The Clan MacDougall Series (54 page)

His knuckles had turned white and his face burned crimson with anger. He was mad at himself for not putting his best foot forward when it came to the beautiful lass sitting beside him. He was angry with Wee William for charming a laugh from her. And he was very upset that Maggy had apparently been impressed with the giant fool.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her why he had come for her. The illogical, thickheaded part of him said to let Wee William have her if that was what she wanted.

“What be the matter, Findley?” Maggy asked, looking confused.

Suddenly he found himself wanting to consume vast amounts of ale. He snapped the reins and shouted at the horses to move faster. The horses lurched forward, rattling harness and wagon alike. The quick movement caused Maggy to jerk and fall into him. Instinctively, she threw her arms around his waist and held tight.

A wave of something quite peculiar and unknown washed over her the moment she was pressed against him. ’Twas a sensation that she had never felt in all her twenty and four years on this earth. The tingling had started in her stomach and radiated out toward her fingers and toes. She was not sure at the moment, but she thought the feeling might be one of delight.

She cursed under her breath and did her best to convince herself that the feeling was simply fear of nearly being thrown from the wagon. ’Twas all Findley’s blasted fault!

“Findley!” she squeaked at him. “Hold care!”

“We need to make Renfrew before nightfall,” he told her, keeping his eyes on the land before him. He was doing his best to ignore how wonderful it felt to have her pressed so closely to him.

She finally righted herself and clung to the seat with trembling hands. Doing her best to regain her composure she put a stern look to her face.

“Aye, and I’d like to arrive in one piece!”

Findley rolled his eyes and urged the horses faster. “I promised ye a ride to Renfrew. I didna promise ’twould be filled with roses and rainbows.”

Maggy cocked her head at him. What on earth had come over him?

“And I be not asking fer such things, especially from the likes of ye,” she fumed at him.

“And I’d no’ give ‘em to ye if ye asked!” he threw back at her.

“But I do ask that ye at least take me sons into consideration! Neither has ever driven a wagon before, Findley! I imagine they’d be hard pressed to keep up with a madman!”

Findley drew in a fast breath, ground his teeth together and pulled the reins to slow the horses. He cast a glance over his shoulder to find that his men had not attempted to keep up with them. They were often smarter than he gave them credit for.

He took a moment to look at her full on. God’s teeth the woman was beautiful, even if she did possess the look of a very angry if not fearful woman at the moment.

“I be sorry for frightening ye, lass,” he offered.

Her face burned with anger and her eyes darkened. She’d not allow him the pleasure of knowing she had been quite frightened, but for reasons he was not aware of.

“Foolish man!”

“Damn it, woman!” His voice was thick with frustration. “I didna travel all these many days only to fight with ye!”

She was taken aback by his statement and not sure what he meant by it. “Why did ye then?”

He swallowed hard and started to speak.

“And dunna say it be fer redemption. Or for honorable reasons. No man be that humble or honorable.”

She could not trust him outright, not yet. She needed to know just what he knew about her, Liam and her clan. Logic dictated that he did know the truth. No man, no matter how honorable and noble would put his life on the line for someone he did not know.

Somewhere deep within her she allowed herself to hope, however, that he did not know. She wanted very much to believe that not all men were selfish idiots. She wanted to believe in him.

Findley was far too angry and frustrated at the moment to speak, let alone speak the truth. He suddenly felt quite foolish for allowing his heart to control his life. He was a warrior for the sake of Christ! Give him an opponent on the battlefield and he was unstoppable, brave and fierce.

Make him look into those bright green eyes and he was reduced to a babbling idiot who could not find his way out of a room with ten doors.

He breathed in slowly, through his nose, and out again before trying to answer her question. “There be all manner of reasons. One, it is the right thing to do. Two, I do seek redemption.” He stopped suddenly, unable to will his mouth to move forward.

“And three?” she asked, growing more frustrated by the moment. He was hiding something, she was sure of it.

“And three, I care about what happens to ye and yer boys,” he blurted.

She had no good response. I care could mean all manner of things. He could care as a brother does for a sister, or as a father does for a daughter. Or as friend cares for a friend. She would not allow her mind to go any further than friend.

She tried to appear unmoved by his statement. “Thank ye, then,” she murmured.

He could only nod his head and move the horses forward. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he could simply tell her what was in his heart.

I
an wrapped his arms around his knees and did his best to be brave. He stared at the scratch marks on the wall of the room where he was being held. If he was correct, it had been five days since the men attacked his home. He had been in this dark, cold and dirty room for the past two days.

The back of his head still smarted where one of the guards had smacked him that morning. Ian had refused to answer the very large and smelly man’s question.

“Are ye ascared brat?” the man had asked. Ian would not give him the satisfaction of an answer. He simply stared up at him from his dirty pallet. When he continued to remain silent, even after the man had repeated his question, the man smacked him hard. But Ian refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

The truth was he was scared. Still, he refused to allow the man to see it. Ian was positive that none of his other brothers would cower in fear if it were one of them here in this cold and dirty castle. Nay, they’d be brave. And they wouldn’t cry—not one of them. So Ian did his best to maintain the outward appearance of calm, even when he felt like throwing up.

His stomach growled, loudly voicing dissatisfaction at not having had a thing to eat all day. The guard who had hit him earlier that morning had promised he’d not allow him to eat until Ian answered his question.

The more his stomach rumbled and protested, the more Ian began to wish he had simply answered. But the man was a dirty Buchannan. Ian would starve before he’d allow any of them to see his fear.

