Findley's Lass Page 8

  Wide smiles erupted on the boys’ freckled faces.

  “Aye!” the tallest of the lads said. “We’ll sleep in the wagons if we have to!”

  Findley had known the innkeeper and his wife for several years. Beyton and Fiona Lindsey were well into their forties. They, or more specifically Fiona, ran their inn with an iron fist.

  It was commonly known that Beyton, who was short compared to most men, was the brains and Fiona, who was several inches taller than her husband, was the brawn. She had no qualms about hitting an unruly visitor over the head with a broom, chamber pot, or whatever else might be within reach. She had hauled enough men out of her inn over the years that most knew not to try her patience.

  Fiona was quite happy to learn that Findley had finally found his good sense and married. She showed her approval with a hard slap to Findley’s back and a warm embrace for Maggy. Beyton however, cast a pitiful look at Findley as if to say, enjoy the honeymoon. It be all downhill from here.

  Beyton and Fiona were quite shocked to learn the young lass before them was the mother of the four young boys. Findley took only a moment to explain they weren’t all hers. Uncertain if Malcolm Buchannan had any men in Renfrew, he kept as many details as he could to himself.

  They procured three rooms. Two for his men and the boys and the third he would share with Maggy.

  Fiona refused to tote multiple tubs and water up the two flights of stairs, so it was decided that Findley, his men and the boys would bathe in a room just off the kitchen. First, however, she enlisted their help in toting a tub upstairs for Maggy.

  Fiona led the group through the crowded barroom, ordering men to part and hold their tongues for a lady was present. The sea of men parted and remained sullenly quiet while the tired and worn group pushed through.

  Maggy kept her shawl drawn tightly around her face while holding tightly to Liam’s hand. She avoided all eye contact with the patrons. It had been years since she had stepped foot in any village or town. She had no desire for her true identity to be revealed by the off-chance meeting of someone from her past.

  Fiona led them to their respective rooms. The men and lads would have two rooms in the middle while Maggy and Findley’s room was at the end of the dark hallway.

  To say the room was small would be an understatement. A small bed, barely big enough to sleep one person, sat against one wall with a fireplace directly opposite. A small fur covered the only window in the room.

  There was barely enough room for the bed let alone a tub but somehow they managed to squeeze one in. Maggy was more than happy to make do with their meagre accommodations in exchange for a hot bath and warm, soft place to sleep.

  When she made an attempt to leave to assist with readying her sons’ baths, Fiona clucked her tongue. “Och! Lass, I’ve had nine bairns, seven of which were lads. I’ll make sure they wash themselves properly.”

  Fiona gave her a reassuring smile. “Besides, ’tis yer weddin’ night! Even though ye be a mum, ye are first a bride this night. Ye enjoy yer bath and ready yerself fer yer husband!” She giggled and gave Maggy a wink before leaving the room.

  Maggy was glad that Findley and the rest of his little band of warriors were below stairs busy filling buckets and not within earshot. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks when her mind began to wander to points she knew well it shouldn’t. Thoughts of Findley and what he might look like soaking in a tub with water cascading down a bare chest that she was certain was firm and well-muscled made her toes tingle.

  ’Twas true that Findley was a very braw and well-built man. If her current predicament were different, she might well welcome the thoughts. She might even have entertained the idea of an illicit encounter with him.

  She shook the mental images from her mind as she sat patiently on the bed waiting for the men and boys to fetch water. I’m a mother for goodness sake! Findley couldna possibly be interested in a widowed mum with five lads. ’Twould be too large a responsibility for any man to undertake. And to have such thoughts outside of marriage? Sinful, just sinful. She took a few moments to pray for forgiveness. Then she prayed for strength to fight against her wicked mind.

  She began to wonder again why Findley was offering to help her get Ian back. As much as she wanted to believe he and his men were helping out of the goodness of their hearts, she could not let go of the possibility that he might have ulterior motives.

  He certainly had not let on that he knew the truth. Could he be that good at deception?

  Soon the men returned with buckets of hot water. Maggy scooted further back onto the soft mattress and watched.

  The small room could only hold two of the men comfortably -- to fit more would have been next to impossible. So the men lined up, with Findley at the lead as they passed the buckets along.

  From her place on the bed, she could not see into the hallway. She listened intently but could not hear her sons. Her boys were never quiet unless they were eating, asleep or hiding. She grew uncomfortable at not being able to hear or see them.

  “Where are me boys, Findley?”

  “They be below stairs, lass. Fiona’s makin’ them bathe,” he said as he emptied another bucket into the tub.

  “Alone?” she asked unable to mask her worry.

  “Nay, Fiona’s with them. Beyton as well.”

  “But what if there be Buchannans about?” She felt anger creeping in. How could they leave her boys alone? She knew the Buchannans would neither be swayed nor frightened by Fiona or Beyton. If they wanted the boys, they could easily take them.

  Findley emptied another bucket into the tub. “Lass, they be fine.” He was not worried for Beyton and Fiona’s two older sons worked the inn with them. Findley had one of them stationed at the entrance to the inn, the other at the rear.

