Page 11 of Stealing Sophie
Suddenly her captor turned, his gaze taking in the little stone, her fingers—could he, too, see its cool sparkle? Then he looked at her with such clarity and intensity, such awareness, that she feared he knew all her thoughts. She stared back at him boldly.
He turned away, speaking to Neill, tugging on the rope as he walked. “The church is not far. Pray they are waiting.”
Choking back a sob of frustration, she yanked on the rope just to annoy him. He wound it taut around his hand without looking back, which made her temper soar. He gave her no choice but to go with him, this stranger who took her without warning, a man who by turns had been both cruel and kind.
She could not guess the fate that awaited her and her clan, too, if she were to marry against her will. “What are you saying there?” she asked. “You mentioned a priest and now a chapel. Tell me what is planned. Why are we going there?”
“I feel an urge to pray, Miss MacCarran.” He walked on.
“Tcha,”Neill said. “She is a wee bonny thing for you to be pulling her along like a cow to market.” He looked at Connor from under frowning brows. “Sick too, poor lass.”
“I like it no better than you,” Connor replied. “But if I let her loose, we will be all night chasing her over the hills. I want to get this deed done.”
“They are searching for her. Best she be wed by the time they find her.”
“If they do. Go ahead to the chapel to make sure the priest is there. I will bring her that way, there—not the easiest route, but pursuers will be less likely to find us.”
“And later tonight? The search will be in earnest, Kinnoull.”
“Glendoon will do. Few know I stay there. They will find her when I decide they should. By then, she will be a bride.”
“A contented one, so you hope. That will be up to you, sir—”
“Ach!Be off with you,” Connor said curtly.
Neill grinned, then turned and ran into the shadows.
Connor glanced at the girl. Beneath her long dark cloak, her satin gown was the warm rich color of amber, though its hem was dark and mucky now. Her blond hair had loosened like spun moonlight about her face and shoulders. The magical, misted light gave her an enchanted glow, like a fairy queen.
And a beautiful young woman who was very unhappy with him. He had hoped to have a contented wife someday. He was not off to a good start.
Life’s most recent lessons had reminded him that he was not destined for happiness, beyond what scraps he claimed for himself—his music, his books, a few peaceful hours now and then dreaming of a future that might never come about.
Broken man, laird, cattle thief, and unrepentant Jacobite, Connor MacPherson had become a dark legend—at first by accident, then intent—among these hills. Once, he would have been a suitable husband for the sister of a clan chief. Once, he had been the rightful heir to a fine holding, the son of a viscount, educated in France. A bright lad.
But he had seen his father arrested and taken to his execution; he had lost his mother, then his ancestral seat; he had seen the inside of a jail cell himself. And he had looked through the loop of a noose straight into the face of death. Thanks to Duncrieff, he had come away from that—and thanks to Duncrieff, he was here tonight.
As for home and family, as for love, aye, he still wanted that, more the fool he. But how long would Kate MacCarran stay with him, he wondered, when she learned about his role in her brother’s troubles and his death? She would hate Connor forever for that. Either way, she would not care to play Lady Kinnoull to his landless Lord Kinnoull.
He would do his best to keep her safe for a while and guard her against whatever threat Duncrieff feared. He would fulfill his promise to Rob MacCarran that far, and it would have to be enough. A lifetime of contentment and love was a daft expectation.
This night’s work was hardly going to net that dream.
