Findley's Lass, Book Two of The Clan MacDougall Series

by Suzan Tisdale

  He gave a quick bow and shuffled off to do as she asked. Maggy lifted her skirts and headed up the stairs and into her room. Rowan, Wee William and the boys followed.

  Robert and Andrew came to stand beside her. “Mum,” Robert began, “Daniel?”

  Maggy knew what Robert meant. “Nay, he canna be trusted if he’s one of Brockton’s men. Auld or no’, do no’ trust him.”

  “I doubt there is anyone here we can trust besides those of us in this room,” Andrew said as he looked at the people surrounding him. “How long will we stay before we leave again?”

  Maggy looked at him with a peculiar expression. “What do ye mean?”

  “We won’t be stayin’ long, right? We’ll be leavin’ soon, back to the way things used to be. Away from liars, cheats and people who wish us no good will.”

  His words saddened her. As much as she would love to escape again, she knew she would not be able to keep her boys safe this time. A person could fake death only so many times in one lifetime.

  “Boys, come here,” Maggy said as she held out her arms. The boys came to her. She folded them into her arms and held on for quite some time.

  “We’ll no’ be leavin’. Not like we did last time,” she told them when she finally stepped away.

  The boys erupted into protests. “Nay!” Robert said as he balled his hands into fists. “We canna stay here, mum! We do no’ want to stay here!”

  “Do ye no’ think I ken that?” Maggy said through gritted teeth. “I have no choice right now! I canna hide again, fer Brockton will not allow it.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I want to give ye a good life, boys. Warm walls and a sound roof over yer heads. I wish not to see ye go hungry again, or without warm clothes or decent food!”

  Robert understood that she wanted to give them a better life but that didn’t mean he had to agree with her decision. “Mum, we’d rather go without all of that than to live here. They didna like us before, what makes you think that’s changed? They were so mean to ye, and to us. I’d rather go hungry than be under a roof with no freedom or worry over who I might anger enough that they take a belt to me hide!”

  Wee William interrupted before the argument could get out of hand. “Lads, I think yer mum has had to make some decisions that she’d rather she didna have to make. Remember, this is no easier for her than ye.” He gave an understanding look to Maggy.

  “I think we’re road weary and have been through much these past weeks. I say we get ye out of those damned silly clothes and out of doors for a bit,” Rowan offered.

  Maggy looked at him with thanks in her eyes. Mayhap between the three of them, they could get the boys to see the right of things. Rowan took the boys from the room and left Wee William alone with Maggy.

  “Lass, I canna pretend to ken what’s best fer ye or yer lads,” Wee William said as he stood near the doorway. “I ken it could no’ have been an easy decision to return.”

  “It wasn’t, William!” she said as she sat in a tall chair by the cold fireplace. “If I’d had any other choice in the matter, I would have taken it.”

  Wee William walked to her and sat in the chair opposite Maggy. “I’d be hard pressed to offer advice on somethin’ when I dunnae the all of it,” he said as he raised his eyebrows and winked at her. “What say ye start at the beginnin’ and we’ll see where we might end?”

  Maggy doubted that there would be anything Wee William could do to help. It would be good to get the entire truth out and mayhap if Wee William knew everything then he would be able to help Findley mend the broken heart he was sure to have when he realized they could not be together.

  Two hours later, Wee William, normally one who is not easily surprised, sat across from Maggy, his mouth agape as he shook his head. Aye, there was more this Maggy Boyle lass than met the eye.

  He stood and walked to stand next to her, where he rested a big hand on her shoulder. “Well now, I think I’ll need some time to ponder all this, lassie. Give me a day or so and I think we can find a resolution to yer troubles.”

  Maggy patted his hand thoughtfully. “Ye could take all the rest of yer days, William, and ye’ll no’ find one where Findley and I can be together.”

  He gave her shoulder another squeeze before stepping away. “Now lass, I thought ye’d have more faith in me than that?” he pretended to be hurt, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

  “Aye, I do have faith in ye, William. But I’ve more fear of Laird Brockton than anything else.”

