She let out a little cry of alarm when a man stepped into her path and grabbed her arms, causing her to drop her bag.
“I should have known you would find a way to—”
“Let go of me! I’ll scream!”
She opened her mouth to do just that when he yanked her into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder, forcing the breath right out of her lungs. She could barely breathe, much less scream for help.
But she kicked. She pummeled him with her feet and her fists. “Enough, Maura!” he rasped, his anger palpable.
But she did not relent and fought him with all her might, all the way back to the guesthouse. Her efforts did not slow him in the least. He entered the guesthouse and carried her up the stairs to the room where she’d left Archie.
The young man woke up with a start as they came inside, and Dugan tossed her unceremoniously onto the bed. “Laird?” he asked, standing abruptly.
“Collect your pack and take it down to the stable,” Dugan said to Archie, his tone furious. “You’ll spend the rest of the night with the damned horses.”
“What—?”
“Do as I say. Now.”
Maura had never seen Dugan so angry, especially not with young Archie, who was obviously a favorite of all the men. She pushed herself off the bed and came to her feet, as outraged as he. She put her hands upon her hips.
“You cannot sell me to Kildary!”
“Aye. I can and I will. And you will stop trying to run away from me.”
“Oh no, I will no—”
“Take off your shoes.”
“My—!”
“Get them off now, or I’ll take them from you. The hard way.” He looked so very different with his face shaved and his hair neatly tied. His shirt was clean, too.
But any positive effect was lost upon her when he crossed his arms over his burly chest and glared at her.
“I will not.”
He started for her then, and Maura was dismayed to find herself backing away. “All right!” She sat down on the chair and removed her shoes.
Dugan reached down and picked them up. “Now your cloak.”
She stood and unfastened it grudgingly and handed it to him.
“Take off the rest of your clothes and put them in your bag,” he said. “I’ll wait outside.”
“I will not!”
“As I said before, we can do this the hard way.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Would you care to try me, lass?”
Maura did not care for the cocky gleam in his eyes, but she especially did not like the sensual tingle that crept up her spine at the thought of him undressing her.
Seeing no choice but to do as he demanded, she glowered at him as she unfastened the first set of ties at her throat. When she moved her fingers down to the second—the one that lay between her breasts—he gave a quick nod of approval and left the room.
The evening had been bad enough, spending time in Argyll’s company. The night was going to be sheer hell. The image of Maura’s delicate hands working the ties to her bodice was nearly his undoing. He’d wanted to do the unfastening himself, and feast on the bonny feminine flesh underneath.
Now that he was about to have her naked, he recognized he was the only one he trusted to guard her. Not that any of his men would fall asleep as Archie had done, but he didn’t much care for the idea of Maura lying in that bed unclothed, with any of the others in the room with her.
He was the only man she would sleep with.
Dugan clenched his fists at his sides at such a ridiculous notion. What his hardening cock wanted and what he needed to do were two entirely different things. He was damned if he’d let his three thousand pounds flit away into the mist. His clan deserved better, by God.
He leaned his back against the wall and forced his attention on what he must do. Ransoming Maura went against every principle he believed in—except for the primary one. To ensure the safety and security of his clan. He despised the thought of turning Maura over to Kildary, but what choice did he have?
If Dugan went off to hunt for the gold, could he trust that his guards would keep Maura contained at Braemore until Kildary’s representative came with the ransom money? She was far too resourceful and determined to sit idly, awaiting her fate. Unless Dugan ordered her to be locked in a room for the duration, she would surely figure a way to escape the keep.
He bolstered his resolve by picturing his people—his wee nephews—being driven away from their homes by Argyll’s red-coated soldiers. The parallel between this situation and his forced exodus from Glencoe resonated painfully in his heart. Ach, aye. He would do what he must. Maura was a far surer means to the money he needed than any feckless map.
He pushed off the wall and went back into her chamber.
He could not be too hard on Archie, for ’twas not the lad’s fault. Dugan should have tied the woman to the bed before leaving for the Tower.
He found her lying on her side in the bed with the blankets pulled up to her chin. Dugan looked ’round the room and saw that there were no clothes lying about. Another glance told him that she’d put her plain green traveling gown in the bag. Her shoes were on the floor beside it.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
Damned if he knew. He picked up the bag and shoes and went to the room where his men were just settling down for the night.
“Dugan . . . you’re back?” Conall said, startled to see him. He looked at Maura’s clothes and blushed to the roots of his hair, obviously aware that she must now be completely undressed.
“Are you not staying at the Tower tonight?” Lachann asked.
He put Maura’s bag on the floor as far from the door as possible. “I’ve no interest in spending the night under the same roof with the Duke of Argyll.”
The men muttered their agreement, but everyone went silent when he stepped back out of the room. “Well, where—”
“To guard my prisoner. She got past Archie and I don’t trust her to stay where I put her.”
Dugan ignored their raised eyebrows and went back to Maura’s room and prepared to spend the night in the chair.
