Findley's Lass Page 18

  Maggy Boyle had a secret, mayhap more. She was also very determined. He prayed the combination wouldn’t be deadly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “If ye chose to be unreasonable, then far be it from me to stop ye.”

  Maggy eyed him for a moment, distrust awash in those deep green eyes. “Ye mean to take us to Aberdeen then?” she asked.

  “Aye, I do,” he nodded. “Now please, unlock the shackles.”

  Maggy shook her head. “Nay, I dunna believe ye, Findley. Ye mean to trick me, have me undo the shackles, tie me to the bed and hie off without me.”

  Findley swallowed hard as he tried to shove from his mind the mental image of her tied to the bed. Covered in red rose petals while he did all manner of sinfully delightful things to her.

  “While I admit the thought of tying ye to the bed, lass, would be a pleasurable experience, I’d no’ be doin’ that. Not unless ye asked me nicely.”

  What an arrogant man! To be so blunt and forward speaking, with no regard to manners. And to suggest that she would ever ask him to do something so wicked as to be tied to a bed! The nerve!

  “I’d never ask ye do to anything of the sort! Yer an arrogant man Findley McKenna!”

  A wry smile came to his face and his eyes twinkled playfully. Her heart fluttered when he looked at her that way. So devilishly handsome and so sure of himself.

  “I dunna believe ye, lass. I think there be things runnin’ through that mind of yers that ye be no’ willin’ to share with me.”

  They stood staring at one another for a long while. It was Maggy who broke the silence. “So ye dunna believe me and I dunna believe ye.”

  Findley ran his hand across his chin. “Aye. It appears we’re at a standstill.”

  “I’ll no allow ye to leave us behind.”

  “I said I’d take ye to Aberdeen,” Findley said, standing a bit taller as if to brace himself for more of her ire.

  “I ken what ye said, but I dunna believe ye.”

  “Ye’ve no intention of unlocking the shackles, do ye?”

  Maggy thrust her chin upward. “I told ye, I dunna have the key.”

  Findley growled, ran his hand through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. He had never met a more vexing woman!

  “Fine, lass! If ye choose to be unreasonable and difficult, I’ll no’ deny ye!” Stomping to the bed, pulling her behind him, he sat down and reached for his boots. “Ye’ll be at my side, as ye wish, lass. Where I go, ye go, so keep that in mind.”

  He forcefully tugged on one boot before turning to the other. “And ye’ll no be complainin’ over it! Ye’ll remain quiet at all times and not be interjecting yerself into any conversations I may have with anyone.”

  He stood up, pulling her along with him. “And if anyone asks what these are all about,” he raised his shackled hand as if to remind her they were still bound together. “’Tis me who has done the shacklin’ and no’ the other way around. Do ye understand the way of it?”

  Maggy could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and she wasn’t at all certain that she didn’t feel the heat of his anger emanating from his body. She wondered if part of his anger wasn’t from embarrassment for her outwitting him. Tamping down a bit of pride over that possibility, she stood unwavering in front of him.

  Momentarily forgetting she was shackled to him, she tried crossing her arms over her chest. Her cheeks flamed again when his hand brushed against her bosom before she quickly shoved her arms back to her sides.

  “I’ve a few demands of me own, Findley McKenna,” she began. “Ye’ll be respectful to me at all times and ye’ll no’ be dragging and jerkin’ me around as if I’m a sack of leeks.” Her wrist was already beginning to ache from all the yanking and she knew it would be bruised before the hour was out.

  With pursed lips and angry eyes, he remained quiet. It would have taken very little effort on his part to remove the shackles. Instead, he chose to play along with her ridiculous notion. He wondered if the longer they were shackled together, the better would be his chances of winning her heart and learning her secrets.

  It angered him, that as vexing and frustrating as she could be at times, he still wanted her. Not just her magnificent body, but her heart as well. Not just for a day but for the rest of his days.

