Page 51 of Stealing Sophie
“Not just yet,” he murmured. “They could come back.”
His hands were warm and strong, his fingers firm on breastbone, waist. His breath tickled over her cheek. She leaned back. She did not feel trapped—she felt safe. It felt good—though she sat with a cattle thief himself, likely worse than that. Yet safe.
“Keep still, love,” he whispered.
She tilted her head at that, felt a thrill, and sighed—she did not want to enjoy any part of this, now, with him. She had made up her mind to get away from him. And just now, she only wanted to be here, like this, in his arms.
“Aye then,” he whispered, as if he knew. His lips lingered on her cheek. “Aye so.”
The sensation rippling through her now excited her, quickened her breath at the risk of being with him like this, out where danger roamed. She caught her breath, leaned her face to welcome more from him. Her heart pounded.
His lips touched her ear again, with intent this time, warmth and breath sweeping into her, sinking through her. She turned in his arms like a lodestone, seeking now. His fingers found her cheek, her jaw, cupped her face, and he covered her lips with his own.
But she stilled her lips beneath the kiss, allowing yet waiting, feeling excitement build within her like a storm, until the pulse of it urged her on, and she let her lips soften for more of the kiss. His hand moved down to cover her breast, cloth and stays between, his fingers rounding flesh, and the sheer feeling of his touch, even indirectly through cloth, stirred her, sending shivers through her body. She gasped slightly and he responded, cupping the back of her head, fingers sinking into the mass of her hair. She looped her arms around his neck, turning full into his embrace, seated across his lap. Whatever he wanted, she wanted too—
Last night, she had felt like this, she remembered. And in the morning, discovering who she was, he had rejected her.
She straightened away, turned her head, froze.
“Aye,” he said, “enough of this.” Gently he pushed her from his lap, and half stood. She heard the thunk and sweep as his head hit the branches, rocking the boughs around them. “Come along. The men are gone.”
He took her hand, helping her to her feet, and crouching, they left the tree’s shelter. As she stood out in the open, in the darkness, Sophie found her knees weak, her body trembling.
She moved silently beside him, and he reached out to take her hand, clasping it, keeping it. Saying nothing. For a little while, they walked along, and he assisted her in crossing runnels of water, avoiding rocks. Now and then, his fingers tightened on hers.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “I am glad you came along, with the caterans out.”
“Best for you to be at Glendoon,” he said. “Neill and I saw MacDonell and his lads in the glen earlier. I had a feeling I might see them later, as I was coming back tonight. I might not have seen you, had you come another way. Thanking God that I did.”
“When I had a chance to get away, I could not ignore it,” she defended. He shrugged his understanding. “But I am grateful. You might have saved my life.”
“I may have saved your honor, at least. Dishonorable lad that I am,” he drawled, “I will be glad to have you safe back at the ruin.”
“I thought you would not care if I left Glendoon. I am not the bride you wanted.”
“But you are the one I married.” His deep voice in the darkness was velvety and affectionate. Gentle. “We will go up to Duncrieff soon as we can, Sophie. I give you my word on it.”
She nodded, feeling strangely reassured, realizing suddenly, oddly, that if any other man had stolen her away, she would have been fighting desperately to get away. But she had never felt real fear with Connor MacPherson—even more, some part of her wanted to be with him.
As they walked along, she squeezed his hand with her own, a small gesture of peace and gratitude. His fingers answered hers.
He broke the grip to point ahead. “Look there, Mrs. MacPherson. It is young Roderick Dhu, come to find his wayward charge. Embarrassed, he will be.”
“Then we must be kind,” she said, seeing the young Highlander racing toward them. Connor huffed, lifting his hand to wave.
“Hey, lad!” he called. “Was that kind enough, my girl?” he added.
Like it or not, she was back in the keeping of the laird of Glendoon.
Enteringthe castle through the kitchen door, Connor took the lantern from the table. Calling the dogs back inside with him, he waved to Roderick, and beckoned Sophie inside, while she said farewell and added yet another apology to the poor lad. Connor shook his head, half-laughing.
Inside, he raised the lantern to banish the darkness and led Sophie to the stairs. She moved ahead of him, her fiery satin dress whispering on stone. He climbed just behind her, holding the light.
“Careful on the steps,” he cautioned. “If you go round the castle at night, keep only to the chambers in use. A wrong step in the dark and you could fall to your death.”
“I see,” she said. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for every living thing, lass.” When they reached the landing that led to his bedchamber, he opened the door and stepped back to allow her to enter. “Good night, madam.”
