Sarah Gabriel (22 page)

“Sir Henry would probably disapprove of a wife who digs.”

“I would not mind it,” Connor said, opening
Systema Agriculturae.

“If I had married him, I would not have been Lady Kinnoull,” she said quietly.

Connor traced his long fingers over the items on the desk, fanning some papers. “Does that matter to you?”

“That would depend on who was Lord Kinnoull.” Her heart beat faster suddenly.

He glanced at her, then turned to shelve the large book.

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

“They’re mine,” he said. “I always thought to be more or less a farmer, and I hoped to expand the gardens at Kinnoull one day. While I was at university—I spent two years at Edinburgh, but did not complete it because of my father’s situation—I studied botany, agriculture, and husbandry. All I really wanted was to look after my estate, my tenants, and so on. Instead, well…” He shrugged.

“You’re a cateran?” she supplied.

“And a herdsmen and a shepherd, by turns.”

“A rogue as well.” She turned to shelve a couple of books. Connor took a volume from her hand and shelved it high. “I suppose you did not expect an outlaw to have a full library.”

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

He laughed. “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, the sound bubbling up from a deep well. He shook his head. “I am not planning cattle raids, lass. Those are some projects, some ideas
I had in mind for Glendoon’s lands. A few crops, a good garden, livestock. But none of it was meant to be.” He lifted a shoulder.

“Oh! I am sorry. I…never thought that you might have…dreams for the future.”

“Everyone has dreams,” he murmured.

“Aye,” she answered, folding her hands in front of her.

He drew a breath. “Well, you won’t do much gardening at Glendoon, with its shallow, stony peat soil. Only tough heather and gorse thrive here.”

She tilted her head. “I can make something grow here, if there was time enough to try.”

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

Her heart thrilled at that, so casually spoken in that beautiful voice. “Connor, what did you want to tell me…about what my kinsmen had to say?”

He sucked in a breath, went to the window, leaning his forearm there as he gazed out. Sophie joined him. In the twilight, the yard was shadowed, the hills beyond dark and lovely with a scattering of stars above them.

“Do you have any idea why Duncrieff wanted us to marry?” he asked.

“Only that I wrote to him saying I could not marry Sir Henry,” she said. “Campbell seemed so cold and unfeeling. He did not even extend financial or legal help to my father when he requested it, although my father had promised him my hand. Perhaps Robert thought our marriage would be a solution.”

“Aye. But there is another reason.” He paused. “You are Duncrieff’s heiress.”

Sophie stared at him. “I’m…what?”

“According to your cousins, as the older sister,
you inherit Duncrieff should your brother die. That includes the title of chief of the clan.”

“That’s not possible,” she said quickly. “I asked him to give that privilege to Kate.”

“He never did,” Connor said.

“I—” Sophie looked down, puzzling it through in her mind. She remembered the discussion, over months by mail, in which she had begged her brother to change the inheritance once he became chief. “And that is why he chose…you to be my husband?”

“He told Allan what he intended. Said I was his most trusted friend. Part of his plan was to prevent Sir Henry from marrying you—Duncrieff told me that himself. But he must have been thinking, as well, that he could stop Campbell from having any say in the clan, should Rob come to harm. Campbell would not wish your clan well,” he went on. “Believe me—look what he wrought for Kinnoull with his greed. He took the place as soon as it was forfeited, while my father and I were still in prison.”

She gasped. “You?”

“I spent seven months in the Edinburgh dungeons, waiting for the hangman’s noose. Your brother obtained my release. With your father’s blessing, he went to the Courts of Session and pleaded for my father and I, and paid what coin he could. Only I was freed. My crimes were only by association,” he said, “or so the government thought.”

“Would Sir Henry want to marry me just to—Oh, I think he would,” Sophie said, answering her own question. She put a hand to her brow.

“Of course he would.” Connor watched her calmly.

