The Clan MacDougall Series (75 page)

But it was not to be. Laird Brockton would never agree to a marriage between Maggy and Findley. Had Findley been a man of wealth with no spine, then Laird Brockton would, more likely than not, allow such a union.

A poor Findley might be welcomed in her uncle’s home. Poor men could sometimes be bought for the right price. Brockton would have been able to keep a poor man in line with threats of pulling funds or the enticement of bribery.

But it would be Findley’s strong moral character and honor that Brockton would see first, and therefore, those would be reasons enough to deny a marriage. Within five minutes of meeting him, Brockton would see that no amount of money or threats would bend Findley McKenna’s will or honor.

His strong sense of honor and duty would be the things she needed most to help get her son back. They would also be the things that would keep them apart.

Findley laid a gentle kiss on the side of her neck and breathed in her scent. She smelled like earth, warmth, and fresh air and he found it took his good senses away.

“Maggy, tell me yer secrets. Let me help ye,” he whispered as he pressed another kiss to her neck, right below her ear. It sent flutters of delight from her stomach to her toes.

“Findley,” she said breathlessly. He made it quite difficult for her concentrate on anything but how badly she wanted to feel his skin pressed against hers. She suddenly felt beyond tired, beyond exhausted. The fight in her was quickly fading.

“Maggy,” he whispered, his hot breath sending tingling sensations down her spine. She was melting into him, the last of her defenses falling slowly away. Mayhap just one night with him would be enough of a memory to keep her warm for the rest of her days.

He watched as her bosom rose and fell and heard her soft gasps as he kissed her and whispered into her ear. He took great pride in seeing the chill bumps as they rose to her skin.

“Why will ye no’ marry me?” he asked as he left another kiss on her neck. He could make no sense of it. “Is it because ye still mourn fer yer husband?” He’d been chewing on that idea for a few days. Mayhap her resistance came because she felt honor bound to her dead husband.

Maggy turned to face him, tears pooled in her eyes, the candlelight making them glisten. “Nay, I dunna mourn me husband,” she told him as a strong need to purge herself of Gawter’s memory overcame her. “I never mourned his death.” She couldn’t believe she had said it out loud.

Findley’s expression changed to one of confusion. “Ye dinna mourn his death?”

She choked back tears. “Nay, Findley. He wasna a good man, not like ye.”

Then there was something else holding her back. Something that frightened her to the point that she would continue to deny her feelings for Findley.

“Ye can confide in me, lass,” he told her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I promise, I’ll no’ judge ye or think ill of ye.”

Maggy swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Would it be so wrong to tell him some of the truth, if not all of it? Mayhap if she told him then he’d understand why they couldn’t be together.

“Ye say that now, but ye dunna ken the truth yet, Findley. I be afraid ye’ll change yer mind once ye learn it.”

He pulled her close and she buried her head in his chest. “Nay lass, I swear nothin’ ye could say could ever change how I feel about ye.”

The dam burst and a torrent of tears came flooding through. Tears she’d been holding onto for many years welled up and spilled out, unstoppable. By the time she was done crying, Findley’s tunic was damp from her tears.

Her resistance was gone. She knew that once the word spread that she was in fact alive, there’d be no turning back. There’d be no way on God’s earth that Laird Brockton would allow her another chance at escape for he had far too much at stake to lose her again. She was trapped; a prisoner of a destiny not of her own choosing.

Maggy wished she could turn back time and go back to the day before her mother had announced that she would marry the Ninth Earl of Kerse. She would always remember that day as the last carefree and innocent day of her life. There had not been another since.

Findley held her close, rubbing her back, and whispered words of encouragement. His heart broke for her because he could see the pain and fear that she’d been holding on to for quite some time.

“Wheest, lass,” he murmured as he kissed the top of Maggy’s head. “It canna be as bad as what ye think.”

“Ye dunna understand! It’s worse than that!” she sobbed into his chest.

“Tell me then, tell me so I can understand it and help ye better.”

Maggy’s breath stuttered as she tried to find the right words and a good place to begin. “I canna marry ye because Gawter’s uncle will no’ allow it.”

Findley’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened. He wondered what on earth Gawter’s uncle had to do with it. “And why would he have a problem with ye marryin’ me?”

“Please, Findley, promise me ye’ll no’ hate me,” she pleaded with him.

“I do so promise,” he said as he led her to the bed and set her down carefully. He pulled a chair from beside the bed, sat down and faced her.

She couldn’t look him in the eye for fear she’d either see disgust or greed fill his. “My real name isn’t Maggy Boyle,” she said as she looked at her fingers on her lap. “I mean, at one time it was, but not anymore.”

Findley cocked an eyebrow at this puzzling bit of news. She wasn’t making much sense. He remained quiet and allowed her to continue.

She took a deep breath and blurted it all out. “My real name is Lady Margaret de Menteith, widow of Laird Gawter de Menteith, the Ninth Earl of Kerse!” She steeled herself and waited.

Findley was dumbstruck. What did her title have to do with anything? He waited for more information but when he realized none was forthcoming, he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up. “And?”

“Think of it Findley. The Ninth Earl of Kerse,” she hoped her words would sink it. But by the confused look on his face she could tell that he truly didn’t understand. “My late husband, Findley, is King David’s fourth cousin.” Maggy let out a frustrated sigh and continued. “That means me son, Liam, is royalty.”

It began to make sense to Findley then. If Liam was of royal descent that meant his mother wasn’t just another poor peasant girl.

Maggy went on. “Liam is a descendant of Scottish royalty. With that comes titles, lands, and earldoms. Gawter’s uncle, Laird Brockton, will no allow me to marry anyone who does no’ come with a title and money. Gawter made him promise, on his deathbed, that he wouldn’t allow me to marry anyone who could take Liam’s heritage away from him.”

