Two men stood in the square entryway, hands on the sidearms at their waists and the swords at their sides. The men looked up as the women stopped a few feet away. Gathering her courage, Maggie stepped forward with the tray and smiled.
“Good evening,” she said, faking a confidence she didn’t feel. One man was of medium height and looked to be in his midtwenties. He had dark hair and gray eyes that flashed a warning as he moved to take the tray from her hands. James, Maggie decided. He set the tray down on a table apparently there for that express purpose.
The other man was a little older, much taller, and as he turned and his razor-sharp eyes pierced her, Maggie’s heart began to pound beneath her tightly laced bodice. Pembroke.For all intents and purposes, Captain Pembroke looked like a fop. His thigh-length coat and knee-length breeches were made of baby blue satin and a riot of lace and frills ran down the front of the ivory blouse he wore, which matched his silk hose and his tall, chunky-heeled shoes.
His long, curling wig, fashioned from blond hair, framed his long, narrow face, and that, along with his clothing and his own delicate features, served to give the man a deceptively feminine appearance.
Maggie knew better. One glance into those clever, dark eyes was all it took to see the intelligence and masculine cunning behind the pretty clothes. Pembroke was a predator,no doubt about it. He moved to meet Maggie, speaking in a perfect English accent.
“I heard there was a new maid,” he said, his gaze raking boldly over her body, “but no one told me how delicious she was. What is your name, girl?”
She dropped a little bob of a curtsey. “Maggie. How do ye do, sir?”
“I do just fine, little one.” His voice was sensual, with just a touch of effeminate posturing. Pembroke took a step closer, and with a hand almost hidden by the froth of lace dripping from his sleeve, lifted her chin and ran his thumb across her lower lip.
“Sweet Maggie,” he said, his voice languid, “I will have to tell Cook to have you bring me breakfast some morning.” He glanced over at Jenny. “And bring little Jenny with you, eh?” He shot James a challenging look. “Can you think of a better way to start the morning, than to lie betwixttwo soft and willing doxies like these?” James’s jaw tightened perceptibly, but he said nothing.
Maggie flushed angrily as Pembroke laughed and then chucked her under the chin before moving toward the stairwell.He paused at the doorway and looked back at James, his pompous English accent grating on Maggie’s nerves. “Don’t forget, MacIntosh, that you are in charge. If that Scottish trash, MacGregor, escapes, you will earn his punishment.” His gaze shifted to Jenny. “And then who will keep your Jenny warm at night?”
As soon as the odious man left the room, Maggie took the tail of her apron and wiped the coarse cloth across her chin where he had touched her.
“Damn his eyes,” James said fiercely before turning his gaze on Jenny. “The two of ye must be verra careful. The captain is known for his ruthlessness.” He glanced at Jenny and his face twisted with worry. “Jenny, ye must not ever be alone with him.” The girl dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded. He took her hand. “I dinna know what I would do if something happened to ye.”
“We’ll be careful,” Maggie said. She took a deep breath. “I’ll look after Jenny.” She forced a smile and saw relief flood across his face. No wonder Jenny was smitten. From the way he looked at her, it was obvious he adored the young woman—and was terrified for her. If Pembroke had already violated her in some way, Jenny apparently hadn’t shared that event with James.
“Cook said we’re supposed to feed the highwayman tonight,” Maggie lied. “Where might I be findin’ him?”
“Well, thank God they are finally feeding him,” James said. " ’ Tis inhuman.”
“Aye,” Maggie said. “There are many inhuman things in this house. One is in the kitchen.”
Jenny and James laughed, sharing a warm look. Maggie looked down the corridor and bit her bottom lip. “Are there prisoners in all of those rooms?” she asked.
“Nay, not at the present. Besides the highwayman, we’ve two more, one who refused to pay rent to the laird and anotherwho was caught reiving the laird’s cattle.”
“Reiving. You-ye mean he stole them.”
“Aye. We’ll be hangin’ him soon likely,” James said, still smiling. “Follow me, lassies.”