  “But Findley, ye canna leave me boys alone! What if the Buchannans followed us and now they be simply waitin’ for a chance to take them?” The panic was rising in her voice.

  Findley sighed heavily as he poured in the last of the water. Wee William and Patrick had already left to go guard the lads after they had handed their buckets up to Richard.

  Findley turned in time to see Maggy scurrying off the bed.

  “Lass!” he said loudly. “Yer boys be fine!” He shook his head as he watched Richard smile and head for the stairs.

  “But Findley!” she began protesting as her feet hit the floor and she headed toward the door.

  “Maggy,” he said, lowering his voice. He reached out and stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Wee William and Patrick are below stairs by now and guarding your boys with their lives. Ye needn’t worry so!”

  Maggy spun around, her brow creased and her eyes filled with anger. “I be their mum, Findley! Ye dunna understand it, ye fool! I ken the Buchannan and what he can do. Me boys are all I have left in this world!”

  She shoved his hand off her shoulder. She had to see for herself that her boys were well.

  Findley drew his shoulders back. Through clench teeth he said, “I do understand it, Maggy and I be no fool.” He took a deep breath in. “And mayhap if ye were to tell me the truth of why the man wants ye badly enough to kill fer ye, I could do better to protect all of ye!”

  He was doing his best to be patient with her. The last few days had been a living hell for her. He reminded himself of how he had felt all those years ago when his family had been murdered. Richard had been all he had left in the world. For years after, Findley had protected him fervently. To this very day, he’d lay down his own life in order to save his brother’s.

  “Then how can ye leave them unattended?” she asked rather coolly and ignoring his last statement all together.

  “I didna leave them unattended! I left them in good care. ’Tisn’t as if I told them to go run up and down the street shouting ‘We’re here! Go tell the Buchannans!’”

  Mayhap it was the exhaustion, the bone-weariness and worry that made her so angry. Mayhap it was the hunger or the days of dust and grime that se
emed to weigh her down and make her feel so sad.

  Or mayhap it was the rightfully felt fear that she had whenever the boys were not within in eyesight that caused her to want to scream and cry at the same time.

  Her eyes welled with tears as she folded her arms across her stomach. This wasn’t how she normally behaved. In all the years she had been married to her cheating, lying, poor excuse of a husband, she had never carried on like a shrew or a fishwife. She had never nagged or cried or asked him for anything. Maggy had always been the dutiful, quiet wife who allowed her husband his dalliances as well as his temper tantrums.

  But since his death, she had gained an independence that she had grown to enjoy. She had provided for her clan and her children and kept them safe and healthy. But the last months had been more difficult and trying. And the past days had been a living hell. Her emotions were getting the better of her and that angered her more than anything else. She was losing control of her good senses.

  Findley’s shoulders sagged when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes again. He imagined men could get on better in this world if their women didn’t cry with such frequency.

  “Maggy,” he began. “I promise, we’ll protect yer sons.” As much as he wanted to reach out and pull her to his chest, he felt certain she’d scratch his eyes out if he did.

  “Ye be tired and hungry,” he said. “Would ye like me to go check on yer boys whilst ye take yer bath?”

  “Aye,” she said with a quick nod of her head. She brushed the tears away with her fingertips.

  Findley looked down at her with a thoughtful smile. “Fine then. I’ll go see to them and I’ll report back shortly. Lock the door after me and dunna let anyone in but me.”

  “How will I ken it’s ye?” she asked, taking in a deep breath.

  “I’ll knock twice, then thrice,” he offered.

  Maggy nodded and shut the door behind him. She turned back and her eyes fell on the tub and then the bed. She wasn’t sure which she wanted more at the moment: to bathe or to sleep.

  Then it hit her like a wall of cold water. Where will Findley sleep this night? Did he intend on sharing the bed with her?

  Mayhap after the tub was removed, he could sprawl out on the floor. A sudden wave of guilt washed over her. How could she make him sleep on the floor while she took the bed? He’d already done much more than anyone else would have under the same circumstances. And he was intent on getting Ian back for her.

  Nay, she could not in good conscience ask him to sleep on the floor. She would take the floor and he could have the bed. It was the least she could do by way of a thank you. Mayhap someday she would be able to repay him for all that he had done and was planning to do.

  She sighed. “If he does get Ian back, I could live a thousand lifetimes and not be able to repay him.”

  Chapter Eight

  They had argued for nearly a quarter of an hour over who would take the bed. Findley won only because he was bigger and stronger.

  After he had returned to tell Maggy that her boys were fine and well, he left again for a much-needed bath of his own. When he had returned an hour later, he had found Maggy wrapped in nothing but a blanket. It took a monumental effort on his part not to lift her into his arms and kiss every square inch of her body.

  She had been sitting by the fire, drying her hair, the blanket drawn tightly around her body. Findley could see her slender ankles and a bit of her bare shoulders and his breath caught in his throat. God’s teeth she was beautiful.

  Maggy had washed her clothes out in the tub after taking her bath. The worn dress and shift hung on hooks over the hearth to dry. He found himself envious of the lucky blanket that was keeping her warm and wished it were his arms that were wrapped around her.

