No one spoke as he turned and rode to the bridle path. Why couldn’t she have just answered the question? Why all that blather about souls? And Glencoe.
“Mad old bampot,” he muttered.
But, goddamn it, how could the old bat have known his father had been at Glencoe?
Dugan felt very lucky indeed. He’d brought down a ten-point stag, as well as several good-sized rabbits. ’Twas meat that would surely gain him a warm welcome up at the castle. He and Conall returned to the little grove of trees, carrying the rabbits, and found Maura sitting with Archie under a canopy made with his fur blanket.
Lachann and Bryce were already riding toward them on the path from the castle. And not a moment too soon. The fur canopy was soaked, nearly through, though Maura looked reasonably comfortable and dry underneath it. Archie was sitting with her, but he scrambled to his feet to take the string of rabbits from Conall.
No matter what news Lachann brought, Dugan had already decided he would take Maura to the castle rather than keeping her out in the rain all night. He just didn’t know quite how he was going to explain her presence.
Dugan didn’t think it would be wise to announce who she was, and knew there’d be no difficulty convincing her of that, for she hadn’t wanted to tell him anything of her people, anyway. ’Twas hardly likely she’d tell Caillich.
The earl was not one to involve himself in the affairs of the highland lairds unless he could gain something from it. And Dugan didn’t want to give the man any reason to think he might have something to gain by taking Maura from him.
No, ’twas best if he took no notice of her.
Lachann and Bryce rode into the cover of the trees but did not dismount. “The Duke of Argyll is up at the castle,” Lachann said without preamble.
“Clarty bastard,” Bryce muttered.
A shudder of revulsion went through Dugan. But he’d dealt with the wily brute in subsequent years and had no choice but to deal with him again. The question was—what was the duke doing at Caillich Castle?
Did he know of the gold?
“How many men?”
“Only twenty or so.”
Dugan looked at Maura and noticed she’d gone pale at Lachann’s words, and he wondered if she had reason to flee the duke. She could not be his daughter, for Argyll had none.
But perhaps they were related in some other way.
“Maura,” he said, “you’ll ride with Archie. He’s your brother.”
“But Laird, my sisters are—”
“Aye, Arch, I know,” Dugan said. “But you’ve both got red hair, so they’ll believe she is your sister. We’re going to call her . . . Maggie . . . while we’re at Caillich.”
“Ah,” he said. “I understand, Laird.”
“Conall,” Dugan said, “you and Bryce go and collect the stag and bring it to the castle. We’ll ride ahead.”
Archie took down the fur pelt and while he folded it, Dugan took Maura aside. “Is there aught you should tell me about the Duke of Argyll, Lady Maura?”
She swallowed—nervously, Dugan thought—then shook her head. “N-no. Well, of course I know who he is, but what more do you suppose I could tell you about him? The man is far above my station.”
Somehow, Dugan did not think that was true. He straightened her hood over her head and thought about having the right to kiss her any time he liked. To take her in his arms and taste those sweet lips whenever he had the urge.
And damn all, he knew he would often have that urge.
He lifted her onto Archie’s horse, vowing not to dwell any more on such impossibilities, on fantasies that interfered with his duty to his clan.
He watched as Archie started for the trail to the castle, then mounted his own horse and quickly caught up.
Maura felt certain Dugan knew she had some connection to the duke. But she had never met Argyll until his visit at Ilay House—dear Lord, had that been only a few days ago? She’d been introduced to Argyll at Ilay House, so he was likely to recognize her if he saw her. He would know her as the thief who’d taken the map.
For who else would have stolen it? She’d hoped that Ilay would not miss it for at least a few days, giving her a chance to get away from Lieutenant Baird at Fort William and escape into the highlands.
A shocking thought hit her. Perhaps Argyll had actually come to the highlands to search for her.
Somehow, she had to stay out of sight.
