But no. She had to leave him as soon as possible and make her way to Loch Camerochlan. Now that he had all three sections of the map, Maura had no chance of finding the gold. She needed to follow her original plan to escape marriage with Kildary and rescue Rosie.
Maura wondered if her father held some sway over the baron. That made the most sense to Maura’s mind, for this was the first time her parents had attempted to make a match for her. She’d been deemed intractable years ago when they learned she’d taken Rosie away on the day of her birth—not to die, but to be nurtured and raised by Deirdre Elliott.
Lord and Lady Aucharnie had all but disowned her while they lavished their attentions and efforts on their older, more successful children. Maura wanted to believe her mother was secretly glad that she’d saved Rosie, but she could never be sure. Lady Aucharnie never acted against her husband, either in word or in deed.
During the years of her youth, Maura had spent most of her time at the Elliott croft. But one day nearly two years ago, her father had sent for her. He’d ordered the despicable Lieutenant Baird to confine her to one of the towers in Aucharnie Castle while Major Ramsay and his men collected Rosie and took her away with the Crane woman.
While Lieutenant Baird had taken far too much pleasure in tossing Maura into her chamber and locking her in, poor Rosie’s cries of despair tormented her.
’Twas all her father’s doing. Maura had gone to her mother to plead for Rosie’s return, but Lady Aucharnie had not said a word. Her face had gone pale with her lips pinched tightly together.
Within the week, Maura had been removed to Ilay House in Glasgow, in hopes that Lady Ilay could “improve” her and make her not only manageable, but marriageable. It had been months before she’d been able to discover where Rosie had been taken, and the remote loch seemed unreachable. As soon as she’d heard, Maura had made an attempt to slip away from Ilay House and make her way to Loch Camerochlan. But she’d been found out. Twice.
And ever after, she’d been forbidden to leave Lord Ilay’s property without an escort. A guard, really.
Maura did not know why it was so important to her parents that she and Rosie be kept apart. If they wanted their two youngest daughters to disappear, they could have arranged it with little trouble. They could have given her all the money he’d sent to Ilay for her upkeep and insist that Maura take Rosie and move far from Aucharnie Castle and their vaunted social circle. The family never need see her or Rosie again.
Maura was determined to see that they didn’t.
With some subtle signal Maura did not understand, MacMillan urged his horse into a fast trot, and gathered the reins tighter, pulling her even closer to his chest.
There was one very good reason for Dugan to ride faster—to get as far ahead of Lieutenant Baird as possible. When the man came to realize Maura had not traveled south, he would be right on their trail. But Dugan had yet another motive. To hold Maura more tightly in his arms. To breathe deeply of her warm, spicy scent and feel how incredible her soft curves fit against the hard planes of his body.
His attraction to the little thief should have abated, but it had not. She was full of mystery—betrothed to Baron Kildary, in possession of one quarter of the map, and traveling to Loch Camerochlan. She could not be more enticing.
Her hood was down, and long wisps of her hair had come loose from their bindings, catching in the stubble of his beard. Dugan fought hard against the urge to press his lips against the soft skin at her nape; to take her on a short detour from the path and lay her in the grass to—
He caught himself from taking his erotic vision too far. ’Twould only make the ride impossible when it was now just uncomfortable. Dugan had his principles. Once old Kildary paid him the ransom, he would return his bride in the same condition he’d taken her. Untouched.
Or somewhat untouched. He did not think that kiss on the veranda counted for much. Her fiery response had staggered him—and yet it could not have meant anything to her, for she’d taken his most valuable possession from him only a few hours afterward.
Could she be as mercenary as she seemed?
“Loch Camerochlan is a fair distance from here, Lady Maura,” he said. Anything to get his mind from the lush bounty that lay so close to his hands. He knew she was lying about the loch, or at the very least, holding back something about it. Mayhap she knew the French gold had been hidden there.
“Of course it is.”
“Do you think you can hide from your bridegroom up there indefinitely?”
He felt her stiffen and shift away from him, but he pulled her back against his chest and ignored the daft notion that that was where she belonged.
“Of course not,” she said with a sigh. “But perhaps long enough for him to give up on me and settle on another bride.”
“Why Loch Camerochlan and not some other—more comfortable—place?”
She’d denied having an assignation, and Dugan wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe her reason for choosing Camerochlan was its remoteness. But he knew there were far better places to hide. Which left only one other possible reason that she wanted to go there. The gold.
And to think Loch Camerochlan was only a matter of a few leagues from Braemore Glen. The irony of its proximity did not escape him.
Maura did not answer his question, which reinforced Dugan’s suspicions. He decided to let her think he believed her only reason for trying to get to the loch was to avoid marriage to Kildary.
“ ’Twill be pleasant up at the loch during the summer months, but come the winter, you’ll be lucky not to freeze to death.”
“What?” she cried, whipping her head ’round to face him. His statement upset her, and he realized the brightness in her eyes was caused by the sheen of tears. “Winters are so harsh?”
“Aye,” he said simply, hoping she would divulge why she cared. If she knew the gold was there, she probably knew where to look for it, too. She would not have to worry about the cold weather.
