Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Sabrina awoke to find herself trapped in a web forged between her hair and Morgan’s fists. There was no violence in his grip, only gentle determination, pinioning her to the pillow and preventing an escape she wasn’t sure she desired. His hearty tan had returned, washing away all traces of illness. Only the lingering red rimming his eyes betrayed his sleepless night. His plaid was draped around him in neat folds, and his breath smelled spicy, like cinnamon and cloves.

She smiled in genuine pleasure to see him looking so fit. But her smile faltered beneath the somber weight of his gaze. She sensed she was teetering on the razor-sharp edge of a dangerous brink.

“Sorry to disappoint you, lass. I fear you’re not a widow yet.”

“Not did I intend to be.”

“Then your cookin’ leaves much to be desired.” He wound her hair a coil tighter, still not pulling, just letting her know he was there. “Just what did you intend?”

His drowsy gaze held her captive. Mere inches separated their lips. A stammered near-truth was all she could manage. “I—I—I was afraid to be alone with you.”

He frowned. “Do you believe me such a monster?”

His unexpected sincerity only increased the breathless cadence of her voice. “Have you ever given me reason to believe otherwise?”

He tilted his head. “Perhaps ’tis far past time I did.”

His lips descended on hers, their firm, silken contours molding her mouth beneath his. His fingertips stroked her cheeks, coaxing her to open for him, to answer the swirl of his tongue with a teasing stroke of her own. The crisp scent of him filled her senses; his tongue plunged deep into her mouth.

From the corridor outside the door came a stealthy footfall and canine whine of welcome, quickly muffled. Morgan’s head snapped up; his eyes hardened. His palm replaced his mouth over her lips, stifling a questioning cry.

Morgan knew his time had run out. He stared into the tremulous blue eyes above his hand, knowing he had only seconds to make a choice that could win him his wife’s everlasting hatred. She might have eventually forgiven him for dipping her braid in the ink bottle or using her first corset as a slingshot, but he suspected raping her within earshot of one of her brothers would be a sin not so easily absolved.

He lifted his hand from her mouth. “Moan,” he whispered.

“Have you lost your—?”

“Dammit, woman, moan!” he snapped.

Sabrina emitted a faint sound, more squeak than moan.

He dropped his head in disgust. “I was makin’ the lasses squeal louder than that when I was twelve years old.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Morgan knew it the instant he saw anger flash in her eyes. Her lips tightened to an intractable line as if she might never again part them to utter a sound.

He hesitated. The corridor was quiet. Too quiet. The listening silence was palpable.

Shaking his head, he said, “Verra well, lass. You leave me no choice.”

With those words of rueful warning, Morgan determined to use every trick he knew to wring a convincing cry of passion from Sabrina’s stubborn throat. Lacing his fingers through hers, he pinned her arms above her head and rocked between her legs, mimicking the motions of lovemaking until the bed creaked wildly with it and her moans were coming in earnest.

The down mattress provided Sabrina no escape from Morgan’s provocative assault. She felt as if she were drowning beneath his big, hard frame. The consequences of his rash actions manifested themselves with devastating swiftness. A breathless whimper escaped her as the rigid evidence of his own need rubbed against the tender mound between her thighs, nudging and stroking until neither plaid nor nightdress could stop the waves of pleasure fanning out from her lower body to ravish her brain.

“Say you want me, Sabrina.” Morgan’s hoarse voice flooded her ear, scraping her livid senses.

She shook her head in mute denial, fighting to hold the tatters of her will intact.

“Say it!”

He plundered her ear with his wet, rough tongue, and the words spilled out of her, her cry cresting on a broken note.

Morgan went still. Tears trembled on Sabrina’s lashes but did not fall as she waited for him to gloat over his mastery, to finish the wicked seduction that would leave her more battered and debased than an outright beating. He did neither. After listening for the pad of Pugsley’s paws in the corridor, he simply rolled off her dazed body and pulled a tiny dagger from the folds of his plaid. Her eyes widened.

She sat up on her elbows in horrified fascination as he clenched his hand into a fist and drew the blade across the inside of his forearm, slicing the flesh without so much as a wince. He held his arm up, spattering droplets of blood over the pristine sheets.

His gaze met hers. “Evidence of your virginity. I’ll give them no excuse to take you back. If bein’ wed to a princess is the price of peace, I’ve no choice but to pay it. Even if I have to shed every last drop of my blood.” He staunched the bleeding with the hem of the sheet, then caught her chin between his fingers. “If you dare to contradict me in front of your father or any of my clansmen, I’ll drag you to the nearest private corner and make it true. Then there’ll be no doubt in anyone’s mind, includin’ your own, that you belong to Morgan MacDonnell.”

