Page 41 of Stealing Sophie
He felt a muscle pump in his cheek as he regarded her. Thanks to Mary’s potent whisky brew, he had no good answer either. But he had a clear suspicion.
“I told you I am damned to hell,” he said. “Make of that what you will.”
He whirled on his heel and went to the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Cold rain patteredover Connor’s head and shoulders as he strode down the hill that led away from Glendoon. Distracted by his bride’s revelation—her name was Sophie, he reminded himself—he reached the narrow place in the gorge and leaped the gap scarcely noticing, and with hardly a change in his pace. Then he headed down the slope toward the lower hills that shaped the bowl of the glen.
Though it was past dawn, the sky still had its steely color. More rain to come. But that would not stop work on the military road, Connor knew, and so his work must continue, no matter the distraction of his pretty bride.
Neither he nor Sophie remembered quite what had happened between them last night, thanks to Mary’s brew. He had promised Duncrieff that he would make sure the marriage was indisputable. Repeating the wedding night was no sorry turn of events, but knowing now that she was a nun—or near enough to one—rather than Katie Hell, he had even more misgivings. His bride was an innocent, and he was a cad. He swore under his breath, then louder as he stomped down a rocky slope.
More and more, he wondered if Rob MacCarran had tricked him into marrying this sister. But why? Though little could be done about it, short of annulment or divorce. And he could not go back to Rob for the truth of it.
Duncrieff was dead, so the guards at the Tolbooth in Perth had told him last week when he had gone to see the prisoner. Died of wounds days before, they said.Nay, ye canna see the body, the bailiff is deciding what’s to be done. Be off with you.The news of Rob’s death had been a gut blow—the passing of a Highland chief was a tragedy for any clan, the death of a friend even worse. And Connor felt he had an indirect hand in it.
Although he was kin to Cluny MacPherson, chief of his clan, he was a friend and a tenant of MacCarran of Duncrieff. That made his clan loyalties twofold. He had long felt a strong tie to Clan Carran. Now, marrying the chief’s sister made him kin to her kin. But who would be chief after Rob, who had no children? He shook his head.
Connor missed Rob greatly—a strong and clever comrade, loyal to clan and kin, to the Highlands, to James Stewart, the king over the water. Kinnoull House and Duncrieff Castle were only a few miles apart, but Connor and Rob had not known each other well until both attended a Jesuit school outside of Paris after their fathers had been exiled to France. They had met again at Edinburgh University, which Connor had attended for two years. By the time he had left to join the newly formed Black Watch regiment assigned to police the Highlands, they had become fast friends as well as rebel sympathizers.
Connor had joined the military regiment only because his father had hoped it would protect him from the rebel affiliation of his kin. Later, when he and his father had been arrested for Jacobite activities, Duncrieff had sent advocates to help them. Although they had gained Connor a release, his father had been sentenced and hanged.
But Connor had a true friend in Duncrieff. He would not forget the man’s generosity, his capability, his intelligence, his weakness for red-haired women—a jest between them—or his easy laugh.
Indeed, his friend would have chuckled over the mistake between his sisters, and Connor wondered if Rob’s ironic sense of humor had influenced the agreement between them. But he sensed a deeper purpose there as well, and he meant to discover, somehow, Rob’s intention.
Scowling, moving along, Connor noticed a young man standing among the pine trees, silently watching the glen below. He movedtoward him.
“Good morning, Roderick Dhu,” he called.
Roderick Murray whirled, his hand going to the sword hilt at his belt. The tall black-haired lad—Dhu,called so for his black hair—often had a ready blush in his pale, lightly bearded cheeks. Now his cheeks turned hot red in the rainy light.
“Latha math, Kinnoull. I did not hear you.”
“Watching so carefully for red soldiers in the glen, you did not look behind you.” He and Roderick laughed, and Connor pointed. “Ah, look, your Da is coming up the hill. We were to meet here just after dawn.”
They both watched the older man now climbing the hill toward them. “He and Padraig went down the glen in the darkness to watch the road,” Roderick said.
“Kinnoull!” Neill waved as he came near. Connor had lost the property, but Neill, loyal to the end, would never let him lose the name. “I am bringing some news.”
“Aye so?” Connor waited.
“General Wade’s crews are making progress on construction despite the weather. That road is coming this way faster than we thought.”
Connor nodded, not surprised. “Wade is a determined and disciplined fellow. He expects the same from his road crews, no matter the conditions or obstacles.”
“You ought to know, having been part of it yourself.”
“Years past.” Connor shook his head.
“We are having some luck delaying Wade’s progress,” Roderick said.
“The delays help, but are not enough to stop them,” Connor replied.
“The red soldiers are taking their stone road deep into the pass between here and the lands of Kinnoull,” Neill said. “I do not know where they mean to take the road, either straight on or turning east for Perth. Either way, they will invade your lands.”
“Campbell’s lands now,” Roderick added.
“I do not care who owns the deed; they are Connor’s lands,” Neill said. “The tenants are loyal to MacPherson and still pay him part of the rent, though he is no longer their laird. Twenty-eight households, is it, Kinnoull?”
