Page 46 of Stealing Sophie
“So they plan to bring it along the track to this part of the glen.”
“Aye, through the pass between the glen and Kinnoull lands. Padraig and Andrew saw them this morning, moving between the hills, alongside the river.”
Connor rolled to his back and looked up at the sky, resting his forearm over his eyes. His head still hurt from last night’s indulgence. His heart ached, too, in a strange way that was not physical. It felt like yearning. A continual distraction, aye.
“What else did they see?” he asked.
“The men are using the gray stones to build abutments on the river banks. Not far from Kinnoull House, Padraig said, below the old wooden bridge there.”
“But that narrow bridge will not support troops and cannon.” Connor groaned low, realizing. “They are building a new bridge.”
“Aye so. They will use the smaller stones to cover stretches of the road and then lay down the cobble and gravel. But those larger fieldstones...aye, a bridge.”
”Once they can easily cross the river near Kinnoull, they will be bringing plenty of troops into the area. They could establish a garrison near here—even in the house itself. Damn,” he swore, forearm shielding his eyes. “Sir Henry must be part of this.”
“By the devil, you are right. Campbell holds Kinnoull House now. You do not want red soldiers on your lands or in your house. What shall we do about this?”
“I do not know,” Connor muttered. “But something, by God.” He rolled, rose to his feet. Neill stood too, and they set off over the hill.
“We could blow the thing up,” Neill suggested.
“Aye, if we had black powder for such a thing, and a plan to carry it out.” Connor frowned. “But it would take the sort of gun-powder used for cannon, rather than small shot. Larger grains. More explosive force.”
“I would not be worrying about that, Kinnoull. Just steal the black powder that Wade and his crews use to blow their merry way through the hills of Scotland,” Neill drawled. “They have it on their wee carts down there. Padraig saw it. Kegs of it.”
“Aye so. Let’s have a look, then. Hide that pistol, lad,” he said, seeing the gleam from Neill’s firearm.
Murray pulled at the upper folds of his plaid. “You know they’re searching for the lass and will be suspicious of every Highlander they see out here.”
”Then we won’t be seen,” Connor replied, and strode ahead.
Later that evening,when Connor MacPherson did not return for supper, Sophie had another serving of Mary’s soup with Roderick Murray. All day she had been wondering how she could manage to leave the castle. While she cleaned the dishes after supper, Roderick yawned and headed outside to see to the livestock kept in the back byre. Noticing the twilight growing darker, Sophie felt sure she had a chance now. Roderick was busy with chores, and Connor had not come home.
Not home, Sophie corrected. To him, it was just a place to sleep.
Standing at the kitchen door, she watched Roderick walking in the shadows by the back buildings. The terriers had gone with him, while the spaniel and wolfhound curled up on the warm stone of the kitchen hearth.
When Roderick was well out of sight, she heard the lowing of a cow and the flat bleat of a goat—and she left the tower. Taking the narrow path through the kitchen garden, a jumble of old, weary plants, she went around the tower toward the front gate.
Remembering how it had creaked when she had Connor had arrived last night, she looked about for an alternative. Spying a collapsed section of the curtain wall, one she might climb over, she hurried in that direction, making sure Roderick could not see her from that angle of the yard.
Gathering the folds of her gown, bright satin gleaming in the twilight, she made her way up the wedge of broken stones where the wall had fallen long ago. A patch of wooden slats filled the gap at the top, but looked loose enough to shift aside.
Shielded by the angle of the outbuildings, she reached the top of the stone pile, having climbed at least ten feet off the ground. Hesitant, she peered down the outer side to the hills fronting Glendoon. The drop was not as much here, for the collapsed stones formed a rough ramp on the outside of the wall as well.
Prying the wooden barrier aside, she broke two fingernails in the process and picked up a large and painful splinter. Little enough to pay for freedom. Minutes later, she scrambled to the ground, brushing dust from her hands and gown, discovering yet another tear in the satin skirt. Glancing back, she saw no sign that anyone had spotted her.
Picking up her skirts, she ran across the sloping meadow toward the burn, reminding herself where to cross the water. From there, she would be able to find her way through the hills to old Saint Fillan’s chapel. The route from last night, along with her childhood memories, would supply the way there, and home to Duncrieff.
Unlike last night, she was rested and alert, and negotiated the hill easily, keeping close to the trees in case someone should see her fleeing the castle grounds. For a moment, she paused. In the deepening light, the glen spread out below the hill, a breathtaking sweep of rocky hills dotted with pale wandering sheep, the slopes surrounding vast moorlands and sparkling watercourses. Above the hills, the sky was streaked with dark pink, gold, and purple like the painterly strokes of an artist’s brush.
Scotland and beloved Glen Carran—she had so missed it all those years away. But she had no time now to linger. Cresting another hill, she saw the old chapel ahead. Slowing her step, remembering what had happened there last night, she paused. She could not help but think about the Highlander who had brought her there, challenging her, kissing her—marrying her inside the chapel. Not just her captor, he was her husband now, and that gave him the lamentable right to bring her back.
But she was sure that MacPherson would not want his stolen bride now that he knew her true identity. He might not even care that she had escaped. All he seemed to care about was his stubborn insistence on keeping a promise to her brother.
Turning about, she looked around the glen until she recognized the contours of the hills above Duncrieff. Just a few miles down the hills and over the glen. She knew the way now. She hurried onward.
A mile or so further, with the fresh air of freedom between her and Glendoon and only a little way to go, she felt a sense of exhilaration. She also felt a twinge of remorse for Roderick, who might reap trouble—he had been tasked with guarding her.
