The Clan MacDougall Series (90 page)

They finally arrived at Castle Maldreigh. It was an imposing sight to behold. Four stories tall and made from gray, black, blue, and red stones, it was to say the least, very impressive. Turrets and towers were abundant, as the castle seemed to stretch on forever. They entered through a large stone wall, crossed over a long stone bridge before spilling into the cobblestone courtyard.

The older boys dismounted and stared up at the castle. Ian nearly tripped over his own two feet in his mad scramble to be out of the infernal carriage. He stood beside his brothers, staring up at the magnificent building before them.

Wee William and Rowan dismounted and handed their horses off to one of their men. The men, coming to stand beside the boys, were also impressed with the castle and lands spread out before them.

“Ye must remember yer manners at all times, lads, in a place like this,” Wee William said as he ran his hand across Ian’s head.

“Aye,” was all Ian could manage to utter at the moment as something niggled at the back of his mind. He felt as though he had been here before but surely he’d remember a place like this.

“I pray they treat us better than the last time we were here,” Robert muttered. He was far from glad to be returning, for his memories of the place were not fond ones. He remembered Gawter and Laird Brockton far too well and he hadn’t cared for either of them.

“Aye,” Andrew agreed. While he had lived not far from here and hadn’t spent as much time in the castle as Robert, Liam and Ian had, he had heard enough stories about Laird Brockton to give him the willies.

Rowan helped Maggy from the carriage and took note of her red-rimmed eyes and still damp cheeks. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ye’ll be all right, lass,” he told her. He could only hope that he was right.

Wee William had filled Rowan in as much as he was able on the story of how Lady Margaret de Menteith became Maggy Boyle. Admittedly, Wee William didn’t know all the facts and was sure there was much more of it to be told. But he had sworn an oath to Findley that he’d not leave Maggy’s side until he returned.

A tall, gray-haired man with a stooped back, opened the enormous wood doors and slowly walked down the stairs to stand before Maggy.

“Lady de Menteith, I presume?” he said with a scratchy voice and a slight bow at the waist.

“Aye,” Maggy said, not recognizing the man.

“I’m Daniel,” he said with another bow. “Laird Brockton put me in place here after your…” He had almost said death but thought better of it. “Departure.”

“’Tis good to meet ye, Daniel,” Maggy said. Wee William detected a slight note of something close to disgust in Maggy’s voice. “I am sure ye’ve done a good job at keeping things in good repair in our absence,” she said before giving him a nod and heading up the stairs.

Everyone scrambled to follow Maggy into the castle. They stood in a grand foyer that opened up to a grand gathering room. Several large doors and doorways led from the room, which was open to the third story. The floor was bathed in a myriad of colors from the afternoon sun that streamed in through the stained glass windows.

“I think ye could fit two, mayhap three of Castle Gregor in this place,” Wee William said under his breath to no one in particular. Rowan agreed as he looked around the room.

Maggy didn’t bother with stopping to look. The worst years of her life were spent inside these walls. A flood of memories came crashing in and she wanted nothing more than to go to her room, but first she needed to see that her sons were settled.

“Daniel,” she said as she headed toward the spiral staircase. “See to it that my sons have the room next to mine.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “Do ye mean Laird Gawter’s old chambers?”

Maggy stopped on the stairs and turned to look down at him. He was one of Brockton’s men and she knew he was not one who could be trusted. “Nay, I mean the other room next to my chambers. I also want Rowan and Wee William to have rooms on that floor as well. Yer to afford them every comfort and every luxury while they’re here,” she instructed him with a firm voice. She was the lady of this castle and he would learn soon enough that she’d brook no impertinence from him.

“Aye, m’lady,” Daniel said with a bow. “Would you like to inspect the servants now?”

The way he said it made her skin crawl. They were people, not livestock. She was tempted to ask if he expected her to examine their teeth or hindquarters but decided it would do no good; the humor would fall on deaf ears.

“Nay, I shall meet with them later. For now, I’d like baths drawn for all of us. And see to our things, Daniel.”

He gave a quick bow and shuffled off to do as she asked. Maggy lifted her skirts and headed up the stairs and into her room. Rowan, Wee William and the boys followed.

