The Warrior Laird

by Margo Maguire

  Conall spread out a fur under the wagon that had nearly taken Maura to her death, and bade her to take it for her bed. But now that they had stopped, she was too restless to lie down.

  The rain had let up, so she sat on a wide, flat rock and watched the sun set, her thoughts racing. She did not know what Dugan would do if he was unable to find the treasure at Loch Aveboyne. And he might not, for the clues Maura had discovered were incomplete.

  She wracked her brain trying to figure out the missing words, but had had no luck. She feared ’twould not become clear until they reached Loch Aveboyne and they started digging under the large rocks they found on the western shore. And even then, Maura might not figure it out.

  If they didn’t find gold, what would Dugan do about the rents he owed Argyll? He could not let his clan be tossed off their lands. No laird would allow it without a fight. And yet he’d given her his word.

  Maura’s stomach clenched. The MacMillans would have to go to war against Argyll if Dugan found no way to pay the money the duke demanded.

  She lowered her head into her hands, biting back a cry when she touched the bump she’d sustained during the earlier mishap. Dear Lord, she did not want him to go to war. She’d seen with her own eyes what a fierce warrior he was. But anything could happen during a battle.

  The thought of losing him to a Campbell sword was too much to bear.

  Only a week ago, she’d thought ’twould be enough to take Rosie from Tilda Crane and go away somewhere far from her father’s reach. Now the idea of running away and never seeing Dugan again, never tasting his kiss, never feeling the chafe of his whiskers against her skin, or the low rasp of his voice in her ear, was unbearable.

  But she was a Duncanson. Every time he looked at her, he would be reminded of the crimes her kin had committed against his family. He would never take her as his wife.

  Maura sniffed back a new spate of tears. His wife? The only marriage Dugan had ever considered for her was the one she might be forced to make with Baron Kildary. He’d told her he would take her to Loch Camerochlan himself, and he knew what she planned to do once she found Rosie.

  Archie came up behind her. “You should eat something, Maura.”

  “Thank you, Archie, but I’m not hungry,” she replied.

  Archie sat down beside her. “Will ye no’ tell the laird where the treasure is? Ye know yer clues might have been lost today. If . . .”

  “If I’d gone over the cliff.” Guilt gnawed at her. She could not risk the possibility that Dugan would be unable to find the treasure if something happened to her.

  “Maura . . . I know ye think ye must keep the clues to yerself to prevent Dugan givin’ ye to the auld baron,” Archie said. “But though he’s a fierce warrior, he’s a wee sook and would never do that to ye. I think he loves ye.”

  Chapter 31

  “You are far afield, Your Grace,” Dugan said. “Stirling Castle must not be to your liking these days.” ’Twas common knowledge that the duke kept his mistress there.

  Of course Argyll’s men had seen Dugan coming from a long way off, and had sent guards with pistols to escort him to the duke.

  Argyll looked up his long, pointed nose at him. “Laird MacMillan. I’d have thought you’d be at your own pile of rocks by now.”

  “No need to rush home, Your Grace.”

  “You seem to have a good deal of leisure time, MacMillan, when you ought to be seeing about raising funds to pay your rents.”

  “Ah, but when the opportunity to grovel before my landlord presents itself, I take it, of course. Besides, I have some time before the payment must be made,” Dugan said with a grin of confidence that was likely premature. He didn’t have the French gold yet. But he could see about delaying Argyll from looking elsewhere for it.

  “I might prefer to purchase my lands, Duke.”

  Argyll barked out a laugh.

  “I am quite serious.”

  “You could not afford to pay—”

  “What would it take? To buy my lands from you? Name your price.”

  “Why, you insolent—”

  “I am dead serious.”

  “Ten thousand pounds!” Argyll bellowed, and the soldiers nearby turned to see what was amiss.

  “Oh aye. I thought you would choose a bonny, round number,” Dugan said. ’Twas all such a gamble, and Dugan knew his cockiness could kick him in the arse. “Six thousand.”