Maura had kept her shift on, but she might as well be naked for all that meager garment covered. When Dugan left the room, she lay still for a moment, stunned by the way he had outmaneuvered her. Then she jumped out of bed and was just about to lock the door when the infuriating man returned.
Maura gave out a little squeal of alarm when he came in, and flew back to the bed and pulled the blankets around her. “What are you doing here? I thought you—”
“Settle down, Lady Maura.”
“I will not!” she retorted, her anger palpable. When she would have liked to pace the room, modesty forced her to retreat to the bed, covered by blankets. ’Twas intolerable. “What do you mean, coming back in here when I am un . . . when I am in b-bed?” Last night was bad enough, lying together fully clothed. This was a different matter altogether.
But what was she to do? Scold him? That was such a pathetic notion, she would think it comical if she wasn’t so furious.
“It is entirely inappropriate for you to stay here with me.” She held the blanket to her chest. “I will not allow it.”
“If I trusted you not to wander the inn to find some hapless woman’s clothes to steal,” he replied, picking up his bag and removing the maps, “I might be persuaded to leave you alone.”
“Ooo!” She flounced down onto her back, fuming. She hadn’t even thought about finding another woman’s clothes to steal. “You cannot stay in here with me!”
“I beg to differ.”
The room was not large, so when Dugan sat down in the chair by the fire and began to examine the maps once again, Maura could see them clearly. She could also see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes and a thin crease of concentration that formed between his brows.
She became acutely aware of her near-nakedness beneath the blankets and Dugan’s close proximity. It made her
breath feel tight in her chest. It was far too easy to imagine him climbing into bed with her and holding her close as he’d done the night before.
Now they were alone in the warm, snug room, and the memory of the kisses they’d shared burned like a beacon in her brain. It was infuriating that she wanted to experience them again. She should want naught to do with the hateful man.
“Go to sleep, Maura.”
“I am not a child, Dugan,” she snapped. “I will sleep when I am ready. And not a moment before.”
She cringed at her tone, realizing at once that she did sound like a child. A petulant one.
She’d been too angry to realize that a far better approach would be to turn the tables on him. She could make him tremendously uncomfortable.
His eyes skated over her, and Maura realized exactly how disheveled she appeared. Her hair had come loose and was as wild a mess as ever, though perhaps that had a certain appeal. As did her state of undress in a very convenient bed. When he made a pointed return of his attention to the maps, Maura allowed the blanket to slip down so that her shoulders were left uncovered.
But he did not look up at her.
She might have felt frustrated by his inattention, but then a lock of his hair slipped out of its queue and Maura watched, fascinated as he shoved it behind his ear. His hands were large, with long, dense fingers and thick blue veins across their backs. Strong, competent hands that had held her and kept her warm all through the previous night.
She propped her head on her elbow and watched him peruse the map, unsure exactly how she was going to proceed to make him uncomfortable. “Haven’t you already gone over it enough?” she asked.
He continued to ignore her, raising the map so that she could not see his face. Nor could he see hers.
Clearly, more drastic measures were needed.
The question was how far was she willing to go? And how far would he allow her to take it? He’d exerted remarkable control on the previous occasions when he’d kissed her—perhaps he did not find her quite as desirable as she found him.
She was just about to climb out of the bed and test her wiles when something about the map caught her attention. It was a light tracing on the dusty back of the map Dugan held.
Narrowing her eyes to see better, she held perfectly still and gazed at the back of the map.
There were letters etched on the parchment that formed words—in French. She leaned forward and noted that the text had been traced in something like wax, some substance that would not show up unless it was coated in dirt . . . or dust.
Just as old Sorcha had said.
She’d also said the Glencoe lad wouldn’t discover the secret. And she was right.
They’d spread out the maps on the dusty ground and studied them repeatedly. It looked as though they’d collected the coating of dirt that was necessary to read the words. Now that Maura thought of it, she realized it was strange that the documents had been rolled with the map side out. Weren’t manuscripts usually rolled with the text inside, to protect it?
Excitement welled up inside her. This was the clue they needed. This was the key they’d looked for!
Before saying anything to Dugan, she spelled out the words. There was sous. And le gros. Next to it was a word that began with ro. Beneath those words had been etched du Lac Aveboyne.
The words opened up more questions than they answered. Was Lac Aveboyne the location of the treasure? Sous meant “under.” Did that mean that the treasure had been hidden under the large “ro—” at Loch Aveboyne?
Maura contained her excitement. Of course it was, else why would it be noted on the map? The rest of the clue had to be there, and if she could just get her hands on all the three pieces of the map, she knew she could figure out exactly where the gold was hidden.
Maura licked her lips and thought about what to do. There had to be a way to use this information to gain her freedom. If she shared her discovery with Dugan, would he retract his ransom demand and allow her to go free?
Perhaps, but more likely not. Until he had the treasure in his hands, Dugan would not believe someone else hadn’t found the treasure before him. Which meant he would still insist on collecting the ransom from Kildary. Maura knew he was not about to risk the welfare of his clan.
But she would not risk Rosie’s welfare, either.
