Page 108 of Stealing Sophie
Connor and Thomasslipped along the riverbank, crouching just above the lapping water. Andrew and Roderick followed cautiously. The river, a hearty and wide stream where it narrowed to flow through Glen Carran, overflowed its banks every spring and was deep enough now for a swim, should they need a fast escape. The rough and sloping banks were deep, mucky, rock-studded but manageable. Down in that gully, the darkness seemed thicker, hiding their progress.
As he went, Connor sent up a few silent prayers, not for himself but for Rob and Neill and the lads—and Sophie. He prayed she had found common sense and patience this night and waited for him.
Reaching the shadowed vault under the bridge, he stepped back as Thomas silently showed him the two pewter cups filled with black powder; he had carved away fresh mortar to cram one vessel between stones and set the other below in the mud at the base of one of the piers. Two long fuses, waxed strings tucked in the cracks between stones, were thick enough to take minutes to burn away before the flame would touch off the powder and the bit of coal pushed inside it. The whole would create an explosive force that could shatter one side of the bridge to Kinnoull, causing a significant delay to Wade’s pathway through this part of the Highlands. And tonight, the destruction would allow them to snatch Rob and Neill free.
“Neatly done, lad,” he told Thomas, and glanced at the others, hunched in shadows. “Once the strings are lit, we will not have much time. Run when I say.”
He had taken chances before, faced danger often enough, and he was familiar with explosives, learning their ways while he had served in the Black Watch. Since then, he had made good use of small amounts, breaking up bits of roads and bridges to annoy the Sassenach troops and challenge their progress.
But he had never taken a risk of this magnitude. The possible price tonight was his life, he knew. But he would face that danger if it meant he could protect kin and friends here and now, as well the clan, the Highlands. His wife.
The irony of it struck him as he stood in the shadow of the bridge. He had finally opened his heart, found love—and now he faced giving up his life for it. He would not walk away from that. But first, he would fight for what he had with every breath.
Dragged along with Campbell,his bulk slowing them as they ran, Sophie reached out toward her brother. When she was near, Campbell released his grip on her arm and she hurtled forward.
“Rob! I thought you were dead–” She threw her arms around him, but he was tied, unable to return the embrace. He lowered his head to hers.
“Sophie, dear God—what—” As Campbell reached to pull her back, she pressed to her brother’s side. “What the devil, sir–leave her be!”
“Give us a moment, I beg you,” Sophie told Sir Henry. She turned toward Neill. “Ah, Mr. Murray, are you hurt?”
The older man shook his head. “You, lass? Has this oaf harmed you?” He glowered at Campbell, tried to take a step forward with bound ankles, but stumbled against Sophie so that she buttressed both men, arms around their waists.
“I am fine,” she said hastily. She looked up at Rob. “Connor MacPherson and I are married.”
“I am glad to hear it.” His blue eyes gleamed, but his smile turned hard as he looked at the magistrate. “Campbell. Release my sister. She has nothing to do with your grievance, whatever it may be.”
“That does not suit me.” Campbell reached for her, but she stepped back.
“You have no claim to her now,” Duncrieff went on. “Her marriage ended any agreement between you and my father. And I never endorsed it.”
“What right do you have to hold these men or threaten the others?” Sophie asked.
“Legal right, lassie,” Campbell growled. “Have you forgotten I am the magistrate in this area now? I have custody of your brother and now I have the old one for spying. I will find the rest of them, your supposed husband included.”
Sophie looked at Rob, her hand on his back, and had a sudden thought. She leaned against him, sobbing and deliberately making a wailing fuss while they all looked at her, bewildered. But as she sobbed, she worked her fingers at the knots tied around his wrists. Then she felt his fingers working with her, felt a loop loosen, pulled at it.
“Lass, do not fret,” her brother said. “I will be fine. Give old Neill your embrace, if you can; he is suffering so.” He prodded her with his shoulder.
She burst into fresh tears, glancing at Campbell, who rolled his eyes. Leaning against Neill, she patted his chest with one hand while tugging at the knots behind him.
“Aye so, good wee girl,” Neill said. “Do not fret. We are strong lads.”
“Get away from them,” Campbell said impatiently, reaching for her arm, yanking her away. With his free hand, he slid a pistol from inside his frock coat. As Rob stepped forward, uttering an oath, trying to step between Campbell and his sister, the magistrate released her to grab Rob’s arm, pressing the pistol into his side.
Neill made a move toward them, leaning off-balance, unable to reveal that his ropes were looser. Sophie rushed to him to help him. But Campbell snapped an order, and the guard standing by lifted a long musket to point it toward Neill.
“Miss MacCarran.” Campbell gestured with the pistol he held. “You and your brother will come with me, or these men will not make it through the night. Though I kept your brother alive for weeks, I am not above undoing that now.”
“Kept him alive?” she asked, stunned.
“I have been at Kinnoull House for some weeks,” Rob said. “I was ailing when Sir Henry took me out of Perth and brought me here. I had time to heal.”
“Connor heard you were taken to Edinburgh.”
“So Campbell told the captain at Perth, but brought me here instead.”
“Where you were able to recover, and I am grateful for that. But the rest is reprehensible, Sir Henry!” She turned to him. “How could you!”
