A Promise Given by Samantha James

made a face as she sipped it,
but she drained the cup before handing it back. With a weary sigh, she leaned
back against the pillows. Her eyes stayed upon him, half wary, half
watchful.
    "There is no need for you to stay," she said after a moment.
    "I'll remain until you sleep." He could be just as stubborn as she.
    "Nay, not here." With a wave of her finger she indicated the room. "I mean…
here at Dunlevy. There will be no wedding. You should go back to the
Highlands."
    "I will," he returned politely, "when I am ready."
    It wasn’t long before the potion took effect. Her lids began to droop. Ian
saw her struggling to focus. But just when he was certain she would drift off
for good, her eyes snapped open.
    She touched him then. A dainty fingertip reached out and traced the outline
of his mouth.
    Ian had gone very still, both inside and out. For an instant, a curious
tension hummed between them. Her eyes, wide and unwavering, collided with his.
Ian caught his breath, for they were the color of fresh spring grass moist with
morning's dew. He could not help but wonder what went on behind those incredible
eyes, for she was careful to reveal nothing of her thoughts. But then, with the
very same fingertip, she touched her own lips.
    And he knew they shared the very same thought… of the very same memory.
    Desire cut through him, so strong it was almost a physical pain.
    "Sleep; " he murmured.
    Her lashes swept closed. She turned her head aside, but not before he
glimpsed the single tear that squeezed from beneath her closed eyelids.
    Some nameless emotion swept through him. He let out a long, uneven breath. He
sat there for a long time, listening as her breathing grew deep and even. Her
guilt rent him in two. His conscience pricked at him.
    Mayhap she was right. He should never have kissed her. It was wrong, for at
the time, he was bound to Margaret. And yet, it had happened. And God help him,
he didn't regret it. Indeed, some little known sense within him whispered that
it was somehow inevitable.
    Gently he drew the back of his knuckles across her cheek. Her skin was like
the finest silk, her mouth soft and tremulous… and vulnerable. It seemed odd to
think of Sabrina as vulnerable… Sabrina, his feisty bratling…
    But she was a woman full grown, and the proof of it lay before his very eyes.
Her breasts rose and fell with every breath, offering as temptation sweetly
rounded flesh he knew instinctively would fit his hands to perfection. A vision
soared high aloft in his mind. He saw her as she'd been that day at the pond,
her skin pale and creamy, sleek and glistening. Only now there was a
difference—her eyes were full upon him, smoky with longing as she beckoned for
him to join her..
    He drew a deep, unsteady breath, aching with the need to kiss her anew, to
smother the protests he knew would follow and allow his passion free rein. He
clamped his jaw tight, battling a rush of molten desire. Reluctantly he drew his
hand away, resisting urge to linger.
    He could lie to himself no longer. Since the day he’d  first returned,
he could scarcely take his eyes from her. He was drawn to her in a way he'd
never expected. She possessed a tantalizing enchantment he could not deny. Aye,
he enjoyed a lusty tumble with a wench as much as the next man. Were she any
other woman, he'd have been tempted to take her, to let his desire run full
measure and have done with it once and for all.
    But this was Sabrina. Sabrina. Not a wench to be used and discarded.
    Aye, she was a lovely, desirable woman, and he had no trouble understanding
Jamie MacDougall's desire for her. She was too beautiful and tempting for her
own good.
    And he could no more stay his own desire for her than he could stop the
rising of the sun.
    Anger tightened in his breast. A dark and bitter tempest brewed within him as
he thought of her father. His mouth thinned to a hard, straight line.
    What would happen to her? How could he