Chapter 2 #2
“I’m not bitter now; I’m telling you what I believe Sabrina feels and sees.
She despised me when she left my room at the inn, and she didn’t like me any better once she realized that I was a friend of yours—despite the fact that I did risk my life to help save hers.
She would never have told me about the baby; I might never have known if your brother’s new wife hadn’t blurted out the truth, assuming that she and Sabrina were alone.
I don’t know if she knew about the baby and accompanied you and Skylar to Scotland in order to escape me, or if she only realized the truth herself once the three of you had already set out to come here.
Still, as anyone around us might have noticed when we’re together, Sabrina’s loathing for me seems to erupt from her like volcanic fire. ”
Hawk didn’t deny that. They’d never lied to one another. “You still want to marry her?” Hawk asked.
Sloan set his snifter down carefully on the mantel. “Come hell or high water, Hawk, I will do so.” He hesitated, trying very hard to keep his temper in control.
When Sabrina had run out of his room calling him a bastard and arrogant oaf, he’d felt a fair surge of fury.
And she’d done nothing but exasperate him since.
Her refusal to marry him was not in the least nattering.
She knew very little about the Sioux, and even if her outlook on his people as a whole might not be as negative as most, it was evident that she didn’t like the idea of being touched by one herself.
She cared deeply for Hawk, but then, her sister, not Sabrina, had married Hawk.
He lowered his eyes for a moment. He’d learned his lessons regarding White women a long time ago. When he’d very nearly married—until his blood had stood in the way. He’d been damned certain ever since that he’d never be vulnerable again.
Now, of course, Sabrina Connor wanted nothing to do with him.
And he had to admit, Hawk was right—there was the old taste of bitterness in his mouth.
Under normal circumstances, he could have turned away from such a woman without a backward glance; the world was filled with a fine variety of feminine forms.
But things were different this time. There was another life at stake. He had been determined never to marry. And he had thought that he was reconciled to life without children; in the Sioux camp, he could champion many young men. But now…
He wanted his child. Fiercely. Since he had first heard the rather astonishing news so inadvertently blurted out, he had felt the growing desire to have and hold his own child, raise his child.
And yet he wondered…
Was that desire as fierce as his irritating desire to have her, hold her again, touch her again, whether he wanted to admit it or not?
Lust. Pure lust.
Could he allow his pride to admit even to that?
Perhaps lust could be enough to make a marriage. He didn’t know. Perhaps she just irritated him so much that he had decided he was going to have his way. Whatever his exact feelings on the matter, he was damned determined.
He replied to Hawk at last. “As you’ve said, there is a responsibility here.
Sabrina is expecting my child, Hawk. That makes marriage the only solution.
There is nothing else that can be done. And quite frankly, of course, if this weren’t my position on the situation, wouldn’t you be required, as the lady’s brother-in-law and closest male relation, to bring me to the altar by way of a shotgun? ”
“I’m sure that would be in order—if you weren’t behaving so responsibly,” Hawk admitted.
“Then?” Sloan arched a brow.
Hawk laughed. “Well, you’re doing the right and noble thing here, but there does seem to be a difficulty. Sabrina. She keeps insisting she has no desire to marry you,” Hawk pointed out.
“She needs to say yes only once. Perhaps you’ll have to bring her to the altar by way of a shotgun,” Sloan said dryly.
“Right. And still…”
“Yes?”
“Well, then, there will be the simple matter of your both learning how not to despise one another,” Hawk said with a pleasant smile.
He lifted his snifter. “Cheers!” He paused, shaking his head.
“She never backs down. If she has set her mind on something, she will fight to the bitter end for what she wants. And as far as you go, Sloan…I’m afraid that whatever you insist, she will be all the more determined to do the opposite. ”
Sloan studied Hawk for a moment, then laughed suddenly. “Indeed, my friend. You do have a point. This battle is surely like any other. It is the strategy that will count most.”
He turned from Hawk, determined to give Sabrina exactly what she claimed she wanted.
“Sabrina!”
Sabrina stood alone by the Druid Stones, her hands on the one piece of flat rock that had been used as an altar and was known as the Druid Stone. The Highlands could be very mystical. The wind rose in a keening sound, drifting about her with a sudden swift gust, heralding winter’s arrival.
She had brushed the mare until the animal had been in danger of having all its hair fall out. And Skylar had at last left her in peace, probably to find Hawk—and see to it that her husband found some way to make things right.
Whether she wanted them “right” or not.
“Sabrina!”
His voice again.
A shiver shot through her. It wasn’t the wind; it was the sound of that voice.
“Sabrina!”
How odd that the mere sound of his voice could affect her so, when she had been through so much!
It sometimes seemed to her that she had been fighting forever, since she had been a child, since her father had died.
She didn’t know how not to fight, and she did have courage, and she knew how to stand still and face almost anything at all, except…
Him.
She was suddenly tempted to run.
But she turned slowly, watching as he came, feeling the sensation of shivers tearing into her once again.
How odd it was to see him here! A half-breed from the wretched wilds of the American frontier, striding across the emerald hills of Scotland with his customary ease and arrogance.
As if he owned the world, and feared nothing.
And would take whatever he wanted from the world, and defy God and the Heavens themselves to deny him.
Sloan was an exceptionally striking man, arresting in manner and looks. He stood at least six foot two, with the broad shoulders and honed physique of a man who had spent his life riding—and fighting—-and working with weapons of war.
White men’s weapons.
Red men’s weapons.
His hair was very dark and thick, with a hint of his White blood just slightly curling the straight black length of it below his collar and adding just a touch of deepest red. His skin was bronzed by birth and sun, and his eyes…
Were black. Perhaps not black. Deep, dark brown, burning with a strange light that seemed to evoke the blazes of hell when he was angry.
