The Warrior Laird

by Margo Maguire

  “Argyll?” She looked at him then. “But . . . wasn’t he at Caillich Castle?”

  “Aye, he was. But ’tis more than likely he has gotten ahead of us.”

  “How?”

  “He would not have stopped early to spend the night in a dead crofter’s cottage, nor did he take half a day to deal with MacKays.” Dugan did not add that the speed Argyll and his men could achieve was likely far greater than the pace Dugan’s group could make. He did not think she would appreciate being told that she slowed them down.

  “And when Argyll doesn’t find the gold there?” she asked. “What will he do then?”

  “Pull up, Maura, and put on the brake.”

  She hesitated, but finally did so. Dugan dismounted and walked ’round to the back of the wagon. He took Murray’s map from his pack, then climbed up to sit next to Maura. He opened and spread out the map across both their laps.

  She smelled as sweet and feminine as she had last night in the MacDonnall solar, when he’d feasted upon her mouth and held her glorious breasts in his hands. He could almost hear her sighs of pleasure.

  Dugan swallowed thickly and reminded himself that she was not his. She would never be his. No Duncanson would ever wear the MacMillan plaid.

  “See if you can find a different route to . . . to our destination . . . without having to go near Loch Monar.”

  Maura took the map in hand, absently licking her lips. She might not have thought anything of the gesture, but Dugan felt it all the way to his groin.

  A wisp of her hair brushed her cheek and Dugan restrained the urge to touch it, to twine it ’round his finger, and caress her silky skin. ’Twould be so easy to give in to the desire to kiss her, to mold her body to his and pursue the pleasures he knew they could find together. Dugan wanted to ignore who she was and find a way to keep her from Kildary, whether or not they found the gold.

  Gesu. What was he thinking?

  “Just show me the clues, Maura. ’Tis possible I know a shorter way to get to the site and we can cut some time from this quest.”

  “And then?” She looked at him with doubt and distrust.

  “And then I’ll take you to Loch Camerochlan. That is . . . if you’re not planning to mislead me.”

  She returned her gaze to the map.

  “You know you will be in far better circumstances if there is gold in your purse when you reach Loch Camerochlan,” he said.

  “Then you agree you will n-not give me to Baron Kildary?”

  The hopeful expression in her eyes was his undoing.

  Chapter 29

  Maura thought she’d wept her last tear during the night in the solar at MacDonnall’s keep. But Dugan’s silence wounded her. He was going to achieve what he needed, no matter what happened at Loch Aveboyne.

  And she was going to lose.

  Lose him. Lose Rosie.

  “What if there is no gold at the site?” she asked.

  “We’ll find it.”

  Once she’d felt certain of it. But now . . .

  The clues were there on the pieces of the map, but incomplete. It would take days for them to search the entire west shore of the loch—days she did not have.

  “Dugan—”

  “You cannot travel all the way up through the highlands on your own, Maura. ’Tis madness even to think it.”

  She wiped away a stray tear on a corner of the extra plaid Dugan had requested from MacDonnall, glad she had more than just her cloak to cover her, for it had been raining most of the day. Her tears were hardly obvious in these conditions.

  She sighed in despair, wishing she could believe they would find the gold. She wished she could trust that Dugan would take her to Loch Camerochlan whether they found the treasure or not.

  “Braemore is here?” She pointed to a location on the shore of Loch Maree.

  “Aye.”

  She looked to the east and found Cromarty, then traced a line from Kildary’s home to Braemore. She had difficulty swallowing her panic when she saw how close his route to Braemore would bring him to Loch Monar. And Aveboyne.

  Dugan noticed what she was doing and muttered a low curse.

  Dugan’s decision had been made days ago, he just hadn’t been able to face it. There was no honor in sacrificing Maura, even for the security of his clan. He could not give her to Kildary, even if he didn’t locate the treasure. He would find some other way.

  He had not wanted to consider going to war, but mayhap that was the answer. For there was no guarantee that Argyll would not come back again next year for even more outrageous rents. ’Twas time the old maggot and the other landlords were taught a lesson.