His cold efficiency appalled Sabrina. Her heart and body were still throbbing to the compelling rhythm he had set. Her lungs pumped out air like a set of tattered bellows.

He rearranged the folds of his plaid, as cool and unmoved as a green-eyed glacier. “Be packed and ready to travel by midday. I won’t spend a moment longer than needed under your father’s thumb.” He stole a glance at her. “Don’t look so broken-hearted, lass. I’ll send you home to Cameron as soon as you give me a son. Not even Dougal Cameron would dare make war on his own grandson.”

Outrage mingled with Sabrina’s horror. “You expect me to just drop a babe like a litter of puppies, then run home to Papa. Did it ever occur to you that a child needs his mother?”

Morgan shrugged, but avoided her gaze. “I never did. The lad can spend his summers at Cameron just as I did.”

“How generous of you. And if I do you the grave dishonor of presenting you with a daughter? What then? Will your MacDonnell pride be able to withstand the blow?”

He didn’t even bother to answer. With a swirl of his plaid he was gone, leaving Sabrina to stare at the door in disbelief.

She flopped back among the pillows, trembling all over. How could he just walk away and leave her like that—aching, empty, starving for a touch that would not come? But what better way to punish her than to stoke the flames of a desire she could never allow him to fulfill? She had vowed not to give him a moment’s pleasure, only to discover it was not his pleasure she feared, but her own.

She shied away from the stained sheets, despising the hateful lie they represented. Was she so repugnant to him that he preferred maiming himself to sharing her bed? He had made it painfully clear what he wanted from her—her son, not her body. She hugged a pillow to her breast, trying vainly to soothe the wild throb of her heart, the hollow ache between her legs. She should have expected no more from a man like Morgan. A mockery of a marriage, a crude parody of the tender act that should bind wife to husband.

The bloodred ruby in the betrothal ring winked knowingly at her. She had been wrong all of those years. Morgan MacDonnell was crueler than any monster.

Morgan made it down to the deserted garden before the cost of his control betrayed him. He staggered blindly to the nearest bench and sank down, a fresh fever roaring through his veins. Dougal needed no assassin to finish him off. Sabrina was poison enough—sweet, potent, and deadly, reducing him to shivering, primal need with only the sound of his name on her lips.

I want you, Morgan .

The shock of her cry reverberated through him anew, losing none of its power for being coerced by the rough chicanery of his body. Its raw honesty had struck him a harder blow than the innocent abandon of her response. He had expected her to stiffen at his assault, to turn her face away in prim distaste. Instead, she clung to him, lips trembling, eyes awash with a glisten that might have been tears in another woman. He’d seen that look on her face before.

Once when she’d caught him splinting the broken wing on a fallen sparrow and again when he’d thrown himself in front of a Cameron groom who had been determined to destroy a lamed mare who needed a warm poultice more than a pistol ball. The look she had given him on those occasions had both warmed and terrified him. Unable to bear the illusion that he might ever be anything more than a worthless MacDonnell, Morgan had taken great care to wipe it from her face.

Even then he had sensed that Sabrina was the only Cameron who could reach through the impenetrable armor of his pride and seize his heart. The only Cameron with the power to break it.

When she flung the challenge of bearing him a daughter into his face, Morgan was forced to flee the chamber before she saw his icy facade crack. He had been unable to bear his unexpected hunger at envisioning a giggling, ebony-curled little girl lifted high above his head—Sabrina as she had been the first time he had laid eyes on her, before his rejection marred the sparkle in her pretty eyes. To have a second chance at such a treasure was more than he or any other man deserved.

He swept his hair out of his face, letting the cool fingers of morning mist caress his flushed brow. As a lad, he’d been able to resist Sabrina’s gap-toothed grins and coltish charms with no more than a pang of regret. But remembering her wounded expression, he now feared the cost of his resistance might be more than he was willing to pay.

At exactly thirty-three minutes past midday, Sabrina swept into the courtyard, trailed by a subdued, red-nosed Enid and a parade of servants bearing trunks. A hooded velvet pelisse enveloped her. A matching muff dangled from the royal blue ribbon circling her wrist. She tilted her nose to a regal angle and measured each step as her mother had taught her, wishing she’d have thought to have the maids carry her ermine-trimmed train.

If Morgan MacDonnell believed he’d wed a princess, then a princess he would have.

During the night an icy wind had blown down from the mountain, wiping the face of autumn clean. It whistled around the stone walls, gusting the hem of Sabrina’s pelisse and whipping roses into her cheeks. Pewter-tinted clouds roiled above the courtyard, their swollen underbellies boding ill for their journey. Like a vast mirror, the bleak sky reflected the winter chill seeping into Sabrina’s heart.