  I’ve lost me damned mind! He could only hope that once they rescued Ian, she wouldn’t always be so trying. Mayhap as a wife, she’d do better to control her tongue and her temper.

  Something told him, and most likely it was the harsh scowl she was giving him at that particular moment, that a Maggy Boyle with a controlled tongue and temper was as likely as a man someday walking on the moon. Neither event was ever likely to happen.

  ~~~

  Wee William made no attempt to hide his amusement when Findley began to explain why he was shackled to Maggy. The man laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes and he grew dizzy. Each time he thought his laughter had settled, he’d take one look at Findley’s angry and embarrassed face standing next to the very proud Maggy Boyle, and the laughter would return.

  As far as Wee William was concerned, Maggy Boyle was a force to be reckoned with and Findley should simply surrender. Findley was doomed.

  When Richard and Patrick saw the shackles and the proud smile on Maggy’s face and the fury on Findley’s, more laughter ensued. Nearly a half an hour was given to the men’s laughter, followed by another quarter hour of the lads joining in.

  Findley had reached the limits of his patience. “May the lot of ye burn in hell,” he told them calmly. “We leave within the hour.”

  He abruptly left them, pulling Maggy behind him. She let out a squeal that he pretended to ignore. Once they were back in their room he ordered her to pack.

  There was no choice but for him to observe for he was bound to it so to speak. While Maggy carefully folded and packed the few possessions she owned, Findley held open the bag impatiently. His gut told him he wasn’t going to survive being shackled to her. Mayhap the best thing would be to ask one of his men to run him through with a sword. It couldn’t be more painful than the humiliation of what she’d done.

  He was growing to admire her tenacity and that fact made him angrier. How would he be a good husband to her if he allowed her to rule him as if he were as weak as a lamb? How could he hold his head up around his men, or anyone else for that matter?

  He caught a glimpse of the lovely ice-blue gown that lay in the bottom of the bag. “Why do ye no’ wear the blue gown?” The question escaped his lips before he had a chance to keep the thought to himself.

  Without looking at him, Maggy answered. “’Tis a special gown and I be savin’ it fer a special occasion.”

  “Such as?” He cursed his tongue for apparently having a mind of its own. He had no desire for small talk, but his tongue would not listen. Whenever he was near her his good senses seemed to run away.

  “I dunnae,” was her curt response. “I doubt I’ll ever have a need to wear it, but I’ll treasure it all the same.”

  His heart swelled with pride over the fact that she would want to keep some treasure, some memento of their time together. He hoped that when their journey was over and mission complete, he might have a chance to see her wear it. Mayhap on their wedding day, he thought briefly before pushing the thought aside. He was furious with her but for some cursed reason, his thoughts would meander to making her his wife. He cursed his heart and could not wait for this to be over.

  While he longed to make her his, something in the back of his head told him that the chances of her accepting a proposal of marriage were right up there with his man on the moon and a tempered Maggy theories. His list of things that would probably never happen seemed to be growing by the hour.

  “Where do we head for today, Findley?” she asked as she pulled the strings on her bag, cinching it closed.

  “Dundee,” he answered softly.

  Maggy’s spirits lifted. “I’ve a broth
er in Dundee,” she told him, still fidgeting with the strings on the bag. She didn’t want to look into those dark brown eyes for she knew her legs would quiver at the sight of them. But she took a deep breath and drew herself up. She’d need to be strong if her heart were to survive this ordeal.

  “He owns three ships. He’s a good man and I ken he’ll help us,” she told him. That is if he can overcome the shock of learning I be no’ dead. Aye, Roald would be glad to learn she had not perished with the rest of her clan. Though it would be quite a shock, Roald would understand the reasons behind her deception.

  Maggy finally glanced up at Findley. Her heart skipped a beat and her legs felt weak. Those brown eyes would surely be her undoing for they seemed to burn right into her heart.

  Oh, how she wished she could trust him enough to tell him everything. Mayhap after they had Ian back she could explain the way of things. She prayed Findley was honourable enough to forgive her for keeping so many secrets from him.

