Sarah Gabriel (15 page)

Sighing, Connor rubbed his brow. He was tired, and he had yet to solve the more immediate problem of his bride. The little nun was by far the most distracting element in his life just now. She had set him—mind, body, and heart, as well—into turmoil.

As he and Neill climbed over the rocky slope, Connor paused, propping one foot on a rock to look around from the higher vantage point. In the distance he glimpsed red jackets and the flash of steel weapons as men rode on horses.

“Saighdearean ruadh,
” Connor said quietly. Red soldiers.

Neill looked where Connor gazed. Riders came across the moor from the northern end, their red coats and white stockings highly visible in the murky light. As they followed the curve of the hills where they met the moorland, Connor noticed that three men rode with them who were not soldiers—one in a brown jacket, the others in Highland dress. He narrowed his eyes.

Connor stood waiting, hand resting casually on the handle of his dirk, one foot lifted to the rock. His shirt and his hair whipped in the breeze, but he did not move. Neill stood just behind him, a guard at his back.

Watching carefully, Connor noted every detail he could—faces, clothing, horses, weapons. Whenever he had occasion to speak to soldiers, he took care to learn names and regiments. He wanted to know who his foes were.

“Sir Henry is in the lead,” Neill said. “I’d recognize the horse faster than I’d know the man.”

Connor saw a fine bay mount and its nonmilitary rider. “Aye, Campbell.”

As he came closer, Connor studied the magistrate. Sir Henry had a strangely forgettable appearance, average at best, with features that seemed blurred and poorly defined—small eyes of an indistinct color, a blunt nose, a weak jawline, a thin mouth,
and, though of wiry build, a slight pudge about the middle. He favored brown suits and gray wigs, increasing the odd air of invisibility about him. In fact, the only thing truly memorable about the magistrate, Connor thought, was his cold grasp over the property of Kinnoull.

“You Highlanders!” Campbell called out, seeing them. “Stop!”

Considering that Connor stood motionless on the side of the hill and had for several minutes, he could have laughed. Instead, he fixed a flat stare on Campbell and waited.

“MacPherson!” Campbell called. “What are you and your man doing out here?”

“Neill Murray is my cousin and my ghillie,” Connor corrected. “He is not a servant. Good day to you, too, Sir Henry.” 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’m content to be a farmer now,” Connor said.

Campbell grunted. “You weren’t farming on this moor a little while ago. What were you both doing at that bridge?”

“Repairing it,” Neill said.

“On whose authority? Duncrieff owns this land, and he is…unable to order repairs to his estate just now.”

“So I hear,” Connor ground out. “Since Highland drovers must guide their cattle over these bridges, we decided to fix them ourselves.”

“Commendable,” Campbell drawled.

Connor let his contempt for Campbell glitter through his narrowed glance. Thinking of Sophie, he wondered if she had enjoyed the magistrate’s company at Kinnoull House. Had she smiled at him, thanked him for his hospitality? Had he kissed her hand, touched her in any way? He felt a burst of raw anger at the very thought, and fisted the hand at his side.

Campbell leaned away from the saddle. “How did those bridges come to be damaged?”

“Rain, I am thinking,” Neill offered.

“Flood damage? I doubt that. Those bridges came down when those two dragoons there,” Sir Henry nodded over his shoulder to the men behind him, “were escorting Miss MacCarran of Duncrieff and her maid over the moors at night. Two Highland men were with them. 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. One of the ladies disappeared that night.”

“Disappeared!” Neill said with gusto. Connor stood still and expressionless.

“Miss Sophie MacCarran is missing. She was abducted by some Highland rascals. What do you know of this Highland Ghost who plagues the road crews working under General Wade?”

Neill shrugged. “We’ve heard of him, and his deeds. So long as he leaves my cattle be, I will leave him be.”

Campbell grunted. “And you, MacPherson?”

“He leaves my livestock alone, and that is all I care about.”

“The fellow is more interested in tearing down the roads as they come up than stealing cattle or brides,” Campbell said. “Frankly, I suspect the girl was taken by the MacCarrans who were with her.”

“Her own kinsmen?” Neill burst out. “They were there to protect the lass. I’m sure,” he added hastily.