Sophie paced away, turned, still pacing, thinking, her thoughts tumbling. “I suppose my brother believed that your title, as Lord Kinnoull, might be of help to the clan, should we fall into some difficulty. And I expect Robert thought that you, of all men he knew, would be most capable of protecting me—and most willing, if I should ever become chief.”

“Willing, aye,” he said quietly. “I owe a great deal to Duncrieff.”

She nodded. “So that is what our wedding was all about.”

“Apparently so. You and your brother think alike. I am not surprised he wanted your good practical sense at the head of his clan. Your sister is a bit of a hothead, I suspect.”

“She would be a fine chief. Stronger willed and braver by far than me.”

He quirked a brow. “You do not know much about yourself, do you? But even as Lord Kinnoull, I can be of no use to your clan. My title might look impressive on documents, but otherwise it is hollow. I do not even possess my own lands now.”

“It will not be an issue, since I will not become clan chief. Robert will be released soon enough, I’m sure.” She looked up at him quickly, thoughts racing. “Connor, could you or your friends help me in any way to get him free? Talk to others—even help him escape?”

He frowned at her, then glanced away. “Sophie, there is more to this. I have some recent news…of your brother.”

She heard the knell in his voice. “No—do not say it.” She stepped back.

He took her upper arm, turned her toward him.
“Sophie, listen to me. It is just a rumor, but I was told last time that I went to Perth…that Robert had been moved out of the Tolbooth, and that he later died of his wounds.”

“No! That is not true.” She wrenched away. “His family would have been told!”

“The government might want to keep the death of a chief, a young and vital hero to the rebellion, quiet as long as they could. I got a hint of it from one of the guards when I bribed him with some of Mary’s whiskey. Otherwise, no one outside the prison would know yet, I think.”

“No, he cannot be…dear God. I should have felt it, but I did not. But we were so—close.” She swallowed a rising sob. “How long—have you known?”

“I learned it a day or so before we met.”

“We met?” She heard herself go shrill with anger and distress. “You snatched me! And you knew my brother was…gone”—she poured her grief into sudden fury—“so you must have been thinking you could take control of the clan this way!”

“I thought only of my promise to Duncrieff. I did not want a wife. Not yet.”

“And not this one,” she returned. “The nun. You set your sights on the hellion!”

“At first.” His eyes, stormy green, were piercing. “That is no longer an issue, Sophie.”

“Surely you knew,” she went on, hardly listening. “You at least suspected that marrying the heiress to Duncrieff and Clan Carran could improve your circumstances!” She swept her arm wide.

“Enough,” he said. “I gave my word, I kept it, and that is the whole of it.”

“Why did you not tell me about my brother, then?”

“How could I?” he demanded, taking her shoulder. “How could I tell you when I had just wedded you, bedded you? I am not so cruel as that, though you may think it. I did not know myself if it was true. It is a rumor,” he growled. “And I mean to prove it one way or the other.”

She looked up at him, breath heaving, tears blurring her vision. “Then prove it wrong! You put my brother in that prison, from what I’ve heard—then prove this wrong, Connor MacPherson, and bring him home again!” She yanked out of his hold and went to the door, flinging it open, catching back a sob as she ran down the corridor.

She did not even know where to go—Glendoon was not her home, with familiar places for her to find peace.

Racing down the steps, she ran toward the great, wild garden, to seek comfort there.

I
n the dusky purple twilight, he saw the sheen of her flaxen hair as she walked in the old garden. Stepping over the broken stones of the low garden wall, he approached her along paths newly cleared. Even in the gloaming he could see fresh green shoots pushing up through the soil.

Sophie turned, and he saw streaks of tears on her cheeks, saw that her eyes were large and troubled. Connor came within an arm’s length and paused, wanting desperately to take her into his arms and comfort her.

But wisdom told him to keep a little distance, give her some time just now. Sophie was strength and grace, he knew, and strong enough to bear this, to bear anything. But she needed to realize that for herself.