  ~~~

  Being shackled to Findley proved harder than she had imagined. She was forced to ride balanced on the saddle in front of him. Far too close for the comfort of her heart or her mind.

  It was so very tempting to rest her head against his warm chest but she denied herself that delight. She did her best to keep their conversations to a minimum. Remaining distant and quiet would help steel her heart against the feelings that were growing with each beat of her heart.

  Unwittingly, Findley assisted in her endeavour. He was grouchy and ill-tempered most of the first day. His mood made it nearly impossible for anyone to be fond of him. Even the lads did their best to stay clear of him.

  The most difficult thing for Maggy to get used to was answering nature’s calls with an audience. Whenever she was tempted to undo the shackles for a bit of privacy she would think of Ian. Each time she thought of how terrified her son must be and all that he was going through, the images helped strengthen her resolve. I’m doing this for Ian, she would remind herself.

  As much as she hated to admit it, she did enjoy sleeping next to Findley. The warmth from his body and the way he would pull her close while he slept, filled her heart with a sense of happiness as well as longing. She felt happy, content and safe when wrapped in his arms. But she knew it would all end soon. When this was over, they’d each be forced to go their separate ways.

  The closer they got to Dundee the heavier her heart felt. It would not take long for word to spread that she and Liam were still alive. Once her secrets began to unravel, her life would never be the same.

  As they rode along the second day, through a heavy, dense fog, she thought of the three people who had helped keep her secrets safe. Her maids, Claire and Kate, and her guard George. Over the years they had become her second family. George had been like a father to her and Claire and Kate more like the sisters she never had than the servants they were.

  George knew how mean Gawter could be and there had been a time or two he had intervened to pull Gawter off Maggy. Had George not stepped in, heaven only knew how badly the beating would have ended for her. Had it not been for George's interventions, Maggy felt she would have been dead a long time ago.

  The lies that had kept her safe these past years had begun late at night, just hours after Gawter’s death. George had come to Maggy’s room with worry etched into his auld face. He did not grieve the loss of his earl. Instead, he worried over what would become of Maggy.

  “M’lady, ye ken that after yer mournin’, Laird Brockton will have ye married off,” he whispered as they sat near the fireplace. “I fear ye may get ye a husband even worse than the one ye already had.”

  Claire and Kate had voiced their worries as well. ’Twas Kate who fretted over the three boys Maggy had taken in after the deaths of their parents. As she sat on a stool next to Maggy, Kate whispered, her voice full of fear and concern, “Yer new husband could send the lads away, m’lady. A new husband might not care where the poor lads go!” Tears had dripped from Kate’s young eyes.

  Maggy knew her friends were right. Gawter’s uncle would not care about the kind of man he would marry Maggy off to. Laird Brockton would do anything he could to keep his hands on Liam’s inheritance. There was no doubt in Maggy’s mind that Brockton would marry her off to someone eager to share in the fortune and power left by Gawter’s death and all too willing to keep a tight rein on Maggy’s spirit.

  Their plan was born in the very early morning hours, while the rest of the castle was fast asleep. George, Kate and Claire would spread word that Maggy and the boys had come down with the pox. They would quarantine them against the rest of the castle.

  After so many deaths, no one would question the quarantine. Those people lucky enough to avoid the pox up to that point, would be all too happy to stay clear of anyone afflicted with it. After a few days, they would sadly announce to the rest of the castle that Maggy and the boys were dead. Those few days had offered George plenty of time to ready their escape.

  After hiding them in a hay cart, George quietly took Maggy and the boys away from the castle. That quiet morning had begun the start of their new lives. It also began Maggy’s search for her lost spirit and heart.