Findley’s heart sank. He had no money, no lands, and no title. Laird Brockton was responsible for not just his nephew, but for Maggy as well. There’d be no way on earth the man would allow Maggy to marry Findley.

“Laird Brockton is a cruel man, Findley. He never liked me. He was against the marriage from the start, but for whatever reason, he allowed the marriage to take place. I never understood why and I never understood how my mother managed to arrange the marriage. I was just the daughter of a farmer, the youngest child of Blaine and Lila Boyle. Me da was a farmer, he had no titles, no lands and I had no dowry,” she sighed and shuddered, suddenly felt quite cold.

“Findley, if it were different, if I had a choice in the matter, I’d marry ye.” He barely heard her for she had spoken so softly.

He looked into her beautiful eyes and damned the fate that had brought them together only to pull them apart. There had to be a way around it. There must be something he could do that would allow him to marry Maggy.

A strong tug pulled at his heart. He could not deny how he felt about her and he could not keep it secret from her any longer. He slowly knelt on the floor in front of Maggy and took her hands in his.

“I dunna care about what Laird Brockton thinks or wants. Yer a grown woman, free to choose yer own husband, Maggy. Laird Brockton can shove hot coals up his arse fer all I care. I want ye as me wife,” he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. He needed her to know what was in his heart. He loved her, no matter how stubborn a woman she was, no matter what obstacles life threw at them, he loved her.

“Please, Findley, dunna say anything that my heart willna be able to bear,” she pressed her trembling fingers to his lips. “Whisper no words that my heart will no’ be able to hear every day for the rest of my days, because ’twill leave it empty and dead and I can no’ bear it!”

Tears welled in her eyes again. If he said aloud what was truly in his heart, if she heard the words, then the rest of her days would be spent filled with longing and sorrow. Once this ordeal was over and she had her son back, there would be no future with Findley at her side. Her life was predestined to be spent as someone else’s wife, not his. No matter how desperately she wanted to be his wife and spend the rest of her days by his side, she knew it would not be allowed to happen.

If he uttered the words, she would lose herself in them. She would tumble over a precipice and into a chasm she would never be able to pull herself from. Maggy could not bear the thought of hearing those words this night, only to have him taken from her and never hear them again.

He didn’t have the strength to stop himself. He loved her with all that he was or would ever hope to be. It was beyond a physical desire to be with her, to explore every beautiful inch of her body. It was much more than that. He needed her as a drowning man needs air. As a tree needs the sun and water to live, he needed her. Without Maggy in his life, there would be no reason for him to take his next breath.

She was everything to him and he wasn’t prepared to give her up.

If he had to spend every day of the rest of his life trying to find a way for them to be together, he would.

“I love ye, Maggy,” he said softly, touching his forehead to hers. More tears came to her eyes. Her chest tightened and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, for she knew nothing could come of it. It mattered not how much they loved each other, powers stronger than their feelings would see to it that they would never be together.

Could she allow herself just one night, free of worry, free of fear and doubt? Could she allow herself to go further than she had a right to? Could she abandon all logical thought, knowing that just a taste of what her life could have been like, would leave her heart broken and empty for the rest of her life? How could she have one night with him, take but one small taste of what their love could have been and never ask for another? Would she be satisfied with just a few short moments of tenderness and love? Would she be able to move on and accept what fate had in store for her?

If she did succumb to the feelings she had for Findley, how then could she ever be expected to give herself fully to another man, a husband not of her choosing?

Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and doubt. She wanted to know what it would be like to be with a man who adored her, cherished and loved her. Findley was that man.

She reasoned that perhaps she would be able to take this one night, these few short moments in time and keep them locked away and hidden in her heart, never to share them with another. And when the days grew long and dreary, cold and lonely, she could then open her heart and have these memories keep her company and warm her soul.

Whichever road she took would be torture. If she denied both herself and Findley, then she would always wonder what it would have been like to be with a man in such a manner. If she succumbed to the desires of her heart and flesh, then she would be tortured with the memories.

Would it be better to love and be loved, even for a short time, than never to be loved at all? She decided it was worth the risk.

Maggy her lifted chin ever so slightly and brushed her lips across Findley’s. As she melted into his broad chest and strong arms, she reached into the hidden pocket of her shift and removed the key and placed it in his hand.

Findley gave her a devilish smile and tossed the key over his shoulder. “Nay, I’ll no’ be lettin’ ye go, lass. Yer mine now. Now and forever,” he whispered, his voice husky, and filled with desire.

When his lips claimed hers, slanting across her mouth, the last of her resistance faded as quickly as a falling star. “I’ll never let ye go, lass.”

B
eing with Findley was beyond anything she could have imagined. The first time he made love to her had been gloriously slow, sensual, and wondrous. They had taken their sweet time with tender kisses, soft touches, and warm caresses, exploring every possible part of each other. When the first wave of ecstasy had consumed her, Maggy finally understood what the other women in her life had been trying to tell her; there wasn’t another feeling like it in the universe.

The second time they made love, not long after the first, had been a frenzied, sweaty, pulsating experience that made the roof of her mouth tickle. Her friends had been right; there was more than one way to cook a chicken!

The third time came about just before dawn and some of the things Findley did to her she was certain the church would frown upon even between married people! They were more than just sinful, they were downright wicked, but in a thoroughly blissful sort of way! It required removing the shackle from Findley’s wrist and attaching it to Maggy’s other wrist. Once he had her secured to the bed, he was able to fulfill a fantasy that had been playing in his mind for days. Maggy was sure the carnal pleasure they’d experience was against the king’s laws, mayhap the laws of nature as well. But she didn’t care. It had been far too delicious an experience to worry over.