Page 33 of Stealing Sophie
“I will fetch what you need, but not just yet. The local Highland watch and your kinsmen will be searching for you. I will get word to your kinsmen that you are safe. Allan MacCarran knows me.”
“I should go to Duncrieff myself, so they know I am safe. I will gather what I need while I am there.”
“Oh no,” he said, “you will not. I will fetch your gowns and such. Tell me what you need.”
“I will not list my intimate garments for a man to go through them.”
“I have seen plenty of intimate garments, including yours this evening. Very pretty,” he said, jabbing the peat with the poker.
“You will be caught and arrested if you go to Duncrieff. I should think you would rather hang for stealing a bride than for stealing her undergarments.”
“Hang for a penny, hang for a pound.” He smiled.
“A pound of laces,” she said, slurring the words.
“Even better,” he said. “I will bring your necessary things. You have just one trunk, I hope. It is a long climb up this hill.”
“One trunk will do. Oh, and I will need my potted bulbs.”
“Your what?”
“My Dutch tulip bulbs. I planted them in pots during the winter to encourage them early, and my maid and I packed them carefully to bring them here. I was going to plant them in the garden at Duncrieff. They need to go into the ground soon.”
“I will find a way to snatch your garments, but I am not going to take time to plant flowers before I leave Duncrieff grounds.”
“Bring them here, and I can put them in your flower beds.”
“Flower beds? We have no gardens here.”
“But Mrs. Evans, my maid, will not remember to water them and plant them. She will be too distraught. I do not think she cares much about flowers.”
“Then your potted bulbs must take their chances, madam.”
“But they will die unless I plant them.”
“They will die for certain if you plant them here. Nothing grows at Glendoon.”
“How silly! Everything grows. Surely you have a kitchen garden, at least.”
“Do you not know your family legends, Miss MacCarran?”
She touched the silver pendant at her throat. It winked like a star. “Legends?”
“They say Castle Glendoon is cursed. Nothing thrives here, not weeds, not flowers, nor even its inhabitants.” He shot her a dark look.
“I heard stories in childhood—but it is nonsense. There are grasses and buttercups in the meadow outside. And you live here,” she pointed out. “How long have you survived here at Glendoon?”
“A little more than a year.”
“Well, then.” She waved a hand as if to prove her point.
“Believe me, lass, the ground here is barren, mostly rock covered by poor thin soil. Nothing grows but the toughest heather and gorse.” He stabbed at the blue flames. “I will fetch laces but not tulips. You may borrow whatever you need in the meantime.”
She nodded wearily and stretched her arms to warm her hands at the fire. Then, kicking off her shoes, stumbling a bit, she lifted her skirt hems to warm her feet.
He glanced at her. Keen excitement coursed through him. If he allowed his body to dictate events, very shortly his marriage to Kate MacCarran would be indisputable.
His bride combed her fingers through her tangled hair and raised her arms to sweep her hair over her shoulder in a shower of gold and honey.
