The Warrior Laird (21 page)

 

Chapter 25

M
aura's heart pounded madly.

She stood at the door of the barn, with Dugan right behind her, snaking his arm 'round her waist. Pulling her against him, as though he had not just made love to her again.

And she had allowed it, knowing how he despised her name.

“You'll sleep beside me tonight, Maura,” he whispered in her ear.

Oh God. Maura wanted to. But she wanted more than this night and knew she could not have it. Lachann and the others were counting on Dugan to pay their rents, and they all knew how nebulous the promise of gold was.

She felt raw and helpless against him. “Dugan—”

“Hush, lass. Go into the cottage and eat,” he said. “I'll join you soon.”

Join her? In Murray's bedchamber?

Lachann already thought badly of her, and Dugan had not even told his brother that she was one of the hated Duncansons. She left the barn and started for the cottage, unsure how she was going to face the others after what she'd done. She was unsure how she could face
herself
.

She wondered if Dugan's opinion of her had changed, now that he'd bedded her. Had anything else changed? She was still a Duncanson, and her own uncle might have been the one who'd killed Dugan's family.

It made her feel queasy. She'd never cared for Robert Campbell, and now she knew it was for good reason. Any man who would murder families—innocent women and children—was not worth the leather that soled his boots.

She stepped inside the cottage where Lachann and Calum had already wrapped themselves in their heavy plaids and were sleeping on the floor near the fireplace. Archie had fallen asleep sitting up with his head on the table, next to the empty bottle of whiskey.

Now she understood why they seemed dead to the world and was glad she did not have to worry about facing them tonight.

The cottage was nearly as dark inside as it was out, so Maura lit a lamp and brought it to the table. She touched Archie's shoulder and he roused himself just enough for him to belch before bidding her good night. Then he followed the example of the others and, without another word, found a comfortable place to lie down.

Maura prepared another meal with the unused ingredients, and just as she took it from the fire, Dugan returned.

He glanced 'round the darkened room, then spoke quietly to her. “Were they all asleep when you came in?”

She held up the whiskey bottle that had been at least half full when she'd left the cottage. “Yes. Archie fell asleep in his plate. I woke him and sent him to bed.”

Maura felt self-conscious as Dugan observed her scooping out two servings of food onto plates for them. She set down the pan and went to wipe her hands on her apron, but realized she'd lost it somewhere.

The barn. Her face heated and she did not know quite what to say. The intimacies they'd shared were meant for a husband and wife—and she and Dugan were anything but.

“ 'Tis not much—”

“Aye, 'tis a grand feast. And unexpected,” Dugan whispered. “You need not serve us, Maura.”

On the contrary, Maura felt there was a great deal she ought to do for his clan to make amends for the actions of her own.

Dugan had made her no promises. He'd seduced her so easily, her own wantonness made her feel ashamed. Yet she could not help but want what he'd said just before she'd left him—to lie with him all through the night.

For their time together was limited.

Maura sat down across from Dugan, but before she could pick up her spoon, he laid his hand over hers. “You are beautiful, lass.”

She shivered with pleasure. “There's no need to flatter me, Dugan,” she whispered.

“ 'Tis not flattery when it's the truth.”

Maura's breath caught in her throat. His eyes were so blue in the flickering light of the candle. And sincere. 'Twould be so easy to fall in love with the man, but even after all they'd shared, she still could not trust that he wouldn't give her over to Kildary. How could he make that promise when the welfare of his clan might depend upon the ransom?

The only thing Maura could do was follow the course she'd set the previous night when she discovered the French words waxed into the backs of the maps. Take him to Loch Aveboyne. And if there was no gold to be found . . .

Maura prayed that she could figure out the missing clue and the treasure would be there.

They ate in silence, and when they were through, Maura stacked the plates and bowls on one end of the table. She began to gather the forks and spoons, but Dugan lifted her into his arms. “Bring the lamp,” he whispered, moving quietly so as not to awaken the others. “I want to see you when I make love to you this time.”

I
t was still dark when Dugan left Maura sleeping in Kennan Murray's modest bedchamber. His mood was somber in spite of the satisfaction he'd experienced during the night, whether he was inside her or just lying next to her. Holding her naked body close to his was a sensation as near to heaven as he could imagine.

He'd been so occupied with her lush body and the delights he'd experienced through the night that he'd forgotten his true purpose in seducing her. Dugan had learned naught about their destination or the clues she'd discovered.

