me to Sir Henry Campbell.”
“That engagement is broken as of now,” Connor said fiercely. “Your brother told me that he wanted that marriage prevented. I was happy to oblige.”
“By stealing me away? By intoxicating the priest so he would not remember who he married this night?”
“That,” Connor said, “was unintentional.”
“Sir Henry will kill you for this.”
Connor narrowed his gaze. “I’ll take that chance.”
She drew her slender brows together. “If this was agreed between you and Robert, why is his blood on the page?”
“He had the note in his shirt when we were attacked in the hills. He was pistol-shot, bleeding freely. He gave me the paper and insisted on my promise.”
“Insisted,” she repeated. “I do not believe it.”
“Regardless, it will be done.”
“If you were with him the night he was arrested, why did you not prevent his capture?”
His heart slammed. “I did what I could.”
“They say that you betrayed him.”
“I did not. Trust me—or not. We have no time to discuss it now.” Nor was he ready to tell her the rest—that Rob had been near death, that he had done all he could to save him.
Nor would he tell her that it had lately been rumored that Rob MacCarran had died in prison only days before. If so, news of his death might be kept secret to avoid an outburst of further rebellion among Perthshire Highlanders loyal to the Stuart cause.
Katie Hell had espionage ties herself, and he would have expected her to know some of this already, but she seemed unaware. “This cannot be his blood,” she whispered.
“It is.” Connor had not wanted to show her the note because it was stained with her brother’s blood. But she had the right—and he knew now she had the fortitude—to see that paper.
Tears welled in her eyes and she touched the handwriting, her fingers graceful and trembling upon the page. “How can you claim to be Robert’s friend?”
“I am. And I did not betray him. All I want to do is keep my promise to him and do what he wanted done. What he wanted,” he added. “Not me. You wanted the truth. Now you have it.”
“He would never expect me to marry an outlaw willingly. It would take force.”
His nostrils flared and pride and hurt turned within him. “Your brother knew you would not bewilling. He suggested that you be stolen. He meant only to protect you by doing so.”
“I think you forced him to agree. You attacked him and demanded this, thinking you would get a wealthy bride—and then you betrayed him to the English.”
The words cut like a knife. “Why would I do that? I have no need of a bride right now. And the man had no time to pen a wee missive, Miss MacCarran—believe me. He had it on his person when I met him. He planned this, and I gave him my word. And I will keep it.”
“You cannot keep it if the bride refuses.”
“Lass,” he said impatiently, “we are done with pretty speeches.” He led her back around the altar to stand before the priest. He circled his arm around his bride.
“Two cows, Father, and two kegs, if you get on with it,” Connor said.
The devil himself held her fast at the altar while the priest droned the wedding Latin. Trapped in her groom’s encircling arm, Sophie glanced up at Connor MacPherson.
The warrior angel had vanished, replaced by the handsome villain whose scheme she could not fathom. She leaned away, but he pressed her close. She felt the warmth of his body, smelled wood smoke and the tang of sweat, felt his dirk handle jutting into her ribs. His fingers gripped her shoulder. She knew if she tried to scream or protest, those fingers would clamp over her mouth.
But her protests would not stop this wedding, sheknew that now. Had MacPherson told the truth about Robert’s bloodied note? She shuddered, uncertain why her brother would promise her to a Highland fugitive. It made no sense at all.
The signature was Rob’s, she was sure, but the Highlander might have forced
“That engagement is broken as of now,” Connor said fiercely. “Your brother told me that he wanted that marriage prevented. I was happy to oblige.”
“By stealing me away? By intoxicating the priest so he would not remember who he married this night?”
“That,” Connor said, “was unintentional.”
“Sir Henry will kill you for this.”
Connor narrowed his gaze. “I’ll take that chance.”
She drew her slender brows together. “If this was agreed between you and Robert, why is his blood on the page?”
“He had the note in his shirt when we were attacked in the hills. He was pistol-shot, bleeding freely. He gave me the paper and insisted on my promise.”
“Insisted,” she repeated. “I do not believe it.”
“Regardless, it will be done.”
“If you were with him the night he was arrested, why did you not prevent his capture?”
His heart slammed. “I did what I could.”
“They say that you betrayed him.”
“I did not. Trust me—or not. We have no time to discuss it now.” Nor was he ready to tell her the rest—that Rob had been near death, that he had done all he could to save him.
Nor would he tell her that it had lately been rumored that Rob MacCarran had died in prison only days before. If so, news of his death might be kept secret to avoid an outburst of further rebellion among Perthshire Highlanders loyal to the Stuart cause.
Katie Hell had espionage ties herself, and he would have expected her to know some of this already, but she seemed unaware. “This cannot be his blood,” she whispered.
“It is.” Connor had not wanted to show her the note because it was stained with her brother’s blood. But she had the right—and he knew now she had the fortitude—to see that paper.
Tears welled in her eyes and she touched the handwriting, her fingers graceful and trembling upon the page. “How can you claim to be Robert’s friend?”
“I am. And I did not betray him. All I want to do is keep my promise to him and do what he wanted done. What he wanted,” he added. “Not me. You wanted the truth. Now you have it.”
“He would never expect me to marry an outlaw willingly. It would take force.”
His nostrils flared and pride and hurt turned within him. “Your brother knew you would not bewilling. He suggested that you be stolen. He meant only to protect you by doing so.”
“I think you forced him to agree. You attacked him and demanded this, thinking you would get a wealthy bride—and then you betrayed him to the English.”
The words cut like a knife. “Why would I do that? I have no need of a bride right now. And the man had no time to pen a wee missive, Miss MacCarran—believe me. He had it on his person when I met him. He planned this, and I gave him my word. And I will keep it.”
“You cannot keep it if the bride refuses.”
“Lass,” he said impatiently, “we are done with pretty speeches.” He led her back around the altar to stand before the priest. He circled his arm around his bride.
“Two cows, Father, and two kegs, if you get on with it,” Connor said.
The devil himself held her fast at the altar while the priest droned the wedding Latin. Trapped in her groom’s encircling arm, Sophie glanced up at Connor MacPherson.
The warrior angel had vanished, replaced by the handsome villain whose scheme she could not fathom. She leaned away, but he pressed her close. She felt the warmth of his body, smelled wood smoke and the tang of sweat, felt his dirk handle jutting into her ribs. His fingers gripped her shoulder. She knew if she tried to scream or protest, those fingers would clamp over her mouth.
But her protests would not stop this wedding, sheknew that now. Had MacPherson told the truth about Robert’s bloodied note? She shuddered, uncertain why her brother would promise her to a Highland fugitive. It made no sense at all.
The signature was Rob’s, she was sure, but the Highlander might have forced
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