Abigail drank some more and then straightened, walked over to one of the mossy boulders and sat on it.
“That’s better. I never realized water could taste so good.” She looked around, her eyes roving over the scene. “Wow, this place is beautiful.”
Reid took a seat on a boulder nearby. “Aye,” he agreed. “It is.”
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of the gurgling stream and the breeze in the willows. Abigail picked up a twig and began shredding it, tossing the pieces into the water. Reid found himself watching her. Her hair spilled down her back, wisps of it dancing around her face with the breeze and her eyes were a little unfocussed as she stared into the rippling water, as if her thoughts were far away.
Who was she? She dressed and spoke like no self-respecting Highland woman. The trews and tight tunic she wore showed off her shapely figure in a way that was hardly decent and yet she seemed not the least embarrassed.
“Where are ye from, lass?” he asked at last.
She glanced at him. “Manchester. Can’t you tell by the accent?”
“Manchester? The borough in England?”
“Of course the borough in England. Do you know any other Manchesters?”
Aye, that would explain the accent. The lass was from south of the border. Perhaps that would explain the scandalous clothes and her odd way of behaving. Everyone knew the English were strange. But what were the Muirs doing using an English spy? She would stand out like a sore thumb. In fact, thinking about it, the lassdidstand out like a sore thumb. Would they really use a spy that couldn’t even blend in?
“What would an English lass be doing all the way up here?” he asked.
“Looking for my friend. She came up here a while ago for some relaxation but then she disappeared. I hoped to find her.” Her expression turned pleading. “Please. I really need to get back. Won’t you help me?”
That gaze of hers speared right through him. He found his heartbeat quickening again. What was wrong with him? She was an enemy and should be treated as such. Was he really going to fall for this little-girl-lost act?
But something inside him, an instinct he’d learned to trust over the years, suggested that this wasn’t an act, that there was more to this woman than met the eye. Unexpectedly, Irene MacAskill’s words suddenly flowered in his mind.
Know this, Reid Campbell: yer choice is coming. Carry on this road or choose another. The choice is yers. Someone will come who will show ye that choice.
Where had that thought come from? What had that loony old woman got to do with any of this?
Abigail was still staring at him, awaiting his answer. He felt something soften inside him. What harm could it do to escort the lass where she needed to go? She’d said this ‘car’ of hers was only a few miles distant. He could take her there, see her on her way, and get back to his men before anyone knew any better.
He could do one decent thing in this miserable life of his.
“All right, lass,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll take ye—”
Bo and Whitefoot suddenly sprang to their feet, ears pricked forward, staring across the stream intently. Whitefoot pulled back his lips in a growl.
“Get behind me!” Reid cried. He shoved Abigail behind him and drew his sword just as he heard the sound of hoofbeats.
He tensed, fingers tight around the hilt of the sword. Damn it all! How had the Muirs found them?
But as mounted figures burst out of the trees, a familiar voice shouted, “There ye are, captain! Look men, I told ye we had no need to worry! He isnae captured, just having some fun with a lass!”
Reid let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding at the sight of Malcolm. He didn’t let any of this show on his face though, as he sheathed his sword.
“Ye took yer bloody time.”
Malcolm and the rest of his men dismounted. Reid did a quick head-count. Five, and they all had horses. That meant that at least some of the rescued men had made it back to camp.
Reid strode over to Malcolm. The man was taller than him and whip-cord thin. He had a greasy beard and hair that looked like it was doing its best to slide down the back of his head.
“Everyone made it out,” Malcolm said. He grinned suddenly. “By Satan’s balls, that was a masterstroke, captain! Sneaking into the castle right under the Muir’s noses! Just wait until Laird Campbell hears about this!”
“Nobody is to breathe a word to Laird Campbell,” Reid snapped. “I will be the one to tell his lordship.”
Malcolm nodded as if this was unimportant. The faces of Reid’s men were flushed with excitement and he could hardly blame them. Just this morning many of them, Malcolm included, had been languishing in a Muir jail, awaiting the gallows. Now? Now they were free, a reprieve none of them had expected to enjoy.
