The Clan MacDougall Series (80 page)

She was surrounded by more evil than anyone should ever have to be. Traig was going to take her to Malcolm. Her boys would be taken from her, all but Liam. And then, when Malcolm had what he wanted, she’d no longer be of any value to him. She would end up dead and more likely than not, Liam as well. And Ian? He’d be raised by a man who had lost his mind. The other boys? She could only pray that they would be able to seek refuge with Findley’s clan.

Findley. Every fiber of her body hurt with knowing she’d probably never see him again. Nay, she could not think that! He loved her, she knew it down to her marrow. He would come for her and rescue her along with Ian!

Hope rapidly rose from her belly, but she couldn’t allow Traig to see it. Nay, she had to appear fearful of him and of Malcolm. No matter what happened when they reached the Buchannan keep, she knew that Findley would come for her. He loved her and would do anything to protect her.

S
he had lost track of how long she’d been away from Findley and the boys. Somewhere along their trek, she had passed the states of exhaustion and hunger. Now, she was shattered, depressed, and starved. Add freezing and ill to the mix and one would have described her perfectly.

Rain had fallen off and on since Traig had taken her. It seemed that the moment her clothes began to dry, another drizzle or downpour would start up again. The rain mattered naught for her only thoughts were of Findley and her boys. No matter how weary she became she had to hold on to the hope that they would get out of this alive and in one piece.

She had been happily dreaming of a warm bed and a full stomach when the sound of Traig’s voice broke through, shattering the comforting dream to a million tiny pieces.

“Welcome to yer new home, Maggy,” Traig whispered in her ear.

She shot upright and stared ahead. They were at the Buchannan keep. It sat atop a hill surrounded by tall spiked walls. The gray sky that threatened still more rain, added to the sense of foreboding that tugged at her stomach.

“Traig, there is still time to change yer mind,” she whispered as a gust of wind swooped over them, chilling her further. She knew her words fell on deaf ears but she couldn’t give up hope that some part of her old friend, the one who had once been an honorable man, still existed in the shell of the man who sat behind her.

“Och, Maggy! Ye might as well get used to the new life that lies ahead of ye. Fer I imagine ye’ll be Malcolm’s bride before this day is out.”

His laughter mingled with the wind and added more heaviness to her heart. In a matter of moments, she’d be facing another mad man and had no idea how to get herself out of this mess.

Traig had very unceremoniously tossed Maggy over his shoulder and carried her into the large gathering room of the keep. Once there, he dropped her into a chair that sat near the end of a long table before sitting himself opposite her.

Maggy’s breaths came in rapid succession as she sat and tried to gain some semblance of control. She was dirty, tired, hungry, and terrified out of her wits, but she wasn’t about to let anyone see her fear.

The keep looked nothing like what she had expected. It was clean and in good repair, though she did detect the faint scent of old urine. Even Malcolm’s men appeared different for they had apparently recently bathed and wore clean clothing.

They hadn’t sat long before Malcolm Buchannan came bounding down the stairs.

“Maggy!” He cried out as if she were a long lost friend. He came racing into the room, around the table and pulled her to her feet.

“Let me look at ye lass!” he said gleefully as he held her at arms length and studied her. “My! Yer a sight!”

She knew that she was. The hems of her dress and cloak had been torn more than once and she was covered nearly head to toe in mud. Her hair was plastered to her face from the rain. Her boots squished whenever she walked and how she had not succumbed to the ague or fever from the cold and rain, she didn’t know. It had to be sheer determination and utter will on her part, as well as a little divine intervention.

Maggy couldn’t hide her surprise. This was not the same man who just a month ago rushed into her camp and killed so many people. He had shaved, wore clean clothes, had brushed his teeth and no longer stunk to the high heavens. But Maggy was no fool. She knew that underneath this clean façade lay an unpredictable and dangerous man.

“’Tis been a long journey fer ye, lass! I’ll have a warm bath readied fer ye, and a nice soft bed,” he said as he gave her arms a gentle squeeze.

