as the privileged heir to a viscount. And he was not about to admit that his father’s forfeited lands now belonged to Sir Henry Campbell—who would have made her mistress of Kinnoull.
All Connor had was the empty title now. He had married her partly to spite that other suitor, but he had no fine home to give her. He stood over her, feeling cumbersome and shabby in her refined presence. But he was proud—he had that. He did not want to hear her appreciation or her sympathy for his sad tale.
Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers, so soft it made his breath catch. Pulling the rope free, he stuffed the hempen curl inside his plaid, then rubbed her wrist where it was chafed.
“My home is gone, and my family is gone, too,” he finally answered. “I rest my head where I will and do what I please. But I will spare you a cozy nest of plaid and heather on a hillside tonight.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a shy hint of a smile. “But I’m so tired I could fall asleep anywhere, andcount myself fortunate to have a place to lay my head.”
“I’m sure you would.” He stepped back. “There, you’re free—for now, at least. Best be careful. That bush is prickly gorse, and full of thorns.”
She shot him an eloquent look and walked like a queen around the other side of the cluster of gorse dropping out of sight.
“Do not think to run off now that the rope is gone, Mrs. MacPherson,” he called amiably.
“Mr. MacPherson,” she called back, “that is not my name.”
He laughed to himself. He could not help it.
A mile or so on, the sound of the falls grew louder, and he felt its moisture in the atmosphere. Connor took his bride’s hand to help her once more, and met her gaze in the moonlight. She smiled at him, bright and beautiful and quick, the smile she had bestowed upon Andrew for the gift of a few flowers.
Now Connor suspected that her brilliant eyes and happy expression were not due to the thrill of his presence, but rather to the contents of the flask he carried.
She had emptied at least a third of it, though she coughed each time she swallowed. He had taken some himself to warm and revive him—but he had stopped, for it made him too relaxed, too eager to think about kissing her, touching her, when he should think only of getting her safely to shelter.
She stumbled a bit and sighed. “I’m very tired. It’s a long way, this thieves’ den of yours.”
“It’s not far now, I promise.”
“And you always keep your promises,” she reminded him. “If my brother will hold you to a promise, I will hold you to this one. It had better not be far.”
“Trust me. Careful, Katherine.” He assisted her in crossing the slippery stones that bridged a small stream.
“Do not call me that. No one calls me that. We were married tonight, but we are not familiar enough to use christening names.”
“Mrs. MacPherson, then, or even Mrs. MacCarran by Scottish custom.”
“Miss MacCarran,” she corrected primly. “Scottish women do often keep their own names after they wed. But I do not know how long we shall be married, you and I,” she added coyly.
“If you expect to be widowed courtesy of your kinsmen, I assure you that will not happen.”
“My cousins have a justifiable grievance with you. But I am not so wicked as to wish murder upon you, despite what has happened tonight…and what you intend to do later.”
Halting, he looked down at her. “Just what do you think I intend to do?” he asked in a deathly quiet tone.
She did not answer, but her keen glance showed her thoughts.
He drew her toward him slowly. Her breath quickened and shadows curved between her breasts. “I suppose you think I have a wicked turn of mind,” he murmured.
Her pulse beat at the base of her throat. “I am aware of what will happen soon enough.” She lifted her chin.
She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen,and he did not want to frighten her—though it might be too late for that. But he could not
All Connor had was the empty title now. He had married her partly to spite that other suitor, but he had no fine home to give her. He stood over her, feeling cumbersome and shabby in her refined presence. But he was proud—he had that. He did not want to hear her appreciation or her sympathy for his sad tale.
Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers, so soft it made his breath catch. Pulling the rope free, he stuffed the hempen curl inside his plaid, then rubbed her wrist where it was chafed.
“My home is gone, and my family is gone, too,” he finally answered. “I rest my head where I will and do what I please. But I will spare you a cozy nest of plaid and heather on a hillside tonight.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a shy hint of a smile. “But I’m so tired I could fall asleep anywhere, andcount myself fortunate to have a place to lay my head.”
“I’m sure you would.” He stepped back. “There, you’re free—for now, at least. Best be careful. That bush is prickly gorse, and full of thorns.”
She shot him an eloquent look and walked like a queen around the other side of the cluster of gorse dropping out of sight.
“Do not think to run off now that the rope is gone, Mrs. MacPherson,” he called amiably.
“Mr. MacPherson,” she called back, “that is not my name.”
He laughed to himself. He could not help it.
A mile or so on, the sound of the falls grew louder, and he felt its moisture in the atmosphere. Connor took his bride’s hand to help her once more, and met her gaze in the moonlight. She smiled at him, bright and beautiful and quick, the smile she had bestowed upon Andrew for the gift of a few flowers.
Now Connor suspected that her brilliant eyes and happy expression were not due to the thrill of his presence, but rather to the contents of the flask he carried.
She had emptied at least a third of it, though she coughed each time she swallowed. He had taken some himself to warm and revive him—but he had stopped, for it made him too relaxed, too eager to think about kissing her, touching her, when he should think only of getting her safely to shelter.
She stumbled a bit and sighed. “I’m very tired. It’s a long way, this thieves’ den of yours.”
“It’s not far now, I promise.”
“And you always keep your promises,” she reminded him. “If my brother will hold you to a promise, I will hold you to this one. It had better not be far.”
“Trust me. Careful, Katherine.” He assisted her in crossing the slippery stones that bridged a small stream.
“Do not call me that. No one calls me that. We were married tonight, but we are not familiar enough to use christening names.”
“Mrs. MacPherson, then, or even Mrs. MacCarran by Scottish custom.”
“Miss MacCarran,” she corrected primly. “Scottish women do often keep their own names after they wed. But I do not know how long we shall be married, you and I,” she added coyly.
“If you expect to be widowed courtesy of your kinsmen, I assure you that will not happen.”
“My cousins have a justifiable grievance with you. But I am not so wicked as to wish murder upon you, despite what has happened tonight…and what you intend to do later.”
Halting, he looked down at her. “Just what do you think I intend to do?” he asked in a deathly quiet tone.
She did not answer, but her keen glance showed her thoughts.
He drew her toward him slowly. Her breath quickened and shadows curved between her breasts. “I suppose you think I have a wicked turn of mind,” he murmured.
Her pulse beat at the base of her throat. “I am aware of what will happen soon enough.” She lifted her chin.
She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen,and he did not want to frighten her—though it might be too late for that. But he could not
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