Page 75 of Some Like It Wild
“Oh, you can fight if you like,” Astrid assured him with an airy wave of her hand. “But I should remind you how easy it will be for your poor fiancée to get caught in the crossfire.”
Connor knew there would be no crossfire. Just Lady Astrid’s henchman pulling the trigger of his pistol and blowing Pamela’s brave and bonny head clean off.
By the time his gaze returned to Pamela, there was no Munroe. No redcoats. No Lady Astrid. There were only the two of them.
Connor smiled at her the same way his mother had smiled at Davey Kincaid in the moment before she’d pulled the trigger that had ended her life. With all his heart, with all his soul, and with every expectation that someday they would be together again—if not in this life, then in the next.
Pamela was keening low in her throat now, tears streaming down her cheeks to soak the gag. She shook her head and strained against her captor’s grip, silently begging Connor not to do what he was about to do.
He heard Brodie groan and Sophie gasp as he laid down his pistol and slowly raised his hands. The redcoats swarmed around him, wrenching his powerful arms behind his back and clapping them in irons.
He did not look at Pamela again but simply stared straight ahead as they marched him from the theater and out of her life.
Chapter 29
Catriona Wescott gazed down at the letter in her hand through a shimmering haze of tears. A footman had delivered it only moments ago, interrupting the nap she and her husband were about to take with their two wee poppets. The children were still curled up in the blankets of their bed, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of their mother’s agitation.
“What is it, darling?” Simon asked. He was standing beside the bed, his green eyes darkened with concern.
She glanced up at him, eager to show him that her face was alight with joy, not sorrow. “It’s from my brother. It’s from Connor. He’s alive!”
Simon leaned over the bed, giving her shoulder a tender squeeze as she tore open the letter with shaking hands. Connor had disappeared from her life more than fourteen years ago and from his own life more than five years ago. She’d been searching for him ever since returning to the Highlands to claim Castle Kincaid, but to no avail. The clansmen who had ridden by his side for more than a decade and who now served her had all warned her that if Connor Kincaid didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.
She tore open the letter with shaking hands, fresh tears springing to her eyes when she saw the familiar scrawl inside.
My wee kitten,
Since I have no way of knowing if you ever received the letters I sent all those years ago when you were just a girl, I realize this missive may come as something of a shock.
They are going to hang me for my crimes and when I’m gone, there will be some who will tell you I was a bad man. But I’m here to tell you that the love of a good woman made something better of me, if only for a short while.
It might also be a shock to learn that I have seen the woman you have become and that it made my heart sing with pride. Tell that handsome Englishman of yours that if he doesn’t treat you well, I will return from beyond the grave to haunt him. As for those two bonny wee bairns of yours, never let them forget that they are not only Wescotts, but Kincaids.
After I am gone you may hear things about our mother as well, but all you need to remember is that you have every reason to be proud of her. She was a true lady in every sense of the word, just as you are. Godspeed, my dear kitten. I will ever be…
Your devoted brother,
Connor
Catriona lifted her stricken eyes to her husband’s face. “Oh, Simon, we have to do something! He’s writing to say good-bye. They’re going to hang him!”
As they clapped the irons on his wrists and led him from the jail, Connor squinted up at the stark silhouette of the gallows. They were as familiar to him as a dear friend or an old lover. Even during those brief stolen moments of joy he had found in Pamela’s arms, somehow he’d always known they’d be waiting for him at the end of his journey.
This was one dance to which he knew all the steps.
He marched between two redcoats, a balmy breeze ruffling his hair. It was a glorious Highland afternoon, with fluffy white clouds drifting across the crisp blue canopy of the sky. A lark was trilling somewhere in the distance and the rich smell of Caledonian pine scented every breath.
Connor drew a breath deep into his lungs, knowing it would be one of his last. He scowled, haunted by a faint whiff of lilac that seemed to be dancing on the wind. His final regret in a lifetime of many was that he would never again inhale that intoxicating scent from Pamela’s hair, never know another taste of her sweet lips.
He’d never even told her how much he loved her. He’d told her bedchamber door, but somehow he didn’t think that counted for much when all was said and done.
He and his stony-faced escorts reached the foot of the gallows far too soon. Connor’s gaze traveled up the broad wooden steps to find the masked hangman waiting for him at the top of the platform, his patience enduring but not inexhaustible. Connor closed his eyes briefly, hearing once again the creaking of the rope as his father’s body swayed against the night sky. He was forced to open them when one of the soldiers gave him a harsh shove.
As Connor began to climb the steps, the hangman folded his arms over his chest, his sleeveless vest showing off his bulging muscles to their most intimidating advantage.
Connor had nearly reached the top of the platform when he heard a burst of merry chatter and a ripple of feminine laughter. He turned to find scores of well-dressed gawkers pouring onto the lawn that surrounded the gallows, parasols and picnic baskets in hand. All of the women wore bonnets and the men wore hats to shade their fair skin from the afternoon sun, leaving their faces in shadow.
Connor snorted. He should have known the English would come to watch him hang. As far as they were concerned, there was no finer entertainment than watching a Scotsman’s neck snap at the end of a rope. Not even fox hunting or horse racing could compare.