As he so often was, when he looked at her.
He came to within five feet of where she stood. He was clad in riding boots, navy denim breeches, and a white shirt that was opened at the neckline, displaying a broad expanse of deeply bronzed skin. The expression in his dark eyes was unyielding, uncompromising.
And unmerciful.
She stared at him coolly in return, absolutely determined to keep her distance.
How different the world seemed here, now.
The two of them, alone upon this windswept cliff, a world away from the rugged western frontier of America!
She hardly knew him, she thought. She hadn’t known him at all when she had stumbled into his room, determined to escape her stepfather.
And yet…the things that she could remember!
Every inch of the hard bronze body, concealed now by his very civilized attire.
And it wasn’t really true that she didn’t know him. Sloan had traveled across half a continent and an ocean to be at Hawk’s side when Hawk was in danger. His loyalty and courage were as fierce as his passion.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?” he queried, the tone of his voice amused.
“Don’t be absurd,” she responded quickly. Except, of course, she had been feeling sorry for herself. After everything, why had God decided to do this to her? Hadn’t she fought hard enough, hadn’t she deserved to have…
Freedom?
“So what have you decided?” he asked.
Now his tone was casual, as if it didn’t make the least bit of difference to him. Since he’d first heard about her condition, he had been adamant that they marry. He’d once said that he’d make her want to marry him. Yet his question now was hardly a down-on-his-knees proposal.
She shook her head. “I can’t marry you, Sloan.”
“Why not?”
“There are so many reasons—”
He leaned back against the stone, crossing his arms over his chest. “Spell them out for me.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to keep her eyes level with his without shivering. “I don’t love you; you don’t love me.”
“That will be a fine explanation to our child. I am more than willing to tolerate you.”
Tolerate her!
“Perhaps I’m not so willing to tolerate you,” she said as sweetly as she could, the slightest edge to her voice. She saw a pulse flickering against his throat, and she spoke quickly then. “Sloan, my stepfather was a murdering tyrant who dictated our lives for so long. I’m free of him at last—”
“And pregnant,” Sloan said bluntly.
“I can make a life—”
He shook his head. “You can make a life for yourself without me, but not for my child. Let’s hear your other reasons for refusing to marry me.”
She stood stubbornly silent.
“Because I’m Sioux?” he inquired. “Could that be one of them?”
She spun on him, angry, passionate. “Fine—perhaps because you’re Sioux! What kind of a life could a child have, on the fringes of society, not Indian, but always tainted with Indian blood—”
Sabrina broke off, horrified by her own words.
She didn’t really mean them; yet they were true.
She’d learned in her lifetime that all men were equal—and equally flawed.
Good men came in every color, race, and creed, just as bad men did.
But the world was a brutal place; she had learned that as well.
“Sloan, please, I—”
She was barely aware that he had moved, yet he had. He was beside her, his hand grasping her wrist.
“The thing of it is, my dear, the child already exists!” he informed her heatedly. “And if I were to discover that you had intended murder against my seed—”
“Stop it, Sloan, stop!” she cried, frantically trying to free herself from his hold, to no avail.
She gave up at last and stared at him furiously.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I have every intention of—of having this child.
” Oh, God, was it the truth? Hadn’t she prayed that it might be her imagination, a sickness… that she might lose the babe?
“But I can go somewhere,” she said quickly, “have the baby alone, survive on my own. Create a story, a life. And that way the child will be—”
“White?” Sloan suggested. The vise of his fingers around her wrist remained merciless.
Looking into his eyes, she felt a strange trembling, and she knew that the fears she was voicing aloud were true; she didn’t mean to be so wickedly prejudiced.
It was the way of the world. And his people were slaughtering innocent Whites all across the plains!
But it was more than that. It was Sloan.
The fire and electricity that were part of him, his force, his passion, his place in the world.
He would never be told what to do; he would always choose his own path.
He didn’t know the meaning of compromise. And on top of all that…
If rumor held at all true, he had been the object of fascination to dozens of women. There was a sensual quality about him, in his eyes, in his smile. He could never be tied down to one woman.
“Yes,” she said flatly. “I could raise the child White.”
“What if he is born with red skin?”
What if she is born light and blue-eyed?”
A slow smile curved his mouth, and he shook his head with amusement.
“The world will know that you have given birth to an Indian child, Sabrina, because I refuse to allow you to deny me my child—or my child me, or even his Indian heritage. And if you think that you can pretend this child was an accident of rape, don’t even begin to assume that I will be the gentleman to let such a lie stand. ”
Blood rushed to Sabrina’s cheeks in such a wave that she felt that she might pass out cold with the fury of it. She tried to strike him with her free hand, but he was waiting for her impetuous wrath and easily caught her hand.
“Do you really hate me so much, Sabrina? Or just the truth?”
“Rest assured—I hate you!” she whispered, caught miserably now with both wrists in his grasp.
Completely aware of how childish her words sounded, she was even more miserable.
She had tried very hard to explain to him why she couldn’t marry him.
Her reasons were valid. But she couldn’t explain why she felt so afraid of him because she didn’t know herself. “Sloan, damn you—” she whispered.
But he suddenly released her.
“No, Sabrina, spare me. No more protestations. Ah, and don’t feel that you must be gentle—or nice.
You have convinced me that you really don’t care for me, and have no intention to marry me.
You have a right not to have me in your life, Sabrina,” he said flatly.
“But you don’t have the right to keep the child, or live a lie and pretend that the child’s father is dead.
Whether you marry me is your choice. You say you don’t want marriage.
But don’t try to run away and to hide the child—or the truth.
Because I will find you. And I will have my child. ”
With that, he turned and walked away.