The Clan MacDougall Series (77 page)

Collin nodded his head. “Aye, I will if ye promise me ye’ll bring Malcolm Buchannan’s head in a basket to me.”

The men chuckled and Wee William rubbed the top of the boy’s head. “I’m glad yer on my side in this!”

Next, he said goodbye to Liam and Maggy, giving the small boy a hug and the same instructions to guard and protect his mum. He stood and put a hand on Maggy’s shoulder. “If Findley dusna marry ye, then I will, lassie!” he said with a smile and a wink.

Maggy laughed, gave him a hug and prayed for his safe return. Moments later, Wee William disappeared into the fog.

Liam was pleading with Maggy to allow him to walk with Findley and Collin. Because she could not shake the sense that they were being watched, she believed the boys would be better protected with Findley. She gave a nod of her head and gave him over to Findley.

They walked another two blocks with relative ease considering the thick blanket of fog that surrounded them. As they stopped to cross at the corner, Findley stepped out onto the street with the boys. Maggy was about to follow when she heard the sound of a wagon coming toward them. Patrick pulled her back to stand beside him and they paused to allow it to pass.

When she realized there was more than one wagon, she called to Findley who was by now safely on the other side of the street.

“Findley, we’re here! There be wagons comin’!”

Findley called back to stay close to Patrick and he waited with his nerves on edge for the wagons to pass. They moved far too slowly for his liking.

Four wagons passed by, all moving slowly because of the dense fog. Findley could barely see the wagons let alone Maggy or Patrick. He cursed the wagons and the fog as he kept his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of trouble.

When the last wagon passed and it appeared no more were coming, he let out a sigh of relief. He waited for Patrick to bring Maggy across.

Long moments ticked by without a sign of them. After several moments he realized he was holding his breath again. Surely they should be crossing by now.

“Patrick!” he called out into the foggy early morning.

When no answer came, fear and dread seized his heart. He ran across the street pulling the boys with him as he shouted for Patrick. He received no answer.

When he reached the other side, he found Patrick lying on the ground moaning. As he knelt beside him, Findley saw blood trickling down the side of Patrick’s head. Findley noticed his sword was still in its scabbard indicating he had been caught unaware.

“Patrick! Patrick, wake up!” he said as he shook Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick moaned and mumbled incoherently.

He called Maggy’s name once, then waited, hoping to hear her voice call back to him. He could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat as it rushed in his ears.

Liam and Collin stood just a step away, holding each other’s hand. Tears were welling in their eyes. “Where’s our mum?” Liam asked, visibly shaken.

From the ground, Patrick moved and tried to sit, but was unable. The pain in his head was intense. He grabbed Findley’s sleeve and pulled him closer.

His words were slurred, his voice hoarse. “They got her, Findley. I’m sorry!”

Maggy had been standing on the corner waiting for the wagons to pass as she clung to Patrick’s arm. Suddenly she heard a dull thud, then felt Patrick’s grip loosen as he fell to the ground beside her. Before she could move to help him, she was grabbed tightly around her waist, lifted into the air before she felt the cold blade of a dagger as it pressed against her throat.

“Do no’ call out, or I’ll slit ye throat, I swear it Maggy.” She could feel his hot breath as he spoke into her ear and she was sure she recognized the voice.

“That’s a good lass,” the man whispered again.

’Twas then that she knew who held the blade to her throat, but it could not be! He had died in battle more than four years ago! “Traig?” she whispered. “I thought ye dead! We were told ye died in battle,” she whispered as she grabbed the arm holding the dagger. She knew this man and many years ago, had called him friend. Much like Maggy, he was back from the dead. But why was he holding a blade to her throat?

“Dead? Nay, lass, but I have been to hell,” he spoke again, his voice nearly drowned out by the wagons. “I warn ye to remain quiet and I’ll no’ harm ye.” He began to pull her down the street.

“Where are ye takin’ me?” she stammered as he lifted her up higher so that her feet no longer touched the ground. She knew it would be no use to struggle or fight with him for he was much taller and stronger.

“Why, to yer betrothed, where else?” he chuckled, but it wasn’t the same warm, soft chuckle she remembered from years ago. Nay, this was the laugh of a mad man.

“Me betrothed? I have no’ been betrothed to anyone, Traig!” she was confused as well as frightened.

“Well then ye best be tellin’ Malcolm Buchannan that, fer he’s offered a reward fer yer safe return.”

Anger, fear, trepidation, loss, fury and grief flooded over him in the span of one heartbeat. I’ve lost her again!

Findley still knelt next to Patrick who was struggling to stay conscious. Patrick felt a wave of nausea roil up in his belly, as the pain in his head seemed to get worse.

“Did ye see them, Patrick? How many were there?” Findley struggled between needing information and needing help for his friend.

“One, but I didna see his face,” Patrick answered as he struggled for air. “But I dunna think he’s a Buchannan,” he said suddenly growing quite cold.

Findley looked at his friend with confusion and worry etched on his face.

“She knew him, Findley,” Patrick said as he tried in vain to steady his breathing. “She called him Traig. I heard her say she thought he’d died in battle.” The world around Patrick began to spin and he suddenly felt like he was on ship at sea. There was a terrible and violent storm taking place all around him. He was cold, sick and in a tremendous amount of pain.

“Patrick, are ye sure?” Findley asked as he held his friend’s hand. He tried to hide the worry on his face; the worry that said Patrick was not long for this world.

To nod his head would have caused him more pain. He could only whisper yes, he was certain. I’m goin’ to die soon, but I must help Maggy.

“Findley,” Patrick said as he struggled to remain awake. He had to tell Findley what he knew before he could submit to the sweet release of sleep or death.

