Heaven and the Heather (15 page)

“Only what I heard him tell another man in his chamber.”

“What did Campbell say, exactly?” he asked, his breath warm on the side of her face.

Sabine swallowed. The words would not leave her mouth. She swallowed again.

“Take yer time,” Niall whispered. “I want to know everything.” His tone was firm, not demanding.

“Campbell described me in the most vile and unspeakable ways,” she said. “He doubted my
virginité.
”

Niall raised an eyebrow.

Sabine stiffened. “Do not look at me so, or I shall not tell you more.”

“Ye will, because I see it in those lovely eyes that ye want me to know. So, continue. Why d’ye think Campbell wants to kill ye?”

“He said that he grew weary of my displays of spirit…my flaw. That he suffers through my bouts of disdain while bowing to my every whim.”

“Not a fair description of ye, I must say.” Niall held her closer.

“Are you daring to make jest again?”

He shook his head. “Go on, tell me more.”

She searched her mind, and did not go far to find the essence of her fear. “He said that beauty, and the willingness to…um…’shed my shank’, I think that was the vulgarism he used, to the first lad who lifts my skirts, will not protect me.”

She froze, Niall captured in her stare. “’Tis your fault that Campbell wants me dead. He saw you under my gown on that wharf, when you were chasing after that silly chicken. He thinks I have affection for you, that you are a threat to him.”

He burst out laughing. Sabine jumped a little.

“Me a bloody threat to him?” he said. “I wish that was the truth.”

“But of course it is true. Campbell said it, did he not?” What was the matter with this Highlander? Why did he not believe her? “He called me the most vile name as well.”

“What did he call you?”

She did not reply right away. The word was far too hideous to pass her lips. Having it pass more than once through her mind was bad enough. But she wanted to prove to Niall what she heard from Campbell was true. She had to tell him.

Sabine stared into his eyes and managed to say, “He called me a ‘whoredaughter’.”

Niall blinked and released his hold of her just a fraction. “He called ye a…a what?”

“I will not repeat it. You heard what I said.”

“Whoredaughter,” he repeated.

She raised her chin. “
Oui
, that is what Campbell called me.”

Niall took a step backward, a faltering step. He shook his head. “He did not call ye that.”

“He most certainly did,” she said. How could he deny her? “
I heard him.
”

“It wasnae about ye, Sabine.”

She placed her hands on her hips. Niall was certainly out of his Highland mind. She drew a thin breath over her lips, and prepared to unleash her anger upon him, slightly grateful she was no longer so afraid…for herself, but now whom?

Through one fallen lock of auburn hair, Niall leveled a steady gaze on her. “Campbell was speaking about the queen.”

Her first instinct was to call him a fool. But she had learned it was not best to act on her first impulse toward Niall. He held as many surprises, she suspected, as did these Highlands. “How do you know this?”

“’Tis common knowledge that the queen’s late mother, a Frenchwoman named Marie de Guise, wasnae held in high regard with many of the Scottish nobles or many Scotsmen, especially those in Edinburgh. My brother and I spent more than our fair share of time in the taverns of that fair city, escaping our tutors and hearing opinions about the late Queen Regent. The favored phrase to describe her was none too respectful—
whore.
”

Sabine winced and crossed her arms over her breasts to keep from shaking. The poor Queen Mother, what a horrid thing to say about her. She had been French, one of Sabine’s “kind”. Campbell had said so, just before he called Queen Mary,
her
Queen Mary, a…

“…Whoredaughter,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Niall said taking a step forward. “That’s was what I heard said by men who considered themselves ‘noble’…” He said the last word as if it was poison on his tongue. “…After the Queen Regent’s death, those same men cheered and toasted to the arrival of the ‘whoredaughter’.”

“Terrible,” Sabine breathed. But Campbell was so generous to Her Majesty. He provided her with a relatively stately refuge in these Highlands. Provided her entertainments and gave her the opportunity to…
Mon Dieu!

“…To hunt!” Sabine cried.

Niall cocked an ear toward her. “What?”

Mind reeling, she tried to grip onto her thoughts and steady her wavering legs. She toppled backward. Niall was there to catch her. His strong arms bound her to his body—and protected her. But she was not the one who needed his protection.

“The queen,” she breathed, “I must save her from Campbell.”

“Ye must…do what, Sabine?” he asked.

She snapped her gaze to his. “
Oui
, that is what I said. The queen must know. I must tell her.”

Niall turned her about. He held her at arm’s length and stared directly into her eyes. “This ye cannae do, Sabine. T’would place yerself in harm’s path.”

She shook her head furiously enough to make her hair flail about her face. When she stopped, she breathed so heavy she thought she might faint. She stared at Niall through the hair that had fallen in front of her face. He brushed the long locks away from her eyes. “Sabine,” he said, “Ye dinnae know Campbell as I do.”

They stood apart, but only for the span of their breaths in the damp air.

“I know what I heard,” she said. Her face warmed, throat tightened. She felt like she had swallowed broken glass. What kind of world was this where a monarch could not rule until she breathed her last after living to the ripe old age of two score and ten, maybe more? Where a queen’s most trusted advisor wanted her dead to satisfy his own drive for power?

“I know what Campbell wants,” Niall said.

“Power,” she said, “is that it?”

He blinked, surprise in his eyes. “Aye, and more land.”

“The two go hand in hand, do you not think so?” she asked.

He nodded again. She was not too pleased at his sudden look of astonishment that she would know such things about men. But Niall did not know about her life in France, where she had experienced the evil depths to which a man would drop to press his will over anyone who so much as disgruntled him.