“Are they always so?” she asked earnestly.
“Of course. ’Tis the highlands, lass. There will be snow and bitter cold. There’s likely snow there now.”
After the massacre at Glencoe, Dugan’s mother had taken him and his younger siblings into the mountains to escape the carnage. But she—and many others—had died of the cold, and hunger. The mountains had provided little shelter and they’d struggled to find food.
His priority as laird of the MacMillans had been to make sure his clan had enough food and adequate shelter to keep them through the winter months. He would not allow his people to endure any unnecessary deaths because of the elements.
And he was damned if he’d allow them to be evicted from their lands.
“But people can survive the winter in the north country.” Her statement sounded more like a question. An urgent one, at that.
“Aye. With proper shelter and stores of food put by, they can—and do—survive very well.”
Her body relaxed slightly.
“ ’Tis a long way until winter, Maura. You surely did not plan to spend more than a month or two up there.” How long did she think it would take her to find the French treasure? “Or . . . did you?”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “No. I-I did not think so.”
“ ’Tis a moot point now,” he said harshly. “You will be going to Braemore Keep to await your betrothed.”
“No. Please.”
“Aye, m’lady.” ’Twas the more likely way for Dugan to raise the money demanded by the Duke of Argyll, in spite of Maura’s doubts about Kildary’s willingness to pay.
“But if Kildary pays you the ransom . . .” She left the rest unspoken.
Dugan knew what was unsaid. If the baron paid up, he would be compelled to turn Maura over to him—or to the men he sent for her. Honor demanded it.
He didn’t want to dwell on the events that would follow payment of the ransom. “How did you choose Loch Camerochlan as your hiding place?”
&nbs
p; “I’ve told you. ’Tis because Loch Camerochlan is far away and remote.” She sounded as distant and bleak as the loch itself.
“Aye. For hiding in the backside of beyond, you chose well.” And perhaps the French had done so, too, in concealing their treasure.
She was not exactly forthcoming with information. Dugan wanted to know more about where she’d found her piece of the map, and whether she had discovered some indication that King Louis’s gold was hidden at Loch Camerochlan. But he did not care to tip his own hand, in case she was unaware of the treasure.
If, indeed, there was any treasure.
Fleeing to the northwest highlands to avoid marriage to Baron Kildary was one thing. If she located the gold, Maura would be able to evade marriage to the baron—and every other man—forever. It would give her the freedom to leave Scotland—to travel perhaps to France, where the baron would never find her.
Dugan wondered about her father. Would he pursue her if she disappeared? Dugan didn’t believe the man had provided Maura with a dowry, but perhaps he needed to use her for a political alliance. Or he hoped to collect a handsome bride price. Such marriages were commonplace, so it would not be unusual for her to be used this way.
But the thought of it grated on him.
As she sagged against him, Dugan realized Maura was exhausted. He did naught to startle her, but allowed the movement of the horse to lull her to sleep in his arms. He held her close and did not let himself think about the moment he would turn her over to Baron Kildary.
Even though, at the same moment, he would collect the money that would save his clan.
Chapter 12
When Maura awoke, she found herself deep in the mountains, still in Dugan MacMillan’s arms. She pretended to sleep a few moments more, just so she could enjoy the heat of his powerful body curved around hers.
’Twas so much easier to relive the pleasure of his kiss when he held her this way—she did not want it to end.
“Ah, you’re awake?”
Maura sighed and straightened up, pulling away from his body. Those quiet moments of feigned sleep had been far too few. “Yes. How long did I sleep?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much heed.” His voice was lower and softer than when he’d spoken to her before. It sent a wave of warmth through her body.
“We’ve come a long way?”
She was facing forward, but felt his nod.
The countryside was more beautiful than anything Maura had ever seen. They rode through a high, mossy glen where the shrubs and grasses were just beginning to turn green. Mountains more imposing than any Maura could have imagined rose high up from the valley floor, and she felt as though they were the only humans on earth.
The mountain peaks were shrouded in a light mist, and Maura could feel the threat of rain in the air. She’d hoped to find friendly crofters who would allow her to spend her nights indoors while she traveled, and none would be more welcome than now, as the weather became inclement.
Dugan’s men rode ahead of them, riding at a casual pace, as though they were in no hurry to reach their destination.
“Is there a place nearby where we can take shelter when the rains come?” she asked.
He shrugged, and Maura realized that a spring rainstorm meant little to him. He would keep his steady pace regardless of the weather.
Maura shivered.
“Are you cold, Maura?”
“Not very,” she replied. But he did something with his plaid and she found herself wrapped in another layer of wool over her cloak.
He was an odd set of contradictions. After the incident with the thieves in the woods near Sorcha’s cottage, she’d been prepared to think the worst of him. He’d mowed them down, all three of them, singlehandedly. Savagely.
And yet he was not a savage. He’d saved her life at the waterfall, only to discover that she’d stolen from him. He had every right to slay her, or at the very least punish her for her thievery. And yet he’d done naught but take care of her.
Yes, he had taken her captive in order to exact a ransom from Baron Kildary, but he had not harmed her in any way. He could have been far rougher with her than he’d been, but he’d seen to her comfort and even allowed her to sleep against his chest while he took them deep into the mountains.