Robert and Andrew came to stand beside her. “Mum,” Robert began, “Daniel?”

Maggy knew what Robert meant. “Nay, he canna be trusted if he’s one of Brockton’s men. Auld or no’, do no’ trust him.”

“I doubt there is anyone here we can trust besides those of us in this room,” Andrew said as he looked at the people surrounding him. “How long will we stay before we leave again?”

Maggy looked at him with a peculiar expression. “What do ye mean?”

“We won’t be stayin’ long, right? We’ll be leavin’ soon, back to the way things used to be. Away from liars, cheats and people who wish us no good will.”

His words saddened her. As much as she would love to escape again, she knew she would not be able to keep her boys safe this time. A person could fake death only so many times in one lifetime.

“Boys, come here,” Maggy said as she held out her arms. The boys came to her. She folded them into her arms and held on for quite some time.

“We’ll no’ be leavin’. Not like we did last time,” she told them when she finally stepped away.

The boys erupted into protests. “Nay!” Robert said as he balled his hands into fists. “We canna stay here, mum! We do no’ want to stay here!”

“Do ye no’ think I ken that?” Maggy said through gritted teeth. “I have no choice right now! I canna hide again, fer Brockton will no’ allow it.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I want to give ye a good life, boys. Warm walls and a sound roof over yer heads. I wish no’ to see ye go hungry again, or without warm clothes or decent food!”

Robert understood that she wanted to give them a better life but that didn’t mean he had to agree with her decision. “Mum, we’d rather go without all of that than to live here. They didna like us before, what makes you think that’s changed? They were so mean to ye, and to us. I’d rather go hungry than be under a roof with no freedom or worry over who I might anger enough that they take a belt to me hide!”

Wee William interrupted before the argument could get out of hand. “Lads, I think yer mum has had to make some decisions that she’d rather she didna have to make. Remember, this is no easier for her than ye.” He gave an understanding look to Maggy.

“I think we’re road weary and have been through much these past weeks. I say we get ye out of those damned silly clothes and out of doors for a bit,” Rowan offered.

Maggy looked at him with thanks in her eyes. Mayhap between the three of them, they could get the boys to see the right of things. Rowan took the boys from the room and left Wee William alone with Maggy.

“Lass, I canna pretend to ken what’s best fer ye or yer lads,” Wee William said as he stood near the doorway. “I ken it could no’ have been an easy decision to return.”

“It wasn’t, William!” she said as she sat in a tall chair by the cold fireplace. “If I’d had any other choice in the matter, I would have taken it.”

Wee William walked to her and sat in the chair opposite Maggy. “I’d be hard pressed to offer advice on somethin’ when I dunnae the all of it,” he said as he raised his eyebrows and winked at her. “What say ye start at the beginnin’ and we’ll see where we might end?”

Maggy doubted that there would be anything Wee William could do to help. It would be good to get the entire truth out and mayhap if Wee William knew everything then he would be able to help Findley mend the broken heart he was sure to have when he realized they could not be together.

Two hours later, Wee William, normally one who is not easily surprised, sat across from Maggy, his mouth agape as he shook his head. Aye, there was more to this Maggy Boyle lass than met the eye.

He stood and walked to stand next to her, where he rested a big hand on her shoulder. “Well now, I think I’ll need some time to ponder all this, lassie. Give me a day or so and I think we can find a resolution to yer troubles.”

Maggy patted his hand thoughtfully. “Ye could take all the rest of yer days, William, and ye’ll no’ find one where Findley and I can be together.”

He gave her shoulder another squeeze before stepping away. “Now lass, I thought ye’d have more faith in me than that,” he pretended to be hurt, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away.

“Aye, I do have faith in ye, William. But I’ve more fear of Laird Brockton than anything else.”

Wee William shook his head and smiled at her. “Don’t give him that power over ye, lass. ’Tis when ye succumb to yer fears that yer adversary wins, no matter what kind of battle yer in.” He nodded at her and then quit the room.

He left Maggy to think on what he’d just said.

Laird Brockton made his presence known the following morning. Without knocking, he entered Maggy’s room with a flourish. He was every bit the domineering and egotistical man she remembered.

