The Clan MacDougall Series (91 page)

“I’ve made arrangements for them m’laird,” Maggy said as she fought back the resentment and tears. “They’ll be goin’ with the MacDougalls. They’ve graciously agreed to foster them fer me.”

Maggy knew that under the love, guidance and care of Findley and his men, her four sons would grow up to be fine men. Someday, years from now when they were older, she might even be able to see them again. It was painful to let them go, just as painful as letting Findley go, but she knew she had no other choice in the matter.

“I really don’t care what happens to them, Lady Margaret,” he said as he scratched the end of his long nose. “But I want them out of this castle today.”

Maggy stood up as anger shot through her veins. “M’laird, I am not yet married off, and I’m still lady of this castle. The boys will be stayin’ inside the castle until Liam has returned.” He might be able to broker a husband for her, but until that time, she still held some power over who could stay inside the castle walls and who could not.

Brockton studied her closely for a moment and his face still held a look of disdain. “Very well, Lady Margaret. But I warn you; I’ll not suffer any insolence or trouble from them.”

Maggy knew all too well the man’s ill temper, especially when it came to people of lesser stations in life. Robert and Andrew remembered it as well. She would keep them close by and out of trouble.

Brockton stood and quit the room without saying another word. Maggy fell back into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. This was not going to be as easy as she had tried to convince herself. Her maid, who had stood quietly in the corner during the conversation with Brockton, rushed to Maggy’s side.

“Wheest, m’lady,” she whispered as she rubbed Maggy’s back. “I ken yer heart breaks fer yer boys, m’lady.”

Maggy wiped away her tears with the backs of her hands and sat up to look at the maid. What Maggy saw in the woman’s eyes surprised her; she saw compassion. Until this moment, Maggy hadn’t trusted anyone inside these walls for they’d all been Brockton’s people.

The maid smiled thoughtfully at Maggy and brushed away more of Maggy’s tears. “Me name’s Beatrice,” she told her. “I’m Claire’s sister.”

Hope began to grow in Maggy’s spirit. Claire had been her maid and friend years ago. If Beatrice were half the woman her sister had been, Maggy would be able to suffer through this ordeal.

“Aye, ye remember Claire, don’ ye lass?” Beatrice smiled when she saw the recognition in Maggy’s face. “She’s well and livin’ in Edinburgh and I ken all about ye, m’lady. And I ken all about Brockton. We’ll get ye through this, m’lady. Ye’ll see, ’twon’t be so bad as ye think!”

As much as Maggy would have loved to have believed the woman, deep down, she knew better. It would be just as bad, for she’d not be with Findley and her boys were being torn away from her. How on earth could she survive it?

T
he days with her sons passed far too quickly for her liking. They spent their days indoors, hidden away in Maggy’s room where she would read to them, tell them stories, and make plans for the time when they could all be together again.

They had not taken the news of being sent away very well. Ian cried inconsolably when she had told him he’d be going away. Robert and Andrew had fared only slightly better, each admitting they’d rather go live with the MacDougalls than to stay here and be subjected to Laird Brockton’s cruelty.

Still, the boys held on to the hope that somehow they’d all be allowed to remain together as a family. Mayhap, they spoke hopefully, any man that Brockton might choose as Maggy’s next husband, would be a good and kind man who would allow them to stay together. Maggy held no such hope.

While the daylight hours flew by, ’twas the nights the nearly did Maggy in. Their passage was agonizingly slow. She missed Findley, missed him so much that, at times, it hurt to breathe. She wanted nothing more than to hear the sound of his voice whispering in her ear and the feel of his arms wrapped around her. Though their lovemaking had been far beyond anything she could have imagined, ’twasn’t that that she missed. It was the feeling of closeness, intimacy and feeling safe.

Weeks had passed since she’d last seen Findley. Neither Wee William nor Rowan had heard from him but they told her not to worry over it much. Winter was not far around the corner and who knew what kind of treachery the autumn rains brought to the roads. They remained hopeful that he would soon come for her and the boys.