  If there was no gold to be found, Dugan decided he would go to his MacDonald relations in the west and enlist their warriors to his cause. Hell, every highland laird would likely come to his aid, for most of them had lands at risk from greedy landowners.

  “I’ve never wanted to give you to Kildary, Maura.”

  Her chin started to quiver and she looked at him as though she could not possibly believe him.

  Dugan did not blame her. He’d given her no reassurances at all. He’d made her a hostage in hopes of trading her for Kildary’s gold, and then taken her virtue while he gave her no promises.

  How could he, when the livelihood of his clan was at stake?

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Dugan—are you saying . . .”

  She took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly, hopefully.

  He prayed there would be gold at—at wherever it was she was taking him. “I will not trade you to Kildary, Maura. I vow it.”

  “Even if there is no gold at the site?”

  He clenched his jaw and nodded. “Aye.”

  She wiped her eyes with MacDonnall’s plaid. “We c-could veer west.” She touched Loch Monar on Murray’s map, and ’twas clear that she was debating the wisdom of telling him what she knew. “Then we travel north again.”

  Ah. She still did not trust him, but Dugan felt reassured. For if she’d planned to go directly to Loch Camerochlan, she would not lead them in a westerly direction. “If we go far enough west,” he said, “Argyll won’t even know we’re passing through.”

  Maura looked directly at him, her eyes serious, her expression tense, worried. “That would be best, of course.”

  “Aye, it would,” Dugan said. Maura was Argyll’s kinswoman. He would not take kindly to the news that she was traveling with a highland lord. Not with his map. “Argyll is a complication we do not need.”

  “Dugan . . . ?” she asked softly, putting her hand on his knee.

  His brain ceased working. “Aye, lass.” He could have her undressed and beneath him in less than a minute.

  “If I show you the clues I found, will you let me go? Let me leave now for Loch Camerochlan? Please, Dugan. I need to get to my sister right away. And now you have an extra horse that I could—”

  “Maura.” Dugan rubbed his hand over his whiskered chin, in an attempt to rein in his lust and restore some sanity. He did not want to think about her sister now.

  “I’ll take you to Camerochlan myself. After we search for the gold.”

  She looked away, her throat moving heavily as she swallowed. “We’ll travel north awhile longer, then west.” Her voice was none too steady, reflecting exactly the way Dugan felt.

  The rain suited Lieutenant Baird’s purposes perfectly. It muffled the sound of his horse as it cantered through the highland glen, so when he came upon the girl, there would be no warning sounds before he was upon her. She was up here somewhere close by.

  Where else would she have gone? The little wretch had decided to defy her father and refuse Baron Kildary, and her escape into the wild highlands was the only option she had. She thought no one would find her.

  Ye are a mean, self-seeking fool!

  “No, I am not!” he roared into the rain. He whipped his head ’round to try and see the witch that tormented him, but he saw naught but clouds of rain.

  “Daft old h
ag,” he muttered. He knew she would quit harrying him as soon as he found Maura Duncanson. He could barely wait for her harassment to end.

  Ye’ll never find her, ye pathetic weakling. No’ even yer own father can bear to keep you near . . . Sending ye off to Aucharnie where there’s no future—

  “You are wrong, witch!” he screamed, then stopped himself. He fought for control.

  ’Twas only the wind, though he trembled at the eerie sounds and looked ’round frantically again for signs of the wraith that so tormented him.

  He saw no horrible, finger-pointing specter this time, but its absence was no comfort. The damned voice would not let him be.

  He gritted his teeth and kept on riding, hard and fast. He could catch up to Maura Duncanson, because there was no other direction she could have gone, even if she had joined those damned highlanders. He would prove the old witch wrong. He would show his father that he was ready to be transferred to a post that mattered. Somewhere far from Aucharnie. Somewhere like Caillich.

  Alastair wondered if Maura would go with the MacMillans all the way to their—

  He slammed his fist on his thigh. “Damnation!” he shouted as he pulled his horse to a halt. He was on the wrong track! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  Because that damned witch had been plaguing him ever since he’d stopped at her filthy little hovel outside Fort William.