Thankfully she had risen early and was dressed when he came into her room unannounced and uninvited. Maggy thought on Wee William’s words to her the night before and decided she’d not let the man see her fear.

“Laird Brockton,” Maggy said as she rose from the seat at her dressing table and gave him her most elegant curtsey. She didn’t bother dismissing her mousy little maid.

“Lady Margaret,” he said.

He wore a cream-colored waistcoat and crimson pantaloons and looked more a member of the English court than he did a Scot. Maggy pushed back the urge to laugh at the sight of him, standing all proud while looking as though he had stepped in something foul smelling.

“’Tis good to see you alive,” he said, though the expression on his face belied his true feelings. Maggy knew too well how the man felt about her. She did not doubt for one moment that he was, in truth, quite angry to learn she had lived.

Maggy remained silent and pretended she hadn’t heard him. Lifting the skirt of her green dress ever so slightly, she took a seat in the chair by her fire. With a wave of her hand, she invited Laird Brockton to join her.

“Imagine my surprise at learning you and Liam were alive and well,” Brockton said as he took the chair across from her. “Pray tell, Lady Margaret,” he said as he crossed one leg over the other, “why the ruse?”

She was very glad he was being blunt and to the point. “Certainly ye can understand the why of it, Laird Brockton.”

“Nay, I’m afraid that I can’t,” he said with a clenched jaw.

“I ken that it would no’ be long after Gawter’s death before ye arranged a marriage for me,” she told him.

His dark brow furrowed. “Ye ran away, pretended to be dead, because ye feared I’d arrange a marriage for ye?”

“Aye,” Maggy answered. “I feared ye’d marry me to another man like yer nephew and that was something I could no’ tolerate.” She also feared for her own safety and the safety of her son. Gawter had tried to poison her twice and Maggy was certain his uncle had had some hand in those attempts. She trusted Laird Brockton about as much as she had trusted Malcolm Buchannan. Both were cruel men intent on lining their own purses and increasing their own wealth and status in life. The only real difference between the two was that Brockton had been born to a life of privilege while Malcolm had not.

Brockton looked surprised by her answer. “Was being married to my nephew that intolerable?”

Maggy resisted the urge to snort. “Aye, ’twas. And I’ve no desire to be married off again, Laird Brockton. I choose to remain a widow, all the rest of me days, rather than marry anyone ye might choose fer me.”

Brockton shifted uneasily in his chair, his lips drawn into a hard, thin line. “Ye’ll marry whomever I choose for ye, Lady Margaret. Elst, I’ll be left with no other choice but to send ye to live at the nearest convent.”

A convent? How many women had she known or heard of, who, once widowed, had no other choice but the convent? With no lands, no coin and no prospects at a husband, women were often forced to choose that way of life.

A convent meant she would be away from her boys permanently. She would have absolutely no say in how or where they were raised. Maggy’s heart wouldn’t allow her to take that risk.

“So which shall it be, Lady Margaret? Cooperate or begin your packing now and ready yourself for the convent?” He really did not care which she chose for he held all the power.

Digging her fingers into the arms of the chair, more to keep from strangling Brockton than anything else, Maggy lifted her chin and sat taller. The only things she had left were her sons and her dignity. She refused to relinquish either of them to this man. “Ye may choose a husband fer me, Laird Brockton,” she said demurely. Aye, he may choose, but it didn’t mean Maggy would go willingly.

“I knew you would be agreeable,” Laird Brockton smiled. “Now, on the matter of these urchins you call your sons.”

Maggy had known this day would eventually come and had thought she had prepared herself for it. Nonetheless, her heart shattered; she was losing everything. Findley, her sons, her independence and her life. All because one man, this pale, selfish man sitting before her, loved power and things more than people.

Any pleas for mercy on behalf of her sons would fall on deaf ears. She could not allow Brockton to choose where her boys might go. If he wanted, he could simply throw them out of the castle to fend for themselves. Or he might send them to another castle to work as servants, stable boys, or farmers.

Though she’d not be allowed to keep them here, with her, she could give them something that Brockton could not take away; a future.