  “You are mad.”

  “Mayhap. What say you?”

  “Eight.”

  “Make it seven and have your solicitor draw up the papers.”

  “This is sheer idiocy.”

  “Then I’ll have mine do it. Are we agreed?” Dugan asked. He extended his hand.

  “Oh yes, we are agreed,” Argyll said with a mocking sneer. “Bring your rents—or the price of purchase—to me at Inverness on the appointed date. Or I will have you evicted within the week.”

  Dugan felt oddly calm. Men like Argyll always won. But not this time. He felt it in his bones.

  “Your men are hard at work. Digging, I see . . .”

  Argyll grabbed Dugan by the arm and ushered him farther from the site of all the digging. “ ’Tis none of your concern.”

  “Whose land is this, anyway, Your Grace?”

  “MacMil—”

  “Is it Laird Grant’s? Er, no, I believe this is Chisholm territory,” Dugan said. “If I remember right, King Jamie’s French troops were given leave to make camp here during the rising of the clans two years ago.”

  Dugan had the satisfaction of noticing a flush of color bloom on the duke’s cheeks. He’d succeeded quite nicely in riling the wee bastard.

  “You mean the rebel uprising.” Argyll spat on the ground.

  “Call it what you will, Duke.”

  “Take your man and go, MacMillan,” he said. “You’ve no business here. And I . . .” Argyll clamped his jaws tight.

  “And you . . . ?”

  “Just go!”

  It grew dark, and still Dugan did not return from wherever he’d gone. Maura’s restlessness did not abate, but her earlier fatigue returned. She had been asleep under the wagon for some time when she felt Dugan slide onto the fur bed and under the dry plaid next to her. He slipped his arm about her waist and pulled her into the curve of his body.

  “Dugan?”

  “Aye.”

  “What happened?” She turned to face him. “Where were you?”

  “Conferring with your cousin.”

  “My— Who?”

  “Argyll. We found him digging at Loch Monar.” He sounded pleased.

  “Did you . . . You mean you talked with him?”

  “Oh aye. I believe he won’t be a problem for us, at least for a few days.”

  She turned to look at him in the darkness, but she could barely make out the shape of his face. It did not matter, because she would always know his scent and the impression of his body against hers.

  “How is the bump on your head, my bonny Maura?” he whispered.

  “Sore.”

  “And the headache?” His hand wandered the length of her back, slipping below her waist and pressing her pelvis against his. He was fully aroused.

  As was she.

  “Better.” Ah yes, her head felt much better now that he was there beside her. His touch sent shivers of pleasure through her, and when he touched his lips to hers, she ignited.

  He sensed her arousal. He kissed her with a slow heat that sizzled through her, inflaming every part of her body.

  He slid down and rained kisses on her throat while he opened her bodice, then pressed his mouth against her breast. “Ah, Maura . . . I want you, lass.”

  Yes, he wanted her, but Archie was wrong. He did not love her—he would never love a Duncanson.

  His lips and tongue pleasured the tips of her breasts, bringing them to hard, sensitive peaks. “Ach, sweet Maura . . .”

  She reached for him, slipped her hand beneath his plaid, and found him ready. He made a
low sound at the back of his throat when she encircled his hard length in her hand and stroked him.

  He moved up to her lips and took possession of her mouth, turning her onto her back and sliding her skirts up so that they were body to body, his naked hardness against her bare, welcoming softness.

  He was hers for now, and Maura wanted him in the most elemental way possible. She wanted to feel that same completeness she’d experienced when they’d made love before—she was breathless with the need to belong. With him . . . Only with him. “Now, Dugan. I want you inside me.”

  “Ah, Maura. You are not too tender?”

  “No. Now, Dugan!”

  “Aye, sweet.”

  He kissed her mouth again, and all at once, she felt him slide into her.

  ’Twas a wondrous feeling, and when he rolled to his back, keeping her on top of him, she nearly wept with the pure pleasure of it.

  “Move, my Maura. Any way you like.”

