Page 109 of Stealing Sophie
“Enough. Come with me.” Shoving Rob toward two of the guards, Campbell grabbed her arm, the threat of his gun clear. He motioned to other guards to bring Neill along. “Go on. A little stroll, and we shall discuss this.”
Connor glancedtoward the slope where he had glimpsed Campbell and the others earlier. The magistrate expected him to bring Sophie in exchange for Neill and Rob—but those plans, Connor thought, were about to change.
When the soldiers had moved the prisoners down to the glen, Campbell had not been with them. He had lost sight of them for now and waited for them to appear again. Neill seemed unharmed, though his hands and ankles were tied. If that man had a chance to get away, he would have outrun them all.
Duncrieff had looked well enough, though pale, lean, bedraggled. So he had not been taken to Edinburgh, Connor realized. Sir Henry must have brought him here, perhaps to Kinnoull House under all their noses. He swore under his breath.
He motioned to Roderick and Andrew. “Wait for the moment, lads—I will signal,” he said low. “Then run fast for Kinnoull House, and for the trees on the slope—reach those and hide. The gamble is that they will notice and give chase, but with enough distance between you, their shots will not find you. I have a flint here,” he said, patting his sporran. “We will light the fuses once you are gone.”
“Aye,” they murmured in unison and turned to go.
“God go with,” Connor said. Thomas lifted a hand as Andrew and Roderick slipped under the vault of the bridge and waited beyond it, poised for Connor’s signal.
Where the devil had Campbell gone? Connor looked around. From his position pressed against the bridge plinth, he could just see the guards and prisoners crossing the meadow.
He fixed his focus on the tasks to hand, which would separate the prisoners from their guards once Roderick and Andrew ran. Then he would light the fuses, and he and Thomas would run to take Rob and Neill, besting whoever they must for that to happen. Yet he still had a bothersome feeling that raised the hairs along his neck. He glanced warily toward the glen meadow again.
The phalanx of guards was marshaling Neill and Rob between them, moving down the slope, the two Highlanders walking with hands tied behind them, Neill stumbling with the clumsiness of the additional rope around his ankles. They were moving through the meadow, heading for the water and the bridge. He did not see Campbell—the man must have left the group. All the better, he thought.
“Let them come,” Connor murmured, raising a hand to warn his friends. Beside him, Thomas grunted assent. Connor judged the timing. Startle the guards, who would chase the lads, and snatching Neill and Rob could be quickly done.
He lifted a hand, motioned. Andrew and Roderick swarmed up the bank to the level of the moor and began to run.
One of the guards shouted in alarm. Another called out an order and three red soldiers went off in pursuit, shouting for the runners to halt. That left four guards with Duncrieff and Neill, and soon two of them were pounding over the turf, shouting.
Connor had the flint out of his sporran. Grabbing the end of the longest fuse, he flicked the flint to sparking and lit the wick. It sizzled, smoked, began to burn. He turned to see that Thomas had done the same, lighting the other fuse. The strings were burning slowly, the waxed strings thick if a bit damp. He wondered, though, if the fuses would take longer than planned. The timing of this was crucial.
The soldiers were shouting, gesturing, running. Connor, glancing up from examining the sizzling fuses, saw several others with Neill and Rob, as before. They came closer now, while overhead a bank of clouds cleared away. In the clearer evening light, he now saw Campbell walking behind the guards and prisoners. The man was striding heavily across the meadow toward the bridge, shouting at the guards, waving a pistol about while he dragged a third captive with him.
Sophie.