Caillich’s guards allowed them to pass through the gates, and Maura was relieved to see that the outer close was a wee bustling town within the castle walls. There were shops and homes, pens with animals inside, and a very cozy-looking tavern and guesthouse with three floors. Farther on was the Lord’s Tower, a massive stone building four stories high, with windows of mullioned glass on each level.
Dugan dismounted at the guesthouse and beckoned Archie to follow. “We’ll take rooms here and hope I’ll not be invited to stay at the keep.”
Archie nodded and helped Maura down. She shrank into the hood of her cloak and followed the men inside, pleased to be out of the cold rain, and grateful to be out of sight of passersby. She did not care to attract any attention, though she took stock of her surroundings and considered how she was going to get away from the castle. And Dugan MacMillan.
Aucharnie Castle was not as large or imposing as Caillich, though there were walls surrounding her father’s large bailey and barracks for his soldiers. The walls and their cannons were manned by soldiers, and no one could get past them.
Maura assumed the same was true here.
Dugan spoke to the innkeeper and arranged for some rooms while Maura warmed herself by the fire. A moment later, he picked up her bag and his own, and followed the man up the stairs to a short corridor lined with closed doors. He opened the first one and Dugan gestured for Maura to go inside. He placed her bag on the floor near the bed, and followed the innkeeper back out.
Maura was alone for only a moment before Dugan and Archie returned to the room. “Get the fire going, Arch,” he said, then dropped his own pack on the floor. The one containing the maps. He took a few items from it, and went for the door.
“Stay here, both of you.”
Maura bristled at the tone of his order.
“You are responsible here, Archie. Stay with your sister until I return.”
“Aye, Dugan.”
He turned to leave, but stopped to speak sharply to Maura. “And stay out of my pack.”
Dugan left. Maura waited for the room to warm, then removed her cloak and spread it out by the fire to dry. She opened her bag and took out her spare clothes and did the same with them.
“Where do you suppose Dugan went?” she asked Archie.
“To pay his respects to Lord Caillich.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Oh aye.” Archie sat down on the chair by the fire and leaned back in a pose of utter relaxation. “Dugan always stays in the Tower with the earl and his family. The rest of us stay here. The landlord, old Roy MacCallum, knows us well.”
Maura smiled. She decided it was not going to be too difficult to get away from Archie during the night. She sat down near him to wait.
Dugan left Maura with Archie and went to the nearby room his men would share. He needed to make himself presentable before meeting Caillich and possibly Argyll.
He wondered why the duke had come so far away from his own territory. Aye, the man owned land in the highlands, but rarely did he travel to them himself. Dugan had not heard of any uprisings taking place in the highlands, and Lachann said the duke had brought a limited number of men with him.
Mayhap he had an issue he needed to negotiate with Caillich. The earl was notorious for taking no sides, but there might be a sensitive parliamentary vote coming up. Argyll might need Caillich as an ally.
There was water in the pitcher on the washstand, so Dugan pulled off his shirt and washed, then shaved with the razor and soap he’d taken from his pack. He combed his hair and tied it
back, then dressed in his clean shirt and wrapped himself into his plaid. After brushing the mud from his sporran and boots, he felt satisfied that he no longer looked the part of the barbarian highlander.
He went down to the main floor of the guesthouse and passed the time with Roy MacCallum, ordering a meal for his men before making his way up to Caillich’s Tower on foot.
Caillich had always been cordial to the highland lairds, probably because he considered himself to be one of them, but only to a certain extent. Dugan wondered how he would be received by Argyll. Of course old maggot knew he’d raised the rent on MacMillan lands to an exorbitant rate—it only remained to be seen whether the man would mention it.
Dugan moved past guards wearing the Caillich tartan, and entered the earl’s great hall, where he found a festive atmosphere. The chandeliers and wall sconces glittered with candlelight. A small troupe of fiddlers and pipers played quietly at one end of the hall while servants were busy placing trays of food and decanters of wine on the table.