  Wee William shook his head and smiled at her. “Don’t give him that power over ye, lass. ’Tis when ye succumb to yer fears that yer adversary wins, no matter what kind of battle yer in.” He nodded at her and then quit the room.

  He left Maggy to think on what he’d just said.

  ~~~

  Laird Brockton made his presence known the following morning. Without knocking, he entered Maggy’s room with a flourish. He was every bit the domineering and egotistical man she remembered.

  Thankfully she had risen early and was dressed when he came into her room unannounced and uninvited. Maggy thought on Wee William’s words to her the night before and decided she’d not let the man see her fear.

  “Laird Brockton,” Maggy said as she rose from the seat at her dressing table and gave him her most elegant curtsey. She didn’t bother dismissing her mousy little maid.

  “Lady Margaret,” he said.

  He wore a cream-colored waistcoat and crimson pantaloons and looked more a member of the English court than he did a Scot. Maggy pushed back the urge to laugh at the sight of him, standing all proud while looking as though he had stepped in something foul smelling.

  “’Tis good to see you alive,” he said, though the expression on his face belied his true feelings. Maggy knew too well how the man felt about her. She did not doubt for one moment that he was, in truth, quite angry to learn she had lived.

  Maggy remained silent and pretended she hadn’t heard him. Lifting the skirt of her green dress ever so slightly, she took a seat in the chair by her fire. With a wave of her hand, she invited Laird Brockton to join her.

  “Imagine my surprise at learning you and Liam were alive and well,” Brockton said as he took the chair across from her. “Pray tell, Lady Margaret,” he said as he crossed one leg over the other. “Why the ruse?”

  She was very glad he was being blunt and to the point. “Certainly ye can understand the why of it, Laird Brockton.”

  “Nay, I’m afraid that I can’t,” he said with a clenched jaw.

  “I ken that it would no’ be long after Gawter’s death before ye arranged a marriage for me,” she told him.

  His dark brow furrowed. “Ye ran away, pretended to be dead, because ye feared I’d arrange a marriage for ye?”

  “Aye,” Maggy answered. “I feared ye’d marry me to another man like yer nephew and that was something I could no’ tolerate.” She also feared for her own safety and the safety of her son. Gawter had tried to poison her twice and Maggy was certain his uncle had had some hand in those attempts. She trusted Laird Brockton about as much as she had trusted Malcolm Buchannan. Both were cruel men intent on lining their own purses and increasing their own wealth and status in life. The only real difference between the two was that Brockton had been born to a life of privilege while Malcolm had not.

  Brockton looked surprised by her answer. “Was being married to my nephew that intolerable?”

  Maggy resisted the urge to snort. “Aye, ’twas. And I’ve no desire to be married off again, Laird Brockton. I choose to remain a widow, all the rest of me days, rather than marry anyone ye might choose fer me.”

  Brockton shifted uneasily in his chair, his lips drawn into a hard, thin line. “Ye’ll marry whomever I choose for ye, Lady Margaret. Elst, I’ll be left with no other choice but to send ye to live at the nearest convent.”

  A convent? How many women had she known or heard of, who, once widowed, had no other choice but the convent? Wit
h no lands, no coin and no prospects at a husband, women were often forced to choose that way of life.

  A convent meant she would be away from her boys permanently. She would have absolutely no say in how or where they were raised. Maggy’s heart wouldn’t allow her to take that risk.

  “So which shall it be, Lady Margaret? Cooperate or begin your packing now and ready yourself for the convent?” He really did not care which she chose for he held all the power.

  Digging her fingers into the arms of the chair, more to keep from strangling Brockton than anything else, Maggy lifted her chin and sat taller. The only things she had left were her sons and her dignity. She refused to relinquish either of them to this man. “Ye may choose a husband fer me, Laird Brockton,” she said demurely. Aye, he may choose, but it didn’t mean Maggy would go willingly.

  “I knew you would be agreeable,” Laird Brockton smiled. “Now, on the matter of these urchins you call your sons.”

