The Clan MacDougall Series (68 page)

“Better he be too drunk to feel a dagger piercing his skin!” Wee William chuckled.

The men stared at each other for a moment, shrugged their shoulders and decided that mayhap it would be best to quit the inn’s tavern and take their fearless leader up to his room.

Maggy was lying in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, all the while her heart pounding from worry and guilt. Findley had been gone for quite some time and she worried that he hadn’t gone below stairs to drink away his troubles. Mayhap he had gone to sleep in one of the other rooms with the lads. If he didn’t return soon and if he didn’t return well into his cups, then stealing the item from the blacksmith’s shop would have all been for naught. She could only pray that her tactic would work on Findley as it had worked on Gawter.

Her hopes rose as she heard the sounds of heavy footsteps and loud whispers coming from the hall outside her door. After a brief moment, someone knocked the secret knock and she felt her heart fall to her toes. Sending a silent prayer up to the good Lord, she jumped from the bed and raced to the door.

She took a deep breath before opening it. There stood Richard looking quite solemn and Wee William beside him with Findley thrown over his shoulder with his rear end presented toward Maggy.

Stifling a giggle with one hand, she rested the other on her stomach. Richard cleared his throat. “Maggy,” he said. “Findley seems to have had a bit too much to drink.”

“If ye do no’ want him in yer room lass, we can toss him in the stables,” Wee William offered, looking as though that was what he’d prefer to do.

Maggy bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “Nay, that willna be necessary. Ye can put him on the bed.”

Wee William raised an eyebrow as if to make doubly sure that was what she wanted. Maggy nodded her head and stepped away to allow the men entry.

Wee William tossed Findley onto the bed with a slight grunt. The bed shook and rattled as Findley let out a groan. “Are we under attack?” Findley mumbled.

“Aye, lad we are,” Wee William chuckled. “An attack on yer good senses!”

“Men the send the walls William!” Findley whispered, raising a hand. “And for the sake of Christ quit spinnin’ the room.”

Wee William rolled his eyes, shook his head and loosened the belt that held Findley’s broadsword. With little effort, he pulled the belt from Findley’s waist and turned around.

He was about to hand the sword to Maggy when the memory of a wee lass wielding a broadsword a few months ago flashed in his mind. That lass had killed two dozen Englishmen. He had no desire to have the same fate fall on his friend. He hugged the sword to his chest and quickly left the room.

Maggy thought his reaction quite odd, but then most things men did puzzled her. She turned to Richard for an answer but found none.

“Is there anythin’ ye need, lass?” Richard offered quietly.

“Nay,” Maggy answered.

Richard looked at her thoughtfully. “Are ye certain? For if there’s anything ye need, I can send the innkeeper’s wife up to ye.”

Maggy’s brow creased with confusion. “Nay, Richard. There is nothing I need other than sleep.”

Richard nodded his head as if he were in complete understanding. “Well, I’m right next door if ye need anything.” He nodded toward his sleeping brother. “And if he gets to be too much to handle, just cry out and we’ll be here in the blink of an eye.”

With a tilt of her head and a chuckle, Maggy said, “He be not the first man in his cups that I’ve ever dealt with, Richard.”

Richard started to say something but thought better of it. With a slight bow, he quit her room, quietly closing the door behind him.

While she was relieved that her plan had worked, she still felt quite guilty over what she had done and was about to do. Her plan was falling into place quite nicely but she still felt ashamed for having called Findley a coward. She knew he was anything but a coward. Hours ago it had seemed the only course of action.

Maggy quietly stepped toward the bed and stared down at Findley. He was such a large man and took up nearly all the bed. Moonlight streamed in through the window and across this face. Och, but he was handsome!

Her stomach tightened with excitement, making her curse under her breath. If she allowed the feelings she was having for Findley to grow, she knew her heart would end up as broken as her spirit. Under no circumstance could she allow herself to fall in love with Findley McKenna.

She reached into the fur she had placed under the bed earlier and retrieved her stolen item. It felt cold and heavy in her hands. As she stood over Findley she began to have second thoughts on what she was about to do.

Had he been a more reasonable person, she wouldn’t be forced to take this course of action, she argued with herself. He had no one but himself to blame for what was about to happen.

Without thinking, she reached out and touched his cheek with her fingertips. What she would not do to change the events of the past weeks. Part of her wished she had never met Findley McKenna, but a deeper part of her was glad for knowing him.

As she struggled with her own conscience, Findley rolled his head and opened his eyes. With a start, she pulled her trembling hand away and hid the item behind her skirts.

A smile came to his lips and he looked at her through sleepy lids. “There ye are, lass,” he whispered drunkenly. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes to.”

Maggy straightened herself and felt her heart swell with something she wished she did not feel. She tried to convince herself that it was the drink that made him speak so sweetly. He’d never say such things in the light of day and with a clear mind.

“Maggy Boyle,” Findley whispered as he took a deep breath. “The most beautiful woman in all of Scotland.” He closed his eyes, but his smile did not fade, instead, seemed to grow as if he were dreaming of something quite wonderful.

“To have ye as me own for all the rest of me days would make me complete,” he said in such a soft voice that it brought tears to her eyes. She tried to convince herself that she’d not heard him correctly. No one had ever said such things to her, drunk or sober. Mayhap the drink had loosened his tight rein on his feelings and he was speaking from his true heart.

Nay! She scolded herself. She swallowed hard and wished fate had dealt her a much different hand. If only she had met Findley years ago, before her life had the chance to change so dramatically.