“You have no proof of that,” Connor said. “It’s absurd, sir. Allan and Donald MacCarran are good men—farmers and herdsmen.”

“Rebels,” Campbell said, “like their chief. Who has lately been made to pay for his offenses against the crown.”

“What do you know of him?” Connor asked warily.

“Not much, to be sure,” Campbell said. “He was taken to Perth. I hear he did not do well due to his wounds.”

“How does he fare now?” Connor asked.

“I do not know, but I intend to send a messenger to inquire. I promised Miss MacCarran to get word of her brother. Let us pray the news is not tragic. But we’ve got to find the girl first.”

“If there was a commotion, her horse likely ran off with her,” Neill suggested.

“We’ve been searching ever since she went missing. She is not lost, I think, but clearly stolen away. We could have used your expert knowledge of the area today, MacPherson.”

“I’m sure the red soldiers know this glen well enough.”

“Perhaps. Tell me—have you seen anything amiss? Odd behavior? Highland treachery?”

“Nothing like that,” Connor answered mildly.

“I will count on that, sir,” Campbell said. “Anyone with your history would be suspect, though after your family’s comeuppance at the hands of the government…I will wager you would not dare to step out of line, as they say.”

“Indeed,” Connor growled.

“You’ve kept admirably clear of the law, too. Content to be a small laird with a bit of run-down property, eh? I understand you trade in some cattle stock, too.”

“Some,” Connor replied.

“A smart man watches his step carefully, sir, and avoids trouble. As a former regimental officer, do not forget your loyalty and obligation.”

“I am aware of my loyalties,” Connor said.

“Connor MacPherson was such a fine soldier that the general himself asked that he return to service with the Am Freiceadan Dubh,” Neill added with pride.

Connor shot Neill a sharp look to silence him.

“I am aware of your fine record with the Black Watch, sir,” Campbell said to Connor. “I am also aware of your family’s history. I keep both in mind. You are fortunate to have the good opinion of General Wade. You may need it someday.”

Connor inclined his head. “Perhaps so.”

Campbell gathered his reins. “If I do not find the lady soon, I intend to interrogate the MacCarrans who were with her. It seems clear to me that they must have had a hand in this.”

“Why should they?” Neill asked.

“It’s possible they do not approve of the match between Miss MacCarran and myself.” Campbell
preened a little as he sat in the saddle. Connor stared. It was like watching a sparrow attempt to puff himself up. It was hardly noticeable.

But there was something in the man’s eyes, Connor realized, that he did not like—a darkness, a cold flatness. He was suddenly reminded of a snake, able to blend with its environment, yet carrying a killing sting if it pleased.

“If you interrogate the MacCarrans, what then?”

“They may just join their chief in the Tolbooth. And I’ll tear apart every house in this glen—burn them, if I must—to find where the girl is hidden.”

“I see.” Connor would not allow others to take the blame for what he had done. “The MacCarrans are not responsible for their cousin’s disappearance. I took her that night.”

“You!” Campbell sat straight in his saddle, glowering.

“I assure you she is fine. I have her.” Though his heart pounded hard, he kept his casual stance. From the corner of his eye he saw Neill step up beside him.

Connor rested his hand on the handle of the long dirk that he had tucked beneath a fold of his plaid. He felt the whip of the wind, the heavy thud of his heart.

“I have her,” he repeated. “She is now my wife.”

“Stealing a bride,” Campbell growled, “will earn the groom a hanging.”

“They had a previous arrangement…to elope,” Neill said. “They wanted it done quickly, once she returned from France.”

“Flanders,” Connor clarified, as Campbell gaped at him.

“Married!” the magistrate barked. “I won’t believe it!”

“It’s done,” Connor affirmed. “According to her brother’s wishes, done by a priest.”

“You bastard—” Campbell sputtered. “She dined with me that night and gave no hint of it! You stole her away, MacPherson, and you’ll pay for it!”

“From what she told me, she never intended to marry you.”

“Stole her away, and fool enough to admit it!” Campbell motioned the soldiers forward again. They hesitated, looking at one another.

“You have your culprit, sir,” Connor said. “Though taking her is no crime if the lady was promised to me.”

