Page 77 of Stealing Sophie
“I will help you, come to that. Tell me what you need. And tell me this—why would Rob choose me to marry Sophie?” He felt stunned by the revelation. Sophie, chief of her clan, but she did not know it. Nor did her cousins, thinking Rob still alive.
“Duncrieff trusts you more than any other,” Allan said. “And when you regain your lands, which we all hope will happen—your rank as Lord Kinnoull will be a help to your wife’s clan. Our chief has no title. He is a chief and a laird, but not a peer. In these times, we need the advantage of that, with England ruling Scotland.”
“My title is of no use to anyone now.”
“You will be reinstated one day. Duncrieff felt sure of it. I am sure of it, too,” Allan said. “Campbell cannot hang on to the lands against legal pressure if you take this to the Court of Session for review. He has been hungry to take control and was hasty in taking the property—we who saw it then believe it so now. Likely that is why he wanted to marry Sophie, to fix his hold in this region. If he could eliminate her brother, he would be acting chief behind his wife’s title. But if she did become chief,” he continued, “Rob would have trusted you in that role, at her back, MacPherson. You.”
Connor gave a rueful laugh. Now it began to make sense. Rob trusted him to be with Sophie, not Kate. He felt sure of it now. “So Campbell knows of Sophie’s status?”
“He is the magistrate for this region. He knows she would inherit as chief.”
“Does Sophie know?” Connor asked quietly.
Allan nodded. “About the tradition? Aye. She never wanted to be the heiress and suggested Kate instead. But Kate is the younger sister. And now she is involved in the rebellion, which could go badly for her and the clan if she were ever to become chief. Duncrieff meant to talk to Sophie about it when she returned to Scotland, but he did not have the chance. Instead, he made sure you would marry her. It just happened sooner than we thought.”
Connor nodded slowly. “I will talk to her.”
Donald shrugged. “Or leave it. When Duncrieff is released, all will be well.”
“Kinnoull, it is on you to keep Sophie safe,” Allan said. “Now you know why.”
“I do and I will. You have my solemn word.” He extended his hand to each.
“We must move on,” Allan said. “If the military sees a group of Highland men in a long conversation, they usually become suspicious.”
“Talking of cattle and weather,” Connor said. “That is all.”
“Aye, and good fishing in the loch. Good day to you,” Donald said. “Cousin.”
Connor set a fist to his heart. The MacCarrans turned to leave.
“One thing more.” Donald turned back. “We mentioned Sophie’s gift.”
“I think you mean the legend of the fairy gift? I have heard something of it. Just tales, I thought. What of it?”
“Ask her,” Donald said. “She was born with fairy blood, and the gift as well. So was Kate, come to that. Ask your bride, lad.” He waved as he and his brother left.
Frowning, Connor turned toward Neill and Andrew, waiting there.
“No wonder Duncrieff did not tell you all the truth of it,” Neill said.
“Aye so,” Connor muttered. “Marrying the girl is one thing—and I thought I got the saint out of this bargain, not the hellion. But marrying the female head of a clan, that is far more to ask of a man.”
“Tcha,lad,” Neill said. “You are the best one to help her with it, come to that.”
The marriage was made, he thought, shaking his head. He must accept his role. If he could help Sophie and her clan, so be it. He had given his word.
And he was sure, more and more, that he had given his heart as well.
Much later,returning to a dark and silent Glendoon, Connor moved quietly past the door to his bedchamber, where his wife surely slept. He was not prepared to face her with all he knew now. Should he tell her outright that her brother was probably dead, and that she was likely chief of her clan?
Neither of them was ready for that conversation, he was sure. The hour was late and he needed to think. He took the stairs up to the roof and the crumbling guard tower with its shelter and solitude.
Beneath a canopy of stars, he opened the fiddle case and removed the instrument. Tightening the bow, tuning the strings, he set the fiddle to his shoulder, closed his eyes, and let the melody come to him.
A slow down-bow, a quick bowing up, and the sound created itself without his conscious effort. He pressed calloused fingertips against the fingerboard, slid up, danced down, while his fingers and the bow coaxed the melody from the strings.
For a little space of time, only the music filled his mind. He felt himself relax, felt tensions ease as the tune poured through, flowing naturally as breathing.