  Maggy could not find it in her to grieve the loss of her husband, but she did mourn for her people. More than two thirds of her clan had died before she fled into the Highlands. George would visit as often as he was able, bringing them what supplies he could pilfer from the dwindling larders of the castle. Sometimes he brought survivors with him; people with no one left to care for them. They were the very auld, who amazingly enough had survived only to have their grown sons and daughters and grandchildren fall victim to the horrible disease.

  On one of those occasions he brought Collin, who would become her fifth son. During the first six months, Maggy's new little clan had grown to some thirty people. After that, there was no one else for George to bring. The younger and healthier people lucky enough to survive had moved on to other parts of Scotland. As far as Maggy knew, no one ever questioned her death or the deaths of the boys.

  Everything had gone well enough in the beginning. Maggy and her clan had built a home a good five days’ ride from her former castle. She had planted a large garden and tended to the auld. She helped the boys grieve the loss of their families while building a new one. It had by no means been easy, but living hand to mouth was far better than being thrust into another arranged and loveless marriage.

  Before Maggy realized it, another day of riding had passed. Findley pulled rein, bringing her out of her quiet reverie. "We'll camp here for the night," he told her as he helped her down from the horse before he dismounted.

  Maggy looked around their surroundings. They were making camp in a small clearing in the middle of a forest. Riding through the country was beginning to take its toll on her. Every muscle in her body ached. She wondered how many more days they'd be living out of doors?

  She also wondered if she’d be able to go back into hiding again. Once word spread that they were alive, would she be able to retreat into the shadows? Run and hide for the rest of her days or allow herself to be married off? She didn’t like either option. But living on the run, hiding from the world, was far more palatable than ending up in another loveless marriage to a cruel and heartless man.

  Wee William took Robert and Collin to hunt for meat for their dinner. Richard and Patrick worked with starting a fire, sending the other boys off to gather firewood.

  "Maggy, would ye like to help me get water?" Findley asked sarcastically.

  Maggy rolled her eyes. "Does bein' daft come natural to ye, Findley? Or is it somethin’ ye must work at?"

  Richard and Patrick chuckled as they pulled packs from their horses. "’Tis like they're already married," Patrick offered.

  Richard nodded his head. "Aye, ’tis like gettin’ a glimpse into the future.”

  “Do ye think Findley sees it?”

  Richard lowered his voice to a whisper. “Nay, he’s too struck by her beauty and no’
thinkin’ with his head.”

  Patrick nodded his head. “I believe yer right,” he began. “’Tis been the downfall of many a good men who think with their wangers instead of their brains.”

  Findley shot a scathing look at his men, which in turn brought wry smiles to each man’s face. Findley grabbed empty water bladders from the back of his horse. Without warning, he began to stomp away, pulling Maggy behind him.

  She'd learned over the last few days not to bother with complaining for her words would fall on deaf ears. Findley was fond of reminding her that she was in this predicament by her own choosing. She could get out of it at any time by producing the key he knew she had hidden on her person. Maggy was not about to do that.

  Findley pulled her along through the trees in search of water. They walked in silence for a good distance before finding a narrow stream that cut through the forest. Findley stomped toward it ignoring Maggy’s grunts and sighs of exasperation.

  He knelt down and pulled the stopper from the bladder before thrusting it into the cold water. He was beginning to grow quite weary of the woman attached to his wrist. He made a silent promise that once they reached Dundee, the first thing he’d do would be to find a blacksmith who would be able to break the shackles.

  As he silently fumed and cursed his situation, Maggy let out a slow breath and leaned toward the stream. She began splashing the frigid water on her face. The shock of cold water caused her to gasp and shudder.

  Findley studied her closely for a moment. Her face was beautiful. Tiny droplets of water hung to her lashes and more drops fell from her chin. When she was finished, she sat back and drew her knees up to her chest and stared off into the distance.

  She was going to be the death of him. No matter how hard he tried to stay angry with her, one look at that beautiful face and those deep green eyes caused him to lose what remained of his common sense and logic. Surmising he had lost his mind completely, he threw all caution to the wind and grabbed her.