  Maggy had known this day would eventually come and had thought she had prepared herself for it. Nonetheless, her heart shattered; she was losing everything. Findley, her sons, her independence and her life. All because one man, this pale, selfish man sitting before her, loved power and things more than people.

  Any pleas for mercy on behalf of her sons would fall on deaf ears. She could not allow Brockton to choose where her boys might go. If he wanted, he could simply throw them out of the castle to fend for themselves. Or he might send them to another castle to work as servants, stable boys, or farmers.

  Though she’d not be allowed to keep them here, with her, she could give them something that Brockton could not take away; a future.

  “I’ve made arrangements for them m’laird,” Maggy said as she fought back the resentment and tears. “They’ll be goin’ with the MacDougalls. They’ve graciously agreed to foster them fer me.”

  Maggy knew that under the love, guidance and care of Findley and his men, her four sons would grow up to be fine men. Someday, years from now when they were older, she might even be able to see them again. It was painful to let them go, just as painful as letting Findley go, but she knew she had no other choice in the matter.

  “I really don’t care what happens to them, Lady Margaret,” he said as he scratched the end of his long nose. “But I want them out of this castle today.”

  Maggy stood up as anger shot through her veins. “M’laird, I am not yet married off, and I’m still lady of this castle. The boys will be stayin’ inside the castle until Liam has returned.” He might be able to broker a husband for her, but until that time, she still held some power over who could stay inside the castle walls and who could not.

  Brockton studied her closely for a moment and his face still held a look of disdain. “Very well, Lady Margaret. But I warn you; I’ll not suffer any insolence or trouble from them.”

  Maggy knew all too well the man’s ill temper, especially when it came to people of lesser stations in life. Robert and Andrew remembered it as well. She would keep them close by and out of trouble.

  Brockton stood and quit the room without saying another word. Maggy fell back into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. This was not going to be as easy as she had tried to convince herself. Her maid, who had stood quietly in the corner during the conversation with Brockton, rushed to Maggy’s side.

  “Wheest, m’lady,” she whispered as she rubbed Maggy’s back. “I ken yer heart breaks fer yer boys, m’lady.”

  Maggy wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands and sat up to look at the maid. What Maggy saw in the woman’s eyes surprised her; she saw compassion. Until this moment, Maggy hadn’t trusted anyone inside these walls for they’d all been Brockton’s people.

  The maid smiled thoughtfully at Maggy and brushed away more of Maggy’s tears. “Me name’s Beatrice,” she told her. “I’m Claire’s sister.”

  Hope began to grow in Maggy’s spirit. Claire had been her maid and friend years ago. If Beatrice were half the woman her sister had been, Maggy would be able to suffer through this ordeal.

  “Aye, ye remember Claire, don’ ye lass?” Beatrice smiled when she saw the recognition in Maggy’s face. “She’s well and livin’ in Edinburgh and I ken all about ye, m’lady. And I ken all about Brockton. We’ll get ye through this, m’lady. Ye’ll see, ’twon’t be so bad as ye think!”

  As much as Maggy would have loved to have believed the woman, deep down, she knew better. It would be just as bad, for she’d not be with Findley and her boys were being torn away from her. How on earth could she survive it?

  Twenty-Seven

  The days with her sons passed far too quickly for her liking. They spent their days indoors, hidden away in Maggy’s room where she would read to them, tell them stories, and make plans for the time when they could all be together again.

  They had not taken the news of being sent away very well. Ian cried inconsolably when she had told him he’d be going away. Robert and Andrew had fared only slightly better, each admitting they’d rather go live with the MacDougalls than to stay here and be subjected to Laird Brockton’s cruelty.

  Still, the boys held on to the hope that somehow they’d all be allowed to remain together as a family. Mayhap, they spoke hopefully, any man that Brockton might choose as Maggy’s next husband, would be a good and kind man who would allow them to stay together. Maggy held no such hope.