A clash of bass voices drew her attention. Brian and Alex were arguing in the corner, fiery head to fiery head. Their clenched hands and flushed faces warned that their quarrel was threatening to deteriorate into one of their old shoving matches.

Morgan’s man Ranald stood at the courtyard gate, holding the reins of a horse. The dappled gray bared its yellow teeth and rolled its eyes at the sight of her. A web of scars crisscrossed its massive haunches. Sabrina thought it was surely the largest, most forbidding creature she had ever seen. Except for her husband.

A brief flare of heat banished her chill as she saw Morgan leaning against the wall, arms crossed and brows drawn together in a glower that was already becoming painfully familiar. Her father wore an identical scowl. Her mother stood between the two men with Pugsley in her arms, beaming with feline smugness.

Morgan’s sulky scowl dissolved into a mocking grin as he moved to meet her. “Good morn, sweet flower of Scotland.” The honeyed words dripped like acid from his tongue. “I’m delighted you deigned to join us. Your family was beginnin’ to wonder if perhaps I’d murdered you in our bed.”

Enid paled and dropped an entire armload of glove boxes. Flipping the horse’s reins to a Cameron groom, Ranald hastened to help her retrieve them. The groom kept a wary distance from the snapping teeth of the prancing gray.

“Nonsense,” Sabrina replied airily. “You were the very spirit of consideration and forbearance.”

Morgan wrapped his fingers around her wrist in subtle warning. Searing warmth emanated from his touch. “Perhaps we should delay our journey, lass, so I can give you another taste of my forbearance.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. The devilish sparkle in his eyes promised her he was only too willing to make good on his threat.

“That won’t be necessary,” she assured him, lowering her eyes. It had taken all her courage to face her family, knowing what they believed had transpired between her and Morgan the previous night, without having it become reality in the nearest empty cupboard.

A fresh thread of anger wove through his words as he led her toward her family. “It seems your father neglected to mention another of his…conditions. One of your kin is to accompany us to MacDonnell. That way, if I’m cross to you over supper, they can cut off my head and bring it back to your father on a pike.”

Judging from the beleaguered roll of her father’s eyes and her mother’s triumphant grin, Morgan wasn’t the only man who had spent a sleepless night at Cameron.

Elizabeth stroked Pugsley’s coat. A pale band marked her finger where Dougal’s betrothal ring had rested. “Don’t be so dramatic, Morgan. I simply wanted my daughter to have some company.”

Morgan drew himself up with the painful dignity he had always shown Elizabeth Cameron. “I can promise you, my lady, that my wife will not suffer from lack of company. However, I will respect your wishes.” He swept out his arm toward Sabrina’s waiting brothers. “Go on, my dear. Choose your poison.”

The glove boxes went tumbling again and Enid swayed beneath Morgan’s sudden piercing gaze. Ranald cupped her elbow to steady her.

Sabrina knew why her brothers had been arguing. As she approached, they threw back their shoulders like troops awaiting survey by their general. Brian ruined his military posture by sneaking her a wink. Clever, mischievous Brian. He’d never grown too old to tease her. She adored his wit and spirit of mischief.

Alex’s high cheekbones colored beneath her perusal. Had it been his step they’d heard outside the bedchamber that morning? Dependable, staid Alex. When she fell, he had always been the one to pick her up and dust off her ruffles.

They’d both inherited their mother’s temper in different guises. Brian’s fiery rages would subside as quickly as they flared, while Alex quietly simmered until the inevitable explosion. Neither of them would survive a day with the MacDonnells. She favored them both with a tender smile before facing Morgan.

His tawny hair whipped in the wind, partially shielding his expression. He doubtlessly saw this as a fresh betrayal on her part. She refused to let her mother’s well-intentioned scheming drive yet another wedge between them.

Meeting his gaze squarely, she announced, “I choose Enid.”

Enid fainted dead away. Ranald caught her before she could hit the flagstones. A dazzling grin split his face. “Sound choice, lass. There’s nothin’ I love better than a bonny fat girl.”

“Enid’s not fat,” Sabrina protested absently, transfixed by the glint of approval in her husband’s eyes. “She’s”—Ranald staggered beneath her cousin’s weight—“pleasingly plump.”

“I dare say she’d please me,” Ranald said, peering down Enid’s bodice in the guise of loosening her lace collar.

Protesting bitterly, Brian, Alex, and Elizabeth all stormed toward Sabrina.

Dougal stepped into their paths. “We all agreed this was to be Sabrina’s choice. God knows she’s had little enough say in all of this. I won’t take this much away from her.”

