Page 18 of Stealing Sophie

“Sir Henry will kill you.”

Connor narrowed his gaze. “I will take that chance.”

She drew her brows together. “If this was agreed between you and Robert, why is there blood on the page? Was it forced?”

“He had the note in his shirt when we were attacked in the hills. He was pistol-shot, bleeding. 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 when he was arrested, why did you not save him?”

His heart slammed. “I did what I could.”

“They say a friend betrayed him. Was it you?”

“Not me. Lass, trust me, or not. We have no time to discuss it further just now.” He was not ready to tell her the rest, that Rob had been near death, that Connor had done all he could to save him, even the thing he wanted least to do.

Nor would he tell her that he had heard that Rob MacCarran had died in prison only days before. If true, the news of his death might be kept secret to avoid an outburst of further rebellion among Perthshire Highlanders loyal to the Stuart cause. And so his kin might not know.

But Katie Hell had espionage ties herself. He would have expected her to know some of this already. Yet she seemed unaware.

“This is my brother’s blood,” she whispered.

“It is. I am sorry.” Connor had not wanted to show her the note stained with her brother’s blood. But she had the right, and now he knew the fortitude, to know.

Tears welled in her eyes. She touched the handwriting, fingers trembling on 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 asked. Whathewanted,” he added. “Not what I wanted. You asked for the truth. Now you have it.”

“He would never expect me to marry an outlaw willingly.”

His nostrils flared, and pride and hurt turned within him. “Your brother knew that. He suggested that I steal you. He meant only to protect you. Believe it, lass.”

“What I believe,” she said, “is that 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.”

Her words cut like a knife. “I do not need a bride just now,” he clipped out. “And your brother had no time to pen a little missive by force. He had this with him when I saw him that night. He planned this, not me. I gave him my word, and I will keep it.”

“You cannot keep it if the bride refuses.”

“Lass,” he said, “we are done with pretty speeches.” He led her back around the altar to stand before the priest and circled his arm around his resistant bride.

“Two cows, Father, and two kegs, if you get on with it,” Connor said.

The devilhimself held her fast at the altar while the priest droned the wedding Latin. Trapped in her groom’s encircling arm, Sophie looked up at Connor MacPherson.

The warrior angel had vanished, replaced by a 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, she knew 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 his decision and his hand. But if her brother did want this marriage, perhaps he needed her compliance to help him somehow.

“Answer him,” her groom said.

The priest repeated his request for her name.

She glanced around, delayed the moment, thinking frantically. Saint Fillan’s was the ancient chapel of her clan. Suddenly there was something she had to know, a proof.