The Warrior Laird (9 page)

Maura clasped her hands together and calmed her nerves as she studied the two men.

Lachann was similar to Dugan in both features and build. Both were large men, and Maura decided they must be brothers. But 'twas Dugan whose kiss she could still taste. Dugan who'd saved her and protected her with his life.

'Twas a novelty to feel quite so valued, but Maura knew it wouldn't last. Most of her life she'd been either chastised or ignored by her family, and scolded for her mistakes by Lady Ilay. And Dugan MacMillan was obviously displeased with her.

“What's this?” Lachann asked, taking note of the three pieces of map, their torn edges abutted together.

“The lass had yet another part of the map,” Dugan replied. “It fits our two.”

Lachann tossed Maura a dour look and she recoiled, afraid to consider what they intended to do with her. The parallel between the would-be thieves and herself did not escape her.

But surely if Dugan intended to kill her, he would have done so by now. She knew it was not going to be possible to get away from these men. They had two options. They could take her back to Fort William—against her will, of course. Or take her with them.

Or a third possibility that just occurred to her. They could leave her there in the woods to make her way—wherever—on her own. Maura was afraid she would not get far on her injured ankle.

The only acceptable choice was for her to go with the highlanders. Cromarty and Baron Kildary were out of the question.

But she could not think of any reason that MacMillan would want her along. Unless she could be of some use to them.

As the rest of the MacMillan men rode into the area, Maura knew she was going to have to think of something. Soon.

 

Chapter 10

“W
hat's your interest in the map, Laird?” Maura asked. “Surely you know your way 'round the highlands without it.”

Dugan heard a hint of sarcasm in the woman's voice and he did not like it. “What's your purpose at Loch Camerochlan, Lady Maura?” he asked right back. “I know the loch and the area 'round it, and there is naught there but a few crofts gathered together on the hillside.”

She licked her lips, and Dugan forced himself to keep his attention on her eyes. 'Twas much safer that way. “ 'Tis a place where I'll not be easily found.”

“By whom? Your father?”

She gave a little nod and looked away. “And the baron my father would have me wed.”

“Baron?” He considered what he knew of the noblemen who lived in and around Cromarty, and thought of one in particular. “Would that be Kildary of Cromarty?” Dugan felt a victory of sorts when Maura's cheeks blushed a deep scarlet.

“Kildary?” Lachann asked, frowning. “He's a wee beast, eh, Dugan?”

Maura stiffened and Dugan narrowed his eyes as he studied her. Aye, he knew of Kildary. The man was said to be a fiend who misused his family and servants alike.

“Have you a dowry?” he asked her.

She shrugged and looked away.

“How old are you, Lady Maura?” he asked as a plan began to form in his head.

She stuck her chin up and faced him squarely. “I am twenty-four years of age, Dugan MacMillan, not that it's any concern of yours.”

Aye, she had no dowry, else she would have been married well before now. She was old to be a maiden. Or, he decided, if she did have a dowry, it was unsubstantial. Either her father was a poor man, or she was out of favor with him.

Dugan therefore concluded 'twas the baron who would pay for the privilege of taking Maura to wife. He needed an heir, for his only son had died at Perth two years before, in battle against King James's forces. Dugan supposed 'twas not difficult for Kildary to find a bride when he was younger, but now the man had to be at least seventy.

In spite of Maura's thievery, Dugan felt a wave of sympathy at the thought of her being led to the old man's bed.

He called to Kieran and Calum.

“Aye, Laird,” they responded, dismounting and coming to him, leading their horses.

“Ride to Cromarty,” Dugan ordered, carefully watching Maura's expression. “Go to the house of Baron Kildary and tell him Laird MacMillan has his bride at Braemore. Tell him that a mere three thousand pounds will buy her back.”

Maura gave out a strangled cry, but Dugan paid her no heed. This was an opportunity he could not ignore. A fortune in French gold would be a grand find, but ransoming Lady Maura was a sure thing.

He felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Ransoming a bride was a fine tradition in the highlands, and 'twas high time the MacMillans took part in the practice.

Oh aye, he still intended to search for the gold, and if he found it, it would be a windfall in addition to what Kildary paid him.

He mounted his horse and rode to Maura, who was still sitting on the rock, and fuming with anger, by the looks of her.

“Lachann, toss the lady up to me.”

