The Lover by Nicole Jordan Page A

another clan we can ally ourselves with. Another laird who would not be averse to an arranged marriage.”
    “Nay,” Angus replied abruptly, putting that line of argument to rest. “None within two days’ ride. None who are in need of a bride. None I would trust to deal fittingly with the Buchanans. And none who have such strong ties of kinship to the Duncans.”
    His penetrating gaze searched her face. “Ye canna be afraid, can ye, Sabrina? Ye have pluck, lass. Even as a wee bairn ye dinna fear me.”
    No, as a child she had not been frightened by his gruffness or overly awed by his power. In truth, she’d felt an affinity for the crusty laird that she felt even now. But being unafraid was not the same as being
willing
.
    “Then there’s family,” Angus added. “A lass should have a husband…bairns of her own.”
    That was indeed a prime benefit of marriage. She wanted children. She wanted a husband…a loving relationship like her parents had known. A permanent commitment that only death could sever.
    Yet she had few illusions on that score. She was unlikely ever to marry for love. She’d had several suitors in recent months, but she was realistic enough to know they sought her primarily for her inheritance. As an heiress she would always be the target of fortune hunters. Oliver had been different, she was certain—but then he’d fallen in love with her cousin.
    “And the lad is no’ so poor to look at.”
    Sabrina wanted to laugh at that understatement. Niall McLaren was endowed with a physical beauty that startled at first glance. Utterly masculine, dangerously sensual—and quite out of her league.
    She was well aware of her own merits. Her breeding and education alone made her a worthy candidate for a laird’s wife. But in truth her personal attributes were modest. She was practical, dutiful, resourceful…
Desirable
in no way described her. Niall himself had called her a mouse.
    Sabrina wrinkled her nose in remembrance. Yet she’d always known gentlemen favored beautiful women, with softer, rounder shapes than she possessed. Oliver had, certainly. Her dark hair—and perhaps her darker eyes—were her only claims to beauty.
    Niall McLaren’s discriminating instinct for ravishing females was legendary. She felt decidedly drab and plain in comparison to all the lovely women he’d surely known.
    “Is there another mon ye wish to wed, then?” her grandfather demanded.
    “No…” Her choices of husband at the moment were slim. “There is no one else.”
    “Aweel, then, it should pose no problem. So what is yer answer, lass?”
    Her answer?
    Sabrina shook her head dazedly. She couldn’t possibly give Angus a response just yet. At the moment she was too weary and stunned to make any rational judgments.
    “Grandfather…I must have time to think…I cannot make such a momentous decision without giving it careful consideration.”
    “Well, take yer time, lass—but I should like to hold the ceremony before the week is out, before the Buchanans take it into their dim heads to gain advantage from my illness. Now, lass…I must rest. Will ye leave me for a time?”
    “Yes…of course, Grandfather,” Sabrina said courteously.
    “Send Liam to me when ye see him…”
    Angus sank deeper into the pillows, his eyes already closed in exhaustion. The discussion had taken a toll on his fading health, Sabrina noted with regret.
    Quietly she let herself from the chamber and nearly stumbled over Rab, who had been waiting anxiously for her. Absently she stroked the dog’s huge head, before turning to descend the stone stairs to the great hall below. Her footsteps lagged while her mind whirled.
    Wife.
    She was being offered the chance to become Niall McLaren’s wife.
    A pulse of excitement throbbed within Sabrina before she could repress it. What would it be like to be the wife of a man like that? To share his home and his bed? To bear his children? To feel his touch, his passion each night…
    No, it was