  “I could stay this way forever.” If only reality did not have to intrude. If she could have been a MacDonald or a Frasier . . .

  She settled into the feel of him, then lifted her bottom slightly, shuddering with pleasure when she slid back down the length of him. She angled her body just so . . .

  “I’m not sure I’m doing this right . . . I’ve not experience to guide—”

  “Ach, Maura—if you did it any more right, I’d be dead.”

  Maura found the rhythm that suited her, and by the quiet rumblings he made, she knew it pleased him well. She kissed his mouth and nipped at his ear and his neck. Pleasure built inside her, her womb stretching, tightening, frantically reaching . . .

  Her muscles contracted ’round him and pulled energy from every inch of her body until it culminated where they were joined. Dugan shuddered and surged into her, and their shared pleasure made her feel complete. They remained joined together, weightless and breathless in a place where her name meant naught.

  She did not know how long she stayed there, lying atop him, joined so intimately, but he made no move to shift their positions, and soon they slept.

  When Maura woke, Dugan was gone. She left the furry bed she’d shared with him through the night, and while she performed her morning ablutions, considered her plan.

  His traveling pack was still under the wagon, so she opened it and removed the three sections of the map. Then she walked to the place where the men stood saddling their horses and preparing to leave.

  She heard Lachann’s voice. “All I’m asking, Dugan, is whether you’ll be able to turn the woman over to Kildary when the time comes.”

  Dugan did not reply, but reached under Glencoe and tightened his girth. Then he lowered the stirrup.

  Maura’s knees went weak and her step faltered. He did not deny that he would turn her over to the baron. He made no statement whatsoever to Lachann. Her sense that she and Dugan belonged together was based on naught but her own wishful thinking. She was not a MacDonald or a Frasier. She would always bear the taint of her Duncanson blood.

  Oh God. Should she do this? Was she about to lose the only bit of leverage she had?

  Rosie needed her, so she had to risk it. ’Twas the only way Dugan was going to let her go.

  “What if Maura’s clues lead us to naught,” Lachann asked, “just like the one Argyll followed? You know ’tis possible there will be no gold.”

  “I don’t think so, Lachann,” he said. “She is our ally. The one Grandfather said we would need.”

  Maura shivered. ’Twas what the old witch had said, too. That she would need an ally.

  She observed her brawny laird as he spoke so confidently to his brother, and hoped he was right.

  She stepped into their midst. Dugan had made his promise to her, and she would trust him. “I have something I’d like to show you,” she said.

  With the pieces of the map in hand, she went to the large oak tree near camp and knelt on the ground. Dugan followed, and crouched beside her. He watched her expectantly.

  She unrolled the first map and turned it over with the drawing side down. She heard Lachann behind her, his sharp intake of breath.

  “Ach, is that it?” Archie cried. “On the back of the map?”

  Maura nodded and unrolled the second quarter, then the third. She put all three together, then sat back and looked at Dugan.

  “The words are French,” he said.

  “Yes. Sous le gros rocher . . .” Maura said. “It means ‘under the large rock.’ ”

  “Under the large rock?” There was no mistaking the disdain in Lachann’s voice. “That will surely help.”

  “What’s this?” Dugan pointed to the word she had not been able to make out.

  Maura shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  He touched the wax words—the clues that he had not seen until now. “This says Aveboyne.”

  “Loch Aveboyne. And a la rive ouest. What I can tell is that it’s under a large rock of some sort on the western shore of Loch Aveboyne.”

  Dugan looked ’round at his men. “Aveboyne. We can be there in just a few hours.”

  “I’m ready, Dugan,” Archie said. Conall had already mounted his horse. Lachann stood looking skeptically at her.

  She could not blame him. There were likely to be many large rocks at the loch.

  “Archie, drive the wagon again.” Dugan picked up the maps and rolled them together as Archie jumped onto the wagon and started off behind Conall. “Lachann, go with the others. Maura, you’re with me.”