L
ieutenant Baird rode to the fort and approached the commander's office. He mopped his damp brow with his sleeve when he considered how his father would react when he learned of his son's failure to transport one useless female from Glasgow to Cromarty. General Baird was nothing if not exacting, and he tolerated no disappointments from his subordinates.

His father held the respect of every officer and regiment under his command. Even King George paid heed to John Baird's counsel. For his entire life, Alastair had striven to make his father proud, anticipating and obeying his every command. He had yet to prove himself in battle—but only because the opportunity had not presented itself.

Alastair had written to the general more than once, asking to be transferred to an active regiment—specifically, to the Duke of Argyll's forces, where his father had distinguished himself many times over. But General Baird had responded by telling Alastair to be patient.

It had been a blow. And so had been his specific orders to remain at Aucharnie during the last Jacobite uprising. Alastair was to keep order at Aucharnie's holding in case of any unrest in the nearby environs. So he'd missed the action at Edinburgh when the Duke of Argyll's men had arrived and routed the rebels.

'Twas such a humiliation to stand in the public house beside the men who'd seen action. Next to those who'd christened their sabers with the blood of those damned rebels.

Soon, though. Soon Alastair would
demand
to be transferred to a regiment where he could demonstrate his worth. 'Twas past time, despite his father's advice to avoid becoming overwrought.

As though Alastair's anxiety was unfounded.

He sent for his own men while the commander of the fort assembled his regiment and called the roll. Every soldier was accounted for.

That, however, did not mean Maura Duncanson couldn't have found some other likely fool to guide her south. There were farmers and shopkeepers . . . many a young man about town who might well be pleased and flattered at the request of a comely lass like Lady Maura Duncanson.

Whoever it was would soon learn what a royal pain in the arse she was.

He wasted far too much time looking for the wench in Fort William and searching for any missing soldier who might have accompanied her. When it became clear she had neither stolen a horse nor convinced some hapless soldier to go with her, Baird and his men set off on the southern road to look for her.

Not that she was going to be easy to find. He did not know if she was a proficient rider and had taken someone's horse—someone who had not missed it yet—or if she was on foot. He wanted to assume she traveled on foot, but he knew it was not necessarily so.

Somehow, this affair was going to end in his favor.

 

Chapter 11

M
aura let out a sharp squeal of shock as Lachann MacMillan picked her up and chucked her onto Laird MacMillan's horse. Dugan caught her before she flopped over the other side.

'Twas horribly embarrassing to be handled so roughly and with no decorum at all. That, and the fact that her skirts were askew, showing her legs and ankles to all these rough highlanders.

At least they gave the impression of looking away as she tried to arrange herself in a more dignified position. But the laird gave her no chance to regain her pride, picking her up and placing her into the saddle in front of him.

“If you think I'll ride on this horse with you, in this way—”

“Aye, you
will
ride this way, lass.”

“But 'tis so—”

He reached 'round her for the reins and in so doing, pulled her against his chest. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. “Baron Kildary will not pay any ransom for me.”

He ignored her statement and turned the horse in the direction she'd been going before the incident with the thieves. The thought of them made her shudder, and she wondered again what kind of man she'd become saddled with.

He was a brute, certainly. And as bad as any thief, for he intended to wrest a ransom from Kildary in exchange for her person. Mayhap he was the one Sorcha had warned her about.

“Baron Kildary doesn't even know me.”

“Then I can thank the saints for that. Else he might see fit to leave you to your fate and ignore my ransom demand.”

She gave out a great huff. “I am not a thief, Laird MacMillan.”

“Ach, right, lass. I'm sure of that.” His tone indicated his disagreement.

“You know I have good reason for going to Loch Camerochlan.” She shouldn't allow him to make her feel defensive, but he did.

He gave out a quiet snort. “We all have good reasons for what we do.”

“You're saying my grounds for going to the loch are not valid.” Escaping Kildary was perfectly valid, but she did not think it prudent to tell him about Rosie as well. She knew he would somehow figure a way to use that information against her.

“Nay, Lady Maura,” he remarked. “ 'Tis not what I said at all.”

“But that's what you meant.” She turned to face him then, and felt the power of his gaze. Icy blue and full of disdain. Maura forgot what she was going to say.

“I generally mean exactly what I say. So do not put words into my mouth.”

Her eyes were drawn to his mouth then, and she remembered how it had felt when pressed against hers. Warm and firm, yet giving. It looked hard and implacable now.

