Page 58 of Stealing Sophie

“Because it is my business and not yours.”

“She is my betrothed!”

“Not according to her.”

“If you took her against her will, it is my business. Where is she? Damn you!” Campbell put a hand to his belt, though Connor noted no weapon there.

“She is unharmed and safe.” His heart pounded hard, but he kept his casual, guarded stance. He knew without looking that Neill stepped up beside him. Moving his hand to the hilt of the dirk tucked beneath the folds of his plaid, Connor stood stolidly, feeling the whip of the wind, the thud of his heart.

“I have her,” he went on. “She is my wife.”

“Your wife! That is impossible. Her father promised her hand to me!”

“Not officially, from what Katherine Sophia says of it.” He was staking territory with that beautiful name. “She never agreed. We were married that night.”

“She would not have agreed to marry you. Bride stealing,” Campbell growled, “earns the groom a hanging in the Highlands. I will have you arrested.”

“Long ago, a bride’s kin might do that,” Connor said. “But it is not the law.”

“MacPherson and the MacCarran lass had a previous arrangement,” Neill said. “They wanted it done quickly when she returned from France.”

“Belgium. From a convent,” Connor clarified, knowing that was a bit of proof.

Campbell gaped at him. “Married? I do not believe it.”

“Done according to her brother’s wishes and ours,” he said. “Done by a priest.”

“You bastard—” Campbell sputtered. “She dined with me that night and gave no hint of this plan. You stole her away, MacPherson. And you will pay the price for it.”

“I do not believe the lass intended to marry you.”

“Stole her away, and fool enough to admit it!” Campbell motioned the soldiers forward. They hesitated, looking at one another.

“You have your culprit, sir,” Connor said, raising a hand. “Though taking the lady is no crime since she is unharmed and was promised to me.”

“She was promised to me first,” Campbell said. “What proof do you have?”

“Proof of the promise and the marriage both. I have Duncrieff’s request and signature, and thesigned marriage lines at Saint Fillan’s.”

“That wreck of a place!”

“Her family’s wish, nonetheless. Her brother is chief of the clan now. That holds more importance than any discussion you might have had with his father.”

“I assure you, it is a legal matter where the lady is promisedon paper.”

“Not once she is married. The reality, Sir Henry, is that she is my wife.”

“Let me see the papers,” Campbell held out a hand. “I doubt it is genuine.”

Connor reached into his sporran, pulled out Duncrieff’s note, let it flap in the wind where Campbell could see the writing and the seal, but no closer. He was no fool.

“Give it here!” Campbell leaned to snatch it.

Connor slid it out of sight. “Ask the priest in the Small Glen. Ask Duncrieff when you see him,” he added, wondering indeed what the magistrate might know of Rob’s transfer to Edinburgh—and rumored death.

“I will,” Campbell said. Connor could not tell if the man hid some knowledge or not. “Where is the lady now?”

“Safe.” Connor could only hope she was still at Glendoon and had not wandered.