“For a while, I did not want to tell you about Duncrieff,” he said. “But you had to know.”

She nodded, arms folded, and turned away. “He is not gone.”

“I sincerely hope so,” he said, “but we must be prepared for the other possibility. I understand what it is to lose someone close, Sophie. You have been through it before, too. It hurts,” he said, drawing a breath, “it hurts for a long while, and then one day you realize that the burden feels a little lighter, just a little. Finally the lead weights begin to break away, bit by bit. We move on. We still carry the burden, but we find a wee place for it, and though it is still inside us, the pain is not so sharp.”

She nodded again, looking down. “I know. But this…I do not want this burden.” He heard a catch in her voice, and sensed her inner strength.

“We both feel this one, Sophie. You are not alone with it. He was near enough a brother to me, and it cuts me like a blade.” He took her arm gently.

She did not pull away, though he felt her tension. “Tell me, then,” she said in a quiet voice, her head turned away from him.

“The night that he was taken,” he began, “we were out spying over the military road that General Wade is laying through this glen—Robert wanted maps. He wanted to see the plan the general had in mind. He had asked your sister to fetch them for him, but she had not been able to find them. He came to me and asked for help, and we went out, a few of us. But it went wrong—too much moonlight, bad luck, whatever it was. We were sighted and pursued by dragoons.”

As simply as he could, he told her the rest—how Robert had been shot and concealed the extent of his injury; how her brother had sent the others ahead and given him the note, pleading for his promise to marry Katherine Sophia.

But he did not tell her that Duncrieff had summoned the guards himself. He would not beg out of his responsibility in his friend’s capture.

“So I had to keep my word,” he finished. “I had to.”

She nodded, arms folded, golden hair shining like moonlight. “We never know what we will be asked to bear.”

“But bear it we will,” he murmured. “And besides—I am not certain of the truth. Let me find out if it is true. He may yet be alive.”

“I feel that he is,” she said. “I cannot believe that he could be gone. I think I would know it, somehow.”

“I have the same sense…or else I do not want to accept it.” He stroked his hand over her soft hair. “I am sorry, Sophie,” he whispered.

She nodded, her head bowed. “I wish I knew.”

“Perhaps your Fairy’s Gift can tell you.” He touched the shining crystal at her throat.

She looked up in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Some, not much. Truly, I don’t believe in Fairy’s Gifts and fairy curses, ghosts, and the like.”

“There’s a ghost here,” she said quietly. “I’ve heard it moan at night. But it is most beautiful. Haunting. It sounds like violin music.”

He gave her a long look. “Tell me about the fairy of Duncrieff.”

She nodded, glanced around the dark garden. “A long time ago,” she said, “in the time of the mists, a
MacCarran laird rescued a fairy woman from drowning. They fell in love, and married—she was of the most ancient race of her kind, the sort who are said to be very beautiful, and of a size with humans.”

“Aye?” he asked softly, looking down at her. He reached out and brushed back a lock of her hair. “And what happened to this happy couple?”

“They had three sons. Each one inherited a bit of the power from their mother, the Sight, the gift of healing, the gift of conjuring up whatever is desired. She showed them how to use their talents. Then one day she had to return to her people. But she left behind a cup of hammered gold, shaped by the fairies and set with small crystal stones. Whenever a MacCarran child inherits the Fairy’s Gift—it is not always recognized immediately,” she clarified, “then he or she is given one of the stones to wear.”

Connor reached out and took the small crystal between his thumb and finger. “What sort of magic did you inherit?”

“I have a version of conjuring, I suppose. I can make things grow—just flowers, vegetables, that sort of thing. It is a strange gift, and not very remarkable compared to the fairy magic that has occurred in my family. Most plants will grow on their own anyway—they just seem to bloom faster if I am their gardener. Sometimes they grow quite fast,” she added.

“An important gift for a lady who loves to garden…and who is married to a farmer.”

