The Lover by Nicole Jordan

shook Angus’s wiry frame, and he spent a long moment wheezing into his fist.
    Alarmed, Sabrina took a step closer, reaching out a hand to help him.
    Impatiently he waved her away and lay back panting. “Is there nothing I can do to comfort you, Grandfather?”
    “Aye…ye can ease my mind by agreeing to wed the McLaren.”
    He must have seen her misgivings in her expression, for he took another rasping breath and continued with relentless fervor. “Niall McLaren is a valiant leader of men, a warrior born and bred, like his da. He’s strong enough to hold this clan together and lead it against the bloody Buchanans. He kens how to fight. And he has good cause to hate the Buchanans. His da perished at their hand, cursing their name. Just as yer own da did.”
    Sabrina gazed down at her grandfather, understanding his immense hatred for the Clan Buchanan. Angus held them to blame for the death of his only child. Sabrina’s father had been thrown from his horse while pursuing the Buchanans after they’d raided Duncan cattle, and Angus considered them mortal enemies.
    Indeed, the feud between their clans had existed for over a hundred years.
    There was no government to speak of in the Highlands, other than the relic of a medieval feudal system. The lairds ruled their clans loosely, at the volition of their followers. Highlanders looked to their chiefs for protection, even for food, but they would only support a leader they respected—which ordinarily meant a man. The mantle of clan leadership passed through sons and brothers and rarely came to rest with women.
    When Angus was gone, Sabrina knew, she would nominally be head of her clan, but she was in no position to lead them against the Buchanans. She had neither the skills nor the experience.
    And the threat to a clan’s survival came not only from enemies without. Unless Angus chose a strong successor, his death could cause conflict within their clan, prompting a bloody battle over who next would be laird.
    Sabrina shook her head in dismay. A union with Clan McLaren alone wouldn’t bring peace to the warring clans, yet by wedding their chieftain, she could at least provide the means to protect her kinsmen once Angus passed away.
    She rubbed her throbbing temple. “I should have been born male,” she murmured absently.
    “Aye, that would have served. ’Twould have been far better had yer own da not died so young. Ye’ve the look of my dear son about ye, Sabrina.” Angus searched her face, his rheumy eyes blurring. “I ken ye’ll do what’s right.”
    Sabrina felt her throat tighten with emotion. His methods of persuasion were unfair—using the memory of her late father against her, as well as his own deteriorating condition and her strong sense of duty. It wasn’t fair, either, of Angus to ask so much of her. He had washed his hands of her all this time, yet now he expected her to become the Clan Duncan’s savior.
    She could refuse his plea. Her inheritance gave her independence enough to chart her own future. Her stepfather was the only person whose blessing she needed.
    Yet fair or not, Angus was depending on her. It left her feeling trapped, cornered, helpless to deal with an impossible dilemma.
    “Is it so great a sacrifice I’m asking ye to make?” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “There’s gain in it for ye, as well.”
    “Is there?” she couldn’t help retorting.
    “Aye, ’tis true. Ye belong in the Highlands, lass, as I told yer mother before she took you away. As I told ye yerself lang syne.”
    Sabrina shut her eyes for an instant, remembering Angus’s letter to her years ago, when her mother lay dying. He had implored her to return home, but only now did she regret being unable to. Not until this day, when she’d spied the rugged grandeur of her homeland, had she realized how truly she belonged here. The Highlands were in her blood; she couldn’t escape it.
    But was wedding the McLaren the only option?
    “Surely there is