  But he realized it now. Maura would not have bothered with highlanders. She’d have gone to find her idiot sister!

  Baird laughed aloud. Before Maura had been sent away to Glasgow, her little crippled sibling had been banished somewhere into the north country. He’d heard the place mentioned more than once, had even seen it on a map . . . But what was it? Some loch at the arse end of nowhere. He recalled ’twas far to the northwest, well north of Inverness.

  Christ, he could have shortened his journey and perhaps even arrived at Maura’s destination ahead of her by traveling directly to Inverness and then going north from there.

  No matter. Now that he knew where she was headed, he could adjust his own direction. He decided to skirt ’round to the east side of Loch Monar, for that would shorten his journey considerably.

  Let that idiot Higgins and the others return to Aucharnie Castle in disgrace. They were likely to receive a reprimand, while Alastair would return home with the foolish wench’s body, for he intended to intercept her before she arrived at the place where her sister had been sent. ’Twould be a fine resolution for the earl and his wife. Lord Aucharnie would be so grateful for his lieutenant’s dedication to duty that he would give him a commendation.

  “And my father did not send me to Aucharnie to be rid of me, you old hag!” he roared into the wind and rain. The damned witch had to have heard that.

  Alastair grinned when he considered how his father would receive such good news. General Baird was going to be exceedingly proud of his only son.

  Yer soul is empty, Alastair Baird.

  “No!” Alastair hunkered down in his saddle even as he swatted at the voice in his ear. “Hell and damnation, I thought I was rid of you! Begone, old woman!”

  Ye smell the rot o’ death now, do ye not, Alastair? The hag cackled. ’Tis yer own.

  He swallowed, reminding himself he was deep in the highlands with no one near. No one.

  Ye can’na stop one puny female, can ye?

  “Get you gone!” he bellowed.

  ’Twas only rain and the wind. That old witch had planted the seeds of disquiet in him, making him hear her absurd words, causing him to jump at shadows and see glimmers of things that were not there. Of course he could stop the Duncanson female. He was going to find her and put an end to her.

  He shivered under his layers of wool. He only had to do the deed and the old witch would leave him be. They both knew what had to be done.

  “She does’na complain, Laird,” Archie said.

  Dugan had told Maura to ride on ahead while he conferred with his men. They were headed toward a high ridge where they would have a vantage point from which to view the land before them.

  “And she’s doing far better with the wagon than I’d have thought,” Conall added.

  Even Lachann grumbled his agreement.

  Dugan wondered how they would react if they knew who she was, and that he’d decided to forgo the ransom. He wasn’t worried about Archie and Conall, but Lachann? He was liable to toss her onto the back of his horse and take her to Braemore himself.

  The day was miserable for traveling, but the men were right. Maura did not complain, not when speed was of the essence.

  “Considering Argyll’s questions about Loch Monar when I saw him at Caillich,” Dugan said, “I believe that’s where he intends to look for the treasure.”

  “Damned maggot,” Lachann said sharply.

  Dugan nodded.

  “Dugan, are you sure—”

  “Maura says the gold is not at Loch Monar. We’re going to head northwest to avoid the loch and the duke, if he is already there.”

  “Then where will we go?” Conall asked. “Has Maura said—”

  “No.” Dugan avoided looking at his brother. He’d promised not to give her to Baron Kildary, but she still did not trust him.

  When they found the treasure, he would give her a share of it. Her own cause was no less just than his—her dedication to her sister was admirable. Besides, he had delayed her more than was justifiable. Rosie Duncanson did not deserve to be left adrift at Loch Camerochlan, a dreary, isolated world unto itself, cut off from the one person who cared for her.

  Maura did not deserve the hand she’d been dealt, either. She seemed nothing like her Duncanson kin—

  “What if the gold is not where she says it is?” Lachann asked.

  “She is not lying about the clues.”

  “Mayhap not, but what if the rumors of gold are merely that—rumors?”

