She yawned, deliberately abandoning her thoughts of the highlander. He had no part in her plans, and besides—he was long gone, and ’twas unlikely their paths would cross again.
Maura drifted off to sleep and awoke sometime later as the carriage slowed and came to a stop. She had a vague recollection of her dreams, and felt her cheeks flush at the thought of them. She had not known that a man’s touch could feel so—
She sat up straight on the seat. The highlander had not touched her. Nor had any other man. She looked up to see Bridget Hammond frowning at her.
“What did I do now, Miss Hammond?” Maura asked in spite of the raw sensations that shuddered through her when she thought of the liberties she’d allowed the highlander. In her dream.
The old woman merely raised her brows and frowned.
Every detail of the tartan-clad warrior was etched upon her memory, from his disheveled black hair to the plaid that draped his body from waist to knees. Surely he was laird of some great highland clan. Maura sighed, then covered the sound with a small cough so that Bridget would have no cause to question her.
The carriage stopped and as one of the soldiers opened the door and took Maura’s arm, she gathered her wits and glanced ’round at the area about the inn. She wanted to get her bearings so she would know exactly which streets would lead her away from the inn. Perhaps she and Bridget could take a walk later.
Lieutenant Baird came out of the inn and approached her as he smoothed down his thick, pale blond mustache—the only hair he possessed above his neck, other than light, wispy eyebrows. “I have some bad news,” he said, blinking his eyes rapidly in a way that Maura found unnerving. “Or rather, inconvenient news.”
She frowned. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
“The inn is full. I’m afraid Miss Hammond will have to share quarters below stairs with one or two of the servants.”
Bridget huffed behind her. “We’ll just put in a pallet—”
“No,” Baird said. “The only room left to let is barely large enough for one narrow bed.”
Maura did not show her delight at this news, for if she did, Baird might suspect something. No doubt he’d been warned by her father that she might not be a cooperative traveler, for Lord Aucharnie had to know that marriage to Kildary would not sit well with her.
However, Maura had not caused any delays or difficulties whatsoever during their journey from Glasgow, with the exception of her foray into the woods that afternoon.
Maura decided the incident at the waterfall was just an odd mishap, and if she was careful, nothing of the sort would occur again. Her walks in the hills and fields ’round Edinburgh and Glasgow had been completely without risk—especially since she always had an escort when she left Ilay House—but now she knew she would need to be far more watchful when she set out for Loch Camerochlan.
“I believe I shall manage alone for one night, Bridget,” she said.
“Come along then, Lady Maura,” said Lieutenant Baird, his tone and manner deceptively polite.
She could mimic his feigned respect. She gave him a demure nod and walked to the building with Bridget bringing up the rear. They entered the inn and Maura stopped just inside, taking stock of the place.
“My lady, welcome,” said the innkeeper.
Baird had obviously told the man she was the daughter of a nobleman, and he was far more impressed than he ought to be with the forsaken daughter of the Earl of Aucharnie. The proprietor attempted to draw Maura toward the stairs, but she had another idea. She needed to put her plan into action.
“Your room is this way, my lady,” said the man. “But I must offer my apologies for—”
“Hold, good sir,” Maura said to the innkeeper. “I am quite sure the room will do. But I wish to visit your kitchen.”
Her request raised his brows. “My lady?”
“I do apologize, but I am hungry,” she said in a light tone, making sure not even to glance in Lieutenant Baird’s direction, for he was far too canny. “Quite famished, in fact.”
Bridget took hold of Maura’s arm and made an attempt to draw her toward the staircase. “Lady Maura—”
Maura pulled her arm away. “Do not presume to maul me, Miss Hammond,” she said firmly, but keeping what might pass for a pleasant tone.
Bridget must have heard the steel in her voice because she released Maura’s arm. While Baird walked ahead, Maura glanced up at the innkeeper and used the little bit of rank she possessed to intimidate him. She started moving in Baird’s wake, toward the back of the inn. “Shall we?”
