Free Sarah Gabriel by Stealing Sophie

and coughed. Connor drew out the flask and offered her a little more of its contents, against his better judgment. After she swallowed two or three times, he took it from her and sipped some of its clean burn himself.
    They resumed walking, and his bride leaped the next runnel without his help. She giggled and threw her arms wide.
    “Be silent,” he hissed, drawing her close with one hand.
    “Or you shall gag me?”
    “I shall.”
    “Tie me up?” She tipped her head.
    “Aye,” he growled. She was enjoying this now. “That whiskey did more than warm and restore you, I think.”
    “Aye, it’s relieved my fear of brigands.”
    “And your fear of almost anything,” he drawled. Little wildcat, he thought. What the devil had he taken on tonight?
    Grabbing her wrist, he stomped onward.
    “A man without a hearth needs no wife.”
    He turned. “What?”
    “Why did you steal yourself a bride if you do not have a home and do not seem to care about that? This is not the Middle Ages. You did not need to steal yourself a wife. A man does not always need a wife, but for…” She shrugged.
    “But for what?”
    “Love,” she answered. “A commitment of hearts and minds under the bevol…benevolent guidance of heaven.”
    He huffed. “Be quiet, or you’ll find out quicklike one reason that a man needs a wife.”
    “A man does not always need a wife for that. There are women available in most towns who will—” She stopped.
    He glared down at her. “Who will what?”
    “Take care of his needs,” she answered. “In fact, I have heard that some men prefer to take care of their own needs.”
    “Jesu, madam!” He stared in sheer astonishment. “You’re an outspoken wench. Where did you learn such nonsense?”
    “In the convent school. The other girls knew a good deal about men.”
    “So they claimed. Now hush it.” He glanced around warily, but likely they had not been followed this way.
    “It may be the spirits. I am not used to imbibing.”
    “So I see,” he muttered, and pulled her onward.

Chapter 7
    E merging from a cluster of evergreen trees that fringed a steep slope, Sophie heard the thunder of a waterfall. She followed MacPherson, pine needles pungently crushing underfoot. Peering ahead in the darkness, she saw white water streaming down like liquid moonlight over a shelf of rock.
    Closer, she saw a black gash in the earth where the water poured into a frothy burn. The Highlander’s grip on her hand gave her a solid sense of safety as she looked around.
    “Oh,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water. “It’s so wild and beautiful here!”
    Without reply, he tugged on her hand and led her along the edge of the gap toward the falls. She followed his guidance. If she trusted him in no other way, she knew by now he would keep her safe out here.
    Sophie watched his broad-shouldered back swathed in plaid. His legs were powerful, his climbing step longer and brisker than hers. He exuded raw strength and animal grace in every movement.
    As she thought about where he was taking her, dread and something deeper, something exciting, turned in her stomach.
    He carried his secrets easily. All she knew about him beyond his name was that he preferred to avoid soldiers and the fact that he knew her brother, for good or evil. Her mind was left to conjure the rest.
    He led her past the roar of the falls—a white horse’s tail spilling over steep black rocks—and above it, so that the roar receded behind them. Making their way uphill, they followed the track of the wide, rushing burn, walking so close to the banks that her slippers and the hem of her gown grew wet.
    In the misty darkness, Sophie could see little more than the lacy swirl of the burn, the rugged contour of the slopes. She was sure they were still on MacCarran property, which extended miles past the chapel. In all, the Duncrieff MacCarrans held twelve thousand acres, encompassing much of the glen and its hills. A modest estate by