Findley's Lass Read online

  Findley huffed and shook his head. “I’ll be damned if I ken.”

  Richard turned in his seat and stretched out his long legs. Getting information from his brother would be like pulling teeth from a bear.

  “Ye dunnae what ye’ve done?” Richard asked as he adjusted his broadsword to rest across his lap. “Did she no’ tell ya?”

  “Ha!” Findley laughed and thanked the bar wench, who set two tankards of ale on the table. “Keep them comin’ lass and do no’ stop until I’ve slid under the table. And then still bring them and pour them down me throat until my heart no longer beats and keep bringin’ them for a fortnight after they’ve set me body in the hard, cold earth.”

  The plump young woman rolled her eyes and walked away. Apparently she’d seen many men in a similar state as Findley’s and was not shocked by the request.

  “So?” Richard asked as he took a sip of the ale.

  Findley clenched his jaw before taking a long pull from his tankard. His brother apparently had never enjoyed the pleasure of the company of a tetched woman. For had he known what joy that could bring, he’d be tossing ale down his own throat and joining in commiserating with him.

  “So what, little brother?”

  “So what did ye do to upset the lass so?”

  “Again,” Findley said holding his palms up and staring up at the ceiling. “I tell ye I dunnae what I did!”

  Richard raised a brow in disbelief. His brother had to have done or said something to have upset Maggy. Elst, he wouldn’t be sitting here with the distinct purpose of getting full into his cups.

  Findley gave a quick sigh before taking another drink. “I tell ye Richard, I’ve done nothing that I’m aware of. I returned to the room to ask if she was hungry and the next thing I ken, she’s hurling one insult after another at me. Calling me everything from an eejit to a fool to…” his voice trailed off.

  Why did she think him a coward? Was he not doing everything in his power to protect her and her sons? Was he not spending every last coin to his name to clothe her, to put a roof over her head at night so she did not have to sleep out of doors? What more could he do to prove his worth, his bravery, or his love for her?

  The sound of Richard’s voice repeating a question finally broke through Findley’s ale-induced reverie.

  “Findley?” Richard raised his voice slightly. “I asked what else did she call ye?”

  Findley took another long pull of his ale and looked for the bar wench. “It be no’ important.”

  Richard chuckled. “Apparently it is, elst ye’d not be sittin’ here and drowning yer misery in drink.” It had to have been something quite damning, for Findley was not normally one to drink himself into a stupor.

  “Leave it be, brother,” Findley said with a clenched jaw.

  “Ye love her.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Findley threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until his body shook and beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. His laughter began to draw the attention of other patrons, which worried Richard. The last thing they needed was someone remembering the drunken fool and relaying their whereabouts to the Buchannan.

  “Findley,” Richard lowered his voice and drew himself closer to his brother. “Hold care, lad. Ye dunna want to draw too much attention to yerself.” He hoped his brother wasn’t so into his cups that he would not heed his warning.

  Findley’s laughter stopped abruptly and he drew his body across the table to whisper to Richard. “At this point, Richard, I dunna give a care in the world what happens to her. Malcolm Buchannan could walk through that door, march up those stairs, throw Maggy over his shoulder and march out again. I’d do nothing to stop him.” He shook his head and slowly slid back into his seat.

  It was the ale talking and not his brother’s true heart. Something Maggy had said had hurt him deeply. Mayhap he had finally told the beautiful lass how he felt and she had spurned his advances. Richard shook that thought away. Findley would have looked upon that as a challenge. He wouldn’t be drinking himself under the table.

  “She drives ye to drink, brother. Only love could do that.”

  “Bah!” Findley drank down the rest of the ale and scanned the room. He wanted to drink himself to the point of forgetting Maggy Boyle all together. He’d give her the horses and tell her to hie off on her own and see how much luck she had at getting her son back without having to marry Malcolm Buchannan.

