Page 56 of Stealing Sophie
“Saighdearean ruadh,”Connor said quietly—red soldiers.
Neill looked there as well. They watched riders cross the moor, scarlet coats and white breeches and stockings bright in the murky light. As the line of riders followed a track around the curve of a hill, Connor noticed three men with them who were not soldiers. One wore brown, the others plaids and Highland dress. He frowned.
Seeing them, he shifted a hand reflexively to the handle of his dirk. His shirt and his hair whipped in the breeze, but he stood motionless. Neill did the same.
Connor noted every detail he could see from this distance—faces, clothing, horses, weapons. Whenever he had to speak to soldiers, he took care to learn names and regiments. He did not freely reveal who he was—some from his regiment would know him, but that unit had left this glen—but he wanted to know who his foes were.
“That is Sir Henry, there,” Neill said.
“Aye. I know the horse. A fine bay.” As the riders came closer to the foot of the slope where they stood, Connor studied the magistrate from above. Sir Henry had a forgettable appearance, his features poorly defined—small eyes of a muddy color, a blunt nose, though his mouth was thin as a knife-edge. He favored dull brown suits and gray wigs, giving him an oddly invisible air. Theonly thing memorable about the magistrate, Connor thought, aside from the very fine horse he generally rode, was his cold grip on the property of Kinnoull.
“Hey, you Highlanders!” Campbell called out, looking up. “Stop!”
Considering that Connor stood motionless on the side of the hill and had for several minutes, he could have laughed. Instead, he strolled downward, close enough to converse. Neill followed. Fixing a flat stare on Campbell, he waited.
“MacPherson!” Campbell called. “What are you and your man doing here?”
“Neill Murray is my cousin. He is not a servant,” Connor corrected. “Good day to you, too, Campbell.” He inclined his head. “What business are you about?”
“By God, if you had stayed in the regiment, MacPherson, you would be about this damned business with us,” Campbell said.
“I am content to be a farmer these days,” Connor said.
Campbell grunted. “You were not farming on this moor a little while ago. What were you doing at that bridge? It was reported to us that two Highlanders were there just now. You?”
“We were repairing it,” Neill said.
“On whose authority? Duncrieff owns this land. But he is...ah, unable to order repairs to his estate just now.”
“Highland drovers must guide their cattle over these bridges. It was unsafe. We decided to fix it.”
“Commendable,” Campbell snarled. “How did the bridge come to be damaged?”
“Rain, I am thinking.” Connor did not hide his contempt for Campbell in his tone or his glance. Quickly he thought of Sophie and wondered if she had enjoyed the magistrate’s company at Kinnoull House. Had she smiled at him, thanked him? Had she admired the house, had he shown her about as if it was his to boast? More, had the man dared kiss her hand or touch her? A raw burst of anger went through him. He fisted the hand at his side.
“Flood damage? I doubt that. That bridge and the other came down when those dragoons over there”—Sir Henry pointed to the men behind him—“were escorting Miss MacCarran of Duncrieff and her maid over the moors the other night. Two Highland men appeared. There was a disaster, and the bridges collapsed. Brought down by deliberate means.”
“Nah,” Neill said, wide-eyed. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I will find out,” Campbell said, staring hard at Connor. “It is the work of Highland rogues. The same lot who make themselves trouble in this area, I believe. And this time, Miss MacCarran was abducted that night. Violently stolen away.”
“Stolen!” Neill said, overloud. Connor stood still.
“She is missing. Taken by Highland rascals. What do you know of this Highland Ghost who plagues the road crews working under General Wade?”
Neill shrugged. “We have heard of his deeds. So long as he leaves my cattle be, I will leave him be.”
Campbell grunted. “And you, MacPherson?”
“Like Murray, as long as my livestock remain unharmed, it is all I care to know.”
“The fellow seems determined to tear down the roads as they are made, and I have not heard of him stealing brides,” Campbell said. “I suspect the girl was taken by MacCarrans. There were two with her. They could have arranged it.”
“Her kinsmen?” Neill burst out. “They would want to protect the lass, not take her away. I am sure,” he added hastily.
“It is absurd, sir,” Connor said. “The MacCarrans in this glen are farmers and herdsmen. Not likely to steal their cousin. For what end?”
“Rebels,” Campbell said, “like their chief. And that one has lately paid for his offenses against the crown.”
