Page 106 of Stealing Sophie
“Miss MacCarran, you are rescued, and finally safe.”
“Am I?” She wrenched, but could not break free of the burly redcoat. Campbell stepped closer, taking her chin in his fingers, turning her face back and forth.
“Lovely,” he murmured. “You must have fairy blood in you, with those delicate features, that golden hair—and those eyes. They say any MacCarran born with eyes the color of crystals has unusual powers.”
She stared back at him. “A legend. And the eye color is just a family trait.”
Campbell had unremarkable eyes, dirty brown, piggish, plain, and his gaze was mean and unfeeling. Weeks ago, when she had visited Kinnoull House, she had agreed to meet him because her father had made a marriage promise on her behalf. She had hoped for a miracle to change her fate—and that miracle had come most unexpectedly. But at dinner, Campbell had been polite and solicitous, though eager to be near her, finding a reason to touch her, savoring his claim. She had felt repulsed, especially knowing how he had manipulated her father’s trust and betrayed him. And that was unforgivable.
She glared. He smiled. His teeth were jagged and yellowed. All the more reason to know she had made the right choice. “What do you want?” she asked.
“What I was promised. My bride. The beautiful Lady Kinnoull.”
“I am already someone’s bride.”Kinnoull himself.She lifted her chin.
“That inconvenience can be changed. Come with me.”
“You have no reason to hold any of us—my brother and I, or Neill Murray, or his son, there.” She saw Padraig sitting up, blood trickling down from a cut on his head.
“We were to marry,” Campbell said. “Your father put his signature on it.”
“I never agreed to marry you. My father is gone now, and my brother is chief of the clan. He would leave the decision to me. And I decided.”
“There was a debt involved. That, and marriage, are owed.”
“Whatever it is, we will pay it back. You have no claim over my kin, or my—my husband’s lands and title.”
“So he claims. He stole you away like the thief he is, forced you, and I will fix it.”
“I was not forced. I chose to be his wife. I love him.” Saying it aloud, it felt right. Strong and certain. “I love him.”
“That can change, too. Come along. Take her.” He motioned to the soldier, who grabbed her hands and tied her wrists behind her with a length of rope. Padraig clambered to his feet, but the soldier pushed him back with a booted foot, hard against a rock. The lad lay motionless.
Sophie cried out and tried to go to him, throwing herself off balance. Campbell pulled her up and shoved her so that she stumbled ahead, her arms grabbed by Campbell and the sentry. They left Padraig on the hillside. She glanced back, frantic.
As they led her down the hill, toward the glen valley, she looked around. A group of soldiers clustered on an adjacent hill, but she did not see Connor and the others anywhere. They must have headed downward quickly. She knew that if Connor had seen her with Sir Henry, he would have come up that hill like a fiend.
She was relieved he had not spotted her, relieved she had not brought even more danger to him, given her foolish decision to come here. Why had she thought she could save them all, convince Sir Henry to leave them be? Whatever fairy power she had, whatever confidence, was small indeed.
“You will pay for this,” Sir Henry muttered, yanking on her arm as they walked. “All of you! Stealing a bride—mybride—breaking a promise—pay, I tell you!”
“No promise was broken. I never agreed to be your wife. Leave us be, Sir Henry. The only crime will be your own doing if you do not stop now.”
“I am owed my rights,” he muttered. Pausing, he pulled her to him. “Leave us! Go see if you killed that boy,” Campbell snapped at the soldier, who turned to go back.
Pulling Sophie close, Campbell bent his head and slapped his mouth over hers, cold and moist and hard. Sophie twisted, turned her head, tried to scream. Then Campbell pressed his hand over her mouth. He smelled of tobacco and unbathed stink, and though he was not a tall man, he was bulky and strong, and she could not break free with her hands tied behind her.
“I said,” he said low in her ear, “I want my rights, and I will have them.”
She breathed hard, breasts heaving in the gown, stays too snug against her ribs where he pressed her against him. “My arms—my hands, behind me,” she gasped. “You are hurting me. Release me—”
“And if I do,” he grunted against her cheek, lips dragging there. “If I do?”
“We—can discuss marriage,” she said on a ragged breath. “I will—let you—” She could not finish. She could not bring herself to say more.
He spun her roughly, worked at the ropes binding her hands, freed her, spun her back. He took one of her hands in a crushing grip, so that she cried out, and trapped it against his chest. “My heart,” he said. “You are my heart, and I will have you.”
With his other hand, he took her face in a hard claw-like grip. “And you will please me, my heart, or see your brother and your husband hang for their crimes by dawn.”
