Page 73 of Stealing Sophie
“Do as she says, lad,” Connor said, approaching behind Sophie. “The lady knows what she wants.”
“I do,” she said. “In this, I do.”
“We will be knee-deep in Dutch tulips before long if she has her way.” Connor walked past them toward the kitchen door. “Lad, there is plenty of sheep dung in the hills if you want to gather it up.” Winking at Sophie, he went inside.
Roderick muttered under his breath. Smiling to herself, Sophie picked up another rake and set to work beside him.
“Mistress, you do not need to do that.”
“I do not mind. I rather like it,” she said.
“Glen Carran,”Connor said, “may never be a peaceful valley again.” He lay on a grassy hillside, peering down at the moorland where the river flowed through it.
“Someday Lord Kinnoull will return to his rights and happiness will come back to this place,” Neill said.
Connor huffed. “Better to return the chief of the MacCarrans to Duncrieff Castle and his people than bother with a small laird.”
Nearby, Neill and Connor’s cousin Andrew lay supine, their plaid-wrapped forms hidden in heather tufts still brown with winter, though pale green tips showed among the drab.
Connor was glad to see that greening in the hills, for it meant an end to a bleak winter and a bleaker year, studded with misfortunes like stones in a field. With the arrival of spring, life seemed to begin again. And this year, he felt a little hope. Sophie had brought that, he realized. Something in the air, in his heart, had changed.
Concentrating on the moor below, he watched a crew of soldiers working at various tasks, some gathered at the foot of the very hill where Connor and the others lay watching. The men applied gravel to a nearly finished part of the road, while further along, another crew used shovels and pickaxes to dig a fresh track and break up stones embedded in the ground. The sound of chisel, ax, and shovel echoed over the hills.
“I am thinking,” Andrew said, “these roads may be a good thing.”
“How is that?” Connor trained his gaze on the soldiers.
“They are fair roads,” Andrew pointed out. “Sixteen feet across in some places, and straight and smooth. We can drive a lot of cattle and sheep along such roads.”
“Their hooves would suffer on the gravel topping,” Neill pointed out. “The old drover’s tracks of earth and grass are worn smooth. Better for cattle.”
“But the driving takes longer. We could get the herds to market faster. They would be healthier, fatter. They would bring a higher price.” Andrew glanced at him. “You could buy a gig, Kinnoull.”
“A gig,” Connor repeated.
“For your lady. So you could drive her through the glen on fine straight roads, and take her to Crieff and Perth, to the merchants there. And she would spend your cattle-earnings as only a wife can do.” His eyes twinkled.
“Shall I buy her a parasol as well,” Connor drawled, “so she can tour the countryside as the stolen bride of Glendoon?”
“Not Glendoon,” Neill said. “Lady Kinnoull is a viscountess and will need a gig in high style. A sleek pony, and driver too. Andrew, you can do that.” He grinned.
“I will,” Andrew said. “I want livery, though.”
“Hush it,” Connor said. “Both of you hold your nonsense.” He turned his gaze back to the hill. A breeze blew through, billowing shirts and plaids.
Neill shook his head. “I tell you, lads, I am tired of the cold and ready for spring. And I am heartily sick of brown everywhere. The heather in bloom is a much softer bed for a man to lie upon while hunting red soldiers.”
“The heather does not bloom until July,” Connor pointed out. “The gorse blooms earlier if you are tough enough to lay in it.”
“He is,” Andrew drawled.
“I am getting old,” Neill said. “I want warm weather and green grass in these hills. Let us hope there will be growth in our fields this year,” he added. “Another year like the last, and we will have no food in our larders, nor hay in our byres. Our cattle will starve altogether next winter. Without Duncrieff’s generosity the last few years, I do not know where we would be even now.”
“A sad loss, that lad, a good friend to us,” Andrew muttered.
“His death has not been confirmed,” Connor said. “I will not mourn him until I know for sure he is gone.”
“If he is not, you had best find him,” Neill said.