Maggie’s mouth went dry at his words, but she quickly recoveredand retrieved the bowl of soup she’d pilfered for Ian, along with a tankard of ale and a crust of bread. She made a mental note to bring food to the other two prisoners the next evening, and then hurried after James and Jenny. James led them down the hallway and stopped in front of one of the doors to the cells. Taking a ring of keys from his pocket, he turned it in the lock and swung the heavy door open. Jenny started to walk into the cell, but Maggie stopped her.
“Let me do this, Jenny.” She glanced over at James. “You—ye can find something to occupy yerself, I warrant.”
James glanced at Jenny and then into the cell, obviously torn between his duty and a chance for a moment alone with Jenny. “He is shackled to the floor,” he said, “but dinna get too close and ye’ll be safe.” With that admonition he grabbed Jenny by the hand and pulled her back into the hall. Maggie grinned and shut the door securely behind them, then turned to face the cell.
She looked around the dank stone room and shuddered as the smells assailed her. Then all of that meant nothing as a sound made her turn toward what looked at first like a pile of filthy rags. As she drew nearer she saw the pile of rags was actually a man, wearing torn and dirty clothes, lying on a filthy pile of hay in the corner of the room.
Swallowing hard, she hurried toward him, setting the food and drink on the floor. She bent over his prone figure, and gagged. His hair was matted and dirty and tangled across his face. He had a dirty plaid wrapped around him, and he lay on his side, moaning. The stench coming from him wasn’t from the dirt.
Her heart in her throat, Maggie knelt down beside the man and gently pushed him onto his back. His hair fell away from his face and she saw a handsome man in his midtwenties. The plaid fell back from his chest, and she caught her breath at the sight of the blood-soaked shirt he wore beneath and the iron shackles around his bruised wrists, the chains anchored to the stone floor.
“Ian?” she whispered. “Is it you?” His eyes flickered open, and Maggie saw the pain in the sky blue depths. I did this, she thought. This is my fault.
nine
Ian moaned and his mouth moved, but no words came out. His lips were dry and cracked, and she quickly picked up the mug of ale and brought it to his lips. He drank greedily and she had to take it away, cautioning him to sip more slowly. He obeyed and then relaxed back against the hay and sighed.
“Thank ye, lass,” he said, his voice faint.
“Are you Ian MacGregor?” she whispered.
His eyes flew open again, and he tried to smile. “Does my reputation precede me?” he said hoarsely. “Who are ye, lass?”
“Quinn sent me,” she said. “To find out if you’re all right.”
He laughed, and then dissolved into a coughing fit that left his face ashen. His chest rose and fell rapidly for a moment,then he took a deep breath before he spoke.
“All right? Aye, if ye call lying in this pigsty while yer blood slowly ebbs out of ye ‘all right.’ ”
“Your wound—has it been seen to by anyone?”
His face was pale, but he shook his head. “Nay.”
She reached toward the dirty plaid and then hesitated. Ian gave her a halfhearted smile, looking at her from beneathlong lashes. “I willna bite ye, lass,” he said. “And I’d be that grateful if ye’d just look at the wound. It fair stings, it does.”
Maggie nodded and pulled the dirty shirt aside. She gasped, horrified. He had been shot in his left shoulder and the wound was swollen and angry, puckered and filled with pus. The smell almost knocked her backward.
“’Tis bad, eh?” Ian asked. She
looked up at him, suddenlyaware that her shock must be evident. She tried to smooth the horror from her face, but couldn’t. How could the duke leave him in this hole in the condition?
His eyes were closed, and she cautiously laid her hand on his forehead. He was burning up, his skin like parchment.He needed to be in the hospital. Her throat tightened. There were no hospitals in the Highlands of Scotland in the 1700s. He would likely die unless something was done to help him soon.
“I know not who ye are,” he said, his voice faint, “and ye speak strangely, but if Quinn did send ye, listen to me, lass.” His blue eyes were fervent. “Dinna let him play the hero. I’d rather die here alone than have him here beside me.”
“As if I could stop him,” Maggie said. “You know how he is.”
“Aye,” he said, and then laughed weakly. “Indeed I do.”
