The Clan MacDougall Series (61 page)

Were they not considerably low on coin and racing against time, Findley would have taken a path less tiring and acquired rooms at an inn. Although he was still quite upset with Maggy, he didn’t like the thought of her sleeping on the cold hard ground. She deserved better.

While the men in their group felt the tension between Maggy and Findley, the lads were blissfully unaware. The lads understood the gravity of the situation but they still possessed a youthful excitement about the journey they were on. They chattered endlessly through their simple dinner of bread, fruit and dried meat. They spoke of how, if they were armed with swords, they would run each of the Buchannan men through.

Maggy was too tired and sore to fight sleep. She slept near the fire with her boys around her. Each of the men took turns keeping watch over them.

The next morning, she found herself in a bit of a grumpy mood. She had slept fitfully, her dreams filled with worry and dread over Ian.

Sleep had apparently done nothing to improve Findley’s foul mood either. He spoke in short, curt sentences while they packed camp and mounted their steeds.

As far as Maggy was concerned, Findley could remain as surly and rude as he wanted. She knew she had been right the day before and she was not about to beg forgiveness in order to have him speak to her again. Deep down though, she wished that he would return to behaving like the sweet, gentle Findley she was growing quite fond of.

The ride to Stirling remained blessedly uneventful. It was nightfall when they saw the city in the distance. Thankfully the moon shone brightly and allowed them to continue riding.

“Will I be yer wife again this night, Findley?” Maggy asked as she tried to remain awake. She was far too tired to remain angry with him.

“Aye,” was his curt response.

A sudden sense of dread came over her. Was he so angry that he might leave her in Stirling and refuse to help her get Ian back? As much as she hated to admit it, she did not like having that worry. She not only needed his help, she found herself wanting it.

Doing her best imitation of a Highland warrior, Maggy said, “Dunna worrit, Findley. It’ll be in name only. Yer virtue will be safe with me, lad.”

He was silent for a long time and she wasn’t sure if he found her remark in the good humor she had intended. Och! Such a stubborn man!

“I thank ye fer that, m’lady. Me virtue and reputation are of the utmost importance to me. I’ve no desire to be a ruint man,” he said.

“Nay, we would no’ want to ruin yer chances of gainin’ a wife, would we? No woman wants to marry a wanton of a man!” she giggled.

“’Tis true. Every woman wants an inexperienced man fer a husband. One who is virtuous, pure and innocent,” he chuckled.

“Ye be quite right, Findley. Women expect their men to no’ know anythin’ about the pleasures she can bring him in their marital bed.”

“Aye, true, true. And, pray tell m’lady, what pleasures could ye bring me? Or is it a wanton and sinful thing of me to ask?”

“Och! Lad, if I told ye the pleasures I could bring ye, ye’d blush fer certain!”

Maggy was merely repeating things other married women had told her over the years, about the bragging ways of their men. She definitely had no personal experience in such matters. Gawter was merely an efficient seed layer and nothing more. There’d been no warmth, no giggling in the dark and no tenderness to their joining. It was simply a means to an end.

“Would ye be gentle with me though?” Findley asked.

“Aye,” she answered playfully. “At first. But ye must ken that a husband never denies a wife in their marital bed. Ye’ve a duty, ye see, as a husband.”

“A duty ye say?” he said, feigning shock. “If it be a duty such as cookin’ yer meals and cleanin’ yer home, then mayhap I wouldna find pleasure in it.”

Maggy’s giggle turned to a full-blown laugh. How long had it been since she had laughed so easily and so whole-heartedly?

Findley felt defenseless against the sound of her full and carefree laughter. He found himself falling in love with her all over again and his anger rapidly dissipating.

“Och! I’d be certain ye had pleasure in it, husband! Ye canna get ta breedin’ without it!”

The women of her clan had told her that a woman could not get with child if her husband was unable to please her. Maggy knew from her own experience that that was an old wives’ tale. Gawter’s seed had firmly implanted itself within her womb after only four attempts and she had not experienced any of the pleasure her clanswomen had spoken of.

