Page 25 of Stealing Sophie
Chapter 7
Emerging from a cluster of evergreen trees that fringed a steep slope, Sophie heard the thunder of a waterfall. She followed MacPherson, pine needles pungently crushing underfoot. Peering ahead in the darkness, she saw white water streaming down like liquid moonlight over a shelf of rock.
Closer, she saw a black gash in the earth, where the water poured into a frothy burn. The Highlander’s grip on her hand gave her a solid sense of safety as she stared down into that black, brimming gash.
“Oh,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water. “So wild and beautiful!”
Without reply, he tugged on her hand and led her along the edge of the gap toward the falls. She followed his guidance. If she trusted him in no other way, she knew by now he would keep her safe out here.
Sophie watched his broad-shouldered back swathed in plaid. His legs were powerful, his climbing step long and brisk. He exuded raw strength and animal grace in every movement. He carried secrets just as easily—all she knew beyond his name was that he knew her brother and had made a solemn promise to him. But whether his intentions were good or ill, she did not know for certain.
He led her past the roar of the falls–a white horse’s tail spilling over steep black rocks–and above it, so that the roar receded behind them. Making their way uphill, they followed the track of the wide, rushing burn, walking so close to the banks that her slippers and the hem of her gown grew wet.
In the misty darkness, Sophie could see little more than the lacy swirl of the fog and the rushing water, and in the distance, the rugged contour of trees and slopes. She thought they were still walking on MacCarran property, which extended miles past the chapel. In all, the Duncrieff MacCarrans held twelve thousand acres, encompassing much of the glen and its hills. A modest estate by some standards, but vast enough.
Stepping in a pool of cold water, she yelped. Her shoes, impractical heeled slippers with thin soles and silver buckles, were unsuitable to rugged walking. Her toes felt chilled through, and blisters were forming on her heels.
The whisky that had warmed her earlier had faded from her blood. She felt near exhaustion and grateful for MacPherson’s assistance. His strong, capable hands were always there to pull her along, to lift her, to support her.
At the peak of the long hill, the wind whipped cold and the burn gurgled in its gorge, which had grown quite deep. Sophie stopped when MacPherson did. He pointed.
Across the burn’s gap and over a long meadow, a castle perched on the rise of another hill. Washed in moonlight and mist, its dark silhouette rose against a black sky.
The broken bones of the structure thrust into the night, a jumble of cracked walls and jagged half towers. Its windows gaped empty, without a glimmer of light, and a crumbling wall ringed the yard. Thin mist swirled around its base.
A soulless place, desolate and bleak. Sophie shivered. And it looked familiar.
“Is that your home?” she whispered.
“It is where I stay.” He took her elbow as they walked beside the water. As they approached the building, with the burn and meadow between them and the castle, she saw the old ruin more clearly and gasped.
“I know that place! Glendoon, aye! I have not heard the name since childhood. Long ago, it was the seat of Clan MacCarran, but no one has lived here for centuries.”
“They left it long ago after rockslides turned the area into a black devil’s tub.”
“I have heard stories...they say it is haunted.”
“The ghosts here will not harm you.”
She caught her breath. “Have you seen them?”
“No, I am too practical for it, I suppose. But the ghosts have saved my life a few times.”
“How is that?”
“No one ventures up here, with the long, hard climb, and the legends. Some say it is haunted, that there are no blessings of home and happiness found here.”
“But generations lived here, long ago. They must have been happy to stay here.”
“You are an idealist, my girl,” he said. “But these days, if anyone comes too close, the Glendoon ghosts scare them away with unearthly moans and shrieks.”
“Shrieks?” She gulped.
“It has proven beneficial to outlaws who might hide here.”
Was he teasing her? She hung back, but he tugged her forward.
“No need for you to fear. They are MacCarran ghosts. They will be delighted to welcome a kinswoman.”
