A Promise Given Read Free

stone fence and into the forest beyond. Sabrina whirled,
gathered her skirts in hand, and darted back toward the keep.
    Papa's stout form lumbered into view. "Sabrina!" he bellowed, then stopped
short as he spied her. He scowled at her. "There you are, girl! Where the devil
have you been?"
    Sabrina's voice was a trifle breathless. "Checking the vegetable gardens. I
daresay we shall have a fine crop of cabbages and leeks to store for winter."
Deftly she guided the subject away from her whereabouts. "Did you wish to see
me, Papa?"
    "Aye!" Duncan Kincaid straightened to his full height. "The MacGregor comes,
Sabrina! He comes to Dunlevy this very day!"
    "The MacGregor," she echoed blankly, then all at once her heart seemed to
stop. Did he mean… "Ian?" she whispered. "Ian is coming?"
    "Aye, the very same."
    Sabrina swallowed. She was unused to thinking of Ian as the MacGregor.
Indeed, she would prefer not to think of that Highland rogue at all!
    But she was no longer a child. Though discretion was not in her nature, over
the years, she had worked hard to curb her tongue and hold her opinions to
herself.
    She glanced at Papa. "Does Margaret know?"
    "Aye. He has sent word that he wishes to prepare for the marriage. She is in
the kirk praying for his safe arrival." He cast her a glance from the corner of
his eye. Sabrina didn't miss the full import of that glance; she knew full well
he thought she spent too little time in the pursuit of heavenly guidance.
    But for once he did not chastise her. "There's much to be done," he said
shortly. "There is food to be prepared and rooms to be readied for the MacGregor
and his clansmen. See to it, lassie."
    Sabrina hurried to obey. Very soon the keep was a buzz of frenzied activity.
Within the hour freshly laundered sheets clapped in the breeze, like sails
beneath an azure sky. Sabrina sent three maids above-stairs to clean several
vacant chambers, then went in search of Margaret.
    She found her sister in her chamber, sitting in a straight-backed chair near
the window, as if the day had wrought no news whatever of the imminent arrival
of her husband-to-be it was as if this day were no different than any other.
    Sabrina paused from her place near the doorway; Margaret was not yet aware of
her presence, nor was the maid Edna. In truth, the two sisters were nothing
alike—nay, not in looks or demeanor. Margaret was tall and slender, her face
pale and heart-shaped; her eyes shone like vivid blue sapphires. Her blond hair
shimmered down her back like glimmering moonlight.
    Unbidden, Sabrina's dirt-smudged fingers tugged at the end of the thick
red-gold braid that dangled over her shoulder. As a child, Sabrina had longingly
wished that she could have been blessed with sleek, lustrous hair like
Margaret's instead of her own unruly curls. Indeed, she'd gone through several
years where she'd wavered between hurt and resentment that God had seen fit to
fashion Margaret in their mother's image—that He had favored her so and thus
Margaret had attained their father’s unquestionable devotion and love, while she
was considered naught but a nuisance—aye, and one who resembled neither father
nor mother. But she was not given long to envy, for such was not her way.
    Sabrina lingered a moment longer. Her brilliant green gaze drifted over the
perfection of her sister's ivory profile. As always, Margaret's facade was one
of tranquil serenity. Many a time Margaret had played hostess to her father's
guests; all were enraptured by her charm and beauty. Her laughter floated in the
air like the lilting notes of a songbird…
    Indeed, it was hard to believe that Margaret could dare speak a harsh word to
anyone. Yet Sabrina was well acquainted with the sting of her sister's
tongue—and aye, her temper.
    Once, some years earlier, she had trod upon the hem of Margaret's new gown,
accidentally soiling it with her muddy slippers. Margaret had been furious. With
a cry of rage,