Page 78 of Some Like It Wild
Pamela sighed. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive him?”
“Not if she’s smart,” Connor replied with a knowing smirk. “Although maybe we should have warned him about the parasol.”
His smile faded as a second group approached and he began to recognize many of his own clansmen. They were men he had ridden with for years before becoming a highwayman. Young Callum, no longer a gangly boy, but a man. Handsome Donel, whose sly tongue was always getting him into trouble. Cocky, rawboned Kieran—the dearest friend he’d ever had. And a host of others who had once been as close to him as brothers.
“How?” he whispered hoarsely. “How did you come to be here?”
Pamela stepped aside as the men parted to reveal a woman in a stylish pink bonnet. She shyly came forward, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered, golden-haired man who was eyeing Connor with more than a hint of wariness.
Connor’s breath caught in his throat as the woman lifted her chin, revealing the face beneath the bonnet. He had once known her as a freckled moppet with a wild tangle of strawberry curls. Now she was a striking young woman with an adoring husband and two freckled moppets of her own.
“My wee kitten,” he whispered, touching a trembling hand to her cheek.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed to call me that, you know,” Catriona said, tears shining in her misty gray eyes. “I thought I was going mad when I saw you in London. I thought I’d conjured you up out of thin air because I still missed you so badly. But when we ran into Pamela and her men when we were on the way here to try to stop them from hanging you, I discovered that you had been real all along.”
Her pretty face crumpled as she threw her arms around his neck just as she used to do when she was a little girl. Connor squeezed his eyes shut and crushed her against him. The last time he’d held her like this, they had been two terrified children with only each other to cling to in a world gone mad. Now when they stepped out of each other’s embrace, there would be other arms waiting to enfold them.
Connor reluctantly surrendered her to her husband, watching as the handsome Englishman whisked a perfectly starched handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her.
The two men sized each other up for several minutes before Simon finally said, “I’m relieved to know I won’t have to worry about you returning from beyond the grave to haunt me.”
Connor studied him through narrowed eyes. “If you ever treat her badly, I can haunt you even more easily from this side of the grave.”
Simon gave him a lazy grin. “You know—I can’t wait for you to meet your namesake. Our own little Connor can scowl just as fiercely when we make him wash behind his ears.”
Still chuckling, he led his wife to the shade of a nearby elm, leaving Connor standing there with his mouth hanging open.
When Pamela slipped her arm through his, he said, “They have a lad named Connor. Did you know that?”
“I did. And a little girl named Francesca,” she gently informed him.
“Francesca,” he whispered.
It was the name he and Catriona had known their mother by. She had kept her secrets close to her heart, preventing him from knowing her as well as he would have liked. And she had died far too young, preventing him from knowing her as long as he would have liked. But to have known her at all had been a great privilege.
He turned to Pamela as something occurred to him. “If Catriona was here the whole time, then why did you pretend to be my sister?”
“Oh, please! I knew I could play the role of your sister far more convincingly than she could.”
“Ah, yes, that kiss wasveryconvincing.”
She rested her hands on her hips. “You were the one who kissed me.”
“Only after you begged. And I should point out that you kissed me back. With a great deal ofsisterlyenthusiasm.”
“Well, I have always wanted a brother,” she admitted.
He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over the softness of her lips. “What about a husband? Would you care to have one of those instead?”
“Hmmmm…I’m not sure. Since your father is doing so well and has even abandoned his chair for a walking stick, you may not be able to make me a duchess for quite some time.” She sighed. “I’m just not sure I could settle for being a mere marchioness.”
Connor tugged her into his arms with a growl. “Have you forgotten that we’re back in the Highlands, you wicked lass? If you refuse my suit this time, I’ll just get Brodie to help me kidnap you and force you to marry me at gunpoint. Then I’ll keep you chained to my bed until I can persuade you that you belong there.”
“Which, if memory serves me correctly,” Pamela replied breathlessly, “would probably take about three minutes.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “If you must know, I was thinking that we should probably stop at Gretna Green on the way back to England and let one of those blacksmiths marry us. I wouldn’t want our first babe to be born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Our first babe?” Connor scowled down at her until comprehension slowly dawned, leaving him slack-jawed with astonishment.
He nudged her chin up with his finger and Pamela nodded, joyful tears shimmering in those extraordinary eyes of hers. “I’m afraid your devoted efforts to get an heir on me as quickly as possible have met with success.”
