The Warrior Laird

by Margo Maguire

  She swallowed. Unless he could bring back her body.

  “At least we’ll be a full day ahead of him,” Dugan said. “And we can hope for some bad weather.”

  “This is not bad weather?” Maura asked, relieved to have something to think about besides her ill-tempered escort.

  “Ach, no. A wee mist is all this is.”

  She shuddered and hoped they soon found some sort of shelter. She would be satisfied with any small place where they could build up a fire and nestle themselves together against the cold and wet.

  Her body throbbed with an intense awareness of Dugan’s powerful thighs lying alongside her own, fueling the urge to learn whether he responded to a caress at the back of his knee just as she had done.

  Maura realized now what was missing from those men Lady Ilay had invited to the house. They were bland, colorless milksops who wore too much lace on their shirts and powder on their heads. She’d had no wish to touch any of them, no desire to feel their caresses.

  Why couldn’t her father have come to a betrothal agreement with a man like Dugan MacMillan?

  Maura answered her own question. Because he was a highlander, just a wee formality away from being an outlaw.

  And he fully intended to turn her over to Baron Kildary if the man turned up with the ransom money.

  “I will not marry him, you know,” she said. “Baron Kildary. No one can force me to exchange marriage vows with him.”

  Ah, but they can, Dugan thought. They had exactly the leverage they needed—Rosie. Maura’s father could hold the lass’s safety against Maura doing his bidding. From what he’d heard of the man, he might actually harm Rosie.

  “When you find the gold and pay your rents, will you be safe from eviction?” Maura asked.

  “For a time, at least,” Dugan replied. “Until our landlord thinks of some other way to harass us.”

  He saw her brows come together in deep thought. It seemed impossible that she did not know of the difficulties faced by the highland clans. Mostly, the highlanders’ problems centered ’round rich landlords who wanted to take the land held for generations by his people. Far too many lowland Scots had decided to side with them in order to line their own pockets.

  “Maura, if you know anything more about the location of the gold, now would be a good time to tell me.”

  “Dugan, I am fully aware that you would not need to collect a ransom from Kildary if you had the French treasure. If I knew anything more about it, I would certainly tell you.”

  Frustration rippled through him. Of course she understood the ramifications of the useless maps. She was not a daftie. A bit impulsive, perhaps, but not a fool.

  “On the night before I set out from Glasgow,” she explained, “I heard only a few whispered words about gold. And I barely had a chance to look at the maps—even my portion—before I left Fort William and those bandits came after me. I know no more than you.”

  Her earnest tone was unmistakable, and Dugan was inclined to believe her. She was not so foolish as to think she could search the highlands and find the gold on her own. He wasn’t sure that he could do it.

  “Maura . . . If you do not wed Kildary, your father will likely come after you. Or Rosie. He’ll use her as leverage against you.”

  Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady. “So I must get to my sister quickly and take her someplace where he cannot find us. To Ireland, perhaps. Or America.”

  Dugan cringed at the thought of Maura and her impaired sister traveling alone and unprotected. They would be vulnerable to every kind of danger. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Aye, I am. Dead serious.”

  Chapter 14

  Lieutenant Alastair Baird was furious enough to kill someone. But his preferred victim was not there. And it did not appear that she was within miles of the damned waterfall where he’d assumed she would go to hide from him.

  It had become painfully clear that she’d had some ulterior motive for wandering out into these woods as they’d traveled, though he was not certain what it was. Had she met with an accomplice who was to help her elude his custody?

  Baird did not know how that would be possible. He’d arrived at Ilay House without advance warning with orders from her father, and they’d left for Cromarty the following morn. There’d been no time to set up a rendezvous.

  Unless the conniving little cow had managed to send out a messenger . . . Whom would she have contacted? Did she have friends in the highlands?

  Could it have been those damned highlanders she’d been talking to in the taproom the night before? Maura had acted oddly upon her arrival at the inn, asking the proprietor to take her to the kitchen for an early meal. What complete and utter blatherskite. There had to have been some reason for her actions.

  Baird cursed himself for his lack of vigilance. He should have assumed she would try something along the way. She had made it known she had no intention of marrying Kildary, and he should have analyzed her threat somewhat more critically. Belatedly, he realized that everything she’d said about wanting to return to Glasgow had been a ruse, an intentional misdirection. She’d planned her escape from the very start.

  The lieutenant stepped away from the waterfall and the carcass of the ram that had been killed only a day or so ago, by the looks of it. He pulled absently at one of his eyebrows, pondering what had transpired there. A highlander’s arrow had pierced the bloody thing . . . Had Maura encountered the animal? Had she spoken with the man who’d shot it? Was it possible that she’d made some hurried arrangement to rendezvous with the man somewhere near Fort William?

  That seemed unlikely, for the highlander at the Speckled Trout appeared to have his own plans. However, Baird might have misinterpreted the man’s haste to leave the inn. And if Maura had met up with that highlander, she was not going to be easy to find.

  Fortunately, tracking was one of Baird’s specialties.

  Maura did not want to think about leaving Scotland and traveling so far away from absolutely everything she knew. In truth, she did not really want to rush away from Dugan MacMillan, now that he was not quite so accusatory.