Niall glanced away. He stared over her shoulder, grinding his jaw. She started to ask him what had entered his mind, if anything, when he suddenly looked at her and said, “We need proof, Sabine.”

“What?…
We?
” she asked, taken aback.

“Aye,
we
. Campbell has Her Majesty’s confidence. He’s her Highland liason. D’ye think if ye just walked up to her while she sat on her grand throne and announced that ye’ve come to save her from a murderer that she would believe ye? Especially when ye tell her that her accused murderer happens to be the golden lad of the Highland nobles, none other than, Lord John-bloody-stinking-bastard-Campbell.”

“I am a member of her court, her attendant,” Sabine said. Somehow that title did not seem so significant at the moment. What was she to Her Majesty but an obedient maid who cleaned her wardrobe, and stood silently by in wait for the next petty order? But Mary was good to her, never cruel.

“I love my queen,” she said. “I made a vow to be vigilant to her needs. And the need to protect her, to
warn
her has arisen. I must leave this place, and go to her.”

“And put this pretty neck in Campbell’s noose for yer trouble,” he said gliding a finger over the nape of her neck, sending an explosion of shivers down her back.

“But I cannot sit idle with what I know,” she protested. “I must protect my queen.”

“Protect?” he asked, amusement in his tone. “’Tis a difficult thing to do…
protect
.” His gaze suddenly disarmed her, comforted her somehow. This was what Niall did for his
clan
. He
protected
them.

“Protect,” she whispered. “’Tis a good word, is it not?”

Niall nodded. “Aye. ’Tis.”

He reached out and took her by the waist. He pressed his fingers into the back of her gown and drew her near him. Niall wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her closer until their breaths mingled.

Sabine stiffened a little in his hold. He trapped her arms to her sides. She did not struggle. Anticipation aroused curiosity in her. She had been through so much this day. Niall’s embrace calmed her in the wake of his promise to help her. Surely, his offer came with a price.

chapter 8

L’essance d’amour

“W
ho watches over ye, Sabine?” he asked, breath brushing her cheek. His Scots burr softening each syllable, lingering over them. “Who protects ye?”

He was so dangerously close to her. A fine, pale scar cut through the coppery brow over his left eye. Her gaze glided effortlessly down to a small, dark mole that rode the edge of a furrow at the corner of his generous mouth. Niall’s details were so wondrous!

“Sabine?” he asked again. “Who protects ye?”

Sabine tipped her chin up. “No one, but myself!” she replied quickly.

“Stop being so bloody French for one moment. Answer me truthfully,” he said gruffly.

“I protect myself,” she said. “I survive.”

“Survive,” he repeated with a scowl, a swift downward glance at her damaged hand. “Have ye
lived
, Sabine?”

“I do not know what you mean. Tell me.” Her tone challenged, although she did not mean to make it so.

Niall drew in a deep breath. He looked to search for just the right response, probably something to shock her. “
D’accord, mademoiselle, as-tu l’essance d’amour?
D’ye know the meaning of love?”

“You know French?” Sabine gasped. “How do you know my French?”

Niall held her tighter. “Answer my question first,
cheri
,” he replied. “And I might answer yours.”

“No one knows the meaning of love, especially me.”

“Poor Sabine, has no one loved ye?”

“I do not like sarcasm.”

“’Twas not sarcasm,” Niall said. “’Twas concern.”

Sabine freed her right hand from her side and tried to slap him. Swifter than she could have imagined, Niall grabbed her hand. His gaze captured hers as he slowly raised her gnarled fingers to his lips and kissed each one.

Her knees weakened. He tightened one arm about her waist. She had to remind herself to breathe.

He released her hand, damn him, and offered her a wide smile, bless him. “Is that why love hasnae found ye, Sabine? Because ye act on your first impulse?”

“What do you expect me to do, now that you have me captive?
Kiss you?
” She froze.

Niall drew her closer, sifting his fingers through her hair, entwining them in her curls. “Is that your second impulse?”

She was so near him, unable to stand on her own if he released her. She drew in a deep breath and took in his scent, one so fervent, so male. It made her dizzy.

“Kissing you,” she lied, “’tis the absolute last thing on my mind.”

“Lying doesnae wear well on ye,” Niall said. He cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“And being a brute does not wear well on you,” she lied.

His face, his lips, were very close to hers. His voice was soft, his words deliberate. “When Campbell has ye to his marriage bed, will love find ye or will ye look to these hills for it?”

“Does my betrothal to Lord Campbell anger you?” she asked.

“D’ye wish it to?”

“I wish it to anger you,” she whispered. “You should not want me here…so close to you….”

“It does anger me,” he replied and lowered his lips to her neck. His breath whispered against the fine hairs making them stand on end, dissolving her French resolve.

Niall rested his forehead against hers. “I despise Campbell more than I did when I awoke this morn. He has so much. With ye as his wife he will have wealth beyond mortal measure.”

“He will not.” The words barely escaped her lips. “He won’t have this moment.”

Niall smiled. “True.”

He drew her nearer, as if that was possible. Her lips tingled with anticipation. Her breath quickened.

His lips met hers, tentatively, before he pulled away, eyes searching her face. Was he looking for her approval? Not Niall MacGregor, Highland King! This man could never want for any woman’s approval.

Here in this hidden place, this moment was theirs. They were the only two people in the world. Surely, Niall knew that as well as she.

Then he clasped her to him. His scent, one of the land, captured her as his breath caressed her face in soft waves.

“This time is ours,” he whispered.

She heard herself speak from so far away, “
Oui
…ours….”

She fell into his kiss with a frighteningly deep and aching desire. There was no escape from this man she had scorned only moments before. She believed that somehow his life and hers were linked because of this dreadful thing they knew about Campbell and the queen.