Lairds MacLeod and MacRae stood talking together near the massive fireplace with Argyll and Caillich. Lady Caillich was notably absent, and Dugan wondered if it meant the earl expected some tense conversation between the lairds and Argyll. ’Twas likely true.
Dugan wore a neutral expression as he greeted the men, giving deference to none of them. He was damned if he would bow to the bastard who intended to drive his clan—his family—from their lands.
“Laird MacMillan, I understand your men brought me a stag,” Caillich said.
“Aye.”
“Many thanks, then. Lady Caillich is quite partial to venison. She will be doubly pleased to hear of your gift.”
“What brings you down this way, Laird MacMillan?” Argyll asked pointedly. “You are far from your . . . er, my . . . lands.”
Dugan’s hands itched to draw his claymore and end it right here. “Business, Duke.”
“A financial transaction, mayhap?”
“No. We traveled south to collect one of my clanswomen from Loch Nevis.”
Argyll raised a brow. “Taken in a raid, then?”
“No, Duke.” Dugan smiled slightly. “Visiting our kin.”
Argyll liked nothing better than to depict highland clansmen as savages, doing naught but stealing from one another and engaging in bloody feuds. And yet it was clear Argyll had no regrets that his own regiment had carried out the slaughter of innocent women and children at Glencoe. Dugan was not about to play into the bloody duke’s portrayal of a barbaric clansman.
“Ah. So now you are on your way back to Braemore. How do your lands fare?” Argyll asked, smiling as though he enjoyed a private jest.
Dugan looked into the man’s flat, dark eyes and wondered how the old maggot could live with himself. He was richer than the Hanoverian king of England, but was angling for even more wealth. Argyll didn’t need any part of the MacMillan lands, and yet he would toss Dugan’s entire clan into the sea without a second thought.
“It seems our lands are far more valuable than we ever knew.”
“Of course they are, old man,” Argyll said. “The price of land is always rising these days. He turned to the others and weighed his words carefully before speaking. “I understand there is good land lying fallow near some of the lochs. What have you heard of Loch Monar? Still unoccupied?”
Dugan’s blood went cold.
Had Argyll reached the same conclusion Dugan had? That the French gold was hidden at Loch Monar? Was he fishing for information while avoiding showing his own hand?
“No one goes up that way these days,” Laird MacLeod said. “At least, not to my knowledge.”
“And Loch Nan Eun?” Argyll asked. “There is a settlement nearby, is there not?”
Dugan’s thoughts scattered madly. What of Loch Nan Eun? Did Argyll have information about that location as well as Loch Monar? Was Dugan about to waste precious time searching for the gold in the wrong place?
They were called to their seats at the table and Dugan began to put a number of facts together, not the least of which was the possibility that the green spot he’d seen on the map meant naught. ’Twas more likely a discoloration rather than any indication of the treasure’s location.
Yet Argyll suspected something about Loch Monar, else he would not have spoken of it.
Dugan engaged in conversation with the other lairds while they all avoided potentially explosive discussions about rents and enclosures. Word had spread of the outrageous rent demanded of Dugan, and no one wanted to mention it. They were all waiting to see how he was going to pay it.
Or what would happen to the MacMillan clan when he was unable to raise the money.
Dugan had expected the duke to retire shortly after the meal, but he stayed on, drinking whiskey and monopolizing the conversation with talk about Whigs and Tories and legislation that meant naught to anyone in the highlands. ’Twas almost as though Argyll could not bear the possibility that the others might make untoward remarks about him if he left them alone to speak of him.
The auld bastard was right.
Laird MacLeod was first to take his leave.
Dugan was next. He’d learned all he was going to from Argyll, and that was bad enough. The duke would soon be searching for the gold at either Loch Monar or Loch Nan Eun.
Damn all, would everyone in the highlands soon be searching for the treasure? Dugan left the Tower, swearing viciously under his breath as he made his way back to the guesthouse.
They would need to make an early start on the morrow in order to stay ahead of Argyll, for Dugan assumed the man would begin his search at Loch Monar. He assumed the duke’s reference to Loch Nan Eun was just a distraction.