  “What do ye ken of love brother?” Findley spat. “’Tis no’ love she shows fer me, that much is certain. The lass is tetched I tell ye, fer nothin’ she does or says makes any sense to me. One minute she is as sweet as a spring day, and the next? She’s yellin’ at me as if I’m the one who is tetched.”

  He was slurring his words and swaying in his seat. The ale was doing very little to numb the hurt and pain of his heart. Why does she think me a coward?

  When the bar wench did not immediately appear with another ale, Findley took his brother’s. Richard said nothing, keeping his palms on the table and his eyes on his brother.

  Findley drank half the tankard and slammed it down on the table. “A more beautiful woman ye’ll never find in all of Scotland. That much I’ll give ye. But ye’ll also no’ find another as tetched!” He could not shake the images of Maggy from his mind. He loved her and though he said he cared not what happened to her, it was a lie.

  Richard remained mute and allowed the ale to loosen his brother’s lips. He’d volunteer more information than Richard could gain from interrupting.

  “And she smells like heaven, Richard. Heaven. And her lips? Aye, as soft and warm as none like I’ve ever touched before. And the way she loves her sons, even though four not be her own. Aye, a mother’s love like none I’ve ever witnessed before.” He took a deep breath and silently wished he could find more faults other than her wicked temper. His drunken mind searched for flaws other than temper but came up empty. She was perfect in every way. I be no’ drunk enough if I still think she be perfect.

  He slammed back the rest of the ale as the bar wench brought two more tankards. She set them on the table, took the coin Richard offered and quietly walked away.

  “Ye love her.” Richard repeated. “And I am beginnin’ to believe she loves ye back.” Richard was no fool. He had witnessed on more than one occasion how Maggy looked at his brother when she thought no one could see When the two of them weren’t fighting like a pair of cat-o’mountains, they were busy trying to hide the affection they felt for one another. Richard thought them both fools.

  “Bah!” Findley retorted. “A woman who loves a man does no’ call him a coward!”

  Finally, the truth of the matter. Richard’s brow creased with confusion as well as disbelief. Mayhap his brother had misunderstood something she had said, for the life of him he could not imagine Maggy saying such a thing.

  “Nay,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief. “I dunna believe ye.” He took a drink of ale and shook his head.

  “’Tis true,” Findley said deflated. “She said she’d no forgive me and called me a coward.” He sat back in his seat beginning to wish he’d not drunk so much so fast. The room was beginning to spin.

  As he clung to the edges of the table to keep from falling out of his seat, Wee William appeared like an apparition. He stood behind Richard and looked puzzled. He needed only a moment to sum up the situation before him.

  “What did ye do now, lad?” he asked as he took a seat and caught the eye of the bar wench.

  Findley let out a long breath. “Why must everyone assume ’tis me that’s done something?”

  “Maggy called him a coward,” Richard offered as he took another drink.

  “Nay!” Wee William said, surprised. “She’d never say such a thing.”

  “’Tis true,” Richard offered. It was the only explanation as to why his brother was drinking. Nothing else made sense.

  “What did ye do to make her say such a thing?” Wee William asked, looking at Findley as tho
ugh he were guilty of some tremendous injustice.

  “I dunna ken!” he seethed.

  “He keeps sayin’ that,” Richard offered. “And I’m beginnin’ to believe he really does no’ ken what angered the lass so.”

  The bar wench brought three tankards of ale and set them on the table. She eyed Wee William up and down approvingly and stared longer than would have been appropriate in any other setting. Wee William ignored the fact that she brushed her bosom against his arm for he still could not believe Maggy had called Findley, of all people, a coward.

  “Well, ye must have said or done something,” Wee William said. He took a drink of the cold brew then shook his head. “I canna imagine Maggy sayin’ such a thing. It makes no sense.”

  Findley shook his head and immediately wished he’d not done so. The room was spinning again. “I swear, as God is me witness, I dunna ken what I said or did. And I do no’ ken why she called me a coward, but she did.”

  To be called a coward was perhaps the biggest insult that could be thrown at any man, let alone a Highlander. That or to make fun of the size of his manhood. Either insult would be enough to drive any Highlander to drink.

