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Hepburn had chosen to bear his own son.
    Jamie felt a surprising surge of lust in his loins. For the first time since he and Bon had instituted their little game of wits and wills, Jamie was the first to look away.
    Ignoring Bon’s triumphant grin, he picked up a stick and gave the fire a fierce poke, sending a shower of sparks shooting up into the velvety blackness of the night sky. “There’s no need to play these games. I’m well aware you don’t approve o’ me snatchin’ the Hepburn’s bride.”
    “And why would I when the only likely outcome is for us to end up danglin’ by our necks from some hangman’s gibbet? Now that ye’ve gone and made off with an Englishwoman, what’s to stop the Hepburn from callin’the full wrath o’ the British army down on our heads?”
    “His pride. You know he’d rather die than ask for help from any mon, be he Scottish or English.”
    “Then I wish he’d go ahead and die and spare us all this trouble.” Bon stabbed a finger in the general direction of the bedroll where Jamie had left their captive. “Because I can promise ye that trouble is all that lass is goin’ to be.”
    Jamie snorted. “I doubt a prim, stiff-necked lass like that has ever done anything more
troubling
than dropping a stitch while embroidering a scripture on a sampler.” He spared his cousin a sideways glance. “Besides, she couldn’t possibly be more trouble than that bonny wee dairy maid in Torlundy whose husband threatened to tear off your scrawny arm and beat you to death with it when he caught you sneaking out of his bedchamber window in the middle of the night.”
    “Ah, my sweet Peg!” Bon sighed wistfully at the memory. “Now there was a lass worth dying for—both between the sheets and out o’ them. Can ye say the same for the Hepburn’s woman?”
    Jamie tossed the stick away. “She’s not his woman. At least not yet. And I can promise you I have no intention of dying for her. Not by the hangman’s hand or by any other means.”
    “What makes ye think the Hepburn’ll even be willing to pay to get her back? He’s never had a reputation for bein’overly sentimental. There are some who say he sold his black heart to the divil along with his soul.”
    “Oh, he’ll pay. Not because he has any particular fondness for the lass but because he won’t be able to bear the thought of a Sinclair stealing something that belongs to him.” Jamie felt his lips curve in a grim smile. “Especially this particular Sinclair.”
    “And what if Ian Hepburn isn’t as proud as his uncle? What if he convinces the auld buzzard to bring in the redcoats to fight on their side?”
    Jamie’s gaze was drawn back to the darkness at the very heart of the fire. Even he had to admit that Ian was the unknown quantity in his carefully calculated scheme. It was difficult to pretend he hadn’t been shaken by the depth of the loathing he had glimpsed in his former friend’s eyes as they had faced each other in that abbey.
    He gave his head a brisk shake. “If anything, Ian hates me more than his uncle does. He won’t want the redcoats doing their dirty work for them. He’d rather see his own hands around my throat than a hangman’s noose.”
    The sparkle in Bon’s dark eyes was dimmed by the shadow of worry. “I don’t know exactly what it is ye plan to ask of the Hepburn in return for his bride but it’s goin’ to have to be one hell of a prize to justify riskin’ all of our necks, includin’ yer own. Are ye sure it’s worth it?”
    “Aye.” Jamie looked Bon dead in the eye. Bon had always been more brother than cousin to him and he owed him at least that much of the truth. “That much I can promise you.”
    L ONG AFTER BON HAD retired for the night, Jamie found himself standing over his captive’s bedroll, hoping he would be able to keep the promise he had made to his cousin. If he was wrong about the Hepburn bringing in the redcoats to retrieve her, he may very well have sealed the doom