Maggy wasn’t sure what frightened her more; the man who now stood before her or the true man she knew him to be. Malcolm’s smile sent chills down her spine.

“Och! Even in yer current state, yer still the most bonny woman I’ve ever laid eyes to!” He motioned for her to sit and he took the chair beside her. “Ye must be hungry, lass. I’ll have the cook bring ye somethin’ to eat.”

He had paid no attention to Traig who sat quietly with his arms crossed over his chest. Traig cleared his throat loudly, forcing Malcolm to acknowledge him.

Malcolm wasn’t happy with the interruption and turned an angry eye toward Traig. “Yer the man who brought me Maggy to me?”

“Aye,” Traig answered.

“Go see me man, Almer. He’ll see to it that ye get yer reward.”

Traig shook his head and twisted his lips inward. “Aye, I’ll get me reward, Malcolm, but there is more here that I want.”

Malcolm eyed him suspiciously. “What do ye mean?”

“Apparently ye’ve stolen me son.” His words were straight and to the point.

Malcolm pulled his head back and looked verily surprised. “Yer son? Me? Kidnap a boy?”

Traig could see through his mock surprise. “Aye, me son Ian. Ye have him and I want him.”

Malcolm turned his gaze to Maggy. “Ian is his?”

Maggy could only nod her head. As she watched the back and forth between the two men she felt as if she were having some macabre dream wherein she was surrounded by insane men. It all made her stomach feel quite uneasy.

“He’s a very good boy, Maggy,” Malcolm complimented her. “Ye’ve done a good job with him,” he said before turning back to Traig. “But I’m afraid I’ve grown quite attached to the lad. I’m not sure I’m ready to give him up just yet.”

Traig was about to pull Malcolm from his seat and run him through with the dirk he had hidden in his boot. But a shout came from the floor above. The sound of the small boy’s happy voice gave him pause.

“Mum!” Ian screamed as he raced down the stairs and ran into his mother’s arms.

The relief Maggy felt in that moment was indescribable. She stood and scooped him up and held him tightly. He was alive! She held on to him, squeezing him, and planting kisses on his cheeks.

“Oh Ian! I’ve been so worried, son!” Maggy said as tears of relief fell down her cheeks. “Are ye well, have ye eaten? Have they harmed ye?”

Ian pulled back and looked at Malcolm before turning to his mum. “Aye, they’ve fed me! They’ve been very nice to me mum! And Malcolm gave me a puppy!”

As if he heard them talk of him, the puppy, a fat bundle of brown fur, came bouncing down the stairs and into the gathering room. His tail wagged happily as he ran to Malcolm who bent and picked him up, and held him to his chest. “Aye, I did,” he said as he looked at Ian and smiled, running his hand along the back of the pup.

None of this is real, Maggy told herself. Malcolm, his men, and the keep were clean. Malcolm was behaving as if he’d never tortured or killed, and apparently Ian had grown fond of the mad man. Mayhap it was she who had lost her mind and was now hallucinating.

“Mum, his name is Dingle,” Ian announced as he held his hands out for his puppy.

Malcolm handed the pup over very gently, the warm smile still on his face. “Malcolm thought his name should be somethin’ fierce, but I like the name Dingle better,” Ian explained.

The pup licked Maggy’s face before turning to bathe her son in slobber. Maggy felt lightheaded from the surreal atmosphere.

She set Ian on the floor and slowly sat back into the chair. Ian had always been a good judge of character. How had Malcolm duped him?

Ian gave his puppy a hug and his mother a bright smile. “Do ye like him?”

Maggy could only nod her head as she placed a hand over her heart. It pounded pitilessly against her breastbone.

“Ian,” Traig finally spoke. He’d been standing off to the side and observing. The boy definitely loved Maggy as much as a son could love a mother. The bond between them was quite evident.

When he had first raced into the room, Traig’s heart stopped beating for several moments. After all these years, he was finally in the same room with his son. The boy had changed dramatically. No longer was he a chubby little wean with light brown hair. Nay, he had grown into a wiry young boy with bright green eyes and dark, unruly hair.

