Findley's Lass Page 17

  Richard looked at her thoughtfully. “Are ye certain? For if there’s anything ye need, I can send the innkeeper’s wife up to ye.”

  Maggy’s brow creased with confusion. “Nay, Richard. There is nothing I need other than sleep.”

  Richard nodded his head as if he was in complete understanding. “Well, I’m right next door if ye need anything.” He nodded toward his sleeping brother. “And if he gets to be too much to handle, just cry out and we’ll be here in the blink of an eye.”

  With a tilt of her head and a chuckle, Maggy said, “He be not the first man in his cups that I’ve ever dealt with, Richard.”

  Richard started to say something but thought better of it. With a slight bow, he quit her room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  While she was relieved that her plan had worked, she still felt quite guilty over what she had done and was about to do. Her plan was falling into place quite nicely but she still felt ashamed for having called Findley a coward. She knew he was anything but a coward. Hours ago it had seemed the only course of action.

  Maggy quietly stepped toward the bed and stared down at Findley. He was such a large man and took up nearly all the bed. Moonlight streamed in through the window and across this face. Och, but he was handsome!

  Her stomach tightened with excitement, making her curse under her breath. If she allowed the feelings she was having for Findley to grow, she knew her heart would end up as broken as her spirit. Under no circumstance could she allow herself to fall in love with Findley McKenna.

  She reached into the fur she had placed under the bed earlier and retrieved her stolen item. It felt cold and heavy in her hands. As she stood over Findley she began to have second thoughts on what she was about to do.

  Had he been a more reasonable person, she wouldn’t be forced to take this course of action, she argued with herself. He had no one but himself to blame for what was about to happen.

  Without thinking, she reached out and touched his cheek with her fingertips. What she would not do to change the events of the past weeks. Part of her wished she had never met Findley McKenna, but a deeper part of her was glad for knowing him.

  As she struggled with her own conscience, Findley rolled his head and opened his eyes. With a start, she pulled her trembling hand away and hid the item behind her skirts.

  A smile came to his lips and he looked at her through sleepy lids. “There ye are, lass,” he whispered drunkenly. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes to.”

  Maggy straightened herself and felt her heart swell with something she wished she did not feel. She tried to convince herself that it was the drink that made him speak so sweetly. He’d never say such things in the light of day and with a clear mind.

  “Maggy Boyle,” Findley whispered as he took a deep breath. “The most beautiful woman in all of Scotland.” He closed his eyes, but his smile did not fade, instead, seemed to grow as if he were dreaming of something quite wonderful.

  “To have ye as me own for all the rest of me days would make me complete,” he said in such a soft voice that it brought tears to her eyes. She tried to convince herself that she’d not heard him correctly. No one had ever said such things to her, drunk or sober. Mayhap the drink had loosened his tight rein on his feelings and he was speaking from his true heart.

  Nay! She scolded herself. She swallowed hard and wished fate had dealt her a much different hand. If only she had met Findley years ago, before her life had the chance to change so dramatically.

  She choked back more tears and wiped those that had escaped with her fingertips. Convincing herself she had no other choice, she willed herself not to confess all her secrets to him and to move forward with her plan. Everything she was about to do was for Ian.

  Maggy rested a knee on the edge of the bed. Through the darkness she whispered softly to Findley. “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  ’Twas a dream from which he had no desire to wake. Maggy’s plump derrière rested snuggly against his thighs as he had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist. He held onto her as if he was afraid of drowning and she was the only thing that kept him afloat. She fit into his body as if God had designed her specifically for that delightful purpose.

  He was drifting along quite comfortably in that state between dreaming and wakefulness and he had no desire to leave. Sunbeams broke through the small window and Findley could feel the warmth on his skin. But nothing warmed his body or his heart as much as the feeling of holding Maggy; ’twas a blissful, heady experience that he wanted never to end.

  He pulled her closer, clinging to her as if she were the only reason for breathing. A warm smile curved his lips when he heard a contented sigh come from the woman he loved more than life itself.

  Unable to resist the urge and still believing he was adrift in a beautiful dream, he kissed the top of her head. Unsatisfied and needing more, he kissed her temple, then her cheek. He could not resist the urge to kiss her lips for he knew them to be sweet, full, soft, and warm.

  He never wanted to wake, for in his dream, Maggy responded to his touch with ardent passion. She rolled over and pressed her body as close to his as she could before melting into him. Her sweet gasps of longing and desire quickened his own pulse and made him want her all the more.

  His free hand caressed her cheek for a moment before sliding down her neck to explore other parts of her beautiful body. If water were salvation to a man dying of thirst, then the same could be said of her kisses. They brought life to an otherwise dying soul and made him feel alive and loved. Her passionate kisses were his salvation.

  Pulling his lips from hers, he began a glorious exploration of her soft neck. His breath brought chill bumps of excitement to her skin at the same time her stomach tightened with excitement and anticipation.

  “Maggy,” his throat was dry and husky from sleep. “Ye fill me heart.”

  Whether it was the sound of his own voice that broke through the heavy fog of sleep or the sound of Maggy’s hitched breath, he did not know. But one of those things crashed through the fog and soon, he realized he did not dream. She really was lying next to him, returning him kiss for kiss.

