She did not speak for a moment, and when she did, she nearly knocked him off his heels. “You know about the French gold, don’t you?” Her voice was quiet and slightly unsure.
Bloody hell.
He almost rolled up the maps to stash them out of sight, but thought better of it. There was no need to tip his hand just yet. “French gold?”
“You’ve heard the rumor, have you not?” she asked quietly, crouching down beside him. “That’s why you need the map. Not to find your way through the highlands.”
She touched her document with one finger, drawing it down the blue length of Loch Camerochlan, and Dugan felt a tightening in his groin at the thought of how her intimate touch would feel. On the most sensitive parts of his body.
“Gesu.”
“What?”
“What do you know of it? The gold?” he asked, gaining control of his unwieldy thoughts. He was going to turn this woman over to her intended husband, not bury himself inside her.
She shrugged, the movement of her shoulders and neck so sensual, Dugan nearly groaned aloud. “I know naught but a rumor of a cache of French gold hidden somewhere in the highlands.”
The question of Loch Camerochlan returned to Dugan, and he suspected she knew more than she was saying. Was the green mark significant? “You know naught of Loch Camerochlan, then? That the gold is hidden there?”
Her brows creased. “No.”
“You wouldn’t be trying to mislead me, Lady Maura?”
“Not at all, Laird,” she said. “I must go there whether or not there is gold to be found.”
“Ach, aye. To elude Baron Kildary.”
“To rescue my sister.”
Maura had not meant to say so much, but Dugan’s deep blue eyes kindled what she knew was a misplaced sense of trust. She had not been able to resist them.
“My sister is very young,” she explained, realizing how pointless it was to hold back now. “She is unable . . . Rosie was not right at birth. My father wanted to take her away and let her die, but I just couldn’t . . .”
Dugan frowned fiercely and looked as though her words made no sense to him. Maura realized they wouldn’t. He did not know the kind of man her father was. And she was not explaining very well.
“Rosie managed to survive her birth, but she does not function as others do. She is frail and has difficulty walking. She can speak no more than a few words and her hearing is poor. But she is a sweet child, and she is in need.”
“Why is she in need? From what—or whom—do you rescue her?” He brushed away a tear that slid down her cheek. She had not even noticed the moisture gathering in her eyes as she spoke of Rosie, and his kindness was nearly her undoing. It had been so very long since she’d cradled her wee sister in her arms.
Maura cleared her throat and blinked away her tears. “My father does not wish to see her. Ever. And so he hired a horrible stick of a woman to take her far into the highlands . . .”
“To Loch Camerochlan.”
Maura nodded. “A severe winter could kill my sister, Dugan, and she has already been at the loch for two years. I must get her away from there.”
Dugan rested back on his heels, letting his hand drop away from her face, quite obviously pondering her tale of woe.
But it was more than a tale. She swallowed hard and prayed Rosie had managed to survive so far.
“ ’Tis a father’s right to deal with his children as he will, is it not? But—”
“ ’Tis a father’s duty to take care of his children! All of them!”
Maura would have risen to her feet and stalked away, but Dugan grasped her arm before she could move.
“I do not disagree, Maura. ’Tis harsh to send away a bairn that needs cosseting. ’Tis murder.”
She considered which of the sentiments he’d expressed was the true one, but did not know him well enough to draw a solid conclusion. “How you manage your family is no concern of mine, Laird.” She tried to yank her arm away. “But I will somehow find my way to Loch Camerochlan and take my sister from the pitiless nurse my father hired to tend her.”
“I have no family, Maura. None but my brothers and sister. No children. No wife.”
The low, seductive tone of his voice sent a wave of acute longing through Maura. She wanted . . . Well, perhaps she wanted more than just Rosie. Perhaps there could be more to her life than the care of her sister.
Maura recognized that Laird MacMillan treated his brother with respect and humor—the same way he treated his men. And he’d been kind to her, in spite of the wrong she’d done him.
He leaned toward her, the hand on her arm shifting to her waist. Tipping his head slightly, he touched his lips to hers.
Maura felt the sizzle immediately, coursing through her veins. He was powerful and gentle all at once, drawing her against his body as he deepened their kiss. She felt as though her body was on fire, and when the tips of her breasts touched his hard chest, an arc of pure pleasure crackled through her, centering in her womb.
Maura slipped her hands up to his shoulders, ’round to his nape, and pulled out the leather tie that held his queue in place. When she slid her fingers into his thick hair, he made a low sound that rumbled through her.
She wanted to feel him closer. It was an unconscious need to feel his skin against hers.
He shifted slightly and speared his tongue into her mouth as he eased her down to the ground. Maura’s senses reeled when his hand slid up to the side of her breast, then fully cupped it.
’Twas not enough.
She arched her back and he broke the kiss, nuzzling her cheek and her neck, touching her as she yearned to be touched. He drew her nipple out to a hard peak through the fabric of her gown, and every nerve in Maura’s body cried out for more.
“Ach, Maura.”
His low voice rippled through her and her breath caught in her lungs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Maura knew she should be trying to figure a way to interpret the map and take it from him. She ought to be keeping her distance, and not lying like some wanton creature beneath him.