  Dugan glanced up ahead. “Oh Gesu!”

  “What—?”

  Lachann had barely spoken when Maura’s horse reared with fright and took off at a gallop. It jerked so violently that Maura was thrown from her seat to the floor of the wagon, and the traces ripped from her hands. She just barely managed to grab hold of the edge of the wagon to keep from being tossed off.

  Dugan did not stop to think what had caused the horse to spook or what he was going to do. He dug his heels into his gelding, lowered his body as though racing for a prize, and galloped after her.

  Good Christ, she could be thrown off the high ridge where the horse was headed before he got to her! The grass was wet and the wagon careened wildly.

  Dugan’s own horse’s rapid gait was unsteady, but he pushed him on, never relenting.

  “Dugan!” Maura screamed and Dugan felt his heart pounding in his throat.

  He sent off a silent prayer as she tore ahead of him toward the precipice. Dugan galloped on through the rain, gaining on her only by inches. “Come on, Glencoe. Faster,” he murmured almost as a prayer as he flew toward her.

  Should he shout for her to jump? God, no—the fall would kill her at that speed. But she would not survive a fall down the cliff, either.

  His horse pumped its legs harder and faster, and Dugan saw that Maura was trying to reach for the traces . . . trying to regain control of the crazed animal. He wanted to tell her to just hold on, but did not know if he would reach her in time. Worse, he didn’t know how he was going to save her once he did reach her.

  Her extra plaid flew off her shoulders and onto the wet ground somewhere behind him. Dugan kept both eyes on her as she crawled slowly toward the bench and grabbed it. If he’d thought her audacious before, he did not know a word to describe this. Dauntless? Foolhardy? Incredible?

  She showed more courage than most men he knew.

  “Almost there, Maura!” He had very little time before the wagon pitched over the edge.

  The wagon careened wildly, tossing Maura to the side. Dugan did not have to hear the thump to know she’d bumped her head. And t
his time, she did not get up right away.

  His heart was in his throat, but he would not falter. He gained on her, mayhap because her horse was tiring. Dugan did not care what the reason—all that mattered was that he catch her in time.

  In spite of her injury, she inched her way forward to make a grab for the traces. They bounced out of reach and she pitched forward when the wagon flew over a dip in the ground.

  Dugan came up beside the wagon. Keeping one eye on the edge of the cliff that loomed much too close for comfort, he rode up beside her.

  “Hold on, Maura!” he shouted.

  Dugan matched his horse’s pace to that of Maura’s. Keeping steady, he reached over for the harness and the traces that were dragging from it. Glencoe pulled away, reluctant to get too close, but Dugan forced him over.

  At last, he managed to get hold of the harness. He gave it a steady, firm pull as he reached for the traces, finally slowing the horse and gradually bringing it to a halt.

  They stopped no more than twenty feet from the edge of the cliff. Dugan turned the animal and wagon ’round to face the opposite direction and saw Lachann, Conall, and Archie racing toward him. They slowed when they saw he had matters in hand, but Dugan quickly jumped down from his horse and went to the wagon.

  Maura was crouched in the wagon bed, still holding onto the seat in front of her. Her face was devoid of color and the pulse in her neck beat rapidly. A small trickle of blood trailed down her forehead from her scalp.

  Dugan climbed in and dabbed the blood away, pulling her into his arms. “Gesu, Maura. You could have been killed!”

  She said naught, likely because she was trembling too hard to speak.

  “Laird? Is she . . . ?” Conall asked, coming up beside them.

  Dugan released her just enough to look at her head. “Let me see how bad it is.”

  ’Twas a small cut, likely caused by the edge of the bench when she was thrust into it, but he knew that small injuries like this one could cause large problems.

  “You’re riding with me from here on.”

  Maura did not think she’d ever been so frightened in her life. She’d done many impulsive—and mayhap even a few foolhardy things—but hanging on to a runaway wagon was the worst yet. Not that her predicament had been her own fault. She did not know what she could have done differently. She’d lost control the second the adder had slithered in front of the horse.