She climbed out of bed as she considered her options.
Dugan lowered the map and his gaze raked over her. Maura felt her heart quicken in response.
She went to his chair and crouched next to him, tipping the map in order to see it better. His eyes darkened and he shifted in his chair. “What are you doing?”
Chapter 18
“Where are we now?” Maura asked. “I mean here, on the map.”
Dugan held his breath. She was kneeling far too close to his widely spread legs. She was so intent upon the map, she did not even seem to notice how insufficiently clad she was.
But Dugan noticed. He took in the delicate line of her collarbones and the fullness of her breasts beneath them. They were so thinly covered, he could see their dusky peaks, and how they had pebbled in the cool air of the room.
“Here, I think,” he said, somehow managing not to sound like a strangled toad. He pointed to a space west and a short stretch north of Fort William. “I believe Caillich Castle lies here in this clearing.”
“I see. And this?” She touched the map, and a shiver of need shot down his spine and centered between his legs.
He pulled them together in self-defense. “Most likely Loch Cluanie.”
He identified numerous other locations on the map, including Loch Camerochlan. Maura eventually asked him to point out Braemore, and Dugan indicated an area near the southwest corner of a loch just off the western coast. ’Twas the place he’d called home for twenty-five years, and he was not about to lose it now. “Here, on the banks of Loch Maree.”
She touched the spot, then drew her finger south. “What about this loch? What is it called?”
“Aveboyne.” He stood abruptly, anxious to put some space between them. “Why don’t you return to bed, Maura. ’Tis cold in the room—”
“No colder than it was last night when we slept in the open.” She came to her feet and stood close, her arms at her sides. Her hair was stunning, curling wildly about her face and down her back. Her eyes were soft and sleepy.
He could easily lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed and—
No. There was too much at stake. He could not bed the woman—she did not even know how seductive she was. Her actions were not an invitation, and he had never taken a woman who’d not been clear about her intentions.
Ach, but those breasts. Those bare, vulnerable feet. He clenched his teeth and prayed for fortitude.
“Dugan . . .” Her voice was pure seduction. And when she stood just inches from him, twirling a lock of her hair ’round her finger, he knew he was lost.
“Aye, Maura,” he breathed. His hands itched to touch her, to pull her to him and feel those breasts against his chest. Gesu, what he wanted was to feel them in his hands. He shuddered with the intensity of his arousal.
She reached up and touched his jaw. “Am I just a burden to you?”
“Maura.” He slipped one hand about her waist and drew her closer. “No, lass, you are not a burden.”
“But a means to an end.” She looked so sorrowful, Dugan felt shamed. How could he give her to Kildary?
He tipped his head downward, and her exquisite feminine scent surrounded him. He pulled her fully against him and reveled in the soft hills and valleys of her body. She fit so perfectly, he had to stifle a groan of pleasure. He took her lips with his, their melding creating the sensation that he’d arrived where he belonged.
She slid her hands up to his neck and when they reached his nape, removed the band of leather holding back his hair.
Dugan deepened their kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth as one of his hands glided up her side to her breast. He cup
ped the full mound, then teased the nipple through the thin cotton of her chemise with his fingers.
Maura arched into his attentions, and Dugan used his other hand to unfasten the ties at her shoulders. Her shift slid down to her waist.
He kissed her neck, then her shoulders, and his arousal pressed insistently against her. He wanted to taste every inch of her, all while he was inside her.
Her arms fell to his waist and her head dropped back when he bent to lick her nipple. He swirled his tongue ’round the bonny pink tip, then sucked it fully into his mouth.
She made a little squeak when he did the same to the other, and Dugan suddenly needed more. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Laying her on the mattress, he quickly divested her of her chemise, leaving her entirely naked to his gaze.
She tried to cover herself, but Dugan moved her hands. “Ach, sweet Maura. You are so very beautiful. Do not hide from me.”
He pulled his shirt from his kilt and came down over her, kissing that gorgeous mouth, then working his way down to her breasts, teasing each one in turn with his fingers and tongue. He moved lower, kissing her belly and moving down . . .
“Dugan . . . Oh! No, you cannot—”
Maura’s shock turned to pleasure when he pressed his lips to the sensitive bud at the apex of her sex. She could do naught but moan and arch against his mouth. He used his fingers and tongue to drive her to some incredible peak of sensations, and when the torrent of pleasure overtook her, a cry of amazement escaped her. But Dugan did not relent. He kissed his way back to her mouth.
“Touch me, Maura.”
He took her hand and guided it to the hard, hot length of him beneath his plaid, and wrapped her fingers ’round it.
Maura could barely breathe as she explored him, and she shivered when he groaned with pleasure. “Ach, aye.”
She’d never felt so feminine or powerful as she did sliding her hand up and down, then across the moist tip of his manhood. She was awash in sensations, her arousal even more intense as she touched him.
Instinct drove her. She craved more of the pleasure he’d given her, and knew ’twould be even more profound when he was inside her. When he joined his body to hers.
The Warrior Laird Page 15