  Fiona had sent up a tray of bread, cheese and venison along with two tankards of ale. Maggy sat on the stool while she ate and Findley sat on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned against the wall.

  ’Twas difficult for Maggy to not stare at his well-muscled legs for his leather trews fit over them rather magnificently. As they ate in silence, Maggy realized she was staring at his chest. And when he smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, she felt her face burn with embarrassment.

  Frequently she would poke out a hand from under her blanket and test the dryness of her shift. Findley had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at her apparent nervousness. He thought of asking her why she was so nervous, but he was afraid it would lead to another argument. He was enjoying the silence. And the fact that she was completely naked under the blanket helped improve his mood. Why spoil such a lovely evening?

  The silence, however, did not last as long as he would have liked. She had insisted on taking the floor because she had no other way of thanking him. He could have thought of countless other ways to express her gratitude, but his honour kept him from putting a voice to such notions.

  No self-respecting man would allow a woman to sleep on the hard floor whilst he took the bed. He had grown weary of arguing his point. He reached her in two strides, scooped her up in his arms and plunked her down on the bed.

  “I’ll hear no more of it, lass,” he had told her with a devious grin.

  He then covered her with a fur, his knuckles inadvertently brushing against the soft skin of her shoulders. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her gasp when he touched her. She looked confused as well as a bit terrified, and appeared to be bracing herself for something.

  “Good sleep to ye, lass,” he said before turning away. He gave her no time to argue as he put out the flame of the tallow with his fingers. The low burning embers in the fireplace cast a soft, warm glow into the room.

  In the near dark, he unfastened his plaid and spread it out on the floor in front of the hearth. He told himself he could rest comfortably knowing that Wee William was keeping the first watch in the hallway and that Maggy was safe now.

  But sleep did not come. To know she was just a step away and naked was maddening.

  Fiona had given Maggy lilac-scented soap with which to bathe. The scent of it hung in the air, blending with the smoke from the fire, and it left him feeling intoxicated. He did his best to tamp down the lustful thoughts coursing through his mind. He wasn’t sure he could survive too many more nights with her but a step away, especially if she slept each night like she was now.

  One large question still hung in the air. Why had the Buchannan attacked her home? What could Malcolm Buchannan gain from marrying Maggy? Anyone with a bit of common sense could see that she and her clan were impoverished. They were peasants barely scraping by. There could be no monetary gain from such a union.

  Mayhap it all boiled down to the fact that Malcolm Buchannan was simply mad. His inner voice told him there had to be more to it than the machinations of a mad man. Maggy was keeping something from him, he was sure of it. But what?

  She did not trust him and he wondered if she ever would.

  Findley slipped his fingers into his tunic and pulled out the bloodied plaid. He had kept it as a reminder of what the Buchannan had done to Maggy and her family. Now that he had her in the care of himself and his men he no longer needed it as a reminder of what had happened. He was half tempted to toss the fabric into the embers and let it burn. He couldn’t do that just yet and would not have been able to explain the why of it to anyone. Instead, he slipped it back into his tunic and rolled over and tried to sleep.

  He lay in the dark listening to the sounds of her steady breathing over the occasional crackle of embers. He wondered how many heartbeats he would survive if he climbed into the bed with her. Not many, he thought. Sweet talk and poetic words would not win him her heart nor would they gain her trust. Nay, Maggy was the kind of woman to whom a man needed to prove his worth with actions, not pretty words.

  Mayhap once he retrieved Ian, Maggy would find it in her heart to trust him. He would do his best to prove to her that she could.

  ~~~

  Sleep did not
come any easier for Maggy. She worried over Ian. Had his fever worsened? How were the Buchannan men treating him? Was he warm? Were they feeding him?

  Soft tears escaped and left trails down the sides of her face as she feigned sleep. She cursed Malcolm Buchannan and his men. If they let any harm come to her son she would chase the animals to the ends of the earth if she had to. She’d have no problem killing any of them.

  She cursed her husband and his family for putting her in this position to begin with. Had Gawter’s family been honourable or the least bit kind, she would have had no problem remaining with them. But they were neither of those things, and his uncle was the worst of the entire lot. As it was, she had been forced to take Liam away from his home and birthright in order to protect him.

  Maggy knew that had Gawter survived the pox, her life would be completely different. He would not have let her raise the four boys she now considered her sons. She would not have regained the independence of her youth that she had given up the day she married the cold man. But more likely than not, he would have eventually succeeded at taking her life. He had, after all, tried more than once.

  She had felt a great deal of relief when Gawter died. She had not pined away for him, had not thrown herself on his dead body begging God to take her life so that she could be with her husband. She had not grieved at losing him.

  While she did feel sorrow over the fact that her son was without a father, she knew that they were both much better off without him. Without Gawter there to influence Liam, Maggy could see to it that he grew to be a fine, honest and honourable man. Liam would be everything his father wasn’t.

  Maggy knew, however, that her all of her boys needed a father. They needed a strong, honest role model. But what man in his right mind would be willing to take on a widowed mother of five? There would be plenty of men to line up and make the offer if Maggy and Liam’s true identities were discovered.