He jabbed his fingers through his hair. Plans be damned, he wanted her in his bed. He wanted to feel her silky hair trailing across his chest as she pressed kisses to his most sensitive places.

He groaned at the memory of her sensual caresses. He could not imagine tiring of the soft sounds she made when he pulsed inside her and brought her to her peak.

Gesu
. Dugan forced his attention to what he must do.

He pulled his hair back into its queue and lit a candle at the table. Lachann, Conall, and Archie were still sleeping soundly when he retrieved Murray's framed map from beneath the chest near the bedroom. He opened up his traveling pack and took out the old maps again, laying them on the table alongside Murray's framed map.

Dugan figured out the location of Murray's cottage on the man's map and determined that they were about two days' ride from Loch Monar. 'Twas likely the Duke of Argyll was already headed there, and making good time. Dugan wanted to stay as far away from the duke and his men as possible. He did not want their paths to cross at all.

Of course it had occurred to him that Maura might be lying. 'Twas a constant worry. How could she admit that Loch Monar was the location of the treasure? Such an admission would ruin her ploy of having to lead him personally to yet a different secret location.

But he did not sense a lie in her. Her expressions were wholly transparent, as much as she attempted to keep her feelings hidden. She'd seen
something
on those pieces of map—and she knew better than to tell him what it was.

Dugan sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He did not want to give her to Kildary. 'Twas more than the idea of spoiling her father's plans.

He hated the thought of abandoning her to the old baron. Hated knowing that soon, whether or not they found the treasure, they would part ways.

He despised the thought of leaving her to fend for herself, as it seemed she'd had to do for all of her life.

Dugan removed Murray's map from its frame and rolled it up, then put it and the others into his pack. He might not know what to do about Maura, but at least he had an accurate map to show him where they were.

“Laird?” Conall asked as he rose from his place on the floor near the fire.

“Aye, Conall. Good morn.” Though Dugan thought 'twas anything but good. His irresponsibility during the previous night grated on him. He'd shown less discipline than a rutting youth, binding himself to Maura when those bonds would soon be severed.

Conall pinched his eyes closed and rubbed his head, swaying slightly.

“You look as though you took one dram too many,” Dugan remarked.

“More like five, but 'twas a fine baurley-bree, Dugan,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Sorry we did'na leave any for you.”

“You'd have been a sight better off if you had,” Dugan replied, though he was glad they'd all been so inebriated they had not taken note of his activities last night with Maura. He did not need a discussion on the wisdom of his actions at the moment, not when he was questioning them himself.

Lachann sat up next, rubbing his head. “What's all the shouting for?”

Dugan closed his pack and allowed Lachann's eyes to adjust. 'Twas going to be a long day, by the looks of them.

The sun's rays streamed into the eastern windows as Dugan crossed the room to sit down at Murray's desk. He took pen and paper from a drawer and uncapped the ink bottle.

“What're you doing, Dugan?” Conall asked, lying back down.

“Writing a note to whoever finds this cottage empty and wonders what happened to Murray. 'Tis only right.”

Dugan dipped the quill into the ink and wrote a simple paragraph about the man's demise for anyone who came along looking for him. He wrote the date and mentioned where they had buried the man. Then he signed it.

He looked over at his men. “We leave as soon as you can haul your sorry arses up off the floor.”

M
aura managed to escape the cottage without exchanging a word with Dugan's men, and went down to the pond to bathe. The water was brisk and it washed away the sweet warmth of Dugan's body.

And yet she knew he was anything but sweet. Oh, he'd taken care with her, being certain not to cause her any discomfort. He'd brought her pleasure time and again as they twined themselves so intimately under the blankets in Kennan Murray's bed. But they both knew his mission had not changed. This would soon end. Even now, Baron Kildary might be making his way across the highlands to Braemore.

She swallowed a laugh of despair at the thought that their paths could easily cross while they journeyed toward Loch Aveboyne. Cromarty was east, Braemore to the west, and the path she and Dugan followed was directly in the middle.
Oh God
.

Maura could not bring herself to think about it. Not now.

She sat down on an old stump and pulled on her stockings and shoes, then her gown. Naught had gone as she'd planned since the night she escaped her escort at Fort William. Maura did not know if she would be able to find the French treasure, nor had she made any progress in getting away to Loch Camerochlan. Perhaps worst of all . . . she had given her innocence and most of her heart to a man who would send her to Cromarty in exchange for three thousand pounds.

