Page 5 of Stealing Sophie
He set her down, fast and sure, tore the plaid from her head, grasped her chin in his hand. “I am not that sort of beast,” he said.
“Beast you are!” She stared at him, eyes wide, breath heaving. “You must be the one they call the Highland Ghost!”
“Ach.What would you know of that fellow?” Connor grasped her shoulders, keeping her close enough that she could not easily hobble away or kick him.
“He is a cattle thief and a murderer who strikes where he wills and does what he pleases. Breaks bridges and blows things apart. Is it you?”
He cocked a brow. “Do I look like a ghost?”
“They say he is a bear of a man.” She scrutinized him through mist and darkness. “Big and dark and brawny, near a giant. You are quite tall, with dark hair, and with that beard and all your Highland gear, you do look a savage.” She tipped her head. “But you have a rather pleasing countenance beneath it all, I admit.”
He inclined his head in wry acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
“Pretty looks can mask a lunatic nature,” she added.
“Shall I beware of you, then, Mistress?” he murmured.
Snugging her brows together, she glared up at him.
“I hope something kind is said of this Ghost,” he muttered. Frankly, he did not want to talk of that, and would not reveal more detail than she already knew. Taking her arm, he turned to walk. She took short, quick steps to keep up, the plaid a loose tangle around her that she struggled to pull around herself.
“One of my cousins said the Ghost can be generous to unfortunates, if he chooses. They say he sometimes helps tenants and farmers who have been dispossessed by the English. If cattle are taken from poor widows and such, he replaces them. And they say he regrets each life he takes.”
“Ah. How reassuring. We need not fear, if only we had a cow.”
“Not cow lives,” she said. “People, of course.”
He huffed. Allan and Donald MacCarran, this girl’s cousins, had long been good comrades, and Connor was glad they spoke well of the so-called Highland Ghost—his own antics, in part, to be sure. Then he thought of the rumored death of the MacCarran chief. Likely his family had not heard about that yet. He felt a deep qualm, but he would not mention that rumor to the chief’s sister until he had confirmed it.
As for the Highland Ghost, he was not keen on stealing cattle, did his best to protect widows—and was most interested in undermining General Wade’s efforts to construct military roads through the Highlands. Duncrieff had joined some of those raids too. And that had resulted in disaster and Connor’s hurried promise.
“I suppose there is good in everyone.” Duncrieff’s sister looked at him with an earnest, clear gaze, though he sensed a fine trembling all through her.
“Could be. What else have you heard of this Ghost?”
“They say he betrayed the chief of the MacCarrans.” Anger flashed in her bright, lovely eyes. “Did you?”
Brave girl, Connor thought, to confront when it invited risk. But Kate MacCarran was known to be that bold. “Perhaps the Ghost did that. And perhaps not.”
“Will you deny it?”
“If I were this Ghost, I probably would.”
“I insist that you tell me the truth here and now.” She tried to jerk her arm away, tried to stop.
“Come ahead. We have more immediate concerns.” He took her arm to guide her along, while she stumbled to keep up with his long stride. He would have to carry her again or find another way to hurry her over these hills.
She stopped, dug in her heels. He sighed and stopped with her. “If you are the Highland Ghost, then I have an even greater grievance with you.”
Holding her arm, he could feel her shaking. Courageous but frightened. That disturbed him somehow. He hated what he had done, and what he still must do.
“What grievance is that?”
She drew herself to her full height, which was not considerable, only to his shoulder. Her face was a pale oval, her eyes wide and silvery. He wondered what their color would be in sunlight. “I appeal for mercy, sir. I believe you have an honorable conscience, despite all. Prove it. Let me go.”
Gazing down, Connor saw more than trembling courage. He saw a compassion that he did not deserve. His breath caught in his throat.
She watched him, eyes earnest. “Release me unharmed, and I will tell my kinsmen you treated me well. I will say you saved me down on the moor. It is not such a lie. And I. . . will forgive you.”
