The Heir

Chapter Fifty-two

He might not have been allowed to see her. Duncan realized that after he arrived at Cottage by the Bow and Sabrina's aunt Alice, who let him in, gave him a disapproving look because of the late hour. But tsking and mumbling that he wasn't to stay long and should have come in the morning, she still took him through the dining room to a pair of French doors that led to a small garden and pointed him in that direction.

He found Sabrina there, bundled in her winter coat, sitting on a stone bench in a pool of moonlight. That was the only light available, since that side of the house was dark, but it was ample once his eyes adjusted to it. The garden was nearly barren of greenery at that time of year, but was probably quite pretty in summer.

He didn't wonder why she chose to sit there in the midst of winter. He knew by now that she simply preferred to be outdoors, no matter the time of year, and apparently no matter the time of day.

"Are you no' cold, lass?" he asked as soon as he reached her.

She had glanced his way when he stepped outside, watched him as he walked toward her, all without a change in her expression. No curiosity about why he was there, no surprise, almost as if she'd been expecting him, despite the lateness of the hour.

"No, not a'tall," she said simply.

"I'm thinking you'll like the Highlands," he remarked nonchalantly. "Why do you think so?"

"Because most visitors, e'en Scots Lowlanders, dinna take the time tae really look at what's around them in the high country, but you, you wouldna be rushing tae get back indoors where 'tis warm, now would you?"

She smiled. "Probably not, but that can be said of many people and in most any place, even here. Look," she added, pointing up. "A winter moon is a thing of beauty, no matter what country it appears in, but rarely does anyone stop to marvel at it."

He chuckled. "Point taken, but I marvel that it ever appears in your cloudy English skies." "Do you still hate it here?"

"Nae," he assured her. "There are some things English I've come tae love."

Sabrina smiled to herself, but then she didn't read any hidden meaning in that statement, was just glad that he was no longer so averse to his new home. She had left Summers Glade today with a lightened heart. It had nothing to do with herself, had everything to do with him. She was simply happy for him, that he had escaped a marriage he would have hated.

She didn't move over when he sat down too close to her on the bench. She was comfortable with him because of their friendship. It was only when she began thinking of him as other than a friend that she got disturbed by his closeness. But those kinds of thoughts had been put to rest after her talk with Archibald, and for her own peace of mind, were going to stay buried.

He still had to get married. He would probably be going to London now to accomplish that. She rather

thought that was why he was here, to tell her he would be leaving for a time. She was going to miss him, terribly, but she had to get used to seeing him only infrequently now. When he came back, he'd have a new wife . . .

"Are your aunts watching us from one of the windows?" he asked her suddenly. "Quite possibly."

"I dinna care, I'm still going tae kiss you."

It was too unexpected. And so swiftly was she gathered in his embrace and his lips were covering hers that there was no time for a single thought before it was happening. he was kissing her, thoroughly, deeply. And the second the surprise left her, she realized she didn't want to think, or analyze, or do anything other than revel in the joy of being in his arms once again.

It was so selfish of her. It was giving him the wrong impression. But she just couldn't help herself. It was going to be the very last time she could touch him, taste him, dream for a few moments that he could be hers. She was going to have to insist that it never happen again. She'd stay friends with him, but not if he kept thrusting temptation at her. And he probably didn't even mean to. This was probably just his way of sharing his relief with her, but—good God, did Highlanders really kiss their friends this way?

She had her answer in the next moment when he leaned back to gaze into her eyes and said simply, "Brina, lass, will you marry me?"

For the longest while she just stared at him, every one of her fanciful hopes realized in those few words of his. She had to savor the joy for a few moments more, to hold back reality and the pain, the pain that was going to rip her to shreds as soon as she answered him. But since she knew what her answer would be, what it had to be, the joy didn't last long for her. She tried to retain it, but her emotions just wouldn't cooperate, and if she didn't get it over with quickly, she was going to start crying all over him.

She ought to explain, but in the end all she could get out was, "No."

He wasn't expecting that answer. His expression said as much, the surprise, the hurt he quickly masked, the stiffness that came next. But he wouldn't leave it at that, either. He asked her, "Why not?"

It was incredible, how many difficult things she'd had to do where this man was concerned, and this was probably the worst, to try and hold back her own anguish long enough to make him understand. "You're my friend, Duncan, the closest I've ever had, actually, and I have a great care for you as my friend. But to try and make more of what we feel than that would be a mistake."

She should have said more, she really should have, but the words were starting to choke her. She stood up, turned her back toward him, before he sensed what she was really feeling. The moon helped, going away, leaving the garden in dark shadows. If he could see her face just then, he would know that she hadn't meant a word of that. The tears, pouring down her cheeks now, unable to wait any longer, would tell him plain enough.

And with the pain was a rage, too, toward his grandfather. She hated Archibald just then, for warning her, for preparing her for this. Why couldn't he have left her ignorant? Would it really have been so bad for her to marry Duncan? She would have loved him enough for the both of them. She could have made him a good wife.

But she was deceiving herself. Marriage needed more than just one side of it doing all the loving. They would have just lived together, as friends. That wasn't a marriage. And eventually she would have come to resent it, too, that he didn't really love her as she wanted to be loved.

She tried to dry her eyes before she faced him again, without him noticing that was what she was doing. She thought she succeeded. It didn't matter. He'd silently gone.