At least she was not cheap.

She bent at the waist and laid her head down on her lap.

She'd been so damned foolish to give away her heart to a man who would never share his own—at least, not with her. She was still merely a pawn in the contest between Dugan and Argyll.

As alone as she'd ever been.

Maura wiped her tears on her skirts and took a long, shaky breath before returning to the cottage. The deep connection she'd felt with Dugan was illusory, and she needed to remember that.

Dugan's men were out saddling the horses when she got back, and the three looked as rough as Maura felt. Dugan came out of the barn leading the horse-drawn wagon. When he looked up and saw her, his gaze was indifferent, leaving a hollow sensation in the center of her chest.

And she'd thought she'd prepared herself.

“Do you ride, Maura?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Some.”

“Good. 'Twill be better. Archie . . .”

“Aye, Laird.”

“You'll drive the cart and Maura will ride your horse.”

Dugan took Maura's arm. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I'll just get my bag—”

“I already put it in the wagon.”

“Oh, then . . . Yes. I'm ready.”

He lifted her onto the horse and Maura attempted to settle herself in the saddle, though it did not come naturally to her. 'Twas a man's saddle.

And she was . . . tender.

“Can you do it, Maura?”

Heat flooded her face and she knew she'd turned as red as a tomato. He was asking if she could manage to ride after giving him her virginity. After making love with him over and over during the night.

“Of course.” She was not going to admit to any frailty. How could she when his manner was so distant? “I'm ready.”

 

Chapter 26

W
hen they arrived at Angus MacDonnall's holding some miles south of Loch Mullardoch, Dugan doubted Maura could have ridden any farther. She seemed to be in significant discomfort, but there was naught he could do for her.

Other than staying away from her last night, and 'twas too late for that. He chastised himself yet again for his actions. He'd known better, and yet . . .

Laird MacDonnall came out of his keep, a stone tower that was half the size of Dugan's home, and greeted him. They were old friends, having trained together many years before in the western isles with the MacDonalds. Dugan dismounted and they clasped hands. “MacMillan, what brings ye to m' lands? I hav'na laid eyes on ye fer a good two years! No' since Perth. Are ye healed, then?”

“Aye, Angus. Hale and healthy.”

“Aye, I can see that.”

“We are just passing through. And begging for a spare bed if you have one.” Dugan glanced toward Maura, who was visibly wilting.

“Aye, of course.” He slapped Dugan's back. “So, ye've taken a wife, have ye?”

“No, MacDonnall.” His throat suddenly closed up, too dry to swallow. “No wife. This is . . . a kinswoman in need of a good night's rest.”

“Unmarried, is she?”

“Aye,” Dugan replied hesitantly.

“Rhona!” MacDonnall shouted. “Edeen!”

The two serving women hurried out of the keep to answer their laird's summons.

“Take the young lady inside and heat water for a bath,” MacDonnall ordered the servants. “And tell Catriona we'll feast tonight.”

The men dismounted as Dugan lifted Maura down. “Go with MacDonnall's servants,” he said quietly. “They'll see you're taken care of.”

As brash as she usually was, Maura was quiet and withdrawn now, and Dugan felt a pang of guilt. He quickly dismissed it as he turned her over to the MacDonnall servants. He and Maura had acted upon a mutual attraction. Mayhap he ought to have exercised better discipline, but what was done . . . was done.

MacDonnall put a brotherly arm about Dugan's shoulders as Maura disappeared into the keep, her step considerably slower than was usual for her. “Ye'll sup here with me this eve,” MacDonnall said, “and ye'll rest easy among the MacDonnalls tonight, Dugan.”

Dugan could see that the idea of a night with the MacDonnalls suited his men well, for there were several young maids from the cottages nearby who'd come close to get a look at the newcomers. One in particular had her eye on his brother, and she was plain enough that Lachann wouldn't suspect treachery in her every move. He wished him good luck with the lass.

Dugan collected his traveling pack and went inside with Angus. He'd been there only once before, and the place looked different. Not as clean or orderly. “You're keeping dogs inside now?”

“Ach, aye. After Meg died, I . . .” He shrugged.

“My sympathies, Angus,” Dugan said. “I did not know you'd lost your wife.”