Aye, he might soon appear and want to take them all away, but such a life as that was not meant to be. Maggy was not in charge of her future; Brockton was.

The sun refused to shine for days on end, a harbinger Maggy supposed, for things to come. The boys were growing quite restless and did not like being cooped up indoors. Maggy longed for the days where they could roam free in all types of weather, but she still felt the need to protect them from Laird Brockton. Keeping them in their rooms seemed to be the safest and most practical way to do that.

On this particular morning however, the boys seemed more restless than usual. Rowan offered to take the lads riding, away from the castle and Brockton’s ever-watchful servants. Maggy reluctantly agreed with the belief that since Malcolm Buchannan was now dead, there were no other threats to any of them, save for the ones inside the castle walls.

It was not long after breaking her fast that Laird Brockton came to her room. He looked positively pleased with himself and Maggy knew his pleasant mood would not bode well for her future.

“I’ve tremendously good news for ye Lady Margaret!” he said as he took a chair in front of the fire.

Maggy swallowed hard and remained seated near the window, her heart lodging itself in her throat. This would not be good.

“I’ve managed to find ye a husband!” Brockton said quite excitedly as he fussed with the lace cuffs on his waistcoat.

Maggy hoped he was far enough away that he didn’t hear her gasp at his news. She sat frozen, her mind reeling, imagining the worst.

Brockton turned in his chair and stared at her. “Well? Are you the least bit curious as to whom I’ve chosen?”

Nay, she wasn’t. It mattered not who it was. He wasn’t Findley.

“Your sullen mood bores me, Lady Margaret. I’ve worked very hard at finding a suitable man for ye.”

Maggy finally found her voice. “I’m sure ye have, m’laird,” she said quietly. ’Tis no doubt that he’s perfectly suited to ye.”

“Aye, he is! I dare say, he’s quite an amiable man. He’s paying a decent enough bride price for ye, and he’s allowing me to keep complete control of Liam’s birthright until the boy comes of age!”

Maggy wished for a moment that she were a man so that she could wipe the smug smile from his face with her fist.

“His name is Philippe de Roth Montague.”

Maggy swallowed hard and fought back the urge to throw something at Brockton. She had heard of Montague and his reputation for the perverse.

“Ye’ll never want for anything, Lady Margaret, and neither shall I. He’s quite anxious to wed ye. He’s heard of your fine beauty but knows nothing of your bold personality. I daresay he’ll husband ye with a very firm hand,” he told her as he picked imaginary lint from the sleeves of his coat.

Maggy knew that Brockton was deriving great pleasure from her discomfort and fear. De Roth Montague had been married three times before. Each of his wives had died suddenly. Rumors had it that he had beaten one of them to death when she refused to sleep with one of his cohorts while he watched.

“I’ve called for your maid. The wedding takes place after the noon day meal today, and you’ll be heading to France immediately thereafter.”

Maggy shot to her feet, her hands balled into fists. “France? Nay! What of Liam?”

“Well, Liam will stay here with me, of course. He’ll remain under my tutelage and care,” Brockton told her, still holding the same smug smile. “I’m sure that if you’re good to your new husband, he’ll allow ye to visit on occasion.”

Maggy began to pace in front of the window. After everything she had done to keep her sons together, Brockton was tearing it all apart. And for what? Coin? Power? Simply because he could? It had absolutely nothing to do with what was best for Maggy or her sons and it had everything to do with Brockton being nothing more than a cruel, sadistic, and greedy man.

Her mind raced as it tried to find a way out of this. Rowan was out riding with the boys and Wee William was in the hallway guarding her door. She could call for Wee William and ask him to break Brockton’s neck or throw him from the window. But within moments, Brockton’s men would descend upon her room and take them both prisoner for Brockton’s murder.

Think, Maggy, think, she scolded herself. Do no’ let fear get in the way of doing what must be done!

