Page 21 of Stealing Sophie
“Our family was in Rome for a while,” she murmured, while he worked the knots. “Did you go there? Where is your home, Mr. MacPherson?”
His fingers released the knot, but a gate closed within him. He did not want to tell her that he had grown up at Kinnoull House not so far from here, where she had been that very evening. He did not want to admit to being the unfortunate heir, born a viscount’s son, of that lost property. Nor would he admit to her that his father’s forfeited lands now belonged to Sir Henry Campbell. Had she married the magistrate, she would be mistress of Kinnoull.
And all Connor had was an empty title. Viscount Kinnoull. Useless without land, property, tenants, and responsibility. He had married MacCarran’s sister partly to spite her other suitor, but he had no fine home to give her. He felt cumbersome and shabby in her refined presence. But he still had pride. He did not want her sympathy.
Beneath his fingers, her hand was so smooth and soft that he caught his breath. Pulling the rope free, he stuffed it inside his plaid and rubbed her chafed wrist.
“My home is gone, and my family is gone, too,” he finally answered. “I rest my head where I will and do what I please. But I will spare you a cozy nest of plaid and heather on a hillside tonight.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a shy smile. “I am so tired that I could fall asleep anywhere and count myself fortunate to have a place to lay my head.”
He stepped back. “There, free–for now. Be careful. That bush is prickly gorse, and full of thorns.”
She shot him an eloquent look and walked like a queen around the other side of the cluster of gorse, dropping out of sight.
“Do not think to run off now that the rope is gone, Mrs. MacPherson,” he called.
“Mr. MacPherson,” she called back, “that is not my name.”
He laughed to himself. He could not help it.
A mile or so on,the sound of the falls grew louder, and he felt its moisture in the atmosphere. Connor took his bride’s hand to help her once more and met her gaze in the moonlight. She smiled at him, bright and beautiful and quick, the smile she had bestowed upon Andrew for the gift of a few flowers.
But Connor suspected that her brilliant eyes and happy expression were not due to the thrill of his presence, but rather to the contents of the flask he carried.
She had emptied a third of it by now, though she coughed each time she swallowed. He had taken some himself to warm and revive him. But he had stopped, for it made him too relaxed, too eager to think about kissing her, touching her, when he should thinkonly of getting her safely to shelter.
She stumbled a bit. “I am very tired. Is it a long way, this thieves den of yours?”
“Not far now, I promise.”
“And you always keep your promises,” she reminded him. “If my brother will hold you to a promise, I will hold you to this one. It had better not be far.”
“Trust me. Careful, Katherine.” He assisted her in crossing the slippery stones that bridged a small stream.
“Do not call me that. No one calls me that. We were married tonight, but we are not familiar enough to use christening names.”
“Mrs. MacPherson, then.”
“Miss MacCarran,” she corrected primly. “Scottish women often keep their names even after they wed. And I do not know how long we shall be married, you and I.”
“Do you expect to be widowed courtesy of your kinsmen?”
“My cousins surely have a grievance with you now. But I am not so wicked as to wish murder upon you, despite what you have done this night...and what you intend.”
Halting, he gazed down at her. “And what is it I intend?” he asked, deathly quiet.
She did not answer, but her keen glance showed her thoughts.
He drew her toward him slowly, watching her widened eyes. Her breath quickened, and shadows curved between her rising breasts. Her pulse beat at the base of her throat.
“I am aware of what will happen soon enough.” She lifted her chin.
She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, and he did not want to frighten her, though it seemed too late for that.
“If I was as wicked as you think, madam,” he intoned softly, “I would have done that already, with old heather for a bed. Why wait to bring you to my devil’s nest, hey?”
She did not flinch, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, nor did she move away. She only watched him. Her courage and will seemed fine as good steel.
