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her across the market square one afternoon—a pretty thing, slight and nicely made, with golden hair.
    But he had not expected such heart-stoppingbeauty. In that spectacular gown, she was no less than a living flame. Looking at her stirred desire in his body like a spark from an ember.
    Frowning, he reminded himself that he was here because she was a hellion and her brother wanted her married off for her own protection.
    But she had offered him forgiveness. Sincerely offered it.
    If she was a glittering angel, then he was a demon to do this to her.
    At the top of another hill, Connor reached out his hand to her, stopping on the peak. Her breaths sounded rapid and wheezy.
    Frowning, he took her shoulder and turned her around.
    “Take off your stays,” he ordered.
    She wrapped her free arm around herself and tried to whirl away. “For love of God, what about the priest?”
    “He will not care whether or not you wear stays,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her question. “Take them off.” His fingers searched at the back of her waist for ties, ribbons, hooks of some kind.
    “I will not,” she said haughtily.
    “How d’you loosen these damn things,” he muttered, groping at the overlap between the stiffer bodice and the wide, soft gathers of the skirt and finding them joined. He snatched next at the tiny hooks that fastened up the back of the dress.
    She gasped, and he realized that she was frightened. “Stop—this is a savage thing to do to me!”
    He sighed harshly. “Then you take the stays off, or at least loosen them. You cannot breathe, my girl.Here,” he said, drawing his dirk from its sheath at his belt.
    “No!” She squirmed as he held her by the waist.
    “Keep still. I am not threatening your virtue,” he barked.
    “You have a knife!”
    “Every Highland man has a knife, madam.” He ripped through the lower stitches. A knot broke and the lacings loosened. He pulled at them. “Officially, we have only the dull knives that King George allows us to use for eating our peas. Or so the English think,” he added, yanking.
    “Let me do that—you will ruin it,” she said, reaching back with one hand, the other still roped to Connor. She worked the seams and lacings in some mysterious feminine way, Connor saw, and a gap opened at the back. She drew a deep breath. Another.
    He glimpsed the pale, smooth skin at the small of her back. A hot lightning strike of desire sank through him.
    “Fasten the back of the dress again,” she said, pulling at the sleeves of the gown, which slipped down over on her creamy shoulders. She glanced at him. “Please, Sir Ghost. I cannot manage the rest of this beastly climb with my gown hanging off of me, though I must thank you for allowing me to loosen it.”
    “Well, you need to breathe,” he muttered, oddly discomfited by her expression of gratitude. Frowning, he joined the hooks and eyes as best he could near the top, leaving a gap at her waist where her stays were now open.
    When he saw the slender curve of her lower back, the sight went straight to his groin like an arrow. He tugged her cloak over her and stepped away, glad forthe blast of cool air under his plaid. Tugging on the rope, he moved ahead.
    “Hurry,” he said gruffly. “Now you can go faster. We have little time.”
    “You truly are a beast,” she muttered behind him, her gratitude apparently forgotten.
    “If you’re bothered about the dress, I’ll buy you another.”
    “You’d have to steal a lot of cows to pay for it.” Temper colored her voice.
    “Cattle,” he corrected coldly. “I’d have to steal a lot of cattle.”
    He led her around the shoulder of another hill, sparing her the steeper climb over it. For a while they walked in silence, though inwardly he steamed.
    Beast—aye, he thought. He was the worst of rogues to drag her over the hills and force her into marriage. His behavior was savage, his treatment of her inexcusable. As a husband, he had little to offer a wife,