Page 82 of Stealing Sophie

Connor traced long fingers over the items on the desk. “Does it matter to you?”

“What matters to me is the real Kinnoull, title or not.” Her heart beat faster.

He picked up a large book, shelved it in silence.

“Did the gardening books belong to your mother?” she asked.

“They are mine,” he said. “At one time in my life, I thought to be more or less a farmer at Kinnoull. I planned to expand the fields and herds, and also the gardens there. When I was at university—I spent two years at Edinburgh, but left because of my father’s situation—I studied botany, agriculture, husbandry. I just wanted to look after the estate, the tenants, and so on. Instead, well...” He shrugged.

“You became a cateran?” she supplied.

“I prefer to think of myself as a herdsman and a shepherd more than a thief.”

She turned to shelve a couple of books, as he was doing. Connor lifted a book from her hands and shelved it above her reach. “I suppose you did not expect an outlaw to have a full library,” he said.

“You are an intelligent and educated man. What surprises me most is that you plan your attacks so carefully.”

He laughed curtly. “My what?”

“Your cattle raids. They are all planned out with maps and drawings.” She indicated the papers. “Fences and pastures, and so forth. I could not help but notice.”

Connor laughed. He shook his head, shoved fingers through his hair. “I am not planning cattle raids, lass. Those are projects, just ideas I had in mind. Crops, good gardens, acres for livestock grazing. But none of it was meant to be, here at Glendoon.”

“Oh! I am sorry. How foolish of me. Those are—plans for the future.”

“Just dreams,” he said. “Everyone has dreams. Even me.”

“We all do.” She folded her hands in front of her, felt as if she should protect her dreams, not ready to share them, even yet.

He blew out a breath. “You will not be able to do much gardening at Glendoon, with this shallow, stony soil. Tough heather and gorse thrive best here.”

“I will grow something in these gardens if I have time enough to try.”

“Take all the time you want,” he said quietly.

Her heart thrilled at that, so casually spoken. “Truly?”

“I say what I mean.” He shelved two more books.

“Did you want to tell me what more my kinsmen said?”

He sighed, went to the window, leaned an arm against the frame as he gazed out. Sophie joined him there. In the twilight, the yard was shadowed, the hills beyond dark with a scattering of stars in the sky above.

“Do you know why Duncrieff wanted us to marry?” he finally asked.

“I wrote to him to say I could not bear to marry Sir Henry, who seemed so cold and unfeeling. Campbell had not offered any help to Papa even when asked, although my father promised that he would become part of the family. I hoped my brother would agree with me and find a solution. So I suppose he thought of you, although I do not know why. Perhaps you know.”

“He had another reason to prevent your marriage to Campbell.” He paused. “You are to inherit should something happen to your brother, I believe.”

“How did you know about that? Very few know that.”

“Allan and Donald explained that as the older sister, you would inherit if your brother could not. That includes the title of chief of the clan.”

“I asked my brother to assign that privilege to Kate. I did not want it.”

“He did not change it.”

“Well, it does not matter,” Sophie said. “My brother will be released once we can arrange it. He will marry and have children. The property and title would never come to me or to Kate.” She frowned, puzzling it through in her mind. She remembered the exchange, over months in several letters, when she had begged her brother to alter the inheritance once he became chief. He had insisted that it should remain as it was.