The Clan MacDougall Series (69 page)

She was lying but she wasn’t about to admit it. The key was safely secured in a pocket she had sewn into her shift the night before.

“When I took the wrist irons I did no’ see a key,” she said, lifting her chin and tossing back her shoulders.

Findley began to pace the floor of the small room with his mind racing and his head pounding as a result of far too much ale the night before. Maggy was forced to follow closely as there were not but six inches of iron links separating the two of them.

“If ye’d only listen to reason for a moment,” she began before Findley stopped abruptly.

He spun around to his left, which in turn pulled Maggy behind him. For several moments, they went around in circles looking very much like a dog chasing his tail.

Finally, Findley stopped, got his bearings and turned to loom over her. There was no disguising the fury that flared in his eyes. Maggy began to tremble, feeling a little unsure that he wouldn’t lash out at her.

“Reason?” he seethed. “Ye think this,” he held up their joined wrists in front of her face, “this be reasonable?”

“I needed a way to get ye to listen to me!” Maggy stomped her foot.

Findley growled. “Lass, ye’ve had plenty of opportunity to speak with me. Ye didna have to resort to wrist irons!”

“Aye, ye’d listen, but then ye’d do whatever ye wanted!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, thrusting his hands to his hips, giving Maggy a jolt. She pulled her hand back angrily.

“Ye were plannin’ on leavin’ us with the monks!”

Findley’s brow creased as he tilted his head. “Where did ye hear that?”

“From yer verra lips, Findley McKenna! I heard ye talkin’ to Wee William, so do no’ deny it.”

Findley took a deep breath and wished he were still below stairs drinking ale. Lots of ale. He was not a drinking man, but this lass was quickly driving him to addiction. His aching bladder and pounding head warned against the idea.

“I ken ye wouldna listen to me and were going to leave me behind.” Maggy’s voice softened. “And I have no intentions of being left behind with strangers, in the abbey no less, while ye go and get Ian back. I want to help.”

“I leave ye behind fer yer own good, Maggy. ’Tis no’ a punishment, ’tis fer yer own safety and the safety of yer other sons.” His head was beginning to pound mercilessly.

“Nay,” her jaw tightened. “’Tis because yer a man and ye think because I be a woman, I be too weak and muddle-headed to help!”

“I’m glad yer able to read me mind and heart on the matter, Maggy! Weak? Nay, I dunna think yer weak. But muddle-headed? I’m beginnin’ to believe that,” he said, dangling the evidence before her eyes once again. “Now give me the bloody key!” he raised his voice again, more from the intense pain growing in his side. If he didn’t undo the shackles soon he would burst.

“I’ll no’ be left behind,” she told him, trying to sound determined and strong.

Findley was growing weary with arguing. “Ye be goin’ nowhere but the abbey! And ye’ll stay there ’til I come back with yer son!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” she stomped her foot for added emphasis.

“Ye will!”

“I will no’!”

“Maggy, I need ye to give me the key and I need it now,” he was practically begging. It was his achingly full bladder making him speak softly. He needed the key and he needed relief.

Tossing her shoulders back and lifting her chin she stared up at him with fierce determination. “I told ye, I do no’ have the key.”

Findley took a step toward her. “Ye dunna understand, lass,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve a need to do somethin’ that I do no’ need ye witness to.”

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Yer tryin’ to trick me,” she accused.

“I can assure ye that ’tis no trick,” he told her.

She refused to be bullied or tricked into giving up the key. “Nay,” she told him firmly.

His bladder ached to be emptied and his head continued to pound. He was done with arguing or trying to reason with her. “As ye wish, lass,” he smiled, gave her a slight bow, and then dragged her along to the corner table. He retrieved the chamber pot, crossed the room in four steps and placed it upon the chair.

Maggy’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Ye dunna mean to-”

Findley cut her off as he undid his belt and loosed the ties on his trews. “Aye, I do!” he smiled down at her triumphantly.

“Ye canna do that whilst I stand here!” she argued and pulled her hand away. She was beginning to question her own thinking. She had not planned on what they might do when natural bodily functions might need addressing.

