina welcomed it gladly,
for she was tired of the stark barrenness of winter. The days grew longer and
summer approached; even as the heather bloomed purple and rich, life burgeoned
within her.
She and Mary spent much of their time sewing for the bairn, but Sabrina oft
grew tired of sitting. She walked down to the village and back, sometimes to the
sapphire waters of the loch just beyond the west wall. Though Ian frowned, he
did not stop her, for always she walked with Mary and never alone. The day she'd
been locked in below-stairs was no longer so frightening. Though she had yet to
find an explanation for how it had happened, no longer did she feel as if danger
lurked beyond the next corner.
Ian.
The very thought of him made her heart pound. He was tender and
ever mindful of her condition; indeed, she could almost believe he
did
love her… He seemed pleased about the babe, and for that she was glad. And there
was concern about her well-being. Secretly she yearned for more… words of love
mayhap? Yet none had passed his lips. She chided herself, for that was too much
to expect. If he was concerned, 'twas as much for his unborn son 's welfare as
her own. And so she held her own feelings close in check…
For she was not wont to give love where it was not wanted.
And though many was the time where they had talked long into the night, she
sensed there was still much he withheld from her. At times he was distant and
absent-minded, yet he did not speak of what troubled him—if anything. On several
more occasions she sought to query him about Fionna— who might have murdered her
and why…
He stiffened immediately, and left her in no doubt he would not speak of it.
Sabrina could not help it—she was secretly shattered that he refused to share
this part of himself with her. And it was at those times that she painfully
reminded herself there was yet another part of him he would
never
share
with her…
His heart.
In late May he left again to join the Bruce. Sabrina was proud of herself,
for, she wished him well and bid him good-bye with nary a tear. 'Twas only
later, in the solitude of the night, in the emptiness of her bed—their bed—that
the tears fell.
She was in the hall one afternoon several weeks later planning the next
week's menu when Uncle Malcolm shuffled inside from the bailey.
'He comes," the old man announced.
Sabrina glanced up. She had come to love him dearly, though it was just as
Ian had said: one never knew from one day to the next where his mind
dwelled—past or present.
She tipped her head to the side. "Who, Uncle?"
"Yer husband, lassie! Why else would I be tellin' ye?”
Her gaze sharpened. His eyes were clear as a rushing mountain stream.
Her heart lurched. Ian, she realized dazedly. Ian was coming! Her quill
dropped to the table, forgotten. She got to her feet with as much haste as her
belly would allow.
But she was barely standing when the echo of hoof-beats thundered outside.
Sabrina's hand went to her hair. It was loose about her shoulders and back the
way Ian liked it, but she hadn't combed through it since early morn. And her
gown was faded and worn… Oh, but what was the use in fretting? She was fat and
clumsy and hardly the picture of prettiness!
And then he was there, striding through the entrance, every bit the bold
chieftain, so very handsome he stole her breath. His gaze swept the hall as if
he searched for someone. His gaze lit upon her and he stopped. Sabrina wanted to
pinch herself that she might know she was not dreaming, for there was warmth and
pleasure reflected in those clear gray eyes, eyes that seemed to speak to her
alone.
Then he was there before her, his hands on her waist. He kissed her long and
sweetly and Sabrina was quite, quite certain she stood at heaven's door.
When at last he drew back, one corner of his mouth curled up in an odd
smile.
"I have something for you, wife."
Sabrina blinked. "What? A gift?"
He ran a finger down her nose. "Not precisely."
She pretended to pout. "What then?" In truth she curious beyond measure.
His grin was utterly irresistible—and wholly irrepressible. He did not
answer, but instead turned and beckoned toward the doorway.
And then Sabrina could only stare numbly, convinced her eyes deceived
her.
"Edna," she said, stunned, and then it was a cry of delight: "Edna!"
Edna, her little maid from Dunlevy, raced toward her. The two embraced,
alternately laughing and crying.
Finally Sabrina drew back, shaking her head. "Edna, I cannot believe you are
here! How long can you stay?"