“Am I to assume then, wife, that we’d have to keep tryin’ until ye got the matter right?”

“Aye,” she said. “But ye need no’ worrit much. I be a Highlander and if there is but one thing a Highlander is good at, it be that, lad!”

“Such braggin’ ye do! I dunna believe ye. I fear ye’d have to prove it, lass.”

Maggy rested her head against his back again. Her cheeks were beginning to ache from smiling so much. She let out a happy sigh and closed her eyes. This is how it should be, she thought to herself. If it had been like this with Gawter, she would not have minded being his wife.

Her laughter was having a physical effect on his person and he was glad she sat behind him. The effect only increased when his mind began to wander to licentious yet delightful thoughts of how he’d like to bring her more contented sighs.

They were pulled from their quiet thoughts by the sound of Wee William’s voice. “Glad to see yer lover’s quarrel is at an end!”

Findley adjusted himself in his saddle and felt Maggy grow tense.

“Be gone with ye, William,” Findley said firmly. He didn’t want the happy moment with Maggy to be spoiled by his interloping friend.

Wee William chuckled. “Me apologies fer interruptin’,” he said as Richard, Patrick and the lads pulled alongside them.

“But we couldna help but hear the laughter comin’ from the two of ye,” Wee William said.

“Aye,” Richard spoke up. “’Tis nice to see the newly wedded gettin’ along so well.”

Findley’s jaw tightened and he could feel Maggy’s grip around his waist loosen. “Be gone with ye,” Findley said through clenched teeth.

“Me thinks the couple are desirin’ time alone,” Richard said with a devilish smile.

“We’ve lost him fer certain, lads!” Patrick chimed in. “’Tis what happens when a man marries. He fergets his friends, his companions.”

“Can ye blame him, lads?” Richard asked. “Would ye rather be surrounded by the likes of us, or seek the pleasures of a such a bonny wife as Maggy?”

“Ew!” Collin said with a sour look upon his face. “I’d rather be with me men than with a wife!”

“Me too,” Liam agreed. “A wife tells ye what to do. And she makes ye bathe!”

“That’s because women dunna like smelly things, ye eejit!” Robert offered with an air of experience.

“Men are supposed to smell like men,” Liam told him.

“Ye’ll never get ye a wife if ye smell like horse dung,” Robert told him.

“Good! ’Cause I dunna want one. I’ll keep meself smellin’ like horse dung if that keeps women away.”

The men laughed at Liam’s statement. “Och!” Richard said. “Ye dunna ken what yer missin’ there Liam!”

Liam’s face twisted into a combined look of disbelief and curiosity. “Missin’?”

“Aye,” Richard said with a smile. “A woman is a most wondrous creature lad. Ye’ll discover that when yer a bit older and wiser. Women be soft, warm, and delightful things.”

“’Tis true, Liam,” Patrick told him. “If it were no’ fer women, we Highlanders would be lonely and untamed beasts.”

“I’d rather be untamed,” Andrew offered. “Ye can come and go as ye please with no one to answer to.”

“That might be true, lad,” Richard said. “But it be a lonely existence. And there’d be no Highlanders left were it not for the comforts of a woman.”

Liam shook his head. “What comfort can a woman bring a man?” he asked, rather disgusted by the whole conversation.

Each man broke into a fit of laughter at his innocent statement. Maggy cringed inwardly, not liking at all the path their conversation was taking.

“Well, ye see, lad,” Wee William began.

Maggy stopped him before he could go further. “Food!” she nearly shouted. “A woman brings ye the comfort of food, Liam.”

Her son was just eight and she wasn’t prepared to have that particular conversation with him just yet. She prayed the men would realize her discomfort and drop the subject altogether.

Wee William cleared his throat. “Yer mum is right, lad. A woman brings ye the comfort of food. Delicious, hot, remarkable sustenance.” He looked rather content at the moment, as if he were lost in a fond memory.

Maggy shot each of the men a look of warning.

Liam shook his head again. “I would rather cook fer meself,” he told Wee William.