  The men stared at each other for a long moment, each lost in his own thoughts. After a time, they simultaneously took long pulls of ale before slamming the empty tankards on the table.

  There had to be a plausible explanation as to why Maggy would fly into a rage and hurl such insults at Findley. Wee William ordered another round.

  “I’ve got it!” Richard shouted as he slammed his fist on the table. A broad smile beamed across his face as if he just discovered the lost Ark of the Covenant. He looked tremendously pleased with himself.

  Findley blinked several times and tried to get his bearings. Why must the room continue to spin and what the hell was his brother going on about?

  “I ken why the lass behaves so,” Richard announced proudly. Wee William gave him a smile that bade him to continue. Findley increased his hold on the table, his stomach suddenly feeling quite unwell.

  “Please, by all means, share yer insights, lad,” Wee William said as Findley began to keel in his direction. Wee William held up a hand to keep Findley from falling out of his seat.

  Richard ignored his brother’s distress and took another long drink of ale before sharing his discovery. “It be her time!” Richard said confidently.

  Wee William’s brow creased in confusion. “Her time fer what?”

  Richard’s eyes rolled. “Her time,” he said as if repeating himself would bring forth more clarity. Wee William stared at him with great confusion. Findley was working hard to keep his eyes open and focused on his brother. He had suddenly grown quite tired and believed he had lost the use of his tongue and perhaps all feelings from his waist down.

  Richard shook his head in frustration and let out a low growl. A foster mum and two foster sisters had raised him. He saw now, Maggy’s attitude and behaviour with perfect clarity.

  “Ye fools! It be time her time of the month.”

  Wee William’s eyebrows raised with understanding. Findley sat swaying, unable to follow the direction Richard was leading. “Time fer what?” he asked before letting lose with a small belch.

  Richard sat watching his brother who was fighting maintain his balance. Wee William still held onto Findley’s shirt with one hand while taking a drink with the other.

  “Think on it brother,” Richard spoke slowly. “Do ye no’ remember when we lived with Bree and Bridgett? Each month, they would grow weepy-eyed one moment and as angry as a cat-o’mountain the next,” he let the words slowly seep into his brother’s ale-addled mind.

  Richard and Wee William waited patiently for Findley to catch up. Once the explanation found its way through the alcohol-induced fog he let out a quiet “Oh.”

  “’Tis the only explanation,” Richard offered, directing his attention back to Wee William. His brother was so far gone that Richard doubted he could remember his own name.

  Wee William thought on it for a brief moment. “Aye, I believe yer right. Maggy be far too sweet and bonny to say anything for the mere pleasure of hurtin’ a man’s pride.”

  Both men sat up straighter, growing excited with believing they had figured out why Maggy had called Findley a coward. “Aye, I agree William. I believe that in another day or two she’ll be as right as rain and her bonny self once again.”

  Wee William grew bored with holding Findley up. He looked carefully at his friend and took a few moments to set him straight in his chair. Seeing that he was able, at least for the time being, to sit upright unaided, he let go and turned his attention back to Richard.

  “I remember with me own sisters. Och! The trials beautiful women can bestow on a man! I was always careful to tread softly around them during their monthlies.”

  Richard smiled up at the giant. “That was very thoughtful of you, as a brother I mean.”

  Wee William shook his head, grabbed what remained of Findley’s ale and drank his fill. “’Twasn’t kindness that caused me to tread softly, Richard. ’Twas fear!”

  Richard blinked, unwilling to believe for a moment that anything, least of all a woman, could scare Wee William.

  Wee William detected the note of doubt in Richard’s face. “’Tis true! Remember Richard, ye only had two sisters to deal with. I had six!”

  Richard involuntarily shuddered at the thought of sharing a small house with so many women. He sent a silent prayer up to the good Lord to please bless him with only sons.