“Well, aye. W-we can find somethin’ for ye.”
The main floor consisted of a sitting room on one side of the main staircase and a taproom on the other. A very proper-looking lady and gentleman were alone in the sitting room, but the taproom was full, and Maura’s step faltered as they walked past. The brawny highlander she’d dreamed of stood at the bar with his companions, while several other guests—clearly more civilized travelers—sat at the tables in the room, enjoying an early supper.
Ignoring Bridget’s objections to her quest, Maura could not take her eyes from the hero who’d saved her with one well-placed arrow at the waterfall. His black hair was pulled into a queue at his nape, and his eyes were the clear, light blue of a mountain loch. The sleeves of his linen shirt were rolled to the elbows, baring muscular forearms with a roping of thick veins. His tartan was a vibrant, deep red plaid, ending just at his knees, and Maura saw that his powerful lower legs were laced into rough leather coverings.
He was different from anyone she’d ever known. Maura was certain he was not a barbarian as her father had always characterized the colorful highlanders.
This man had shown more chivalry than any member of Maura’s family, saving her from certain death when he was under no obligation to assist her, and with no promise of a reward. He was a big and bold warrior, and had acted on gallant instinct. Maura wondered if his honor would prevent him from rejecting a child like Rosie for her shortcomings.
If only her father had chosen this kind of man as her husband . . .
Her wanton dreams came back to her, and she felt her skin flame once again. She doubted that the passionate embraces she’d dreamed of ever occurred in reality. Surely no man’s arms could cause her blood to sizzle the way his had done.
But she would not mind the opportunity to disprove her doubts.
As she stood staring, the warrior turned to speak to one of his companions and caught sight of her. Maura’s heart stopped for a moment when his eyes met hers and she saw recognition dawn in their pale blue depths.
He set down his mug and started toward her.
Chapter 4
“This way, my lady,” said the innkeeper, jarring Maura’s attention from the highlander.
The moment of recognition passed, and if the man had actually intended to approach her, the innkeeper’s interruption kept him away. She and Bridget followed the proprietor to the back of the inn to the busy kitchen. Two industrious serving maids were arranging food-laden plates on trays while a cook stood at the fire, lifting a huge roast from a spit.
“Have we any cheese in the larder, Donald?” the innkeeper asked.
Maura pondered whether the highlander would have spoken to her if the innkeeper hadn’t come for her at that very moment. She wondered about his voice and whether his English was tinged with the Gaelic sounds of the highlands.
She realized she longed to hear it.
“Aye,” the cook replied to the innkeeper, “but ye’ll get it yerself since we’ve a full house and I’ve got me hands full.”
While Maura’s host collected bread and cheese and put them onto a plate, she turned her attention to what really mattered. There was a dark passageway behind the kitchen, but no servants’ stairway. She saw a door in an outer corridor that might lead outside, but did not open it to check. Lieutenant Baird had come into the kitchen with them, and if he noticed her interest, he would surely assign one of his men to keep watch
over her during the night.
The men had been fairly vigilant during their travels thus far, but relaxed, since Maura had been careful to be compliant for the most part. She hoped they would not suspect she had any plan but to travel with them all the way to Cromarty, in spite of all her pleas to be returned to Glasgow.
“My lady,” said the innkeeper, “I would be happy to carry a meal up to your room if—”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Maura replied, surprising him by taking the plate from him and going back toward the public room. “But I’ve been confined inside my carriage for three days and I need . . .” She glanced pointedly at a scowling Lieutenant Baird. “The taproom suits me well.”
She left Bridget to settle into her room and went back to the main rooms of the inn.
“Lady Maura,” the lieutenant said as she stopped at the crowded taproom. “I would caution you not to—”
“Do you see all the other ladies here, Lieutenant? Surely there is no reason why I cannot join them.”
“This is unwise, my lady.”