  A small, irritating voice began to rise in the back of his mind and it gave warning; Ye must guard yer heart as well as hers.

  He told the tiny voice to go jump from the tallest cliff for Maggy was here, next to him. And if her rapid breathing and returned kisses were any indication, she was as happy to be there as he was to have her.

  The desperate desire to claim her as his, to tell her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his days with her, filled him to the marrow. He rolled Maggy to her back and claimed her mouth once again.

  When he brought his left hand down to caress her cheek, her own hand followed. Mayhap he had slept on his hand wrong, for it felt odd and heavy. His bladder felt just as heavy from all the ale he had drunk the night before.

  “Findley!” She was struggling for air. “Please.”

  He was not sure if her pleas bade him to continue or to stop. He opened his eyes only to see hers filled with fright. He was relieved to see that she did not look angry but her fearful expression told him all that he needed to know. While she too might be wanting the same thing he did at the moment, she was afraid. Of him or of what might happen if they did not control themselves -- his heart wouldn’t allow him to answer the question.

  He loved her. He could find no fault with the lass being afraid. She was a widow and a mum of five boys and he knew she had much to be frightened over.

  He swallowed hard before speaking, choosing his words carefully for the last thing he wanted to do was spoil this moment. “I be sorry Maggy,” he began. “Ye seem to bring out the best and the worst of me.”

  His lips curved upward when he saw the relief in her eyes and her shoulders relax. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek and as he was about to reveal the secrets of his heart to her, he caught notice of something out
of the corner of his eye.

  Perplexed and disbelieving what he was seeing, he squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head twice before opening them again. It was still there. He stared for a long moment before looking at Maggy. She was chewing on her bottom lip and attempting to look innocent.

  Anger swelled from deep within his stomach as his eyes went from his wrist to her face and back again. He growled before pushing himself upward and rolled out of the bed. Maggy squealed as she was pulled along with him.

  “Findley!” she exclaimed. “Please be careful!”

  He heard Wee William’s voice in the back of his mind warning him to show care and be gentle with the lass. Silently he told Wee William to jump from the same cliff he had sent his inner voice to minutes ago.

  “What in the bloody hell have ye done?!” his deep voice boomed and echoed off the walls of the small bedchamber. He towered over Maggy and thrust his hands to his hips. Her right hand followed his left.

  He caught the faint flicker of fear in her eyes before she righted herself and stood taller. “If ye’ll calm down, I can explain it to ye.” She hoped he hadn’t detected her fear.

  Findley yanked his left arm up to dangle in front of her eyes. Her right arm followed his. There they were, plain as day. Wrist irons. Heavy, black wrist irons shackling the two of them together.

  “Where is the key?” He spoke slowly, through clenched teeth.

  “Please, Findley,” she pleaded. “If ye’ll let me explain.”

  “Maggy, I warn ye, if you do no’ give me the key this verra minute, I’ll no’ be responsible fer me actions!” His anger threatened to explode like a pot of stew left unattended over the heat of a fire. As did his bladder.

  Maggy swallowed hard. An image of Gawter flashed through her mind and she felt herself shrinking. Giving her head a shake, she remained silent and prayed that Findley would not show his anger in the same manner as Gawter would have.

  Findley took a deep breath. “Maggy, I be in no mood for games. Where is the key?” It wasn’t a request but a demand.

  She swallowed hard again before throwing her shoulders back. “There be no key.”

  Findley stared at her and did not believe her for even the briefest moment. “Ye lie.” He needed to be free of the shackles for many reasons. The most pressing was the need to relieve his bladder.

  She was lying but she wasn’t about to admit it. The key was safely secured in a pocket she had sewn into her shift the night before.

  “When I took the wrist irons I did no’ see a key,” she said, lifting her chin and tossing back her shoulders.

  Findley began to pace the floor of the small room with his mind racing and his head pounding as a result of far too much ale the night before. Maggy was forced to follow closely as there were not but six inches of iron links separating the two of them.

  “If ye’d only listen to reason for a moment,” she began before Findley stopped abruptly.

  He spun around to his left, which in turn pulled Maggy behind him. For several moments, they went around in circles looking very much like a dog chasing his tail.

  Finally, Findley stopped, got his bearings and turned to loom over her. There was no disguising the fury that flared in his eyes. Maggy began to tremble, feeling a little unsure that he wouldn’t lash out at her.

  “Reason?” he seethed. “Ye think this,” he held up their joined wrists in front of her face, “this be reasonable?”

  “I needed a way to get ye to listen to me!” Maggy stomped her foot.

  Findley growled. “Lass, ye’ve had plenty of opportunity to speak with me. Ye didna have to resort to wrist irons!”

  “Aye, ye’d listen, but then ye’d do whatever ye wanted!”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, thrusting his hands to his hips, giving Maggy a jolt. She pulled her hand back angrily.

  “Ye were plannin’ on leavin’ us with the monks!”

  Findley’s brow creased as he tilted his head. “Where did ye hear that?”

  “From yer verra lips, Findley McKenna! I heard ye talkin’ to Wee William, so do no’ deny it.”