She looked away. “Where is Braemore? Is it . . . what is it?”

He shrugged. “ 'Tis our home, only a few days' ride from here.”

She jerked her head 'round to look at him. “A few days' ride! I cannot possibly stay with you that long!”

He raised a brow at her confrontational tone. Apparently, he expected her to submit without question to his twisted demands. “Do you have an assignation at Loch Camerochlan that you cannot miss?”

“Of course not!”

“Then 'twould behoove you to be patient and see how this all plays out.”

“I know exactly how it will play out.” She wanted to slap the condescending expression from his face. “Your men will return from Cromarty empty-handed, but with a message from Kildary.”

MacMillan laughed mirthlessly.

“The baron's message will be something along the lines of ‘Do what you will with her.' ”

His expression grew serious then, and Maura realized there was more than one meaning to what she'd said. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensual glint in his eyes and she considered the possibilities.

But no. She had to leave him as soon as possible and make her way to Loch Camerochlan. Now that he had all three sections of the map, Maura had no chance of finding the gold. She needed to follow her original plan to escape marriage with Kildary and rescue Rosie.

Maura wondered if her father held some sway over the baron. That made the most sense to Maura's mind, for this was the first time her parents had attempted to make a match for her. She'd been deemed intractable years ago when they learned she'd taken Rosie away on the day of her birth—not to die, but to be nurtured and raised by Deirdre Elliott.

Lord and Lady Aucharnie had all but disowned her while they lavished their attentions and efforts on their older, more successful children. Maura wanted to believe her mother was secretly glad that she'd saved Rosie, but she could never be sure. Lady Aucharnie never acted against her husband, either in word or in deed.

During the years of her youth, Maura had spent most of her time at the Elliott croft. But one day nearly two years ago, her father had sent for her. He'd ordered the despicable Lieutenant Baird to confine her to one of the towers in Aucharnie Castle while Major Ramsay and his men collected Rosie and took her away with the Crane woman.

While Lieutenant Baird had taken far too much pleasure in tossing Maura into her chamber and locking her in, poor Rosie's cries of despair tormented her.

'Twas all her father's doing. Maura had gone to her mother to plead for Rosie's return, but Lady Aucharnie had not said a word. Her face had gone pale with her lips pinched tightly together.

Within the week, Maura had been removed to Ilay House in Glasgow, in hopes that Lady Ilay could “improve” her and make her not only manageable, but marriageable. It had been months before she'd been able to discover where Rosie had been taken, and the remote loch seemed unreachable. As soon as she'd heard, Maura had made an attempt to slip away from Ilay House and make her way to Loch Camerochlan. But she'd been found out. Twice.

And ever after, she'd been forbidden to leave Lord Ilay's property without an escort. A guard, really.

Maura did not know why it was so important to her parents that she and Rosie be kept apart. If they wanted their two youngest daughters to disappear, they could have arranged it with little trouble. They could have given her all the money he'd sent to Ilay for her upkeep and insist that Maura take Rosie and move far from Aucharnie Castle and their vaunted social circle. The family never need see her or Rosie again.

Maura was determined to see that they didn't.

With some subtle signal Maura did not understand, MacMillan urged his horse into a fast trot, and gathered the reins tighter, pulling her even closer to his chest.

T
here was one very good reason for Dugan to ride faster—to get as far ahead of Lieutenant Baird as possible. When the man came to realize Maura had not traveled south, he would be right on their trail. But Dugan had yet another motive. To hold Maura more tightly in his arms. To breathe deeply of her warm, spicy scent and feel how incredible her soft curves fit against the hard planes of his body.

His attraction to the little thief should have abated, but it had not. She was full of mystery—betrothed to Baron Kildary, in possession of one quarter of the map, and traveling to Loch Camerochlan. She could not be more enticing.

Her hood was down, and long wisps of her hair had come loose from their bindings, catching in the stubble of his beard. Dugan fought hard against the urge to press his lips against the soft skin at her nape; to take her on a short detour from the path and lay her in the grass to—

He caught himself from taking his erotic vision too far. 'Twould only make the ride impossible when it was now just uncomfortable. Dugan had his principles. Once old Kildary paid him the ransom, he would return his bride in the same condition he'd taken her. Untouched.

Or
somewhat
untouched. He did not think that kiss on the veranda counted for much. Her fiery response had staggered him—and yet it could not have meant anything to her, for she'd taken his most valuable possession from him only a few hours afterward.