Her papa’s familiar figure blurred before Sabrina’s eyes. She knew instinctively that this was the last time he would have the right to champion her.

“How will I explain this to my brother?” Elizabeth cried. “‘Dearest Willie, did I mention I’ve sent your daughter off to live with a band of thieves and cutthroats without even the dubious protection of matrimony?’ Why he shall have an apoplexy!”

“I shall answer to William myself,” Dougal replied sternly. “’Tis only until Sabrina is settled. I’m sure Morgan can provide for Enid’s safety until we come to retrieve her.”

Elizabeth’s face crumpled in a moment of rare vulnerability. “And who will provide for my Sabrina’s safety?”

Morgan’s hands closed over Sabrina’s shoulders. She shivered at the possessive mastery of his touch. His rich voice reverberated down her spine, oddly devoid of mockery. “The lass is under my protection now.”

Enid’s pale blue eyes fluttered open. She almost swooned with fresh excitement to find herself cradled across the lap of a Highlander with the face of an angel and the leer of an imp.

Sabrina knelt beside her. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It must be your choice.”

Enid grappled visibly with her decision. During their tearful conversation that morning, she had learned that it was Sabrina’s sacrifice that had protected her from Morgan’s wrath.

Swallowing hard, she mustered up a brave smile. “Of course I’ll come. ’Twill be a grand adventure.” She held up her hand and locked fingers with Sabrina. Morgan’s shadow fell over them.

Enid snuggled against Ranald’s broad chest, obviously preferring an unknown threat to a known one.

“We shall await you on the hill while you pack,” Morgan said. “Ranald, stay and see to the lass’s needs.”

“Wouldn’t I love to?” Ranald muttered under his breath as he assisted Enid to her feet.

Morgan caught Sabrina’s arm, his dubious patience at an end. She found herself being tugged along, past her brothers, past her parents, to the prancing nightmare of the steed that awaited them.

“Steady now, Pookah,” Morgan murmured, his voice low and soothing. The horse’s nostrils flared.

Sabrina thought the horse looked every bit as demonic and perverse as his faerie namesake. She threw the snorting beast a look of pure terror.

“I can provide a carriage,” her father offered, a note of desperation climbing in his voice.

“I’ve no need of Cameron charity.” Morgan caught Sabrina by the waist and swept her into the saddle as if she weighed no more than a feather. Before the skittish animal could bolt, he swung himself behind her. “I’ll take only what’s mine by law. We MacDonnells take care of our own.” His arm circled her waist, its possessive strength reminding her that she was no more to him than a herd of sheep or a flock of chickens. Or a brood mare.

Her mother rushed forward and shoved Pugsley up into her arms.

Sabrina hugged his warm, compact weight. “I can’t take him, Mama. He belongs to you.”

Elizabeth smiled through her tears. “He’s always loved you best. You’ll take good care of him, won’t you? He’s very precious to me. I should never replace him if he were lost.” But her eyes were not on Sabrina. They were on Morgan, asking far more than that he allow her daughter the comfort of her childhood pet. Morgan gave her a curt nod in reply.

Sabrina leaned down and her mother pressed a soft, rose-scented kiss to her mouth. Then her papa was there, his face stricken, arms hanging empty at his sides.

Sabrina stiffened. She longed to fling herself into his arms, to bury her face in his prickly beard and beg him to make her understand. But if not for his manipulations, she wouldn’t have been given to this forbidding stranger. She wouldn’t be leaving behind all that was dear and familiar to battle this Highland beast in his lair.

Her papa stood on his tiptoes to kiss her. At the last second she turned her face away. His lips collided with her cheek, lingering there for an instant before he stepped back, accepting her rejection as his due with a grace that nearly shattered her. As she straightened in the saddle, Morgan’s arm tightened, its unyielding strength all that kept her from breaking into a thousand pieces.

He gathered the reins. Dougal stepped forward and grasped his bare calf. His dark blue eyes snapped with challenge. “Take care of her, man. Or you’ll answer to me.”

Morgan neither acknowledged nor disputed her father’s threat. He simply urged the horse into a walk. Sabrina dared one look back before they passed through the manor gates. Her parents clung to one another, so entangled that it was impossible to tell who was supporting who. She knew they would recover in time. They had each other. It was she who must go on alone, robbed forever of her girlish yearning for a love such as theirs. Her father had destroyed that dream with a ruthlessness that belied everything she had ever believed about him.

As they left the shelter of the manor walls, a blast of icy wind snatched her breath away. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek to splash like a molten diamond against Morgan’s hand.

His voice against her ear was both soft and bitter. “You’ll cry for him, but not for me. Damn you.”

But even as Morgan cursed her, he reached around with a corner of his plaid and gently dried her tears.