  While the daylight hours flew by, ’twas the nights the nearly did Maggy in. Their passage was agonizingly slow. She missed Findley, missed him so much that, at times, it hurt to breathe. She wanted nothing more than to hear the sound of his voice whispering in her ear and the feel of his arms wrapped around her. Though their lovemaking had been far beyond anything she could have imagined, ’twasn’t that that she missed. It was the feeling of closeness, intimacy and feeling safe.

  Weeks had passed since she’d last seen Findley. Neither Wee William nor Rowan had heard from him but they told her not to worry over it much. Winter was not far around the corner and who knew what kind of treachery the autumn rains brought to the roads. They remained hopeful that he would soon come for her and the boys.

  Aye, he might soon appear and want to take them all away, but such a life as that was not meant to be. Maggy was not in charge of her future; Brockton was.

  The sun refused to shine for days on end, a harbinger Maggy supposed, for things to come. The boys were growing quite restless and did not like being cooped up indoors. Maggy longed for the days where they could roam free in all types of weather, but she still felt the need to protect them from Laird Brockton. Keeping them in their rooms seemed to be the safest and most practical way to do that.

  On this particular morning however, the boys seemed more restless than usual. Rowan offered to take the lads riding, away from the castle and Brockton’s ever-watchful servants. Maggy reluctantly agreed with the belief that since Malcolm Buchannan was now dead, there were no other threats to any of them, save for the ones inside the castle walls.

  It was not long after breaking her fast that Laird Brockton came to her room. He looked positively pleased with himself and Maggy knew his pleasant mood would not bode well for her future.

  “I’ve tremendously good news for ye Lady Margaret!” he said as he took a chair in front of the fire.

  Maggy swallowed hard and remained seated near the window, her heart lodging itself in her throat. This would not be good.

  “I’ve managed to find ye a husband!” Brockton said quite excitedly as he fussed with the lace cuffs on his waistcoat.

  Maggy hoped he was far enough away that he didn’t hear her gasp at his news. She sat frozen, her mind reeling, imagining the worst.

  Brockton turned in his chair and stared at her. “Well? Are you the least bit curious as to whom I’ve chosen?”

  Nay, she wasn’t. It mattered not who it was. He wasn’t Findley.

  “Your sullen mood bores me, Lady Margaret. I’ve worked very hard at finding a suitable man for ye.”

 
Maggy finally found her voice. “I’m sure ye have, m’laird,” she said quietly. ’Tis no doubt that he’s perfectly suited to ye.”

  “Aye, he is! I dare say, he’s quite an amiable man. He’s paying a decent enough bride price for ye, and he’s allowing me to keep complete control of Liam’s birthright until the boy comes of age!”

  Maggy wished for a moment that she were a man so that she could wipe the smug smile from his face with her fist.

  “His name is Philippe de Roth Montague.”

  Maggy swallowed hard and fought back the urge to throw something at Brockton. She had heard of Montague and his reputation for the perverse.

  “Ye’ll never want for anything, Lady Margaret, and neither shall I. He’s quite anxious to wed ye. He’s heard of your fine beauty but knows nothing of your bold personality. I daresay he’ll husband ye with a very firm hand,” he told her as he picked imaginary lint from the sleeves of his coat.

  Maggy knew that Brockton was deriving great pleasure from her discomfort and fear. De Roth Montague had been married three times before. Each of his wives had died suddenly. Rumors had it that he had beaten one of them to death when she refused to sleep with one of his cohorts while he watched.

  “I’ve called for your maid. The wedding takes place after the noon day meal today, and you’ll be heading to France immediately thereafter.”

  Maggy shot to her feet, her hands balled into fists. “France? Nay! What of Liam?”

  “Well, Liam will stay here with me, of course. He’ll remain under my tutelage and care,” Brockton told her, still holding the same smug smile. “I’m sure that if you’re good to your new husband, he’ll allow ye to visit on occasion.”

  Maggy began to pace in front of the window. After everything she had done to keep her sons together, Brockton was tearing it all apart. And for what? Coin? Power? Simply because he could? It had absolutely nothing to do with what was best for Maggy or her sons and it had everything to do with Brockton being nothing more than a cruel, sadistic, and greedy man.