Could she be as mercenary as she seemed?

“Loch Camerochlan is a fair distance from here, Lady Maura,” he said. Anything to get his mind from the lush bounty that lay so close to his hands. He knew she was lying about the loch, or at the very least, holding back something about it. Mayhap she knew the French gold had been hidden there.

“Of course it is.”

“Do you think you can hide from your bridegroom up there indefinitely?”

He felt her stiffen and shift away from him, but he pulled her back against his chest and ignored the daft notion that that was where she belonged.

“Of course not,” she said with a sigh. “But perhaps long enough for him to give up on me and settle on another bride.”

“Why Loch Camerochlan and not some other—more comfortable—place?”

She'd denied having an assignation, and Dugan wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe her reason for choosing Camerochlan was its remoteness. But he knew there were far better places to hide. Which left only one other possible reason that she wanted to go there. The gold.

And to think Loch Camerochlan was only a matter of a few leagues from Braemore Glen. The irony of its proximity did not escape him.

Maura did not answer his question, which reinforced Dugan's suspicions. He decided to let her think he believed her only reason for trying to get to the loch was to avoid marriage to Kildary.

“ 'Twill be pleasant up at the loch during the summer months, but come the winter, you'll be lucky not to freeze to death.”

“
What?
” she cried, whipping her head 'round to face him. His statement upset her, and he realized the brightness in her eyes was caused by the sheen of tears. “Winters are so harsh?”

“Aye,” he said simply, hoping she would divulge why she cared. If she knew the gold was there, she probably knew where to look for it, too. She would not have to worry about the cold weather.

“Are they always so?” she asked earnestly.

“Of course. 'Tis the highlands, lass. There will be snow and bitter cold. There's likely snow there now.”

After the massacre at Glencoe, Dugan's mother had taken him and his younger siblings into the mountains to escape the carnage. But she—and many others—had died of the cold, and hunger. The mountains had provided little shelter and they'd struggled to find food.

His priority as laird of the MacMillans had been to make sure his clan had enough food and adequate shelter to keep them through the winter months. He would not allow his people to endure any unnecessary deaths because of the elements.

And he was damned if he'd allow them to be evicted from their lands.

“But people can survive the winter in the north country.” Her statement sounded more like a question. An urgent one, at that.

“Aye. With proper shelter and stores of food put by, they can—and do—survive very well.”

Her body relaxed slightly.

“ 'Tis a long way until winter, Maura. You surely did not plan to spend more than a month or two up there.” How long did she think it would take her to find the French treasure? “Or . . . did you?”

She gave a quick shake of her head. “No. I-I did not think so.”

“ 'Tis a moot point now,” he said harshly. “You will be going to Braemore Keep to await your betrothed.”

“No. Please.”

“Aye, m'lady.” 'Twas the more likely way for Dugan to raise the money demanded by the Duke of Argyll, in spite of Maura's doubts about Kildary's willingness to pay.

“But if Kildary pays you the ransom . . .” She left the rest unspoken.

Dugan knew what was unsaid. If the baron paid up, he would be compelled to turn Maura over to him—or to the men he sent for her. Honor demanded it.

He didn't want to dwell on the events that would follow payment of the ransom. “How did you choose Loch Camerochlan as your hiding place?”

“I've told you. 'Tis because Loch Camerochlan is far away and remote.” She sounded as distant and bleak as the loch itself.

“Aye. For hiding in the backside of beyond, you chose well.” And perhaps the French had done so, too, in concealing their treasure.

She was not exactly forthcoming with information. Dugan wanted to know more about where she'd found her piece of the map, and whether she had discovered some indication that King Louis's gold was hidden at Loch Camerochlan. But he did not care to tip his own hand, in case she was unaware of the treasure.

If, indeed, there was any treasure.

Fleeing to the northwest highlands to avoid marriage to Baron Kildary was one thing. If she located the gold, Maura would be able to evade marriage to the baron—and every other man—forever. It would give her the freedom to leave Scotland—to travel perhaps to France, where the baron would never find her.

Dugan wondered about her father. Would he pursue her if she disappeared? Dugan didn't believe the man had provided Maura with a dowry, but perhaps he needed to use her for a political alliance. Or he hoped to collect a handsome bride price. Such marriages were commonplace, so it would not be unusual for her to be used this way.