Page 15 of Stealing Sophie

Chapter 5

The rectangular building was roofless and old, its peaked end walls jutting upward into the misty night sky. A door in one side gapped open, and arched windows pierced a far wall. A stone cross with a center roundel thrust upward in the yard.

“I know this place,” Sophie said. “It’s Saint Fillan’s chapel. A very old church. It is on MacCarran land. My brother’s land.”

“Aye.” The Highlander took her arm and moved forward.

Panic rose within her. “I will not! I know what you want.”

He stopped. “And what is that?”

She lifted her chin. “I refuse to be married in there. Is the groom waiting inside? Did Sir Henry pay you to steal me?”

“Campbell? I would not take a penny from him.” His fingers tightened as he leaned down, his gaze intense. “You and I will be married in there, Miss MacCarran.”

“What!” The idea had occurred to her but seemed so farfetched. Suddenly it was too real. Her heart slammed. “You steal me away, tie me up like a criminal, and now force me to marry you?” Her voice nearly broke. “Here, on MacCarran property, as if it were sanctioned by my kin and my clan? I will not do it.” She yanked on the rope.

“You have no choice. I have the right.”

“The right? I do not know even know your name! What gives you the mad idea that you have a right to do this?”

He moved ahead. “You are one for questioning a man.”

“You are one who deserves questions!”

He huffed in grudging agreement and pulled her along. He exerted little pressure, though his iron will felt compelling. Summoning dignity, she walked beside him over the wind-blown grass. But when they reached the porch step, she hung back.

“Enough,” he said. Lifting her suddenly, he carried her over the threshold and set her on her feet inside the ruin.

Terror and excitement swirled in her gut. The little church was eerie inside, shadowed and cluttered with stones and weeds. Roofless, its walls broken, it held only a stone altar inside. Candles glowed there, and three men stood waiting.

She pulled back. The Highlander dragged her toward the flickering light at the far end of the nave.

Sophie recognized the two Gaels from earlier. Between them stood a priest in a black frock and pale shawl. His thin hair wisped about his head like a dandelion puff. In the play of mist and darkness, he seemed to waver slightly.

“No,” she whispered frantically. “Please, no! Listen to me. I do not want this.”

The Highlander set his hands on her upper arms. “We will be married here tonight. I have given my word to do this.”

She stared at him. “Well, I did not setmytroth upon it!”

Without reply, he pulled her hard against him and touched his mouth to hers. The kiss was thorough, his lips warm and incredible upon hers. A sensation spilled through her body like warm honey or sunshine, and she yielded, melted, in his arms.

She had been kissed by a suitor in France more than once, often enough to know how to respond. But she had never been kissed like this. Never. It was heaven—and hell, in this moment, for her limbs faltered when she had to be strong, to resist. She needed his support, her fingers twisting in the plaid wool over his chest. Meaning to shove him away, she did not. Wanting to melt into the kiss, at the same time, she resisted it.

He drew back. “Now you have given your troth.”

“But—”

“This is for your benefit. I will explain later.” He took her arm to pull her deeper into the church.

“Then you have some reason for all this?”

“I do. Would you rather marry Campbell? It can be arranged.”

Sophie caught her breath, shook her head. Gossamer streams of mist and moonlight spilled downward, and she walked ahead, feeling stunned.

“The priest is drunk,”Connor hissed to Andrew and Neill. The girl was trying to twist out of his grasp again as he spoke. She had gone still and silent after the kiss, but his own heart still slammed, and every fiber in him vibrated like a fiddle string. Pulling her close, Connor frowned at the priest, cocking a brow in disapproval.