Ian began to think of his brothers and his mum. Both his mums actually. His real mum had died three years past. Sometimes he missed her but only because he thought he should. Deep down however, he was glad that Maggy was his mum now. She did a much better job of it than his real mum had.

Oh, he knew his real mum had loved him in her own odd way. But she wasn’t as fierce at it as Maggy. His real mum was quite busy with her own life and had very little time to share with him. She didn’t tell him stories, didn’t make sure he ate his vegetables, and didn’t insist he bathe thrice weekly like Maggy did.

She also didn’t tell him to watch his manners or mind his tongue. Nay, she didn’t remind him to say his prayers or thank the Good Lord above before each meal like Maggy.

Where his mum would just smile and tousle his hair before leaving for days on end, Maggy would appear genuinely grieved to to see him leave when his mum finally returned. Maggy would hug him with tears in her eyes, a sure sign she cared enough to miss him.

Aye, there were many differences between the two women. Very often he wondered if it were wrong to love Maggy more. He finally concluded that perhaps it had been a mistake to begin with, that he had been born to the wrong woman. Mayhap he should have been born to Maggy to begin with.

The sun was beginning to lower itself when he heard the latch to the door being lifted. He prayed it wasn’t the same mean guard from the morning for he was so hungry now, he doubted he had the resolve to maintain his dignity. If asked again, he was certain his hunger would win out and he’d answer any question, just for a few bites of food.

The door pushed open and a man he had not seen before stepped into the room. His eyes scanned the dark room until they fell upon Ian.

“There ye are, ye beasty,” he said with a devious smile. “Up with ye now,” he ordered. He reached Ian in three quick steps and yanked him up by one arm.

“Yer future step-sire wishes to see ye,” he said as he dragged Ian from the pallet and out the door.

Ian was not stupid and knew exactly to whom the guard referred. The chief of the Clan Buchannan wanted to see him. Ian knew that fact did not bode well for him.

Mayhap the Buchannan had heard he was not being cooperative with the guards. Or mayhap he wanted to torture him into telling him where his mum and brothers might be.

Ian knew exactly where his mum and brothers would head to, for the plan had been pounded into his head ever since he could remember. Until the Buchannans had showed up and burned out their home, Ian could never understand why such a plan was necessary. Until that day, they’d all lived perfectly happy lives and escape plans seemed silly to him. While he still didn’t understand why the Buchannan wanted to marry his mum so badly that he’d kill for her hand, he felt better knowing help would eventually arrive.

And help would arrive in the form of Maggy’s brothers. She had seven of them and every last one of them would drop what they were doing in order to help her. At least that’s what Maggy had told Ian and his brothers. Ian knew she’d try to reach the nearest brother first, the one who lived in Dundee.

He’d take that secret to the grave.

Ian swallowed hard as he stared up at the man. He had seen with his own eyes how evil the Buchannan men could be. They had forced Ian to watch as they cut Audra’s throat when she refused to tell them where Maggy was. Audra had been like a grand-mum to him. The Buchannan men had laughed maliciously when they had set the tents on fire and destroyed Ian’s home.

The men had taunted him, smacked him about his head and kicked dirt into his face on the three-day journey back to the Buchannan keep. For two days they had kept him locked in the dark room, coming in occasionally to taunt him further or to bring him his porridge and bread.

Now the Buchannan himself had sent for him. Fear shot through to his toes and he tried hard not to pee his pants. Out of respect for his brothers and his mum, he’d not show his fear.

Robert had explained it to them many times over the years. Robert’s words were engraved in his brain: warriors aren’t afraid of anything and we are warriors. We protect our own.

He kept Robert’s words at the forefront of his mind now as he was led down the staircase and into the large gathering room. We protect our own. We be no’ afraid of anythin’.

The more he heard Robert’s voice, the braver he felt. The tall man dragged him through the gathering room, their steps kicking up fetid smells of old food and dog poop that intermingled with the rotten rushes. Ian told himself that if he lived through this ordeal and God blessed him into manhood, he’d never let his own home become so filthy or in such disrepair.

The man pulled him down a long, dank hallway where they paused outside a heavy door. Before knocking on the door, the man cleared his throat and cast a disgusted look down at Ian. Warriors be not afraid of anythin’.

A voice from within bid them to enter. The man opened the door and pulled Ian inside. We protect our own. We be not afraid of anythin’.

Ian’s courage was instantly replaced with fear. More fear than he had felt when the man had run his blade across Audra’s throat.

He felt his heart and stomach plummet to his toes and the color drain from his own skin when he came face to face with the madman sitting behind the large, dark desk.

Two evil-looking eyes stared back at him. One was a dull brown, the other colorless and milky looking. A large scar ran down the entire right side of the man’s face, across his eyebrow, his white eye, his cheek, and his beard before it disappeared somewhere under his filthy shirt.

The madman continued to stare at Ian, all the while maintaining an insidious smile on his lips. His teeth were yellow with bits of food stuck to them. There was a festering sore on his upper lip. Grimy, slick looking hair the color of dirt framed his filthy face. ’Twas difficult to ascertain the true color of his skin, for it was so dark and greasy.

Ian felt his legs turn to jelly and he was glad the man next to him held such a firm grip on his arm. If the man let go, Ian was certain he’d not be able to stand on his own two feet.

Ian had heard stories of the Buchannan before. All of the stories held the same vein, that the Buchannan was a ruthless, greedy, and insane man. Aye, he had heard of the scars and how ugly the man was, but nothing could have prepared him for witnessing it with his own eyes.