  “Aye,” Wee William said when he saw the realization hit Richard. “Six. Why do ye think I left home at such an early age? ’Twasn’t adventure I sought, nor fame or riches. It was to save me own neck! Fer I was certain if I said the wrong thing at the wrong time, och! They’d cut me throat whilst I slept!” It was Wee William’s turn to shudder at the memories of his six sisters. He downed the last of the ale, caught the attention of the bar wench and held up two fingers.

  Both Richard and Wee William turned their thoughts inward as they waited for another round of ale. It was Findley who broke through the quiet that had befallen their table.

  “What month is the time?” he asked, listing to his left. Wee William rolled his eyes and sat him upright again.

  “We’ll need to show the lass much kindness on the morrow Wee William,” Richard told him.

  “Aye, that we must,” Wee William offered. “We must also arm ourselves for battle.”

  “Do ye think ’tis safe to return Findley to his room?” Richard asked, worried if perhaps his brother’s life might be at stake and he’d not see the morrow.

  “He’ll be fine,” Wee William said as together, he and Richard watched Findley lean first to the right, then back to the left. He paused, held up a finger as if to make some point in the matter, closed his eyes and fell over. He landed with a dull thud on the floor near Wee William’s feet.

  “As drunk as he is, I doubt he’d feel a dagger cross his throat. I doubt he is in any condition to say anything’ to get him further into trouble,” Richard offered, apparently untroubled by the fact that his brother was lying in a heap at Wee William’s feet.

  “Better he be too drunk to feel a dagger piercing his skin!” Wee William chuckled.

  The men stared at each other for a moment, shrugged their shoulders and decided that mayhap it would be best to quit the inn’s tavern and take their fearless leader up to his room.

  ~~~

  Maggy was lying in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, all the while her heart pounding from worry and guilt. Findley had been gone for quite some time and she worried that he hadn’t gone below stairs to drink away his troubles. Mayhap he had gone to sleep in one of the other rooms with the lads. If he didn’t return soon and if he didn’t return well into his cups, then stealing the item from the blacksmith’s shop would have all been for naught. She could only pray that her tactic would work on Findley as it had worked on Gawter.

  Her hopes rose as she heard the sound
s of heavy footsteps and loud whispers coming from the hall outside her door. After a brief moment, someone knocked the secret knock and she felt her heart fall to her toes. Sending a silent prayer up to the good Lord, she jumped from the bed and raced to the door.

  She took a deep breath before opening it. There stood Richard looking quite solemn and Wee William beside him with Findley thrown over his shoulder with his rear end presented toward Maggy.

  Stifling a giggle with one hand, she rested the other on her stomach. Richard cleared his throat. “Maggy,” he said. “Findley seems to have had a bit too much to drink.”

  “If ye do no’ want him in yer room lass, we can toss him in the stables,” Wee William offered, looking as though that was what he’d prefer to do.

  Maggy bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “Nay, that willna be necessary. Ye can put him on the bed.”

  Wee William raised an eyebrow as if to make doubly sure that was what she wanted. Maggy nodded her head and stepped away to allow the men entry.

  Wee William tossed Findley onto the bed with a slight grunt. The bed shook and rattled as Findley let out a groan. “Are we under attack?” Findley mumbled.

  “Aye, lad we are,” Wee William chuckled. “An attack on yer good senses!”

  “Men the send the walls William!” Findley whispered, raising a hand. “And for the sake of Christ quit spinnin’ the room.”

  Wee William rolled his eyes, shook his head and loosened the belt that held Findley’s broadsword. With little effort, he pulled the belt from Findley’s waist and turned around.

  He was about to hand the sword to Maggy when the memory of a wee lass wielding a broadsword a few months ago flashed in his mind. That lass had killed two dozen Englishmen. He had no desire to have the same fate fall on his friend. He hugged the sword to his chest and quickly left the room.

  Maggy thought his reaction quite odd, but then most things men did puzzled her. She turned to Richard for an answer but found none.

  “Is there anythin’ ye need, lass?” Richard offered quietly.

  “Nay,” Maggy answered.