corridor was filled with shadows, for the candles
mounted high on the walls had not yet been lit. She stumbled once. Ian's grip
tightened; it was all that prevented her from falling. Their bodies brushed in
the darkness. She breathed a sigh of relief when at last they stood before her
chamber door.
He released her. But he did not bid her good night as she thought he would.
Instead he murmured, "Your father should not have said what he did last
eve."
Sabrina blinked. "What did he say?" she asked faintly.
His regard was unsmiling, his expression unreadable. "That you are not so
fair as Margaret."
Sabrina's face burned painfully. She took a fortifying breath. "I do not
mind. Nor do I envy her. I- I accept her as she is. And I accept what I am as
well."
"It was cruel of him." He sounded almost angry. "Nor is it true."
Once again, she knew not what to say, and so she said nothing. But in that
ringing silence…
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Sabrina's heart leaped like a frightened doe. He stood so close—it was verily
impossible to breathe.
His head bent low. She couldn't tear her eyes from his mouth. There was a
stab of some unknown feeling low in her belly. But he merely ran a fingertip
down her cheek.
"Sleep well, bratling," was all he said.
The tender gesture so startled her that she could scarcely breathe. She did
not move for long moments after he turned and walked away.
He had called her lovely. Why?
Why
? Ugly, would have been more like
the Ian of old. But it was just as he'd said. She was no longer a child.
And— oh, but she could not lie to herself!—Ian was the most handsome man
she'd deigned to lay eyes upon…
“We missed you at supper."
Sabrina had glanced up when she heard the door creak open. Margaret stood on
the threshold. She beckoned Margaret inside, then quickly sat up from where she
had been lying on the bed.
She smiled at Margaret. "Oh, I've no doubt my absence was a welcome
respite for all who crave peace quiet."
“Actually it was rather dull," Margaret complained. “I can’t remember a meal
so utterly boring.”
Sabr i na's mind sped straight to Ian. Had
he
missed her too?
She caught herself in mid-thought. God in heaven, what was wrong with
her?
On impulse, she patted the spot next to her on the blanket. "Come sit," she
invited.
Margaret hesitated, then did as she was bid. "I can stay but a moment," she
warned. "I am to play chess with Alasdair in the hall."
Sabrina couldn't help but feel wounded. In but a few days, Margaret would be
leaving here for the Highlands. Never again would they live together as
sisters.
A voice in her mind chided that Margaret would miss her not a whit. Countless
times throughout their lives she had approached Margaret—to talk. To sit. To
simply share her company. But somehow Margaret had always managed to make her
feel unwanted, as if she were naught but an inconvenience. Sabrina loved her
sister; she greatly admired her grace and gentility. But the warmth she had
sought in her sister was simply not to be, at least not for her, and it had ever
been so. A pang of guilt shot through her, for in her childhood she had oft felt
far closer to Ian than her own sister…
Ian. Faith, why must he be ever in her mind? His image flashed before her:
dark, craggy features, his tall, spare form. Did Margaret find him as handsome
as she did?
Margaret sighed. "What is it, Sabrina?" Her tone was impatient.
Sabrina bit her lip. “It is nothing,” she murmured. Drawing up her knees, she
hugged them to her chest.
Margaret grimaced. "I can tell you've something on your mind. Out with
it."
Sabrina felt her face grow hot. “It’s nothing. I've no wish to trouble you
further—"
"Tell me, Sabrina." Margaret looked as stem as an old hen.
"All right, then. You see, I was just wondering if he"—she finally decided
there was naught she could do but blurt it out—"I wondered if he had… had kissed
you!"
"Who?"
mounted high on the walls had not yet been lit. She stumbled once. Ian's grip
tightened; it was all that prevented her from falling. Their bodies brushed in
the darkness. She breathed a sigh of relief when at last they stood before her
chamber door.
He released her. But he did not bid her good night as she thought he would.
Instead he murmured, "Your father should not have said what he did last
eve."
Sabrina blinked. "What did he say?" she asked faintly.
His regard was unsmiling, his expression unreadable. "That you are not so
fair as Margaret."
Sabrina's face burned painfully. She took a fortifying breath. "I do not
mind. Nor do I envy her. I- I accept her as she is. And I accept what I am as
well."
"It was cruel of him." He sounded almost angry. "Nor is it true."
Once again, she knew not what to say, and so she said nothing. But in that
ringing silence…
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Sabrina's heart leaped like a frightened doe. He stood so close—it was verily
impossible to breathe.
His head bent low. She couldn't tear her eyes from his mouth. There was a
stab of some unknown feeling low in her belly. But he merely ran a fingertip
down her cheek.
"Sleep well, bratling," was all he said.
The tender gesture so startled her that she could scarcely breathe. She did
not move for long moments after he turned and walked away.
He had called her lovely. Why?
Why
? Ugly, would have been more like
the Ian of old. But it was just as he'd said. She was no longer a child.
And— oh, but she could not lie to herself!—Ian was the most handsome man
she'd deigned to lay eyes upon…
“We missed you at supper."
Sabrina had glanced up when she heard the door creak open. Margaret stood on
the threshold. She beckoned Margaret inside, then quickly sat up from where she
had been lying on the bed.
She smiled at Margaret. "Oh, I've no doubt my absence was a welcome
respite for all who crave peace quiet."
“Actually it was rather dull," Margaret complained. “I can’t remember a meal
so utterly boring.”
Sabr i na's mind sped straight to Ian. Had
he
missed her too?
She caught herself in mid-thought. God in heaven, what was wrong with
her?
On impulse, she patted the spot next to her on the blanket. "Come sit," she
invited.
Margaret hesitated, then did as she was bid. "I can stay but a moment," she
warned. "I am to play chess with Alasdair in the hall."
Sabrina couldn't help but feel wounded. In but a few days, Margaret would be
leaving here for the Highlands. Never again would they live together as
sisters.
A voice in her mind chided that Margaret would miss her not a whit. Countless
times throughout their lives she had approached Margaret—to talk. To sit. To
simply share her company. But somehow Margaret had always managed to make her
feel unwanted, as if she were naught but an inconvenience. Sabrina loved her
sister; she greatly admired her grace and gentility. But the warmth she had
sought in her sister was simply not to be, at least not for her, and it had ever
been so. A pang of guilt shot through her, for in her childhood she had oft felt
far closer to Ian than her own sister…
Ian. Faith, why must he be ever in her mind? His image flashed before her:
dark, craggy features, his tall, spare form. Did Margaret find him as handsome
as she did?
Margaret sighed. "What is it, Sabrina?" Her tone was impatient.
Sabrina bit her lip. “It is nothing,” she murmured. Drawing up her knees, she
hugged them to her chest.
Margaret grimaced. "I can tell you've something on your mind. Out with
it."
Sabrina felt her face grow hot. “It’s nothing. I've no wish to trouble you
further—"
"Tell me, Sabrina." Margaret looked as stem as an old hen.
"All right, then. You see, I was just wondering if he"—she finally decided
there was naught she could do but blurt it out—"I wondered if he had… had kissed
you!"
"Who?"
Similar Books