His tone grated upon her nerves, so Maura decided to ignore him. She took advantage of the few moments she could breathe without Bridget Hammond’s company, and sat down at a table not far from the highlanders. Her heart gave a great sigh at the pure savage power emanating from the man who’d been the focus of her attention. He and his companions seemed to be in some disagreement, and Maura strained to hear their voices.
One of them mentioned gold and a map, but he was quickly hushed by the leader.
Almost before Maura had a chance to connect the highlander’s words with those spoken by the Duke of Argyll and his brother, Lieutenant Baird came to stand between her and the highlander warriors. Baird leaned forward, laying his hand flat on her table and making no attempt to mask his displeasure as she looked up at him.
Maura used her haughtiest tone to put him in his place. “I would take a glass of ale, Lieutenant Baird . . . if you would be so kind . . .”
She wanted the observant lieutenant away for just a moment, so she could look her fill at the bold highlander whose low voice caused an undeniable flip in the pit of her stomach.
She took a deep breath and admonished herself to pay attention to the matter at hand, which was escaping Lieutenant Baird and his men.
Still, she could not help but wonder if the warrior’s mention of gold could be connected to Argyll’s warning that once the highlanders heard of it—
“I thought you were famished, Lady Maura,” Lieutenant Baird said in a blatantly sarcastic tone when he returned and placed her cup of ale on the table. Maura looked at her plate and realized she hadn’t yet taken a bite.
“I was waiting for my ale, Lieutenant,” she retorted. “My mouth was too dry to eat.” Aye, dry from gawking at the highlander.
Maura took a sip of ale and considered the possibility that the highlanders had yet another portion of the same map she had taken from Ilay’s desk. Hers had been torn from some larger part, she was sure. What she would not give for a look at the warrior’s map.
Baird hovered near Maura’s table, so close that she had trouble gathering her thoughts. “My lady, I implore you to make haste.” He framed it as a request, bur Maura knew it was an order.
The lieutenant was annoyed with her, but that was nothing unusual. She ignored him and tucked into the bread and cheese while she perused the room. Now she knew most of the layout of the main floor, and exactly where to look for the food she intended to take when she left the inn.
For she had to leave that night, without fail, whether or not the highlanders had part of her map. Argyll had spoken of recruiting twenty men, and as soon as he did so, he was sure to look in his brother’s desk for his map. If not before.
Maura did not have much time before he realized who must have taken it and came after her. The sooner she got away, the better.
For the first time since she’d begun her journey to Cromarty, Maura had a room to herself, which gave her a perfect opportunity to study her map and see if she could determine exactly where the gold was hidden. If she could find it before Argyll, she and Rosie wouldn’t have to rely upon the largesse of any of their brothers, for ’twas unlikely any of them—even Aiden—would defy their father’s wishes and take them in. Her righteous sisters would be even worse.
She refused to think how improbable it was that she would be able to track down the gold before Argyll. Or at all. If there was even the slightest possibility of getting herself and Rosie away from the tyrants who dictated their—
“Lieutenant, a word.” It was Corporal Higgins, one of Baird’s men, who’d come up behind the lieutenant.
“Stay here,” Baird ordered Maura, eyeing the highlanders with mistrust.
“Of course, Lieutenant.” What did he think the Scotsmen would do? Abduct her from a crowded tavern? She almost laughed at the very idea. Lord Aucharnie would pay no ransom for her. On the contrary, he would welcome the disappearance of his problematic daughter, for he had six very successful ones, not to mention four strapping sons.
If Maura vanished, so would her frequent letters imploring her parents to relent and reunite her with Rosie. Gone would be the constant reminder that he’d condemned his youngest child to death at her birth, then abandoned her when he learned she still lived.
Maura resumed her surreptitious observation of the highlanders as Baird and his man stepped a few paces away and carried on an earnest conversation.
She heard the rich masculine tones of the warriors’ voices and noted the deep connection they shared. ’Twas the same kind of bond she shared with Rosie—unbreakable—for they only had each other.