She choked back more tears and wiped those that had escaped with her fingertips. Convincing herself she had no other choice, she willed herself not to confess all her secrets to him and to move forward with her plan. Everything she was about to do was for Ian.

Maggy rested a knee on the edge of the bed. Through the darkness she whispered softly to Findley. “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

’T
was a dream from which he had no desire to wake. Maggy’s plump derrière rested snuggly against his thighs as he had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist. He held onto her as if he was afraid of drowning and she was the only thing that kept him afloat. She fit into his body as if God had designed her specifically for that delightful purpose.

He was drifting along quite comfortably in that state between dreaming and wakefulness and he had no desire to leave. Sunbeams broke through the small window and Findley could feel the warmth on his skin. But nothing warmed his body or his heart as much as the feeling of holding Maggy; ’twas a blissful, heady experience that he wanted never to end.

He pulled her closer, clinging to her as if she were the only reason for breathing. A warm smile curved his lips when he heard a contented sigh come from the woman he loved more than life itself.

Unable to resist the urge and still believing he was adrift in a beautiful dream, he kissed the top of her head. Unsatisfied and needing more, he kissed her temple, then her cheek. He could not resist the urge to kiss her lips for he knew them to be sweet, full, soft, and warm.

He never wanted to wake, for in his dream, Maggy responded to his touch with ardent passion. She rolled over and pressed her body as close to his as she could before melting into him. Her sweet gasps of longing and desire quickened his own pulse and made him want her all the more.

His free hand caressed her cheek for a moment before sliding down her neck to explore other parts of her beautiful body. If water were salvation to a man dying of thirst, then the same could be said of her kisses. They brought life to an otherwise dying soul and made him feel alive and loved. Her passionate kisses were his salvation.

Pulling his lips from hers, he began a glorious exploration of her soft neck. His breath brought chill bumps of excitement to her skin at the same time her stomach tightened with excitement and anticipation.

“Maggy,” his throat was dry and husky from sleep. “Ye fill me heart.”

Whether it was the sound of his own voice that broke through the heavy fog of sleep or the sound of Maggy’s hitched breath, he did not know. But one of those things crashed through the fog and soon, he realized he did not dream. She really was lying next to him, returning him kiss for kiss.

A small, irritating voice began to rise in the back of his mind and it gave warning; Ye must guard yer heart as well as hers.

He told the tiny voice to go jump from the tallest cliff for Maggy was here, next to him. And if her rapid breathing and returned kisses were any indication, she was as happy to be there as he was to have her.

The desperate desire to claim her as his, to tell her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his days with her, filled him to the marrow. He rolled Maggy to her back and claimed her mouth once again.

When he brought his left hand down to caress her cheek, her own hand followed. Mayhap he had slept on his hand wrong, for it felt odd and heavy. His bladder felt just as heavy from all the ale he had drunk the night before.

“Findley!” She was struggling for air. “Please.”

He was not sure if her pleas bade him to continue or to stop. He opened his eyes only to see hers filled with fright. He was relieved to see that she did not look angry but her fearful expression told him all that he needed to know. While she too might be wanting the same thing he did at the moment, she was afraid. Of him or of what might happen if they did not control themselves—his heart wouldn’t allow him to answer the question.

He loved her. He could find no fault with the lass being afraid. She was a widow and a mum of five boys and he knew she had much to be frightened over.

He swallowed hard before speaking, choosing his words carefully for the last thing he wanted to do was spoil this moment. “I be sorry Maggy,” he began. “Ye seem to bring out the best and the worst of me.”

His lips curved upward when he saw the relief in her eyes and her shoulders relax. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek and as he was about to reveal the secrets of his heart to her, he caught notice of something out of the corner of his eye.

Perplexed and disbelieving what he was seeing, he squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head twice before opening them again. It was still there. He stared for a long moment before looking at Maggy. She was chewing on her bottom lip and attempting to look innocent.

Anger swelled from deep within his stomach as his eyes went from his wrist to her face and back again. He growled before pushing himself upward and rolled out of the bed. Maggy squealed as she was pulled along with him.

“Findley!” she exclaimed. “Please be careful!”

He heard Wee William’s voice in the back of his mind warning him to show care and be gentle with the lass. Silently he told Wee William to jump from the same cliff he had sent his inner voice to minutes ago.

“What in the bloody hell have ye done?!” his deep voice boomed and echoed off the walls of the small bedchamber. He towered over Maggy and thrust his hands to his hips. Her right hand followed his left.

He caught the faint flicker of fear in her eyes before she righted herself and stood taller. “If ye’ll calm down, I can explain it to ye.” She hoped he hadn’t detected her fear.

Findley yanked his left arm up to dangle in front of her eyes. Her right arm followed his. There they were, plain as day. Wrist irons. Heavy, black wrist irons shackling the two of them together.

“Where is the key?” He spoke slowly, through clenched teeth.

“Please, Findley,” she pleaded. “If ye’ll let me explain.”

“Maggy, I warn ye, if you do no’ give me the key this verra minute, I’ll no’ be responsible fer me actions!” His anger threatened to explode like a pot of stew left unattended over the heat of a fire. As did his bladder.

Maggy swallowed hard. An image of Gawter flashed through her mind and she felt herself shrinking. Giving her head a shake, she remained silent and prayed that Findley would not show his anger in the same manner as Gawter would have.

Findley took a deep breath. “Maggy, I be in no mood for games. Where is the key?” It wasn’t a request but a demand.

She swallowed hard again before throwing her shoulders back. “There be no key.”

Findley stared at her and did not believe her for even the briefest moment. “Ye lie.” He needed to be free of the shackles for many reasons. The most pressing was the need to relieve his bladder.