  She nestled against his braw chest and wished their circumstances were not as desperate as they were. Maura did not think she would meet any other man whose kisses had the power to shimmer through her as Dugan’s did. Whose touch made her forget all propriety.

  Of course, she shouldn’t have allowed the kind of intimacies they’d shared . . . and yet she had done naught to stop his sensual advances. On the contrary, she had wanted more. Dugan was the one to realize how far they’d gone, and had withdrawn his hand before he’d done more than caress the skin behind her knees.

  Oh good Lord. She could not go on this way. Reliving the amazing sensations that had pooled in her nether parts at his touch; wondering how much farther he would have gone had it not started raining.

  “I did not know a landowner could remove an entire clan from their lands,” she said, as much to distract herself from thoughts she should not be having, as to gain information.

  “Ach, aye. We all have rich landlords, and most of them want their lands back.”

  “Why?” Maura asked.

  “For their own use. Our meager rents are not enough.”

  Maura heard the bitterness in his voice and wondered if her father was one of those landlords. She realized with a sinking heart ’twas most likely true. Lord Aucharnie would show no more mercy toward a highland clan than he had toward his own daughters.

  “You will be able to pay your rents when you find the French gold,” she said.

  “You are so sure I’ll find it?”

  Yes, she was. She felt a surprising certainty that he would. That he would somehow figure out the mystery of the map, perhaps even with her help. “The map might be no good, but there must be other rumors, and crofters who might have heard something.”

  “Ah, but if they knew anything about a hidden trove of gold, wouldn’t they have looked for it themselves?”
<
br />   Maura nodded thoughtfully. ’Twas quite clear that they would both be better off if Dugan found the trove of French gold before Argyll did, and before Baron Kildary came to claim her.

  “I wonder if that old witch really knew something.”

  “Who?”

  “The old witch I mentioned earlier,” Maura said. Perhaps Dugan could interpret what the old woman had said. “Sorcha was her name. Her croft was off the bridle path north of Loch Eil and she had a massive dog as her only company. As I walked past, she beckoned me to come inside for a drink.”

  “Sorcha?”

  “Yes.” Maura looked up at him. “Why?”

  He gave a slow shake of his head, but he wore a contemplative frown. “Old soothsayers blanket these mountains. Sometimes they seem . . . Well, they seem a bit magical. Or mystical. Some say they know things they could not. I know of one whose predictions came true.”

  “Soothsayers are known in the lowlands, as well. I never thought I believed in them. But this one . . .” Maura frowned. “The woman said some odd things . . .”

  He kept his eyes focused on the trail straight ahead, and Maura sensed his preoccupation. She probably should not even mention her strange encounter with Sorcha, but the woman had known about Loch Camerochlan.

  “I think there might be something to her riddles,” Maura said.

  “ ’Tis just what we need—another puzzle.” He sighed. “What did she say?”

  “Ah, well, ’twas mostly nonsense,” Maura said, deflated. “Something like ‘The wind and dust will give you what you need.’ ”

  “She said need?” Dugan asked.

  Maura thought a moment. “No, I think the word she used was seek.”

  “Did you tell her you were on a quest? For that would imply that you sought something.”

  “No.”

  They rode quietly for a few minutes while Dugan considered the woman’s words and Maura tried not to think of the wall of brawn she rested against, and the way it made her feel. “ ’Tis hardly a definitive statement,” he said. “Most likely ’tis only well-practiced blatherskite, designed to make you part with some of your coin.”

  “But wind and dust . . . It seemed so very specific to me.”

  Dugan shook his head. “How?”

  Maura shivered. “I don’t know. I suppose you are right.” And yet the woman had seemed wholly magical, moving blindly in her tiny croft, with the dog that seemed to understand every word the woman spoke. “Dugan . . . she told me that I carried a prize.”

  “Most travelers carry a prize of sorts—something of value, whether it be money or some other possession they can barter as they travel.”

  “I thought she meant the map. What other prize do I have?”

  “Money?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Could she have seen the map?” he asked.

  “No. I never took it from my bag, and even if I had, she was blind. She wouldn’t have seen it.”

  Maura’s words sent a disquieting prickle down Dugan’s spine. Yet he knew Sorcha was a common enough name in the highlands, and it wouldn’t surprise him to learn that a good many old women named Sorcha were blind.

  ’Twas entirely unlikely that she was the seer who’d foretold the disaster at Glencoe. According to the legends surrounding the massacre, she’d been old even then, and that was more than twenty years ago. No, it could not be she.

  But what if this woman was as accurate as Glencoe’s Sorcha?

  The wind and dust will give you what you seek.

  Dugan didn’t believe he’d ever heard a more useless statement. If this was the kind of warning Laird MacIain had received, ’twas no wonder he had not heeded it.

  “Did you ask the woman what her words meant?”

  “I did, but she only answered with more riddles. Truth be told, she frightened me a little.”

  He laughed, glad of the distraction as he imagined the unlikely event of Maura cowering in fear. “I’m surprised to learn there is anything that frightens you.”

  She shivered and Dugan adjusted his hold on her, pulling her close. Old Sorcha really had frightened her.