Traig swallowed several times as doubt began to creep into his soul. Traig was fair-haired and blue eyed, as Helena had been. Ian could have passed for Gawter’s son. Traig slowly began to realize he’d been an even bigger fool.

He collapsed into the chair. “Ian,” he whispered again.

The little boy stared at him, a puzzled look on his face. “Aye, I’m Ian,” he said as he gave his pup another hug. “Who are ye?”

Maggy answered before anyone else could. “This man was a friend of yer father’s, Ian. He brought me to ye.”

Ian tilted his head and smiled at Traig. “Thank ye! I’ve missed me mum something fierce!”

Traig could only sit and stare at the lad. For more than five years he had imagined this moment, when he would return and claim his son again. But in his dreams, the boy was fair-haired and blue eyed like him. In his dreams, his son would have remembered him and known instantly that Traig was his da. He would have run into his arms and said how glad he was he had returned.

Anger began to boil in his stomach. Helena had lied to him as had Gawter! Gawter had proudly admitted to his affair with Helena, right before turning him over to the English. He had said the affair had been going on for less than a year. The evidence of that lie stood before him. It had gone on much longer than Gawter had admitted. But why would Gawter have lied? He had thought Traig as good as dead. Why not admit the truth?

Unless Helena had spread her legs for someone else who looked much like Gawter. What else could it be? He was either Gawter’s or someone who looked very much like Gawter. My God! How many men had my wife slept with?

He wanted to scream, to throw up, to kill everyone in the room. But he knew the moment he drew a sword he’d be signing his own death warrant. Malcolm’s men would kill him. Mumbling to himself, he stood up and left the gathering room. It was all too much to deal with at the moment.

“Ian,” Malcolm said quietly, sounding very much like a doting father. It made Maggy’s skin crawl. “Take yer pup outside. We do no’ want him messin’ on the clean floors.”

Ian smiled up at him and walked over to his mum. He reached up and pulled her down to his level so that he could hug her. “I’m so glad yer here mum!” he said happily as if nothing in the world was the matter.

Very softly he whispered into her ear. “Dunna believe anythin’ ye see or hear mum,” he told her, his breath tickling her ear. “Malcolm is insane so I must play along like nothin’s wrong.”

He gave her a peck on her cheek and hurried out of the room.

Her hope was renewed. Her son had not been duped and she had not lost her mind. Malcolm Buchannan was still the insane, mad man that she despised.

“So,” Malcolm said once Ian was out of the room, “ye’ve changed yer mind and now yer here,” he rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Ye make me heart fill with joy lass, that ye’ve decided to accept me proposal.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Maggy said before turning to look at him. “My answer remains the same. I’ll no’ marry ye. No’ now, no’ ever.”

Malcolm tilted his head and looked at her with disbelief. “I believe yer merely tired and hungry, lass. Once ye’ve had a hot bath and a warm meal, ye’ll feel better. Once ye’ve gotten to know me, ye’ll change yer mind.”

“I do ken ye Malcolm, more than I’d like to. And no matter how many baths ye take, no matter how ye try to present yerself as a kind, decent man, I ken better.” She stared him straight in the eye as she sat taller in the chair.

His jaw clenched as he stared back at her. Maggy could see his ire rising and could tell that he was fighting his inner self. The real Malcolm, the one that was cruel, mean and vindictive would soon make his presence known. She didn’t care how angry he became; she’d not agree to marry him.

Malcolm took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. He came and stood in front of her and studied her closely. Slowly, he bent at the waist and placed a hand on either arm of her chair, leveling his eyes to hers. “How much do ye love yer sons?”

Maggy reminded herself that getting him angry was just as dangerous for Ian as it was for her. “Ye ken how I feel Malcolm. Ye ken I love me boys, that’s why ye took Ian.”

“Aye, I do. So if ye wish to keep the lad alive, well and happy, ye’ll rethink yer refusal,” he said before leaning in close to her ear. “Aye, I may be attached to the little bugger, but I’m not so attached that I’d think twice about running a blade across his throat.”