The Clan MacDougall Series (59 page)

She took a deep breath. Never in all the years she had been married to Gawter had he presented her with any gift. The jewels she had worn had belonged to his mother and it had been his uncle who had given them to her. It had also been his uncle who made certain she had been provided with clothing appropriate for her new station.

“Thank ye, Findley,” she said with a suddenly dry mouth. “’Twas very nice of ye. But really, I think it all be too much. Mayhap we should take back some of these things and put the coin to better use.”

Findley shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lass, dunna worry. We earned enough coin sellin’ the supplies in our wagons. And we’ve still enough left. I’ll no’ be havin’ ye argue it further.”

Maggy started to protest when he stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Lass, yer boys would be sorely disappointed if ye took any of it back. And ye canna say ye dunna need the things we gave ye.”

While it was true that she did need the boots, green dress, and cloak, the same couldn’t be said for the beautiful blue gown and headpiece. “Ye think this,” she said holding up a sleeve of the blue damask, “is a need?”

His lips curved into a wry smile. “Aye, ’tis.”

“And how, pray tell, is this a need?”

“Yer boys need to see ye wearin’ it,” he told her. To himself, he added, I need to see ye wearin’ it as well.

There was a strange expression to his face, one that she could not decipher. It caused her skin to grow warm and her palms to sweat. For a fleeting moment, her stomach began to tingle, just as it had when she had held on to him on the wagon the night before. Was it fear or something else? She hadn’t anything in her life experience to compare it to.

As she tried to shake the feeling away there came a knock at the door. Findley stared into her eyes for a moment before turning to see who was at the door.

His hand instantly went to the broadsword that hung at his side. His men knew to knock twice, then thrice. Whoever stood on the other side had only knocked three times.

“Aye?” Findley called out.

“I’ve a meal fer yer bride,” came the muffled voice of Fiona from the other side.

Findley kept his hand on the hilt of the broadsword before carefully opening the door. He gave a quick glance of the space beyond Fiona before allowing her to enter.

“Good day to ye, lass!” Fiona said to Maggy as she walked into the room. “Ye nearly slept yer day away! Ye must have had one grand weddin’ night to keep ye in bed this late!”

Fiona smiled as she set the tray on the table beside the bed. She eyed the clothing that was piled around Maggy. “Och! I see yer husband has been shoppin’ fer ye.” She placed one hand on her hip as her smile grew. “Aye, it must have been one grand weddin’ night indeed to be plied with such gifts!”

Maggy felt her face flush at Fiona’s insinuation. As hard as she tried, she could not find an appropriate response.

Fiona let loose with a loud laugh. “Och! Such an innocent thing ye are! A mum of four boys and ye still blush like a girl!”

Fiona shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Ye must be hungry. I’ve brought ye stew, bread and some dried figs. Ale as well. Let me ken if ye need anythin’ else.” She gave Maggy a wink and turned to leave the room.

On her way out she gave Findley a wink and a grin. “I think it’s a fine lass ye chose fer yer wife, Findley,” she told him before she left the room.

Findley turned his lips inward to keep from laughing at Maggy’s horrified expression.

“Lass! Ye look as though ye’ve swallowed a bug!”

Maggy’s expression quickly turned to one of indifference. “Nay! I was merely caught off guard by Fiona’s bluntness.”

Findley laughed at her as he began to fold her garments. “Fiona is right. Ye blush like a young girl.”

Maggy’s brow creased. “Do ye mean to say that I’m old?”

“Nay, lass. I dunna think ye to be old!” he shook his head as he grabbed the tray from the table. “’Twas meant to compliment ye, lass. Yer blushin’ makes ye even more beautiful.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could do anything to stop them. He paused, holding the tray, unable to move. His face burned with embarrassment. He stared down at her waiting for her to say something.

Maggy blinked, startled by his comment. She could tell by the expression on his face that he had not meant to say the words out loud.

Her father was the last man she could remember calling her beautiful and that had been years ago, when she was just a little girl. An exciting chill ran up and down her spine as she looked into Findley’s brown eyes. She would never admit to anyone that she found herself enjoying that exciting sensation.

Findley cleared his throat before setting the tray upon her lap. Mayhap he should pretend he had not said anything. “I’ll leave ye to eat,” he choked out before giving a quick nod of his head as he left the room in a hurried fashion.

Maggy’s eyes followed him out the door. He thinks me beautiful? She shook the thought from her mind. Nay. ’Tis more likely than not something he says to all women.

Findley was not sure if he was relieved to have said the words or not. He had done nothing but think of Maggy for months. He had traveled for days to offer her a home. And at some point in the future, he knew he would have to share his feelings with her.

He had hoped, however, that the first time he would have told her he thought her beautiful would have been under more romantic circumstances. Nay, things were not going as he had planned. Everything was upside down and backwards.

Cursing under his breath, he stomped down the stairs and headed out of doors. He blamed everyone from the English to the Buchannan for his current lot.

He had tried to live a good, clean, and honorable life. He helped those in need, prayed faithfully every day and tried to live as God would have him do. But fate seemed to be interfering with his plans at every conceivable turn.