  “ ’Tis no jest, Dugan,” Maura said. “I think she meant something by those words. I’ve only got to figure them out and we’ll know how to interpret the map.”

  “My grandfather said the clues would be known when the four pieces came together.”

  “Allies,” Maura murmured.

  “What?”

  “Sorcha said something about allies coming together,” she replied. “It makes sense, does it not? That the four quarters were separated, and only when four ‘friends’ come together will the map be complete and the clues readable.”

  Dugan did not see how ’twas possible for one more piece of the map to help him. He already knew where the gold was. He only had to figure out the logistics of traveling to Loch Monar and getting Maura to Braemore Keep at the same time to await Kildary.

  Dugan ignored the burn in his gut at the thought of sending her off to Braemore while his men waited for Kildary to arrive with the ransom. Because it could not be helped. There was no telling how long it would take to find the treasure, and he was not about to risk eviction while he scoured the shores of Loch Monar for the gold.

  “The map is no longer your concern, Maura.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “One of those parts is mine.”

  He hardened his heart and shook his head. “Not any longer. You are going to Braemore Keep to await your betrothed.”

  He felt her stiffen, and at that moment, he knew she had no intention of going to Braemore with him. She was going to try to escape him and go up to Loch Camerochlan on her own, though he did not know how she could possibly accomplish it. Her ankle still bothered her and she didn’t know her way ’round the mountains. There were high passes and deep valleys where she could get lost and not see anyone for days.

  Loch Camerochlan was a long way off.

  “How far away is Braemore Keep?” Maura asked.

  “No more than three or four days’ ride.”

  It gave her some hope. In three days, she ought to be able to get away from him and make her way to Loch Camerochlan. He’d shown her Loch Camerochlan on the map, and she knew they’d been traveling northwest all day. At least, that’s the direction they’d been going before the clouds had obscured the sun.

  She had not counted on having any additional funds when she’d left Glasgow, and she knew she could get by with what she had.

  “Three nights, then?”

  “Four. We’ve tonight.”

  “Where will we stay tonight?”

  “Look ahead.”

  Maura saw a thin curl of smoke rising up in the distance and she hoped it was Dugan’s men, waiting for them in a warm, dry cottage. Her body was tired and sore after walking for half the night and riding most of the day with Dugan.

  It occurred to her that travel in the highlands was a good deal more difficult than she’d anticipated, but she shoved that thought from her mind and concentrated on the issue at hand. Dugan might have pointed out what he thought was Loch Camerochlan, but slipping away again during the dead of night was not the least bit appealing.

  Nor was the thought of stealing one of the highlanders’ horses in order to stay ahead of them. Besides, she did not think they would let her get away with it.

  Maura shuddered at the thought of becoming Baron Kildary’s wife. The night she’d been ordered to Cromarty, she’d heard Ilay’s servants whispering what they’d heard of his cruelty, but of course none of them would speak to her directly. The baron did not seem to be the kind of man who would allow Rosie to come into his household.

  And that was the only way marriage to the old man would be tolerable.

  They rode close enough to smell the smoke of the highlanders’ fire, and the dizzying aroma of meat cooking. Maura looked ’round, but saw no croft or any other shelter nearby.

  ’Twas sorely disappointing but for the ra
bbits roasting on a spit over the small fire. While the highlanders’ horses grazed nearby, the men had wrapped themselves in their heavy woolen plaids, and each one had found his own place. Conall sat smoking a pipe with sweet-smelling tobacco that mingled with the scent of the cooking meat. He blushed bashfully—and a bit charmingly—when she looked at him.

  Bryce did not look up when they came into camp, but kept his full attention on carving a small figure out of wood. Young Archie sharpened the blade of his claymore while Dugan’s brother tended the fire and watched to be sure the rabbits did not fall into it.

  As Dugan helped Maura to dismount, she had never felt more confused. Most things in her life had been clear-cut until now. As a mere child, she’d refused to let Rosie die. She’d taken food from her father’s kitchens to supplement what the Elliotts had, in order to compensate the family who’d cared so deeply and so well for her and Rosie. She’d spent two interminable years at Ilay House, twice attempting to slip away, then planning carefully and biding her time until presented with the perfect opportunity to disappear.

  Maura had been so sure of herself and her plan to hike to Loch Camerochlan on her own, yet her plans had been thoroughly thwarted by the braw highlander who, even now, made her heart pound and her body tingle in anticipation of his touch.

  Dear Lord. This could not continue. Whether it was convenient or not, she needed to get away from Dugan MacMillan and make her own way up to Loch Camerochlan. She only had to take her opportunity when it presented itself.

  Dugan observed as Maura sat on a rock near the fire and took out blocks of cheese and bread from her traveling bag. She seemed preoccupied as she cut off pieces of both and handed them to the men.

  She looked up at him. “Is this where we will stay the night?”

  “ ’Tis nearly sunset. We cannot go any further into the mountains after dark.”

  She bit her lush lower lip as she took a quick glance around. Likely she was noticing that there would be no privacy in the setting they’d chosen. Dugan wondered what else she was thinking.

  About leaving, perhaps?