  Findley took a deep breath and wished he were still below stairs drinking ale. Lots of ale. He was not a drinking man, but this lass was quickly driving him to addiction. His aching bladder and pounding head warned against the idea.

  “I ken ye wouldna listen to me and were going to leave me behind.” Maggy’s voice softened. “And I have no intentions of being left behind with strangers, in the abbey no less, while ye go and get Ian back. I want to help.”

  “I leave ye behind fer yer own good, Maggy. ’Tis no’ a punishment, ’tis fer yer own safety and the safety of yer other sons.” His head was beginning to pound mercilessly.

  “Nay,” her jaw tightened. “’Tis because yer a man and ye think because I be a woman, I be too weak and muddle-headed to help!”

  “I’m glad yer able to read me mind and heart on the matter, Maggy! Weak? Nay, I dunna think yer weak. But muddle-headed? I’m beginnin’ to believe that,” he said, dangling the evidence before her eyes once again. “Now give me the bloody key!” he raised his voice again, more from the intense pain growing in his side. If he didn’t undo the shackles soon he would burst.

  “I’ll no’ be left behind,” she told him, trying to sound determined and strong.

  Findley was growing weary with arguing. “Ye be goin’ nowhere but the abbey! And ye’ll stay there ’til I come back with yer son!”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” she stomped her foot for added emphasis.

  “Ye will!”

  “I will no’!”

  “Maggy, I need ye to give me the key and I need it now,” he was practically begging. It was his achingly full bladder making him speak softly. He needed the key and he needed relief.

  Tossing her shoulders back and lifting her chin she stared up at him with fierce determination. “I told ye, I do no’ have the key.”

  Findley took a step toward her. “Ye dunna understand, lass,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve a need to do somethin’ that I do no’ need ye witness to.”

  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Yer tryin’ to trick me,” she accused.

  “I can assure ye that ’tis no trick,” he told her.

  She refused to be bullied or tricked into giving up the key. “Nay,” she told him firmly.

  His bladder ached to be emptied and his head continued to pound. He was done with arguing or trying to reason with her. “As ye wish, lass,” he smiled, gave her a slight bow, and then dragged her along to the corner table. He retrieved the chamber pot, crossed the room in four steps and placed it upon the chair.

  Maggy’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Ye dunna mean to-”

  Findley cut her off as he undid his belt and loosed the ties on his trews. “Aye, I do!” he smiled down at her triumphantly.

  “Ye canna do that whilst I stand here!” she argued and pulled her hand away. She was beginning to question her own thinking. She had not planned on what they might do when natural bodily functions might need addressing.

  “I asked ye nicely fer the key, lass,” he said jerking his hand back to free his appendage from his trews.

  Maggy pulled her hand back, appalled with his lack of good manners and the audacity he had to relieve himself while she stood next to him.

  Findley pulled his hand back once again and with a devilish smile, he said, “It takes two hands to hold on to it, lass.” He winked, smiled more broadly and let loose with a happy and relieved sigh.

  Maggy stood with mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. How dare he do something so, so…she searched for an apt word but found none. He was arrogant beyond measure!

  She tried keeping her eyes pinned to the fireplace, the ceiling, the floor -- anywhere but there. The sound of what he was doing echoed through the small room and it seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time for him to finish. She was relieved when she heard him stop, but the relief was short lived, for he
started again.

  It went on like that for what seemed like an eternity. Stop and go, stop and go, heavy sigh and chuckles. He was enjoying the torment he brought her. He would not feel guilty for he had asked nicely for the key.

  As she stood with her shoulder brushing his arm, she waited impatiently and tapped her foot. She tried looking for something to focus on but it was impossible. When she glanced up at his face and saw the devilishly pleased way in which he was staring back at her, she hurriedly cast her eyes away. They fell on an area of his person they should not have fallen to.

  Her eyes grew wide and the gasp was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  Findley chuckled. “Now ye know why I require two hands.”

  Maggy scowled, pursed her lips together and turned to look at the wall. Her plan had seemed flawless when it had first popped into her mind. She had been fully prepared to keep the key hidden and Findley shackled to her until they arrived in Aberdeen. How pleased she had been with herself the moment she hid the wrist irons in her pocket. It had been difficult to contain her excitement over the prospect of showing Findley that he wasn’t nearly as smart as he believed himself to be.

  But not once in all her mental meanderings did the thought of how they would tend to nature’s bidding ever enter her mind. She could kick herself for not having thought the plan out more fully.

  “Are ye done, now with this foolishness?” he asked her.

  Maggy looked at him from the corner of her eye to assure herself that he had returned himself to a more decent state of being. Seeing his clothing put back to rights she turned her gaze to his. While his face looked less pained than it had minutes ago, he still looked quite angry.

  “I’ll no’ let ye leave me here Findley. I’ll find a way out of the abbey. I’ll walk all the way to Aberdeen if I must.”

  None of the events over the past several days gave him any reason to believe otherwise. She was a strong, independent, and determined woman. He shook his head, disgusted with himself for not having left her in Renfrew. He imagined that if there were a way of depositing her on the moon she would still find a way to Aberdeen.