In the spring he had been on a simple mission to retrieve the thirty cattle stolen from his clan. That was when fate stepped in the first time.

Days into their journey they had stumbled upon a lass in serious need of help and protection. While his friends Duncan, Manghus and Rowan had seen the lass to the safe arms of their clan, Findley, Richard, Gowan and Tall Thomas had been sent to scout for any signs of the English soldiers whom they expected were searching for her.

With no sign of English soldiers anywhere to be found they had decided to return to Dunshire. Either by accident, fate or divine intervention, they had come across the reivers they had originally been searching for.

He and his men were surprised to find that the reivers weren’t a band of thieving men but instead, five young boys who wanted only to prove to their mum and clan that they were fine warriors who could take care of them. They had stolen the cattle to prove their worth and to feed their very hungry people.

While some men might have skelped the boys and left them for dead for stealing, Findley and his men returned them to their mum. That was how he met Maggy.

Fate stepped in weeks later when he and Richard had gone to Dunblane to obtain supplies to take to Maggy and her clan. They had been in a tavern enjoying an ale when they learned the English were indeed looking for the fair Aishlinn, the lass they had rescued earlier.

Had Aishlinn not decided to take matters into her own hands and turn herself over to the English, Findley would not now be wandering aimlessly around Renfrew. But she had done just that. And when he volunteered to help get her back, fate stepped in yet again.

During the battle to free Aishlinn, who had been married to Duncan for but a day, Findley had taken a blade to his side. He nearly died from it. The only things that kept him from succumbing to death were his thoughts of Maggy.

When he was finally healed enough to sit atop a horse without falling from it, he set off with a plan and a heart bursting with hope. That hope was shattered the moment he saw the death and destruction meted out at the hands of the Buchannan clan.

Was it fate intervening or God telling him he could not have Maggy because he had let down so many people all those years before?

Or was God telling him he could not have her unless he fought for her? Was she too grand a prize for the Lord to just hand her to him without working for it?

His heart could not bear the former so he decided to lean toward the latter.

Fate be damned.

While he would not want to attempt to know what God might be thinking, he knew he must do his Father’s bidding.

She was a treasure, one he would fight for and cherish all of his days, if she’d allow it. One he would protect from all harm. He could not imagine God wanting Maggy to be married to the likes of Malcolm Buchannan. Nay, if she was a treasure, then she deserved better than that.

Findley paced around the rear of the stables. If the good Lord wants me to prove me worth, so be it. I’ll fight fer the lass. I’ll keep her safe to me last breath.

B
eing a prisoner had only one merit; it made a man’s soul burn with an intense hatred that could be used as a catalyst for moving forward and keeping him alive. This prisoner had refused to succumb to the sweet release that death might bring. He chose instead to live.

Vengeance would someday be his and the man who had deserted him, the man he had once called his friend, would feel the wrath of that hatred.

Deceived and betrayed, he had been imprisoned by the English. Beaten and tortured, he, along with countless others—many of whom had died along the way—had been forced to build fortresses, walls and barricades for the English. It sickened him to know that he had been forced to help defend the English against his own people, his fellow Scots.

And for what? For an unscrupulous woman who thought only of herself and her own gain. Bewitchingly beautiful with a silver tongue that could get any man to believe anything that she wanted. And she wanted much, very much. Much more than he could ever have hoped to give her. But he hadn’t seen the truth of it until it was far too late.

He was not sure which was worse—his friend’s betrayal, or his wife’s.

The prisoner knew his wife would not have waited too long in mourning before she had her legs wrapped around his former best friend, professing her eternal love and devotion to the fool. She was good at lies and good at bedding men and good at little else. The prisoner had made very few mistakes in his life. Trusting the woman he married had been the first. Trusting his best friend had been his second.

There was another force that kept his heart beating and that was his son. As much as he hated his wife and friend, he loved his son a hundred times more. His anger bubbled to the point of insanity knowing that the lad would not even recognize him now.

His son had been just a wean when events and betrayals unfolded and changed his life, heart and soul forever. He doubted his wife would have done much to keep his memory alive in the eyes and heart of their son. He felt certain the boy didn’t even know he existed. By now, the boy probably believed another man was his sire.

The hatred that had kept him alive all these years had proven quite useful in his escape. With his bare hands, he had managed to kill three of the guards before taking their weapons and killing four more of the bastards. The whole event had taken just moments to accomplish before he was able to crawl through the stones he had left loose in the outer wall of the fortress.

He had run for days on foot before coming to a small farm where he stole a horse. Years ago, he had been an honorable man who would never have done such a thing. He had left his honor at the gates of the prison years past. Now he was a desperate man, wanting only his freedom and to exact vengeance on those people who had deceived him. Stealing a horse seemed small in comparison to what lay behind him and what lay ahead.

Somehow he had managed to evade capture as he made his way to Edinburgh. Dirty, hungry, and exhausted with no coin to his name, he had arrived in the dark of night. Edinburgh would be the launching point for his great plan. He would get even with those whose lies had made him a prisoner to begin with.