The men broke into another round of raucous laughter. Maggy shook her head and let loose a frustrated sigh. Liam and Collin cast confused looks at the group.

Collin leaned closer to Ian. “Dunna worrit, Liam. I’d rather cook meself too.”

“Aye,” Liam said. “Women are no’ worth the bathin’.”

“W
hy does yer mum refuse to marry me?”

Malcolm Buchannan stared across the table at the small boy. He was beginning to question his own sanity. Perhaps the rumors he had heard about himself were true. They had to be, for what other explanation could there be for asking an eight-year-old lad for advice on women.

But who better to ask than the woman’s own son? The boy could surely offer some insight to what Malcolm might need to do to get Maggy to agree to his proposal of marriage.

Malcolm was torn. The bastard in him wanted nothing more than to find the wench and force her into marriage. But there was another part of him, something he thought he had lost long ago, that begged him to try a more gentle approach. But if the gentle approach failed, he was not above dragging her by her hair and implanting his seed deep within her womb, thus forcing a marriage between them.

Ian stared up at the mad man. He was completely confused, for what did an eight-year-old boy such as himself know about women.

“Ye ken yer mum well, lad. Tell me why she refuses me offer of marriage.”

Ian was terrified at speaking the truth. He worried that if he said what he was really thinking, Malcolm would run him through with his broadsword.

They stared at each other for a very long time. The fear in the young boy’s eyes was quite evident.

“If I promise not to harm ye in any way, will ye tell me?”

Instinct and common sense warned Ian not to believe a word the man told him.

Malcolm ran a hand across his bearded chin. “I ken ye be afraid of me lad,” he said. “As well ye should be! But I am a man of me word. I promise I’ll hold nothin’ ye say agin ye.”

Ian continued to stare at Malcolm and his silence began to frustrate Malcolm. “If ye do no’ tell me, lad, I’ll cut yer wanker off with me sword.”

Buchannans didn’t make idle threats. ’Twas the only time their word held any value. Mayhap if he gave the man a few answers, he’d leave him be.

“She does no’ like yer beard,” he offered.

Malcolm touched his long beard and cast a look of disbelief at the boy. “Yer sayin’ me beard be the only reason she wilna marry me?” There had to be more to it than that.

Ian shook his head. “Nay, there be others.” Mentally he ticked off the reasons his mum had voiced over the past months for declining the Buchannan’s offer. He wouldn’t tell him though, not even if he had a hundred warriors standing beside him.

“What else?”

Ian shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “She does no’ like bad smells.”

Malcolm could not contain his laughter. “She thinks I smell badly, does she?”

Ian nodded his head. “Me mum has a fondness fer bathin’. She makes me and me brothers bathe thrice weekly. More often in the summer.”

“So yer telling me that if I shave me beard and bathe she would agree to marryin’ me?”

Ian blinked. He knew it would take more than a bath and shave to get his mum to agree to such a thing. It would take divine intervention.

“Tell me, lad,” Malcolm said drawing his chair closer to the boy, “be there more?”

Ian swallowed hard and thought for a moment. He worried he was tempting fate.

As Ian sat in quiet contemplation, one of the Buchannan’s men brought out two trenchers of venison stew and warm bread. Ian’s mouth instantly watered. The man set both trenchers in front of Malcolm. The boy’s wide eyes and grumbling stomach did not go unnoticed by Malcolm.

“Are ye hungry lad?”

Ian nodded his head slowly. He imagined he could eat both trenchers and still remain hungry. Silently, he hoped he was not being a coward or betraying his family by admitting to the weakness of hunger.

Malcolm slowly slid one of the trenchers across the table. He smacked the back of Ian’s hand when the boy started to lift the spoon to take a bite.

“Ye may eat when ye answer me questions,” Malcolm told him.

Ian’s heart sank. He prayed that the Buchannan would not ask him to reveal the whereabouts of his mum. Ian knew well where his mum would be heading. Maggy had told them long ago what they would do in the event of an attack.