The lass was even more beautiful in close quarters. And Dugan would not mind getting even closer. The opportunity came when she dropped something to the floor.
Dugan left his brother and the others at the bar and stepped over to her table, bending to retrieve the handkerchief she’d dropped. Purposely, if he was not mistaken. She intrigued him, and his fascination grew in pace with his arousal.
“Madam . . .” He handed the delicate cloth to her. And when he looked into her eyes that were the clear, deep green of his beautiful Braemore glen, he felt his breath catch and his knees wobble. ’Twas pure lust, and it was invigorating. He’d become so accustomed to duty and worry that he’d forgotten the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of desiring a beautiful woman.
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly, “or is it Laird?” Her rosy lips parted slightly and she drew her lower lip slowly through her teeth. Dugan reacted with a full-blown arousal. His cock twitched to life even though it seemed she had no idea how sensuous the gesture was.
He wanted to taste those lips, wanted to spar with her tongue and teeth. Ach, aye—he would love to feel those soft curves against his body.
“Aye,” he managed to reply. “Laird Dugan MacMillan.”
“And I must thank you, too, for . . . earlier.”
“ ’Twas my very great pleasure to aid you.” He would have taken her hand in his, just for the wonder of feeling her skin against his own. But he would not compromise her any further in this public place.
“Are you very far from home, Laird MacMillan?” Her voice was the soft trickle of a burn over mossy pebbles.
“Aye. A fairly good piece.”
“Is it business that brings you to Fort William?” she asked.
He nodded, taking note of the rapid pulse at her throat. What he would not give to touch his mouth to that spot, to taste the spicy tang of her skin. Her face was devoid of freckles, but for a tiny mole at the outside corner of her eye, which he found unusual for a red-haired lass. A silky lock of her hair curled at her nape, and he resisted the urge to wrap it ’round his finger.
“And you?” he asked, reining in his lust. ’Twas clear she was not some tavern trollop who would welcome his advances. And yet she’d been all alone earlier at the burn.
The English officer he’d seen earlier came to the lady’s table and stood rigidly facin
g him. When the man spoke, his harsh tone indicated his willingness to engage in an unpleasant confrontation, here and now. Dugan put his hand on his claymore, ready for anything the damned bleater might try.
“Is there something I can do for you, highlander?”
“I happened to drop something, Lieutenant, and the gentleman merely handed it to me,” Maura said hurriedly. She did not want to cause any problems for Laird MacMillan. The man had thoroughly charmed her. Her heart and lungs still quivered impossibly, just from his proximity, and her skin radiated a heated awareness.
He was ruggedly handsome and entirely self-assured, and Maura did not think Baird stood a chance against him. But she did not care to see any blood shed because of her tiny flirtation.
She knew ’twas wholly improper to engage in conversation with a stranger, but she had not been able to resist speaking to the man who had saved her life. She needed to thank him for killing the ram with his clean shot. And to be truthful, she’d wanted—no, needed—to see if he shared the same astonishing attraction she felt.
“Then you can just go on your way, Sandy,” Lieutenant Baird said, using the shortened form of the ubiquitous Scottish name Alexander. Its use dismissed the laird as rudely as possible without insulting him overtly.
“Aye, I could if I were ready, Lieutenant Napper.”
Maura nearly laughed aloud at the highlander’s retort, an insulting reference to Lieutenant Baird’s bare scalp.
Laird MacMillan turned to her. “All is well, then, miss?” he asked. “You do not need me to remove this rough character from your presence?”
“Now see here, man!” A torturous vein pulsed at Baird’s temple. “Lady Maura—”
“That is enough, Lieutenant Baird.” Maura did not trust herself to look up at the highlander for fear of betraying her mirth . . . or her interest. Lieutenant Baird need not be alerted to the notice she’d taken of the man who’d rescued her, or her amusement at his expense. There was no good reason to foment the natural animosity between the highlander and her English escort.
The Warrior Laird Page 4