But when he kissed her mouth again and slid his hand beneath her gown, Maura closed her eyes and yearned for more—like the wanton she must be.
Chapter 13
The first drops of rain shocked Dugan to his senses. He moved his hand away from the temptation of heaven beneath her skirts and pushed himself up onto his forearms. He knew better than to look at Maura’s kiss-swollen lips, for he wanted her—wanted more than he should.
She might be the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, but she was his captive. A woman he was about to ransom for the price of saving his clan.
He muttered a low curse of abject frustration. Gesu, but life was unfair.
He took Maura’s hand, and as he rose to his feet, pulled her up. “We should catch up to my men. They’ll have found shelter.” Perhaps. Usually, they just wrapped themselves in their warm woolen plaids and pushed on. If absolutely necessary, they laid out their fur blankets and took cover under the trees.
Dugan lifted her onto his horse and climbed up behind her, but felt no relief from the urge to pull her into his arms and ravish her fully.
’Twas impossible, he knew, and far better to join his men before he lost his head and found yet another opportunity to kiss those captivating lips.
By all the saints, he should have taken a wife years ago. Then he would not be so tempted . . . Ach, you’re an idiot, MacMillan. There wasn’t a woman within fifty miles of Braemore who fascinated him the way Lady Maura did.
She remained silent as he kicked his heels into the gelding and began a slow trot northwest, in the wake of his brother and the others. The rain was more of a heavy mist, but Dugan covered Maura with his loose plaid, drawing her close once again.
Best not to think of those lovely curves that were nestled against him. Instead, Dugan concentrated on what must be done. For the good of his clan. The green dot on the northern shore of what might be Loch Monar was not enough to go on. Du
gan needed to collect from Maura’s bridegroom to be sure he had the money to pay Argyll.
“When Kildary comes for you . . .” he said.
He felt her sharp intake of breath. “He will not.”
Oh aye, he would. The baron had his pride, and would never allow his betrothed to remain in the hands of a “barbaric” highlander. The day would come—soon—when Kildary would ride to Braemore to make the exchange. A blessed three thousand pounds for his bride.
“He’ll see to it that you and your clan are deemed outlaw, whether he comes for me or not.”
Dugan knew it was an empty threat. Kildary would not want it known that he was bested by a highlander. He would quietly pay the ransom and take his woman back to Cromarty.
“I will not go with him,” she said.
And Dugan did not want to send her. His jaws clenched tightly together and he decided not to argue about it. ’Twas a pointless discussion, for he would take her to Braemore Keep. He would meet Kildary there, and he would exchange Lady Maura for the money the baron brought.
They rode in silence for a time while Dugan considered that small green marking on the map. There were so many lochs in the western highlands, he could not be positive of its location. And of course, he could not swear that it indicated the location of the treasure. Mayhap it signified something altogether different. And useless.
Maura’s recounting of her sister’s plight rang true, but she could be concealing crucial information. A chest of gold or even a small bag of riches would be quite useful to her in her grand plan to rescue her sister, and she’d been desperate enough to go after it alone. On foot and utterly unprepared, into the highlands that were entirely unfamiliar to her.
Was she desperate enough to deceive him regarding what she knew about it? Aye. He’d wager she’d do anything to get to her sister as well as the treasure.
“You are certain the French gold is not hidden at Loch Camerochlan?” he asked at length.
“Do you not trust me, Laird MacMillan?” she asked, turning to look into his eyes with luminous innocence.
“Why should I, Maura?”
She looked away. “I deserved that. But I want you to know I am not in the habit of stealing.” She paused, perhaps weighing her words. “ ’Tis just that Rosie cannot stay at Loch Camerochlan any longer. She is so very small and fragile. And Tilda Crane . . . her nurse . . .” Maura shuddered.
Dugan did not know what to believe, so he concentrated on getting them up the steep, narrow path to the pass that would lead into yet another scenic glen on the way to both Braemore Keep and Loch Monar.
“How did you learn of the gold?” he asked.
She did not answer right away, and he could almost hear her mentally weighing her words. He wondered if she would give him the truth. “I overheard my father’s cousin say he intended to organize some men to ride out and search for it. He said naught of its location. I didn’t even know what the map was when I took it.”
Bloody hell. He’d hoped there would be no other searchers to compete with. At least they didn’t possess three quarters of the map as Dugan did. But he was painfully aware that the section with the green dot near what he thought was Loch Monar was the piece Maura had stolen from her cousin. If he’d already figured it out . . .
“You didn’t realize it was a treasure map when you took it?”
“I only thought it would show me the way to Loch Camerochlan once I left my escort at Fort William.”
“There was no writing on it, Maura.”
“ ’Twas dark in the room at the time, so I didn’t get a good look at it . . . And I feared they would return at any minute. I did not take the time to examine it before I left.”
“When did you realize I carried another part of the map?”
“I didn’t really know it,” she said. “I . . . I heard one of your men speak of a map . . . and gold . . .”
Damn Archie’s mouth. “So you took it.”
“No! I mean, yes. But I didn’t intend to.”