Maggie gazed at him, feeling helpless. She had a first-aidkit in her backpack, but it was in the stable. And antibiotics!Her sinus infection had cleared up on its own and she had a full prescription! But it would be morning before she could sneak the supplies into his cell.
“Let me get your supper,” she said, moving away from him to retrieve the tray. She brought the bowl of soup to him, and he managed a few sips before falling back against the filthy hay.
“I am sorry, lass. I have no strength.”
Maggie brought the bowl to his lips and slipped one hand behind his neck to give support. “You’ve got to hang on until Quinn can get you out of here.”
Ian smiled wanly. “Hanging is what I’ll be doin’, lass, if I live long enough.”
“Hanging?” Maggie’s eyes widened as his meaning hit her. She lost her brogue altogether. “You mean they’re goingto hang you?”
“Aye, I heard the guards talking.”
“When will they—?” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
“I dinna know.” His face was pale, and Maggie patted his arm reassuringly and brushed a lock of blond hair back from his brow.
“You can’t die, Ian,” she said. “I don’t think Quinn would ever get over it.”
Ian’s eyes met hers. “Aye, lass. I will try to be strong.”
“I’ll be back,” she whispered, “with bandages and medicine.”
She started to leave, but Ian caught her hand and she turned back.
“Dinna let him risk himself,” Ian said, “or ye, to save me.”
Maggie squeezed his hand and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Stay strong,” she said, and headed out of the cell. She had to tell Quinn, but if she did, he would risk his life to save Ian’s. There had to be some way to save Ian without sacrificing Quinn. She rushed up the stairwell, and Jenny was waiting for her.
“Maggie, is everything all right? Ye took so long I feared—”
“Fine. Everything is fine,” she said hurriedly. “But I have to go and do something very important. Can you— will you tell the cook that I’m ill, if she comes and sees I’m not here?”
“As if she would care,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “If ye had just given birth, she would expect ye to be down on yer knees the same night scrubbing.”
“Then just tell her you—ye don’t know, okay?”
Jenny frowned at her words. “Oh-kay?”
“Is that all right with you—ye?”
Her eyes lit with understanding. “Och, of course. Dinna worry. I just thank ye for helping me take the meals downstairs.” She smiled shyly. “And for the time alone with James.”
“No problem. Thanks, kiddo.” Maggie walked away and then stopped and turned back. She grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her into the shadows, deciding to take a chance. “Listen, I don’t want to drag you into this, but if someone doesn’t help the prisoner, he’s going to die.”
The girl’s face paled. Good. She had a conscience.
“Do you think you could talk James into sneaking me into Ian’s cell later tonight?”
Her face turned more ashen. “Oh, dear, I dinna know.”
“Would you ask James? I can’t let Ian die.”
“Ian?” she said softly. “Is that his name?”
“Yes, Ian MacGregor. He’s been wrongfully accused of being a highwayman. Just ask James to help, please?”
"MacGregor?” she whispered. “James is a MacGregor,” she said, then hastily added, “but dinna tell anyone. He has changed his name, as all the MacGregors have since the edict.”
Maggie felt more hopeful. Clan loyalty was a biggie in the Highlands. “Tell James, all right? If I can’t help him tonight,maybe tomorrow morning I can sneak in some bandagesand things when I bring his breakfast.”
Jenny nodded. “James is meeting me after his shift. I will ask him then.”
Maggie wouldn’t press her further on the matter. She was asking them to take a terrible chance. “Thanks.” On impulse, she hugged the girl tightly before turning away, but Jenny stopped her, one hand on her arm.
“Maggie?” she said.
“Yes?”
“Ye talk strangely sometimes.”
Maggie sighed. “I know. I’m from the colonies.”
“Ah,” Jenny said with a nod, as if that explained everything.
Quinn was getting worried. The kitchen maids were usuallydone with their chores an hour or so after supper was over. He had told Maggie to meet him in the stables when she finished her first day of work, but now it was growing late.