“I asked ye nicely fer the key, lass,” he said jerking his hand back to free his appendage from his trews.

Maggy pulled her hand back, appalled with his lack of good manners and the audacity he had to relieve himself while she stood next to him.

Findley pulled his hand back once again and with a devilish smile, he said, “It takes two hands to hold on to it, lass.” He winked, smiled more broadly and let loose with a happy and relieved sigh.

Maggy stood with mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. How dare he do something so, so…she searched for an apt word but found none. He was arrogant beyond measure!

She tried keeping her eyes pinned to the fireplace, the ceiling, the floor—anywhere but there. The sound of what he was doing echoed through the small room and it seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time for him to finish. She was relieved when she heard him stop, but the relief was short lived, for he started again.

It went on like that for what seemed like an eternity. Stop and go, stop and go, heavy sigh and chuckles. He was enjoying the torment he brought her. He would not feel guilty for he had asked nicely for the key.

As she stood with her shoulder brushing his arm, she waited impatiently and tapped her foot. She tried looking for something to focus on but it was impossible. When she glanced up at his face and saw the devilishly pleased way in which he was staring back at her, she hurriedly cast her eyes away. They fell on an area of his person they should not have fallen to.

Her eyes grew wide and the gasp was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Findley chuckled. “Now ye know why I require two hands.”

Maggy scowled, pursed her lips together and turned to look at the wall. Her plan had seemed flawless when it had first popped into her mind. She had been fully prepared to keep the key hidden and Findley shackled to her until they arrived in Aberdeen. How pleased she had been with herself the moment she hid the wrist irons in her pocket. It had been difficult to contain her excitement over the prospect of showing Findley that he wasn’t nearly as smart as he believed himself to be.

But not once in all her mental meanderings did the thought of how they would tend to nature’s bidding ever enter her mind. She could kick herself for not having thought the plan out more fully.

“Are ye done now with this foolishness?” he asked her.

Maggy looked at him from the corner of her eye to assure herself that he had returned himself to a more decent state of being. Seeing his clothing put back to rights she turned her gaze to his. While his face looked less pained than it had minutes ago, he still looked quite angry.

“I’ll no’ let ye leave me here Findley. I’ll find a way out of the abbey. I’ll walk all the way to Aberdeen if I must.”

None of the events over the past several days gave him any reason to believe otherwise. She was a strong, independent, and determined woman. He shook his head, disgusted with himself for not having left her in Renfrew. He imagined that if there were a way of depositing her on the moon she would still find a way to Aberdeen.

Maggy Boyle had a secret, mayhap more. She was also very determined. He prayed the combination wouldn’t be deadly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “If ye chose to be unreasonable, then far be it from me to stop ye.”

Maggy eyed him for a moment, distrust awash in those deep green eyes. “Ye mean to take us to Aberdeen then?” she asked.

“Aye, I do,” he nodded. “Now please, unlock the shackles.”

Maggy shook her head. “Nay, I dunna believe ye, Findley. Ye mean to trick me, have me undo the shackles, tie me to the bed and hie off without me.”

Findley swallowed hard as he tried to shove from his mind the mental image of her tied to the bed. Covered in red rose petals while he did all manner of sinfully delightful things to her.

“While I admit the thought of tying ye to the bed, lass, would be a pleasurable experience, I’d no’ be doin’ that. Not unless ye asked me nicely.”

What an arrogant man! To be so blunt and forward speaking, with no regard to manners. And to suggest that she would ever ask him to do something so wicked as to be tied to a bed! The nerve!

“I’d never ask ye to do anything of the sort! Yer an arrogant man Findley McKenna!”

A wry smile came to his face and his eyes twinkled playfully. Her heart fluttered when he looked at her that way. So devilishly handsome and so sure of himself.

“I dunna believe ye, lass. I think there be things runnin’ through that mind of yers that ye be no’ willin’ to share with me.”

They stood staring at one another for a long while. It was Maggy who broke the silence. “So ye dunna believe me and I dunna believe ye.”

Findley ran his hand across his chin. “Aye. It appears we’re at a standstill.”

“I’ll no’ allow ye to leave us behind.”