“Explain.”
Her lovely throat moved tightly as she swallowed before answering. “I was curious. I wanted a quick glance at it, so I looked. But then I heard a noise and I had to get out of there. I took it without thinking.”
“I should have posted a guard,” Dugan muttered, chastising himself once more. He’d allowed his fatigue to make him vulnerable.
’Twould not happen again. Ever.
Maura twisted ’round to face him fully, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I took your map, Dugan. I’ve felt naught but guilt since then. A handful or two of gold would be very helpful once I find Rosie, but I know ’twas not right to steal from you.”
Dugan found Maura’s loyalty to her sister admirable, even if he could not quite forgive her for her thievery.
He found he could not take his eyes off her, for she had the most vivid coloring imaginable—her green eyes were the color of Braemore Glen and her hair was as red as burnished copper. The hand she’d placed on his arm seemed to burn through to his skin, and Dugan would have liked to find a quiet little copse and lay her down upon his plaid and finish what he’d begun a short while ago.
But he would not, not while he awaited her bridegroom to turn up with the money he needed.
“Dugan . . . you cannot give me to Lord Kildary,” she said quietly, as though reading his thoughts.
Dugan had no choice, but he had the wisdom not to mention it again.
“He does not care what happens to me.”
“Of course he does. He’s a man, and you are his possession.”
She looked up at him then, with fire in her eyes. “I am no man’s possession!”
“Your father—”
“Has had little to do with me since he found I had taken Rosie away and aided her survival. I am naught to him.”
Dugan did not bother to state the obvious. She was still under her father’s jurisdiction. She was a woman with no resources, therefore, she had no choice but to capitulate.
Unless she knew more about the gold or the map than she was telling. If she found the treasure, she would be an incredibly wealthy woman and have all the freedom she needed.
Dugan wished he knew for certain whether that green spot on the map signified the location of the treasure, or if she was deceiving him about what she knew. “You wouldn’t have gotten far in the highlands on your own,” he finally said. Mayhap if he got her talking, she would divulge something of use.
“Yes, I would have.”
“Maura, you couldn’t get past Loch Eil without running into trouble. And as soon as Lieutenant Baird realizes you haven’t traveled south, he’ll be right behind you.”
She stopped breathing for an instant. “He cannot find me. I must get to Rosie before she has to endure another winter at Loch Camerochlan. I had always planned to take her away whether or not there is any gold to be had. I-I have a bit of money . . . I will manage.”
Dugan wondered if Rosie could have survived two winters if she was as frail and helpless as her sister believed. His mention of the harsh highland winter had disturbed Maura, who was as devoted to Rosie as Dugan was to his clan. But the good of the MacMillans had to take precedence over what Maura wanted.
He could not make her plight his concern, even though it went against the grain to ignore it.
Dugan had never known a woman like Maura. He wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe. She responded to him like dry tinder to a spark, and seemed immune to intimidation. And it only made him crave her more.
His mind raced through the possibilities. They could go directly to Loch Monar and begin the search before Kildary arrived at Braemore. And if the green mark led him to the treasure, there would be no need to collect the baron’s ransom.
“You must need money very badly to do this to me,” Maura said, sounding more than a little desperate.
“Aye. My clan will be evicted from our lands unless we pay an exorbitant rent.” He was de
sperate, too.
“What about the gold? You can—”
“If the clues on the map were slightly clearer, I might have some confidence of finding it.” He was not about to tell her about the green mark.
“Dugan . . .” She frowned, deep in thought.
Dugan wondered if she had finally thought through her predicament and decided ’twould be best to admit that she knew more than she was saying. If she confirmed that the treasure could be found at Loch Monar, ’twould save them both a great deal of time and trouble.
And there would be no need to turn her over to Kildary.
“Do you believe there are witches . . .” she asked, twisting the conversation into a completely different direction. “I mean . . . do you think there are canny old women who know . . . things . . . that the rest of us do not?”
Dugan sighed. “The highlands are rife with tales of witches and faeries.” And some of those witches were said to be able to prognosticate. Dugan remembered hearing about a seer who’d foretold the slaughter at Glencoe. In a fatal mistake, the MacIain laird had scoffed at her prediction, unwilling to believe that the soldiers they hosted in their homes would attack them. Such an act would be murder under trust.
And they called highlanders barbarians.
“What have witches to do with anything?”
“I’m not sure,” Maura replied. “But I crossed paths with an old soothsayer after leaving Fort William.”
“Looking to relieve you of your coin, no doubt.”
“I-I suppose so.” Now that she was far from the blind old woman’s little croft and the huge dog that guarded her, Maura realized how silly it was even to think of her. She knew better than to believe in such nonsense.
“We need no soothsayer to tell us how long it will be before Lieutenant Baird realizes his mistake and comes after you.”
Maura’s pulse drummed in her ears. She had not forgotten about her father’s lackey, and knew Baird must be furious with her. Ever since his posting at Aucharnie, he’d been trying to inveigle himself into her father’s good graces, and had succeeded only to the extent that the earl allowed him to carry out his more odious commands. Losing her would not go well for him.
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