Bittie had gone to find out what he could, but Quinn had grown impatient and had soon left the stables, wearing an old cloak with the hood pulled over his face. He kept to the shadows and found a place behind a thick clump of bushes where he could watch for her. Montrose’s servants and men walked by, attending to the duties that kept a huge householdrunning smoothly, and several women passed by, but no Maggie.
He was ready to draw his sword and storm the kitchen, when a woman, striding too quickly for decorum, her hair half unbound and flying behind her, came rushing down the stone walk nearby.
Quinn reached out and grabbed her arm as she passed him, and she screamed. Cursing his stupidity, he clapped his hand over her mouth and pulled her back into the bushes, holding her tightly, sure any moment someone would drag them both from the hiding place and throw them in irons.
But apparently God was on their side, Quinn thought, for there was no sound, no outcry from beyond the thick branches scratching his face.
“It’s me,” he whispered in her ear, having to resist kissingher just below the curve of her jaw where she liked it best. He didn’t want to frighten her more. “Dinna scream,” he cautioned, and carefully lowered his hand.
A blow caught him in the ribs and he grunted as Maggie whirled and hit him again, a right punch to his stomach.
“What in hell?” he said softly and furiously. “I told ye it was me!”
“I knew it was you!” she said. “At least, after you jerked me against you I knew it was you! I told you never to do that to me again!”
“Keep yer voice down unless ye want me caught and thrown in with Ian.”
That seemed to calm her, and to his surprise, she threw herself against him, her arms going around his neck as she pressed her lips against the hollow of his throat and began to cry.
“Maggie, darlin’,” he said, “shhh, alanna. Ye must be quiet, and we must leave at once.”
“I’m sorry. Oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry.” She clung to him tightly and sudden understanding washed over him and his hands slid to her arms, pushing her gently away.
“Ian is dead,” he said.
The grief hit him and Quinn almost groaned aloud, but he kept his emotions under control as he gripped her arms, feeling that if he let go, he would fall. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out his anguish. Ian, his friend—dead now, because of him.
Maggie looked up at him and the moonlight fell upon her tear-streaked face. “Oh, no, Quinn, forgive me, I didn’t stop to think—” She lifted her hands to his face, one on eit
herside as she spoke to him. “Ian isn’t dead, Quinn. He’s alive!”
Quinn closed his eyes and felt the relief down to the hollowof his bones. “Thank the Lord,” he said. He straightenedand started to move past her. She grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To Ian,” he said. “I’m getting him out of there.”
Her fingers bit into his arm. “Quinn, you can’t just go barging into the duke’s jail and rescue him! We’ve got to have a plan!”
He dragged his hand through his hair, shaking his head, unable to think. Ian was alive. There was no way Quinn would walk away and leave him for another minute in Montrose’s dungeon.
“Aye, I have a plan.” He laid his hand on his sword. “I’ll cut down any man who tries to stop me, and I will free my friend.” He started forward again, and Maggie slammed her shoulder into his stomach, forcing him to stop.
“Just stop and think, damn you!” she whispered fiercely. “If you go in there now, by yourself, you’re just going to get killed—then what good will you be to Ian?”
Quinn drew in a deep, trembling breath. She was right. If he blundered in with no solid plan, he would be risking not only his life, but Ian’s as well.
He nodded, and then rested his hands on her shoulders and searched her gaze. “He is alive, but in what condition? Was he truly shot?”
Maggie bit her lower lip and her eyes grew anxious. “He was shot and is very weak. I’m going to sneak in some bandagesto him either tonight or in the morning. I hope to be able to cleanse his wound then.” She glanced down at her hands, knotted together in front of her. “We need to get him out of there, no doubt about that, but as long as I can continue to help him—”
“Are ye tellin’ me the truth?” Quinn demanded, giving her shoulders a slight shake. “Dinna lie to me, Maggie.”
Her eyes blazed up at him. “I’m not lying! He’s hurt, and he stinks to high heaven, but he’s had some ale and a little soup. I’m trying to find a way to sneak back into his cell tonight and bandage his wound. Tomorrow I’ll come back and take care of him again. We’ll keep it up until we can figure out a way to rescue him.”
Highland Rogue Page 13