But try as she might, she could not come up with anything to persuade Brockton to delay the wedding. There was simply no way out of it. Her heart filled with dread and disgust. Findley, she thought to herself. She’d not get the chance to tell him how sorry she was, how thankful she was for all he’d done for her and for their time together. She would not be afforded a chance to say goodbye to him!

Beatrice knocked gently and entered the room at Brockton’s command.

“There ye are! Please, help yer lady to ready herself for her wedding. And pack her things up, for she’ll be leaving this afternoon.” Brockton told the maid without so much as another glance in her direction.

Beatrice had just learned of the plans for Lady Margaret to marry the Frenchman. She’d come to her room immediately, knowing the news would be another blow to her spirits. In the hallway, she had relayed the news to the giant called Wee William.

The look that had come to his face was enough to make her knees knock together in fear. He had her run back down the stairs to send someone to find Rowan and have him return to the castle immediately. By the time she returned to Maggy’s room, Beatrice was out of breath and shaking with trepidation.

She flitted about in the large dressing room and waited for Brockton to leave. Poor Lady Margaret! Why must Laird Brockton be so cruel?

“I hope ye burn in hell with yer nephew!” Maggy spat at him. “To the devil with ye!” she shouted as she picked up a book from the ledge by the window and threw it at him. The book landed against his shoulder with a thud and fell to the floor. Brockton shot to his feet, anger ablaze across his face.

“Ye stupid wench! ’Tis that very attitude that brings ye nothing but trouble! Montague will break that high-spiritedness out of ye soon enough!”

“Nay!” Maggy shot back. “I’ll no’ marry him and I’ll no’ go to France!” Her hands trembled and her legs shook. There had to be a way out of this. She couldn’t give up her sons!

In a few strides, Brockton was standing in front of her. “Ye will!” he pointed his finger at her. “I’ll not have ye being insolent. Ye will marry Montague this very day, or I’ll have ye tied and drug to the convent!”

Wee William heard the shouting and entered the room without knocking. He stood with one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other balled into a fist, waiting for Brockton to make a fatal mistake. If he touched one hair on Maggy’s head, Wee William would think nothing of breaking the man’s neck.

“Are ye well, Maggy?” Wee William asked quietly.

Maggy turned to look at him. “Aye,” she choked back tears. “Laird Brockton was just leaving.”

Brockton might be cruel and unjust, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew there was no sense in raising the giant’s ire for they’d all be out of his hair before the day was out. He nodded at Maggy and quit the room in short order.

As soon as he shut the door, Maggy collapsed into the chair by the window. Wee William and Beatrice came to her side and offered words of consolation.

“Nay! All will not be well!” Maggy stammered. “He’s forcing me to marry Montague and I’ll never see me boys or Findley again!”

“Wheest, lass,” Wee William said as he placed an arm on her shoulder. “I’ve sent for Rowan and the boys. We’ll think of some way out of this.”

Maggy swallowed hard and looked up at him. “What? By runnin’? Nay, William, I canna run for the rest of me life! Me boys need a home. They need no’ to be lookin’ over their shoulders every day of their lives!”

“But lass, what other option is there? We can hide ye at Gregor, keep ye out of harm’s way until we can figure out a way to be rid of Brockton,” Wee William offered.

“And bring the wrath of the king upon all yer heads? What good would that do, William?” she wiped away the tears from her cheeks. Nay, she’d not ask anyone to give up their lives for her sake. She’d not put her sons in danger again.

“Ye don’ mean to marry the Frenchman, do ye lady?” Beatrice asked, appalled at such a notion.

“What other option do I have that will keep all of ye safe? What other option do I have to give me boys a future?” Maggy twisted her fingers in her hands.

“Surely, there must be somethin’ we can do!” Beatrice pleaded.

Maggy huffed. “Unless both Brockton and Montague drop dead before the noon day meal, then I’m afraid there are no other options.”

The heaviness of the situation hung in the room like a thick and heavy fog. Each of them were lost in their own thoughts for quite some time.