  “Dugan . . .” She swallowed. “You have what you need. ’Tis past time I made my way to Loch Camerochlan.”

  Dugan took Maura by the shoulders. “I told you I would take you to your sister.”

  “But not—”

  “Maura, you saw the map. Loch Aveboyne is on our route to Loch Camerochlan. We would have gone past it first even if the clues had not pointed there.”

  “But the highlands are so . . .”

  He could see turmoil in her eyes. “Maura, you trusted me with the clues. Will you not trust me to get you to Rosie?”

  “What if you don’t find the gold?”

  He pulled her close. Inexplicably, his encounter with Argyll had made him optimistic, perhaps unrealistically so. Mayhap the thought of being free of the duke had turned him daft. “We will find it.”

  He kissed her deeply, recalling the heart-stopping intimacies they’d shared the night before, and determined to share many more.

  Everything she’d done was for the purpose of rescuing her sister from the Crane woman. She could not possibly be less like her Duncanson kin.

  “The best way to get to Camerochlan is through the Aveboyne glen. It’s just a stop on our way to your sister, Maura. You must trust me.”

  Chapter 32

  “You! You know of Lady Maura?” Baron Kildary demanded.

  Alastair Baird had let slip that he was Maura Duncanson’s escort. And that she’d run away from him.

  “You incompetent idiot!”

  The day was cool but Baird began to sweat. Why had he spoken of her? Jesus God. ’Twas because he had not slept well with so many strangers about—even though they were soldiers just like he. He’d been so unnerved by them . . . and his father had not left him alone. At least the old hag had not spoken even once all night long.

  He should be grateful for that.

  “M-my lord, I—”

  “You lost my bride to that bastard MacMillan,” Kildary sneered, and Baird’s eyes locked on to the old man’s pointed white beard. “You are the one who’s costing me another three thousand pounds to wed the wench!”

  “Lady Maura is not a usual sort of p-person, my lord,” Alastair said. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “She has . . . powers . . .” Try not to be any more of a fool, Alastair.

  “What do you say, man?” Kildary demanded. “The woman is a witch?”

  Alastair swallowed and somehow managed not to scream at his father . . . er, Lord Kildary. He rubbed his eyes and
focused on the man before him. “She is a wily—”

  “Ach, enough blather,” Kildary said. “ ’Tis your fault that I’ve been dragged out here to this raw country to ransom my own bride!”

  The soldiers all stood by, watching—some laughing behind their hands—at Alastair’s humiliation. He remembered now . . . ’twas exactly like the harsh chastisements his father gave when he was a lad. And later, after his scolding, the servants would jeer and repeat the general’s words.

  His father’s pointed white beard bobbed as the man spewed his disdain, and Alastair wished for his pistol. He wished ’twas loaded and primed, and in his hand. He could shoot the old bastard dead right now and show the others he was not so incompetent. He was a man of some significant ability, not to mention good sense.

  He was well past due for a promotion, by God!

  The old man did not wait for any response from Alastair, but whirled away and mounted his horse. “Let’s move, Captain. I have no time for fools.”

  Aye, you are a fool, Alastair. Not even your mother could abide you.

  “Shut up,” he muttered to the baron’s back. His eyes blinked furiously, a habit he’d never been able to control. “What do you know of my mother?”

  Dugan had been right. It had only taken a few hours to reach Loch Aveboyne. When he and Maura arrived at the western shore, the men had already taken the shovels and ax out of the wagon and were rolling the largest rocks off the ground where they’d stood for years.

  Maura hoped they would soon find the one that had been in place a mere two years.

  ’Twas a nebulous task. How deep should they dig before giving up on any one site? Which of the rocks was large enough to hide a treasure underneath? Which one would yield the prize Dugan needed so desperately?

  They dismounted, and Dugan took out the maps once again. “Maura, will you study this again, and try to make sense of the word that’s missing?”

  “Dugan—”

  “I know. You want to go to Loch Camerochlan right away. But a few hours’ delay won’t make any difference.”