MacDonnall nodded. “Aye, 'twas soon after I saw ye last. She was taken by a fever. But I find m'self in the mood for a new wife, of late.”

M
aura sank into a tub of hot water and said a prayer of thanks. Her muscles were tired and her nether parts were more than a wee bit sore. She hoped never to have to ride horseback again.

Except she knew the morrow would bring more of the same. She hoped it would take only one more day to reach Loch Aveboyne, but knew that highland distances as depicted on a map could be deceptive. It might take longer.

She would not dwell upon that possibility now, not while she could bask in the hot comfort of the bath. She would not even think about Dugan and his indifference toward her all day or the hint of concern she'd sensed from him when he lifted her down from her mount. Chivalry was in his blood—likely toward
any
female in distress.

Hadn't he felled the ram at the waterfall before he'd even met her?

Maura sighed and sank down deeper into the water. She just wanted—needed—to get this journey over and done so that she could make her way to the loch where Tilda Crane was keeping Rosie.

She hoped they would find the treasure, and quickly. That was the only way Dugan would ever free her to go search for Rosie and take her away.

Maura felt a pang in the pit of her stomach at the thought of leaving him. Though their night of intimacy had seemed to have little effect upon him, to Maura it had been profound.

And yet she had always known that the only future she would have was the one she created for herself. Somehow, she and Rosie had managed to get on without any nurture or support from their parents and siblings. 'Twas only because of the kindness of the Elliotts that they'd endured.

Maura had no choice but to endure again.

It was not going to be easy once she reached Camerochlan and Rosie, but she'd never believed it would be. She recognized that she was as alone now as she'd been the day she met Dugan, when he'd killed the ram for her. She knew she could not meekly submit to his plans for her.

A vague idea began to take shape in her mind. What if she led them past Loch Aveboyne—locating it for her own benefit—but then slipped away from Dugan and returned to the loch to search for the gold herself?

Ach, 'twas impossible.

She had already attempted to get away, and had not been successful. And there was the matter of what she would do with the gold. If there was a significant amount of it, she would need something in which to carry it. A wagon. Drawn by a horse.

One of the maids came into the room. “I've brought ye some soap and a gown for the evening.”

“Thank you—Rhona, is it?”

“Aye, ma'am.” The girl went to the fireplace and added a brick of peat to the fire.

“Laird MacDonnall requested that ye be made ready to sup with him . . . at his right hand, ma'am.”

Maura opened her eyes. She wondered if it meant the laird had decided to show her special favor. And whether she might be able to use the man's partiality in order to escape.

Because the fact remained . . . She was unlikely to be able to escape Dugan, and if there was no gold at Aveboyne, he was surely not going to allow her to leave him and give up the ransom from Kildary.

T
he MacDonnall had brought in musicians to entertain them during the meal. He'd had the old rushes swept out of the great hall and new ones, fragrant ones, laid. The dogs had been chased out, and the savory scent of roasting fowl was in the air. Even the laird himself wore a clean shirt and plaid, with an ornamental doeskin sporran about his waist. He'd combed his hair and pulled it into a neat queue at his nape.

Now that Dugan took note, MacDonnall was not half bad-looking. He was only a year or so older than Dugan, and though a wee bit shorter than the MacMillan brothers, MacDonnall was no weakling. Dugan knew he was an apt archer and an even better swordsman. The man had the means to care for and protect his clan. And the good luck not to be obliged in any way to the Duke of Argyll.

“Take a draught o' my best whiskey, Dugan, while we wait.”

“Wait?”

“Fer the lady. I've invited yer kinswoman to sup with us.”

MacDonnall poured some of the clear amber liquid into a delicate glass and handed it to Dugan, who had the distinct feeling he ought not to drink it and cloud his thoughts.

As he had done the night before.

MacDonnall turned toward the curved stone stairs as Maura descended. “Ach, look at 'er,” he said. “She will do nicely.”

Dugan frowned at MacDonnall, then turned toward the stairs. God's eyes, but she was beautiful.

“I had the lasses take whatever they needed from Meg's belongings since she's had no need of 'em these past two years.”

Maura's hair had been arranged artfully, and some white stones—pearls?—were strewn about her curls and dangling from her ears. The brocade and lace gown was one Dugan had not seen before, so it must have belonged to MacDonnall's late wife. The thing suited Maura to perfection.