“He’s takin’ her to Malcolm,” he sputtered out. “I heard him say he was takin’ her to Malcolm,” he took a few more deep breaths and tried to hold on. “She was scared, Findley and I couldna help her.” His mouth was horribly dry, and his tongue felt swollen and thick.

“I couldna help her,” were Patrick’s last words.

Findley’s heart ached for the death of his good friend as much as it ached for Maggy. Malcolm Buchannan was as good as dead; he just didn’t know it yet. And so was the man who had killed Patrick and taken Maggy.

Findley had raced back to the stables as fast as he could with two little boys in tow. Wee William had most of the horses saddled and ready by the time Findley reached him.

Telling Wee William that Patrick lay dead on the street corner was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. The grief in Wee William’s face was too much to bear. Wee William remained silent, his anger masked behind a stony expression. He saddled up the last horse and raced down the street to retrieve his friend’s body.

The sun was just beginning to break when he reached Patrick. As he knelt on the ground and cradled the lifeless form in his arms, he made a silent vow to kill the man responsible.

“Ye take the lads to Duncan. I’ll see to Patrick,” Wee William said as he lifted his friend in his arms. “I’ll catch up with ye verra soon.”

Findley looked up at Wee William, the man’s eyes filled with sadness and grief. “William,” he began, not sure what he could say that would make either of them feel any better.

“Go, Findley! Take the boys and hurry. We’re wastin’ time, lad, we’ve got whoresons and bastards to kill!” The deep timbre of Wee William’s voice broke through the quiet morning. Findley knew he was right, that the longer they stood and mourned the loss of their friend, the greater the distance between them and Maggy.

With a nod of his head, Findley grabbed the reins of their horses and hurried the boys to Duncan and Aishlinn.

Wee William looked down to Patrick and spoke softly. “As God is me witness, lad, I’ll avenge yer death if it’s the last thing I do.”

As soon as he had settled the boys in with Aishlinn and Duncan, Findley met up with Richard and Wee William. Richard had been keeping a close eye on the Buchannans. Shocked and sadden by the loss of their friend, Richard also made a silent vow to avenge the death of his friend.

Wee William had left Patrick’s body with the local healer, gave him five and twenty groats and the promise that he’d return in a month’s time to take the young man’s body back to his parents.

They didn’t have time to waste waiting for Duncan’s men to ready themselves to ride out, so they departed immediately in search of the missing trio. They rode like banshees from hell toward Aberdeen, pushing themselves and their horses to near exhaustion. There was much on their minds and they worried over Robert and Andrew as well as Maggy. They could only hope that they’d catch up with the boys before the Buchannans did. Findley was so angry with the two of them, that he worried he’d be unable to control his temper and not beat the lads senseless once they caught up with them.

They figured the lads were heading to Aberdeen in some brazen attempt to rescue Ian alone. Wee William had found the lads’ horses and saddles missing earlier and knew there could be no other explanation.

Dozens of tracks from horses, oxen, and wagons led out of town, making it next to impossible to track anyone. Findley wasn’t sure if he hoped the boys’ sense of direction had improved since last spring or not. If it remained as bad as it had been, then they were likely roaming the countryside and God only knew how long it would take to find them. If it had improved, then the fools might make it to Aberdeen before they did. Neither thought was comforting.

The fog had finally lifted near midday but the day brought very little relief or warmth. It was a cold day in late autumn and the skies threatened rain.

They headed north over hills and through valleys without speaking, each man was lost in his own thoughts. Richard and Wee William prayed that Angus would send enough men to help and hoped they’d be waiting for them in Aberdeen.

Wee William worried over Patrick’s parents. He and Patrick had been very good friends for many years and Wee William knew his parents well. The pain it brought to his heart when he thought of how he would have to tell them that their son was dead, was insufferable. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of avenging his friend’s death. Aye, whoever this Traig man was, there’d be nothing left of his body to send to his family when this was over.

Findley’s heartache over Maggy’s kidnapping threatened to tear him apart. This feeling was worse than when he’d come across their burned home those many days ago. ’Twas far worse now, because he knew he loved her. Just as importantly, she loved him. They were planning a future together and now she was gone. Anger burned at his insides.

He rolled Patrick’s last words over and over in his mind. She was scared. I couldn’t help her. She was scared. She hadn’t gone willingly, he knew it in his heart. She’d been taken by one mad man who apparently wanted to give her to another. The thought tore at his heart, at his soul, and burned through his stomach. He had to get to her before she was turned over to Malcolm Buchannan.

Whoever this Traig was, Findley was completely prepared to hunt him to the ends of the earth. He’d kill the man with his bare hands if he laid a hand on Maggy.

Earlier, Findley’s only concern had been trying to find a way for him and Maggy and the boys to be a family. Now he was forced to worry over Robert and Andrew as well as getting Maggy back. And now this Traig was thrown into the pot.

Fate had stuck its nasty hand in to interfere again. Either that, or God was testing his mettle and courage. Either way it didn’t matter for he’d get them back and come hell or high water, they’d be a family. No matter what happened, he’d have his Maggy.

Please, God, let her be safe.

“R
obert, I’m c-cold! Are ye sure we c-can’t start just a w-wee fire?” Andrew’s teeth were chattering. The rain had started more than an hour ago and now the two boys were soaked to the bone. They had taken refuge under a small clump of trees but the nearly bare branches did little to keep out the rain or the cold.

“Nay,” Robert told him through his own chattering teeth. “I told ye, a f-fire will draw attention.” A fire, even if he could find wood dry enough to burn, might draw unwanted attention and that was the last thing they needed at the moment.

“How long d-do ye think th-the rain will last?” Andrew asked. He hadn’t thought about rain or hunger last night when Robert came to him with his plan. All he had thought about was the adventure, and rescuing his little brother. This afternoon however, he was beginning to question his decision.