She stared up at him. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

He lifted a brow, once again puzzled by her unex
pected show of gratitude. But this time he understood her better, knew this was just another wonderful aspect of the woman he had begun to care for so deeply. “For…?”

“For finding a little sense in my fairy blood. I’ve never thought that it was very useful, other than for growing flowers. In my family there are such remarkable tales of how the Fairy’s Gift has manifested—true healing abilities, the Sight, gifts of charm magic, even conjuring. My ability felt…small and unimportant, as if it was not quite there. Even inconvenient, as if the blood had not taken hold in me properly, as it had in others in generations of MacCarrans.”

“Sophie,” he said, “sometimes I think there is magic all around you—I just did not know there was an explanation for it.” He smiled a little. “And how is it inconvenient? Gardens bloom easily for you. Flowers, fruit trees—”

“You should see the weeds,” she said dryly.

He laughed quietly, drew her closer, slipped his arm around her waist. “I think we could clear those out.”

She melted toward him, and he took her shoulders to kiss her gently, a strand of simple kisses as pleasing, in that moment, as any others he had tasted of her. Wrapping her in his arms, he drew her close, resting his head on hers for a moment, drawing comfort from the embrace even as he sought to comfort her and ease the hurtful blow of her brother’s death.

“How did you first know,” he said, “that you had this gift?”

“My parents knew it by my eyes. MacCarrans who
are born with the fairy’s touch in their blood have eyes that are very light in color, sometimes green or blue or gray, but large and a bit unusual.”

He tipped her chin up to look at her beautiful eyes, with the changeable color of bright sea and sky in them. “Extraordinary,” he said, “not simply unusual. I noticed your eyes immediately, and wondered.”

“My sister has similar eyes,” she said, “so it is no wonder you made a mistake in taking me.”

“Not a mistake,” he mused, “quite. What of the wee crystal you always wear? Does it bestow that magical talent you have for growing things?”

“Not exactly.” She touched it. “But according to the legend, those who have the ability must wear one of the stones that come from the Fairy Cup of Duncrieff. If we wear the stone, we will be able to use our talents, and the stone itself can sometimes give one further gift—a true miracle.” She looked up at him.

“A miracle?” He frowned. “Has that happened in your life?”

She shook her head. “I have waited—but no. Perhaps it never will. There is a condition, and a price.”

“Go on.” He waited.

“The miracle, if it comes, happens only once…and only for the sake of love. True love,” she added.

“Nothing ordinary,” he murmured. “The sort of love that is destined.”

“So the legend says.”

“Could you not help your family with this magic? You love them. Your brother could benefit.” He watched her. “I do believe he is still alive, Sophie.”

She nodded. “The gift will not work for family, as much as I love them. It depends on the sort of crystal one is given to wear when it is taken from the Dun
crieff cup. Mine is the sort that brings true love,” she said, touching it gently. “I always thought that this crystal was wasted on me. Kate makes better use of the power in the one she has.”

“Oh,” he said, “you use your power quite well. And you never know what life will bring.”

She gazed at him for a moment. A feeling stirred in his heart, and words formed in his mind—beautiful, private words—but he did not speak them.

Feeling suddenly like a coward, and suddenly skeptical, he moved back and crossed his arms.

“So how do you use that wee crystal?” He waved a hand. “Can you fling it about and place James Stuart on the throne of Scotland? Or make this ruinous castle whole again, in the blink of an eye?”

“That would be wizardry, not fairy magic. Our fairy blood gives us a sort of natural magic,” she explained. “Like healing power, or seeing the future, even creating beautiful music, art, poetry…charming others in some way that can seem normal but is actually quite extraordinary. A fairy touch as we go through our lives, if you can understand that.”

“I can,” he said, knowing the truth of it. “Go on.”

“If true love is sought, and found, then that magic can create miracles. Or so it is said.”