Maura could not complain about that. The farther she traveled on horseback with Laird MacMillan, the faster she would arrive at Loch Camerochlan.
But what a tangled mess she was in. As captive of a man who intended to sell her to a wretched old neep of a fiancé, she would not be going to Loch Camerochlan.
She needed to get away from him. But one glance at the rugged landscape around her made it clear how unlikely that was.
What if she told him she knew of the gold? Maura wondered if he would consider working with her to find it. To be of any value to him, she would need to bluff having knowledge about its location, and she was not sure she could carry it off. At some point he would demand that she tell him exactly where she thought it was.
She sighed. Even if she managed to determine the location of the gold and they found it, the highlanders might not see fit to share the treasure with her.
“You’re not planning to use the map to guide you through the highlands, are you, Dugan?” she asked.
He did not answer right away and she wondered if he was weighing his responses to her, just as she was doing. “Aye. As it happens, I am. I don’t know every inch of these mountains.”
She did not believe him for an instant. “So . . . you’re going into unfamiliar territory?”
“Enough questions, woman,” he said gruffly and sped up to a swift canter to catch up to his men.
He was intentionally concealing something from her, but she knew what it was. He had hoped—just as she had—to use the map to find King Louis’s gold.
And now Maura had to decide whether to tell him that she knew of the treasure, too.
They came to a copse of trees and stopped for a while, taking a short rest before continuing north. Not that Dugan’s men needed the respite, but this was rough travel for Maura. He figured she would welcome a reprieve from the back of his horse.
While Maura limped on her injured ankle into the brush for a moment of privacy, Dugan took out the maps and studied them.
“If ye’re tired o’ carrying the lass in yer saddle, Laird,” said Calum with a shy grin, “I’d be happy to take on the task fer ye.”
Archie punched the man in the arm. “Nay, ’tis I who said it first and gave ye the idea, ye great tumshie.”
Dugan ignored them as he scoured the maps for any kind of symbol that might represent treasure.
“Do you see anything useful, Dugan?” Lachann crouched down beside him.
Dugan shook his head. “I cannot fathom how anyone is meant to use the damn thing. We have three of the quarters and I still see no marking to show where the treasure is hidden.”
“But now we needn’t worry about it,” Lachann said. “We’ll be in the clear when we get the ransom for Lady Maura and pay Argyll.”
“Except that Lady Maura doesn’t believe Kildary will pay it.”
Lachann stared at his brother in disbelief. “Ach, shite.” He stood and walked to his horse. He gathered the reins in hand and mounted, then rode ahead. The others finished their small meal and followed him, leaving Dugan to wait for Maura.
Lachann had every right to be angry. If Kildary did not pay . . .
Dugan felt more frustrated than ever. His path to the money he needed seemed to escape him at every turn. He’d be so close, and then . . . He bit out a quiet curse as he turned his attention to the map and studied every detail.
There were small triangles to indicate the mountains and blue ink designating lochs. Intertwining circles showed woodlands. As much as he scoured all three pieces of the map, he saw naught to symbolize coins or riches. There was no convenient square to represent a treasure chest. He was completely thwarted.
Lachann thought they should go
raiding, but Dugan knew full well that a raid would not garner the funds they needed. They had to wait until they knew whether Baron Kildary would turn up with the ransom. Then their troubles would be over and Dugan could pursue the rumor about gold at his leisure.
’Twould be good to have a wee cushion, for there was no guarantee that Argyll would not come back next year and demand yet another impossible rent. If there was gold to be had, Dugan intended to be the one to take possession of it.
He was just about to roll up the maps and stash them away when he realized he was seeing something on Maura’s piece of the map he’d not noticed when he looked at it earlier. ’Twas a wee mark in green at the edge of one of the lochs. He could see how he’d overlooked the tiny dot, for it was nearly overshadowed by the blue ink of the loch. But now, the late afternoon light caught it just right. Or perhaps it was just his desperate eyes.
Bloody hell—was he seeing things?
He rubbed his eyes. No, the small green dot was still there. But what loch was it? There were so many in the northwest highlands. Could it be Loch Monar?
Dugan studied the long blue slash of a loch and the symbols all around it, and came to the conclusion he was right.
He felt Maura’s presence before he even saw her, and then she stood beside him, her skirts brushing his shoulder as she looked at the maps. Dugan’s mood was decidedly improved with the sighting of the green spot, but he somehow managed to resist grinning like a lad who’d just stolen his first kiss.
Maura crouched down beside him, and Dugan felt the urge to see if her kisses still had the power to arouse him, in spite of her untrustworthiness. “Why do you suppose there’s naught but symbols on the maps?” she asked.
Dugan gave a shake of his head, as much to clear it of his erotic thoughts as to indicate his negative reply. “I don’t know. Why do you think?”
She shrugged. “Do you see anything that might be Loch Camerochlan?”
He pointed to a long, narrow strip of blue ink, not far from the area he believed was Braemore Glen. He was no geographer, but he knew his own lands. “Here.”
The Warrior Laird Page 10