Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kenneth surveyed the hunting party spread across the moor, his chest swelling with pride as Sophie rode confidently beside him.
She handled her bow with growing skill, the lessons they'd shared clearly paying off.
The memory of those lessons, and what followed in the shepherd's hut, sent heat through his blood despite the cool morning air.
"A fine day for huntin'," Laird MacDean commented, drawing his horse alongside Kenneth's. "Though I must say, I was surprised to see Lady MacAdams joining us."
Before Kenneth could respond, several of his councilmen muttered their agreement. They had protested vehemently when he'd announced Sophie would participate, claiming it wasn't proper for a lady to join the hunt.
"Me wife is full of surprises," Kenneth replied, his voice carrying enough authority to silence the muttering. The sight of her in her riding habit, hair gleaming in the morning sun, made his heart race. She belonged here, as much as any of them.
Kenneth reacted instantly. In one fluid motion, he nocked an arrow and drew. The bird wheeled against the sky, a difficult target even for an experienced archer, but Kenneth's aim was true.
"Well shot, Laird MacAdams!" MacDean called out, genuine respect in his voice. "I see yer reputation as a marksman is well-earned."
Kenneth inclined his head in acknowledgment, but Sophie noticed the proud gleam in his eye.
Later in the hunt, she spotted a rabbit darting between the heather.
Drawing her own bow, she took careful aim, remembering Kenneth's lessons.
Her arrow found its mark, earning her own share of congratulations.
"Thank ye, me laird," she replied to MacDean's praise, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I had an excellent teacher." Her eyes met Kenneth's, full of warmth and something more intimate that made his blood heat.
"I'll fetch it," Sophie announced, turning her horse toward where her rabbit had fallen.
Kenneth watched her ride toward the copse of trees where the bird had dropped. Something nagged at his instincts – a shadow of movement, perhaps, or just the way the morning mist clung too thickly to the trees.
A sound from the opposite direction drew his attention – another grouse breaking cover. Several of the lairds turned their horses, eager for their own chance at a kill.
"Fine sport!" someone called out. "After it!"
But Kenneth's attention remained fixed on the spot where Sophie had disappeared into the trees. She should have returned by now. The uneasy feeling in his gut grew stronger.
"Sophie?" he called out, but only silence answered.
Without a word to the others, Kenneth urged his horse forward.
As he approached the trees, his tracker's eyes picked up signs that made his blood run cold.
The grass was trampled in a pattern that spoke of struggle, not hunting.
A piece of Sophie's ribbon fluttered from a branch, torn free in what must have been a desperate moment.
"Lachlan!" Kenneth's voice cracked like thunder across the moor. His man-at-arms appeared at his side almost instantly.
"Gather the men," Kenneth ordered, already dismounting to study the tracks more closely. "Sophie's been taken."
Lachlan's face darkened with rage. "Mason?"
"Aye." Kenneth could read the signs as clearly as any book. At least four men besides Mason, all moving east through the trees. They'd planned this well, waiting until Sophie was separated from the group.
The other lairds began to gather, drawn by the commotion. Kenneth barely heard their questions and exclamations, his mind already racing ahead, plotting the most likely route Mason would take.
He'd promised to protect her, had sworn it before God and men. The thought of Sophie in Mason's hands made him sick with rage and fear.
"The trails split here," Lachlan reported, examining the ground. "They're tryin' to confuse any pursuit."
But Kenneth wasn't fooled. He'd spent years honing his tracking skills, driven by a need to prove himself worthy despite his faither's scorn. Now, those skills would help him save the woman he... the woman he couldn't bear to lose.
"They'll head for the old watchtower," he said decisively. "It's defensible, and Mason kens the territory. But I ken a shorter route through the hills."
He swung back into his saddle, addressing the gathered lairds. "Me lairds, I must ask yer forgiveness for cuttin' the hunt short. Lachlan will see ye safely back to the keep."
"Nonsense," MacDean declared, his face stern. "Ye'll need men ye can trust at yer back. I'm coming with ye."
Other lairds voiced their agreement, and Kenneth felt a surge of gratitude. This was why the Highland alliances mattered – not just for trade and politics, but for moments like these when clan stood with clan.
"Follow me lead," Kenneth ordered, already urging his horse forward. "And stay alert. Mason willnae give her up without a fight."
As they rode, Kenneth's mind filled with images of Sophie –her grace at last night's feast, the way she felt in his arms in the shepherd's hut. He'd been a fool to hold himself apart from her for so long, to pretend what he felt was merely duty or desire.
Now, with the prospect of losing her looming before him, he could no longer deny the truth. He loved her. Not just her beauty or her spirit, but everything she was – her kindness, her strength, the way she'd brought light and warmth back into his life.
The realization drove him forward with renewed determination. He would find her. He would save her. And then, if God was merciful, he would spend the rest of his life showing her exactly how much she meant to him.
The tracks led them through increasingly rough terrain, but Kenneth never lost the trail. He could read the signs of their passing like a map – here a broken branch, there a scuff mark on a rock, each one pointing the way to Sophie.
"They're movin' fast," Lachlan observed, riding close beside him. "But their horses will tire soon in this rough country."
Kenneth nodded grimly. "And when they do, we'll have them."
They crested a rise, and Kenneth held up his hand, signaling the party to halt. Below them, through a screen of trees, he caught a glimpse of movement – riders, pushing their tired horses hard.
"There," he whispered, pointing out the signs to the others. "They're headed exactly where I thought they would."
The old watchtower was barely visible in the distance, a dark finger of stone pointing accusingly at the sky. Kenneth's mind was already racing, calculating distances and angles of approach.
"We can cut through that valley," he said, indicating a narrow pass. "Come up behind them before they reach the tower. But we'll need to move fast."
The other lairds nodded, their faces grim with determination. This was more than just a rescue now – it was a matter of Highland justice. No man could be allowed to steal another's wife without consequences.
Kenneth took one last look at the distant tower, silently renewing his vow to Sophie. Hold on, mo chridhe. I'm coming for ye.
Then he led his men down into the valley, every sense alert for the coming confrontation. Mason had already proven himself a cruel and dangerous enemy. But he had never faced Kenneth with so much at stake.
This time, there would be no mercy.