Looking at her, he could easily believe in fairy magic. Again he wanted desperately to express his heart—but that was followed by a strong urge to silence those thoughts. “Your fairy touch could create a real miracle in the Glendoon gardens,” he said lightly, distracting himself from dangerous thoughts of true love.

Too fast, he told himself, too deep, too unexpected. He had not planned for this—he was not ready.

“I am doing my best,” she said. “I wish I could use this gift to help my brother, and my clan. Then it would be truly useful. I wish I could wave some wand and get Kinnoull House back for you—and restore your family to you,” she added softly.

He caught his breath, watching her.

She touched her pendant crystal again. “But the power of our Fairy’s Gift does not always affect history, though it has in the past. Most of the time it is limited to…love. Simply finding love, and honoring the passions of the heart.”

“Is that not enough?” he murmured, but caught himself before he could go further with that thought. Love—when had he ever given it so much thought?

“I think it could be,” she said, watching him.

“So that is why you can make plants grow,” he said as it became clear to him. “You have a passion for that work. You love gardening. So for you, that is the fairy’s touch. It is wherever you put your love, I think.”

Her eyes brightened. “Perhaps so.” She smiled.

That beautiful, impish smile, just for him. His heart warmed. “Ah, but true love…that is a rare thing indeed,” he murmured, feeling enchanted himself, standing with her in the twilight. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to say what rose from his heart to his lips, but he bit back the words.

“But it does exist,” she said, turning away.

Skeptical as he was—fairies and spells and the bestowing of a miracle for love seemed beyond fanciful to him—Connor stopped. Something in her voice, in her luminous eyes, in the sincere lilt of her words, left him stunned.

Love.
He had nothing to offer a bride, and should
not let himself fall in love. Now he knew that love had found him regardless, never asking him if the time was right.

“I would do anything to save my own true love, Connor MacPherson,” she said quietly. “Anything. And I would not need a Fairy’s Gift to help me act upon it. Good night, sir.” She pushed past him, then turned. “I’ll sleep alone tonight. I have much to think about.”

He stood in silence as she left the garden and crossed the yard. The rising moonlight caught her, set a glow all about her. The petals of flowers that had not been there, even a day before, brushed at the hem of her gown.

Watching her, Connor felt as if his heart danced a little, and changed somehow.

“Sophie.”

About to enter through the kitchen door, she turned to see Connor standing in the yard. “Aye?” she asked.

“Go get your cloak and come with me,” he said.

“Where?” she asked, puzzled.

He whistled softly, and Sophie heard a gruff bark behind her as Tam, the brown spaniel, left his post by the warm kitchen hearth and pushed past her to trot toward Connor. A moment later Una and Scota followed out of the kitchen shadows to stand with Connor and Tam.

“Come with us,” Connor said. “We’ll wait while you fetch your cloak.”

Tipping her head, curious, she walked out into the yard. “It’s not so cold out here. I’ll be fine.” What could he want?

“As you wish.” He took her hand and led her across the yard, around the massive tower keep, toward the front gate. Without comment, he lifted the bolt and shoved open the creaking gate, standing back in invitation.

She nearly laughed. “You want me to leave?”

“I want you to come with me on an adventure,” he replied. His eyes seemed to twinkle. Again he whistled to the dogs, who leaped through the portal and ran out onto the meadow that fronted the castle. Connor ushered Sophie outside, and she stopped, looking up.

“I’m not going,” she said stubbornly.

He looked down at her with a quizzical expression.

“I’ve had quite enough adventuring for a while,” she explained. “If you mean to go chasing caterans or spying on soldiers, you will have to do that without me. I do not care to walk for miles over the hills in the dark.”

“It’s not so far this time. Just up there.” He indicated the peaks of the hills that rose behind the castle.

“What’s up there?” she asked.

“Stars overhead,” he answered. “Mountain air, sweet winds. You need to get out, Sophie lass. I’ve kept you confined too long. It’s beautiful up there—you will enjoy it.”