"Oh, I'll be stayin' a very long while, m'lady." Edna was beaming. "A very
long while indeed"—a bubbling laugh escaped—"for I daresay, I'll be callin'
Castle MacGregor my home!”
Ian had watched the scene unfold with an indulgent little smile. Sabrina
turned toward him and slid her hand within his, too choked up to speak. Her
heart stood still. He had done this, she realized dazedly, for her. For
her
.
His caring and concern was her undoing. Her smile grew misty. "Thank you,"
she whispered when at last she was able. Naked emotion surely shone on her face,
but she cared not.
Ian carried her hand to his lips, his gaze never wavering from her own.
“`Twas my pleasure, sweet."
Over the next few hours, Sabrina was a trifle nervous that Mary might resent
Edna's arrival. But she reassured Mary that her place was not being usurped at
all. Indeed, she hoped that Mary would be nurse to the babe, for she had seen
how good Mary was with the children in the village.
Mary's eyes lit up. "Oh, but I do love the wee ones," she said excitedly. "I
suppose 'tis because I'm the eldest of twelve. But I—I should like that very
much indeed, my lady."
"It is settled then," Sabrina said firmly. "You will be the babe's
nurse."
It was later, as she and Ian had retired for the night, that she told Ian the
news. "You do not mind, do you? That Mary will act as nurse?"
"Of course not. I think Mary is a fine choice." He paused, drawing her into
his arms and nestling her close against his length.
"Are you happy then that Edna is here?"
She smiled against the hard curve of his shoulder. "Aye. Though I admit, of a
certainty I never expected to see Edna here at Castle MacGregor." She paused.
"Were you near Dunlevy with the Bruce?"
"Aye. I left him near Perth. I had to pass directly by Dunlevy, so I stayed
the night there. 'Twas then that the idea came to me, for I know that it has
been lonely for you here." His tone had grown quiet. "And I thought it
might be easier when the babe comes if you had someone dear and familiar with
you."
But I am not lonely when you are here
, she longed to cry. Yet
something held her back. Instead she murmured, "Hmmm. Did Papa mind that you
wished to steal away one of his servants?"
Ian chuckled, the sound low and pleasing to her ears. "That he did. But you
have far more need of Edna than he, and so I told him."
It was Sabrina's turn to grow quiet. She’d written to tell her father the
news that she and Ian expected a child midsummer, but she'd had no
response—indeed, she'd had no word from him in all the time she'd been gone from
Dunlevy.
She steeled herself against a pinprick of hurt. "Tell me," she said lightly.
"How was Papa?"
"He is well."
"Good." The veriest pause. "And did he ask after me?"
"Aye,” Ian said quickly. But there was something in his tone, something that
warned her all was not right.
And Sabrina knew the truth.
Despite her most stringent effort, a huge lump clogged her throat. There was
a sharp, knifelike twinge in her chest. Carefully she eased from him and slipped
from their bed.
Her steps carried her unknowingly to the window. There she opened the
shutters and gazed out into the darkness. In that moment, her heart was as
barren and empty as the night.
She scolded herself fiercely. It had been a foolish question—she knew that
now, for aye, she'd already known Ian’s answer even before he spoke. Everything
within her cried out the heartache. When she had lived with her father he had no
use for her…
And now it seemed he had even less.
Suddenly she felt the sweep of powerful arms come around her from behind, the
rush of warm breath across her temple.
"Come back to bed, Sabrina."
Sabrina did not move. "I wrote and told him about the babe," she said
tonelessly. "He did not answer." She could not hide her bitterness. "He does not
care."
"He is a fool, Sabrina. A blind, old fool. He cannot change. He
will
not change."
"He would have cared were the babe Margaret's." Her voice was very small. She
shivered. "All my life I have felt… as if I were unworthy, Ian."
Ian's arms tightened. "It is not you who is unworthy, sweet. 'Tis he who is
unworthy of you."
Sabrina made no answer. A hollow ache welled up inside her.