The rain had let up, and Dugan hoped it would stay dry for their next few days’ travel. The terrain they needed to cover was difficult and would be much easier without rain.
He was halfway to the guesthouse when he saw a lone figure slip away from the building as it kept to the shadows and rounded the corner toward the back. Judging by the length of the hooded cloak, ’twas a woman. One who was very familiar, indeed.
Chapter 17
Lieutenant Baird stood on a high promontory and tried to focus his eyes to search the terrain below. ’Twas nearly dark and he had no choice but to make camp where they stood. After leaving the old crone’s cottage, they had picked up a trail that might have been Maura’s. But then lost it in the rough terrain west of the old witch’s croft.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed away the sharp pain in his forehead.
“Have ye the headache, Lieutenant?” Higgins asked.
“No,” Baird snapped.
“Ah. ’Tis just that it’s seemed to have bothered you all day.”
Goddamn it, aye. For hours, he’d tried but could not get the old crone’s words to leave his memory. His head pounded with every iteration. Glencoe. Glencoe. Glencoe.
God almighty! ’Twas impossible to think when that damned place name kept swirling ’round in his head.
Shite. What in hell did the woman know about anything? The old prune was naught but an ignorant peasant living in a filthy hovel with that ugly bear of a dog. She knew naught of politics or military responsibility. Those damned highlanders at Glencoe had needed to be taught a lesson. His father had said so, had drummed it into him, in fact.
Do your duty, lad. Obedience is all that matters.
Alastair sniffed. In spite of the parliamentary investigation into the events at Glencoe, John Baird had been richly rewarded by King William for carrying out Major Duncanson’s orders. That was a clear demonstration of his father’s worth.
And Lord Aucharnie would reward Alastair when he brought the bruised and broken corpse of his defiant daughter to him.
Alastair knew the earl wanted to be rid of her. He’d made that perfectly clear by his actions—or rather, his inaction—toward her. For what father who cared about his daughter would allow her to wander over hills and dales without a proper escort? None. What
father would sell her to an old reprobate like Baron Kildary? None. The man was reputed to have done away with his previous two wives, and now that his only son was dead, he needed an heir.
Baird winced when a particularly sharp pain pierced his skull, just above his eye. Damn it! Had the old crone bewitched him? He shuddered at the thought. “We’ll camp here tonight and proceed on her trail at dawn,” he said to Higgins.
“Begging your pardon, sir . . .” said Higgins. “What trail?”
“Maura Duncanson’s trail, you idiot!”
“But Lieutenant—”
“Enough!” Baird bellowed, but his shouting only made the headache worse. “Make camp down in the clearing. Keep the fire small.”
“Aye, sir.”
Maura would never have believed how quickly Archie could fall asleep, but after they ate the meal Dugan had ordered, the young man had made himself comfortable in the chair in her room and was soon snoring.
She took it as a sign.
That, and the fact that she had seen from her window a cistern gate in the castle’s curtain wall. There was every chance she could push it open and slip away from Caillich before Dugan even knew she was gone. With luck, he would be staying the night in the luxurious Lord’s Tower and wouldn’t note her absence until the morrow, when she would be miles away.
Perhaps this time she would actually get away.
She packed her now dry belongings into her bag, and put on her cloak. She went to the door, but stood still for a moment, considering what she was about to do.
Dugan would be furious.
But he gave her no choice. He’d made it clear he intended to trade her to Kildary for the ransom money, and she could not allow that to occur. She thought of Sorcha’s words and knew that leaving now was the most sensible thing to do. She had to get to Rosie, and Dugan MacMillan was her primary obstacle.
Maura quietly pulled open the door. No one was about, so she made her way down the steps and out a back door of the guesthouse. No one saw her.
All was quiet outside, the only light coming from the torches at the Tower’s door. Maura moved rapidly through the courtyard and nearly made it to the wall.
The Warrior Laird Page 14