'Twas the blue of a darkening sky, with a low bodice that displayed the assets he'd so enjoyed the night before. The gown fitted tightly to the waist, then flared out, draping her legs modestly, and yet so seductively Dugan had to fight the arousal that hit him like a punch to his gut.

Worse was the glorious smile she bestowed on MacDonnall.

“My bonny lady!” Angus approached her and took her hand, bowing over it in a manner Dugan knew was far more formal than he ever would have done had he known she was a Duncanson.

“Good evening, Laird,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me to join you.” She gave a cursory glance in Dugan's direction and murmured, “Laird MacMillan,” as though he was not the man whose cock had made her whimper with pleasure all through the night.

MacDonnall called for the meal to be served, then took Maura's hand and led her to the table. He seated her, then sat down beside her, clearly as pleased as a pig in clover to be the recipient of her brilliant smile.

“Dugan tells me you are a kinswoman,” he said.

“Well no, not exactly—”

“Maura came from Fort William,” Dugan interjected. Damn all, he did not need everyone in the highlands to know he was escorting a Duncanson through their territories. MacDonnall was liable to toss them out onto their arses if he knew.

“Ah. Clan Cameron. Or clan—”

“Close enough,” Dugan quipped as he tossed back the rest of his whiskey.

Fortunately, MacDonnall found it far more entertaining to blather all about his own exploits rather than question Maura or Dugan about their travels. Dugan did not care to lie to his old friend about Maura and the ransom. He especially did not want to discuss the possibility of gold hidden somewhere in the highlands. But the man's overly engaging manner with Maura grated on his nerves.

And if MacDonnall did not raise his eyes from the abundance of bonny flesh displayed above Maura's neckline, Dugan was going to be compelled to put his fist down his old friend's throat.

Dugan sat back in his chair and forced himself to be calm. Maura could spend a festive evening in the relative safety of MacDonnall's hall, wearing the clothing of his dead wife, for she would be back in the saddle on the morrow. Leading Dugan to the treasure that was going to get him out from under Argyll's—aye,
her
cousin's
—thumb.

Angus poured yet another glass of wine for Maura and she laughed at one of his inane jests. “Ah, Laird MacDonnall! You are so very clever.”

Dugan felt himself frowning fiercely, for he'd never enjoyed watching a man make an arse of himself for a woman. He stood up. “ 'Tis time Maura retired. We'll take our leave at dawn on the morrow, MacDonnall.”

“Aw, 'tis early yet, Dugan,” MacDonnall said while keeping his eyes trained on Maura. “And I'd hoped to convince ye t' stay another day. Or two.”

“ 'Tis not possible. Regrettably,” Dugan added between clenched teeth. He extended his hand to Maura. “I'll escort you to your chamber.”

She rose—without taking his hand—and turned to MacDonnall, who stood at the same time. “Thank you for a splendid evening, Laird. Will I see you in the morn?”

“Ye may count on it, dear lady.” MacDonnall took her hand and planted a solid kiss upon it.

It felt to Dugan as though he needed to haul her away from MacDonnall. Against her will. He had no idea what the man's appeal could possibly be.

He took a candle and lit their way up the staircase.

“Which room?”

“Up again, one more flight,” she replied.

They walked in silence down a narrow passageway to yet another staircase. Dugan followed her up the next set of stairs, and when they reached the top, he saw that the staircase ended at the door to a large solar. The water from Maura's bath had been cleared away and the empty tub stood just behind a screen next to the fireplace.

The bed was large and inviting, but Dugan had no intention of making use of it. He'd made that mistake once, and was not going to repeat it.

Much as he might want to do so.

“I don't understand your sour mood, Laird. What has gotten you into such a temper?” Maura asked. She walked into the solar and sat down at the dressing table. “I thought you would enjoy an evening with your old friend.”

“You mean the man who is looking to marry himself another wife?”

“Oh? Is he?”

She began to remove the gems from her hair. “I found him charming.”

“As charming as a hedgehog.” Dugan watched intently as she slipped her delicate fingers into her fiery curls and drew out the pins that held the pearls.

“Oh, not at all. He has a way with words, and seems to understand how to truly appreciate a woman.”

“Aye, by looking down her bodice!”

She laughed, and the sole freckle near her eye crinkled. The urge to kiss it was nearly insurmountable. But he managed. He stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Why he did not just remove himself from her chamber and find his own bed . . .