She did not know that her bleakness tore into Ian's heart like a blade from
breast to belly. There was an odd tightening in his chest. She was so strong,
yet she did not know it.
"Your father is a fool," he said gruffly. "You are not alone—you are never
alone. There are those here who care for you greatly, Sabrina."
But what about him? she wondered achingly. Did
he
care? Despair
wrenched at her insides. The breath she drew was deep and painful. Why couldn't
he love her… just a little?
The babe kicked then, reminding her that if she could not have him, then at
least she would have this—his child. It was a bond neither could deny nor break.
She prayed that their child—their son—would be born safe and healthy.
Ian had felt the movement as well. His hand moved, molding the roundness of
her belly where their child nestled. "It will not be long," he whispered. "Are
you still afraid, sweet?"
"A little," she admitted. Her heart bleeding, she blinked back a stinging
rush of tears and turned into his arms.
"Hold me, Ian. Please… hold me."
Strong arms wrapped around her, bringing her shaking body close. He lifted
her and bore her to the bed where he drew her close and tight against his
side. Sabrina burrowed against him, craving his nearness as never before. She
was suddenly terrified—not just of the birth, but something else. She was all at
once seized by an ominous foreboding, something she could not put a name to, yet
so powerful she could not put it aside.
"Sabrina! What is this? You are trembling!„
“`Tis nothing," she managed, burying her face against the smooth satin of his
shoulder. He was so kind, so gentle, and his concern tied her heart in knots.
She rubbed her cheek against his skin, loving the musky scent of him, the
hardness of his arms tight about her form.
Her hair was a wild tangle across his bare chest. With his hand he stroked
the silken cloud of her hair, over and over. She felt the brush of firm lips
against her forehead, her cheeks, the line of her jaw. He held her with such
tenderness she clung to him all the harder, taking what comfort she could in the
sheltering protection of his embrace.
In time, her shaking subsided. She slept.
In all truth, Mary was well pleased at the prospect of being nurse to her
ladyship's bairn, for she'd always had a liking for wee ones. Her mistress was
generous and sweet, and she could imagine no greater privilege than to be
granted the duty of watching over the child.
Anxious to share her news with Thomas, the smithy's son, Mary departed the
castle for the village. They were not yet wed, but it was her fondest hope that
Thomas would soon ask her. Her steps light, humming a merry little tune, she
hurried down the rutted lane. High above, the moon played hide and seek within
silvery clouds. She paused, gazing upward. It seemed to wink down at her, full
and bright and shining its light across the heavens.
Her thoughts grew dreamy. She hugged herself and sighed, her smile broad. If
all went as she hoped, in time she might someday cradle a bairn of her own.
Footfalls sounded behind her. Mary stopped and turned.
"Hello?" she called. "Is someone there?"
She tipped her head to the side. No answer was forthcoming. But a form
appeared, seeming to glide from the shadows behind her, dark and faceless.
Mary's smile withered. A chill ran over her skin.
She whirled and ran as if the devil himself were at her heels. And perhaps it
was, for in an instant crushing hands were upon her and she was hurtled to the
ground.
"Say farewell to Castle MacGregor," said a raspy voice above her. "I fear
you’ve seen the last of it."
Before she could cry out, she was dealt a stunning blow to the head.
The world went black.
Her presence was missed the very next morning. Sabrina had the servants check
every corner of the castle, while Ian sent his men to search the village and a
nearby.
In the hall, Edna wrung her hands. “`Tis my fault," she wailed. "Oh, I
know it is. I did not mean to usurp her place, truly I did not!"
"Of course you didn't." Sabrina soothed her. "And in truth, I do not think
that is the case at all!"
It was true—Sabrina did not. A shiver went all through her. She couldn’t
banish the gnawing disquiet within her.
It was late when Ian came to bed that night, for he had been out searching
all day with his men.
"Do you think she ran away because Edna came?" he asked.
"The thought has occurred to me," Sabrina admitted. "But she was sweet on
Thomas, the smithy's son. Indeed, she confided to me only a few days ago that
she was certain he meant to ask for her hand soon."
