Page 4 of Stealing Sophie
Chapter 2
Stealing a bride was a miserable business, Connor decided.
And wrapping this one like a Christmas pudding was not sufficient. He should have gagged her as well tied as her flailing limbs, for he needed both hands to handle a galloping horse carrying two riders. The girl shrieked like a kestrel. He pressed his hand over her mouth, and her breath warmed his palm through the wool. She quieted.
“Hush,” he soothed again. He settled his arm across her chest, his fingers on her jaw, while his other hand gripped the reins.
He had no taste for bullying women, and his patience was easily tested. His promise to Duncrieff obligated him to carry out this now very regrettable snatching.Take her,her brother had said.See it done, explain later. Aye,Connor had said, deeply reluctant. Even if Duncrieff was gone now, any promise Connor owed would be met.
The marriage would be done tonight. But when it came to consummating the marriage, he wondered how he could possibly take her, see it done, explain later. He was no brute to force a woman. Certainly, he savored and enjoyed the act, but he would have the woman enjoy it, too. From what he had heard of Duncrieff’s bold and spirited sister, Kate MacCarran would not shy away from pleasure with a husband. Yet her brother wanted the marriage sealed in every way. For now, he would think only so far as the marriage vows and carry on.
Still, a frisson of lust slid through him at the thought of touching her perfect womanly shape, hints of which he could not help but feel through her clothing. How the devil he would convince her to bed her groom, once hastily wed, so the rest of this marriage business could be fixed, was beyond him.
He had made a careful plan, so he thought. Yet with Duncrieff’s sister writhing like a wild cat inside the plaid, the chapel and the waiting priest seemed very far away. This accursed night was looking very long indeed.
The MacCarran had been adamant that his sister be fully and legally married. Connor’s right and ability to protect her as his bride must be unquestionable to thwart legal disputes later. His sister had been promised in marriage to Sir Henry Campbell, Duncrieff had explained. But Rob had been weak from the wound he had taken, and he gave few details. Connor only knew that the girl must not marry Campbell.
He could understand that well enough. He was more than willing to seek some vengeance against the magistrate, in part why he had agreed to this madness.
He sighed. She bit him then, nipping through cloth. Wincing, he pressed his hand on her jaw to convey disapproval. Under the plaid, she thrust an elbow into his gut.
Even her brother had said Kate MacCarran was known for her hellion ways. Katie Hell, some called her. Connor knew she may have acted as a Jacobite spy. There was another sister in a European convent, a saint, said her brother. Katie Hell’s opposite.
The wee nun would have been easier to snatch than this crazed monkey, Connor thought sourly, once again pinning her flailing arms under the draped plaid so that he could see where he was going.
He knew nothing about the pious sister, though it was a fair bet she would not endanger herself or others with reckless actions and Jacobite involvement. No wonder Duncrieff had exacted Connor’s promise to marry Katie Hell. Only a rebel husband, himself a rogue, could keep capable watch over that one.
But he did not need a hellcat in his life just now.
They left the moor and climbed the upward swell of a hillside, but Connor knew that he and the girl could not share the horse for a long uphill ride, especially in darkness and fog. There was too much danger to the animal. On foot, they could continue to elude pursuit. But he might end up carrying a thrashing, protesting girl into the chapel.
Glancing around, seeing little enough, he listened beyond the sound of hooves and the girl’s gasping protests. Were they being followed? Carefully he urged the horse up the slope, wary of the rocky turf, holding the girl securely in front of him.
Then he heard distant shouts down on the moor. The men would be out of the water by now, in hot pursuit once they realized the girl was gone. The arrival of her riderless horse would add confusion and provide a bit more time, he realized.
Pulling on the reins, he halted the horse and slid to the ground, reaching up to lift the girl down. She stumbled, entangled in the plaid. He steadied her.
Then she began pummeling him, crying out, a whirlwind of fists and sharp-toed shoes and flapping blanket. She thrust a knee upward and he angled away, but felt the dull glancing pain of the blow.
Swearing under his breath, he yanked on the plaid, wrapping her as snugly as he could. Then he slapped the rump of her horse to send it trotting down the slope. Hearing the echoes of shouts down on the moor, Connor knew the animal would find its way back to the escort, or they would soon hear it and take it safely away. Good, then. He would not risk a horse’s well-being along with the rest of this night’s work.
His would-be bride twisted and whirled, the plaid peeling away like an apple curl. Pulling the plaid over her head, Connor lifted and shouldered her. She bucked, but he held her fast with one arm, grateful her squealing protests were muffled, and he began to walk.
“Be still,” he warned, and went up the hillside with his squirming, kicking bundle.
“Put me down! I thought you meant to save us back there!”
“Iamsaving you. Stop squirming and let me do that.”
“You are a madman!” she gasped through the swath of wool.
“So they say,” he agreed affably, taking the hill in long strides. She was not much of a weight, and he was accustomed to carrying game home from the hunt. But this catch was like wrestling a kelpie. Somehow he managed, slowing his steps as the hill grew steeper. He would not admit weakness even to himself.
“Stop! Please stop! Let me go! Why did you steal me away from my escort?”
“I am your escort now.”
“You are not taking me home. I do not know what you want, but if you plan to—to disgrace me, I will never submit!Never!” A blurted word, a sob.