“She was promised to me, sir,” Campbell said. “What proof do you have of your claim?”

“I have Duncrieff’s written permission for the marriage.” Connor reached into his sporran and drew out the folded note to display it. “He is chief now, so that should supercede any claim you might have made with his father.”

“I assure you, it becomes a legal matter where the lady is promised twice, on paper.”

“Not after she is married. The reality, Sir Henry, is that she is my wife.”

“Let me see that,” Campbell snapped, holding out his hand. “I doubt it is genuine.”

Connor handed the note to Neill, who walked down the slope toward Campbell. Although Murray opened the note to display it, he would not let Campbell lay a hand on it, but held it flapping in the wind.

“Give me that,” Campbell said, trying to snatch it, but Neill turned and went back to join Connor, who slid the page into his sporran.

“Ask Duncrieff about it,” Connor said, “if you see him.”

“I will,” Campbell snapped.

That quick response gave Connor an unexpected hope that Rob might be alive after all.

“Where is the lady now?”

“Safe. Settling in as a laird’s wife,” Connor said, wondering if she actually was.

“I intend to speak to her and judge this for myself. Bring her to Kinnoull House.”

“You can talk to her in my presence at Duncrieff Castle,” Connor said. “At a time of my choosing. She is my wife.”

Campbell growled something under his breath. “Why would a clan chief give his sister to a small laird from a disgraced family? You’re lying.”

“Love,” Connor said, shrugging, “is inexplicable.”

“And if I ask about her wedding, she will not cry foul.”

“Certainly not,” Connor answered.

“They eloped by choice,” Neill said. “Not much to be done about it. Love, that’s a wild thing that cannot be tamed.”

“Was the bride so eager as to run off? Or was it the groom?” The sneer was evident in Campbell’s voice. “The priest can produce the banns, I suppose.”

“Father Henderson of the Small Glen,” Connor said easily.

“You’d better hope the details agree, MacPherson, or you will be looking through a hangman’s noose.”

“It will not be the first time. But as you said, I am a smart man, and will not risk that again.”

“If all this is true, MacPherson, I’m cuckolded and
should call you out for it,” Campbell said, raising his voice in a shrill, anxious tone.

“Highlanders are not permitted to use weapons,” Connor said. “But I’ll take you on if you like. Swords, pistols. Fists.”

Campbell turned suddenly, snapping out an order for the dragoons to follow him. He whirled on his mount, sending up clods of mud and turf as he rode away without another word to Connor or Neill. The dragoons rode after him.

“
Tcha,
” Neill said. “Where are his manners? He did not even congratulate you.”

Connor shot him a sour look, then turned to stride up the hill with his ghillie following.

The sky was deep black and star-sprinkled hours later, when Connor crossed the bailey and entered the castle by the kitchen door. Roderick was asleep on a pallet beside the warm hearth as Connor moved quietly past.

Roderick stirred, looked up. “Kinnoull? It must be very late. All is well here. And with you?”

“All is well.” Connor headed toward the stairs.

All was hardly well, he thought as he climbed through the darkness. He wondered how long he could keep Sophie here before Campbell sent men to the ruin, or came after her himself.

After confronting Campbell earlier, and sensing the threat the man could wield, Connor had returned to Glendoon feeling a strong urge to see Sophie again, to know for himself that she was safe. To hold her, and more.

Yet he had sworn to himself to keep his distance
from her until he learned what Duncrieff had wanted with this marriage arrangement. Something was hidden. Connor sensed that with every part of him—and he had to find out what it was. His senses also told him that Sophie did not know much more than he did about Duncrieff’s reasoning.

Reaching the third floor, he stood at his bedchamber door in silence, leaning his hand on the doorjamb. He desperately wanted to go in, yet he paused.

Suddenly he knew why. Weeks ago he had agreed to steal a bride to answer a friend’s frantic request. But he had never planned to let the marriage affect him. He had never planned to fall in love.

But as every hour passed, every day, he felt that danger mounting. Now he knew that his heart was well and truly caught—he just did not know how deep yet. Nor did he know if he could extricate his heart and avoid an emotional commitment for which he was not ready—not until he was rightfully Kinnoull again.