“I said I’d take ye to Aberdeen,” Findley said, standing a bit taller as if to brace himself for more of her ire.

“I ken what ye said, but I dunna believe ye.”

“Ye’ve no intention of unlocking the shackles, do ye?”

Maggy thrust her chin upward. “I told ye, I dunna have the key.”

Findley growled, ran his hand through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. He had never met a more vexing woman!

“Fine, lass! If ye choose to be unreasonable and difficult, I’ll no’ deny ye!” Stomping to the bed, pulling her behind him, he sat down and reached for his boots. “Ye’ll be at my side, as ye wish, lass. Where I go, ye go, so keep that in mind.”

He forcefully tugged on one boot before turning to the other. “And ye’ll no be complainin’ over it! Ye’ll remain quiet at all times and not be interjecting yerself into any conversations I may have with anyone.”

He stood up, pulling her along with him. “And if anyone asks what these are all about,” he raised his shackled hand as if to remind her they were still bound together. “’Tis me who has done the shacklin’ and no’ the other way around. Do ye understand the way of it?”

Maggy could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and she wasn’t at all certain that she didn’t feel the heat of his anger emanating from his body. She wondered if part of his anger wasn’t from embarrassment for her outwitting him. Tamping down a bit of pride over that possibility, she stood unwavering in front of him.

Momentarily forgetting she was shackled to him, she tried crossing her arms over her chest. Her cheeks flamed again when his hand brushed against her bosom before she quickly shoved her arms back to her sides.

“I’ve a few demands of me own, Findley McKenna,” she began. “Ye’ll be respectful to me at all times and ye’ll no’ be dragging and jerkin’ me around as if I’m a sack of leeks.” Her wrist was already beginning to ache from all the yanking and she knew it would be bruised before the hour was out.

With pursed lips and angry eyes, he remained quiet. It would have taken very little effort on his part to remove the shackles. Instead, he chose to play along with her ridiculous notion. He wondered if the longer they were shackled together, the better would be his chances of winning her heart and learning her secrets.

It angered him, that as vexing and frustrating as she could be at times, he still wanted her. Not just her magnificent body, but her heart as well. Not just for a day but for the rest of his days.

I’ve lost me damned mind! He could only hope that once they rescued Ian, she wouldn’t always be so trying. Mayhap as a wife, she’d do better to control her tongue and her temper.

Something told him, and most likely it was the harsh scowl she was giving him at that particular moment, that a Maggy Boyle with a controlled tongue and temper was as likely as a man someday walking on the moon. Neither event was ever likely to happen.

Wee William made no attempt to hide his amusement when Findley began to explain why he was shackled to Maggy. The man laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes and he grew dizzy. Each time he thought his laughter had settled, he’d take one look at Findley’s angry and embarrassed face standing next to the very proud Maggy Boyle, and the laughter would return.

As far as Wee William was concerned, Maggy Boyle was a force to be reckoned with and Findley should simply surrender. Findley was doomed.

When Richard and Patrick saw the shackles and the proud smile on Maggy’s face and the fury on Findley’s, more laughter ensued. Nearly a half an hour was given to the men’s laughter, followed by another quarter hour of the lads joining in.

Findley had reached the limits of his patience. “May the lot of ye burn in hell,” he told them calmly. “We leave within the hour.”

He abruptly left them, pulling Maggy behind him. She let out a squeal that he pretended to ignore. Once they were back in their room he ordered her to pack.

There was no choice but for him to observe for he was bound to it so to speak. While Maggy carefully folded and packed the few possessions she owned, Findley held open the bag impatiently. His gut told him he wasn’t going to survive being shackled to her. Mayhap the best thing would be to ask one of his men to run him through with a sword. It couldn’t be more painful than the humiliation of what she’d done.

He was growing to admire her tenacity and that fact made him angrier. How would he be a good husband to her if he allowed her to rule him as if he were as weak as a lamb? How could he hold his head up around his men, or anyone else for that matter?

He caught a glimpse of the lovely ice-blue gown that lay in the bottom of the bag. “Why do ye no’ wear the blue gown?” The question escaped his lips before he had a chance to keep the thought to himself.