He reined in any misgivings he might have about the maps.
“Is the treasure . . . Is it shown on Mackenzie’s part of the map?” Conall asked.
Dugan gave a shake of his head. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have a look when we’re away from here and we’ll find the clues we need.”
Bryce Cameron rode up alongside Dugan. He’d been as skeptical as Lachann about locating the French king’s gold, but Bryce was Dugan’s best swordsman and was a fair shot with either rifle or bow. Dugan wanted him at his side in case of trouble during their search, and when they found the treasure.
They had to find gold, for there wasn’t any way in the highlands to raise the kind of money Argyll demanded.
“Laird, when you were up in Ullapool and heard of Mackenzie’s map,” Archie asked, “was there talk of exactly where the treasure lies?”
Dugan shook his head. “No, Arch. Only about the map.”
“But what if the map—”
“Let’s get away from Kinlochleven,” he said. “Then we’ll take a look.” He wanted to find a location where no one was likely to come upon them.
They rode for miles through high country in the direction of Fort William, and came upon the same wide burn and waterfall that they’d passed earlier in the day. This time, a flash of red on the far side of the water caught Dugan’s eye. He came to a halt.
“Holy Lord, Dugan,” Lachann said quietly. “She’s too near the edge.”
“Aye.” ’Twas the lass’s red hair that had caught his attention, but he could see that she was in immediate danger. She had backed away from the horns of a fierce ram, and there was nowhere left to go. The ram was snorting and it pawed at the ground when it wasn’t moving aggressively toward her.
If she took another step back, she was going to fall into the waterfall.
Chapter 3
Maura hardly dared breathe. Her eyes darted to each side, searching frantically for an escape. And yet there was none. She did not know what to do.
Not until something whistled past her, slamming into the ram and knocking it over.
Maura fell to her knees beside it and looked across the swiftly flowing burn toward her rescuer, a burly, dark-haired highlander. He sat mounted on his horse amidst a group of rough, tartan-clad warriors, and casually slipped a long, lethal bow into his saddle behind him.
His impact on Maura was nearly as potent as the ram’s. Of course Maura had seen highlanders before, but none like the one who’d just saved her from certain death. He sat taller than the others in his saddle, and his shoulders were beyond impressive. His brawn filled out a linen shirt with a kind of rough beauty that fascinated her.
He looked at her for a moment, his gaze so sharp and keen, Maura felt him touch the very essence of her.
She shivered with an acute awareness of him as he turned his horse and led the others away, leaving before Maura could summon the wits to call out her thanks or give a wave of acknowledgment.
Or merely to gaze at his wondrous visage for just another moment. Had Lady Ilay invited a specimen like this highlander to her home instead of the overdressed dandies who frequented Ilay House, Maura might have taken notice.
The highlanders rode away from the burn and out of sight, giving Maura a moment to recover from her brush with death before returning to her carriage, where she would have to face Lieutenant Baird.
She had needed a few moments away from the close confines of the carriage and the sour breath of her chaperone, Bridget Hammond. Baird had ordered her to stay close, but Maura had defied the lieutenant in front of his men. She’d insisted on being left alone to take a short walk to the waterfall, and she realized her defiance must have rankled her spiteful tyrant.
But Maura was tired to death of his condescending manner and imperious ways. She cringed at the way he tugged at one side of his pale eyebrow when he looked at her, and loathed the way his greasy head shone in the light.
She knelt in the damp grass beside the burn and pressed one hand to her breast, watching as the highlanders disappeared into the trees. Her rescuer’s aim had been perfect, killing the ram instantly. She did not like to think what would have happened had he not been in exactly the right place at the moment she needed him.
She never would have made it to Loch Camerochlan to rescue Rosie. She wouldn’t even have made it back to her carriage.
Maura rose to her feet and brushed off her skirts, though she was not able to get them completely clean. She started back through the woods, and nearly collided with Lieutenant Baird.
“Watch it!” he growled.
“I could say the same to you, Lieutenant. ’Twas you who nearly knocked me over.”
He grabbed hold of her arm, his eyes flashing a barely suppressed anger. “I’ll do more than that if you defy my orders again.”
A chill came over Maura as she pulled her arm away and pushed past her father’s loathsome lackey. He fell into step behind her and she suddenly realized the danger she was in. Mayhap worse than when she’d faced the angry ram.
It occurred to her how very possible it would be for Lieutenant Baird to return to the carriage without her. He could tell his men that she’d fallen into the waterfall, and who would be there to gainsay him? They would take pains to recover her body, and when he returned her to Aucharnie Castle, no one would question Baird’s story. Why would they?
The lieutenant had been a burr in her side since his arrival at Aucharnie Castle, but now she knew he was ever so much worse. She had been pleasant toward him at first, but he had misinterpreted her polite attitude as something altogether different.
She needed to be wary of him. He’d quickly learned of her unfavorable status at home . . . Mayhap her elimination would suit her father more than her marriage to Kildary.
“Look at yer gown!” old Bridget cried when Maura came out from the copse of trees. “ ’Tis ruined!”
“Nay, Bridget,” Maura retorted, turning impatiently to face the older woman, whose hearing was as poor as her temperament. She was exactly the kind of companion Maura expected her parents to send. One who was nearly as crotchety as Tilda Crane, and who had not let Maura out of her sight in the four days since they’d left Glasgow. “ ’Tis only slightly soiled. ’Twill come clean with some scrubbing.”
Bridget’s scolding reminded Maura just how isolated she’d become in the two years since she and Rosie had been sent away from Aucharnie to their own separate prisons. Maura longed to see her sister, wished she could think of some faster, easier way to release the child from her confinement at Loch Camerochlan.
If only she could trust one of her siblings to assist her. Aiden was the least pompous of her brothers, and the only one who might be prevailed upon. But he had a wife now, and his own child. Besides, his home was near Aberdeen—the opposite direction Maura needed to go.
Her only choice was to press on with the plan she’d concocted the night Lieutenant Baird had turned up at Ilay House. She knew it was flawed, but it was the only way she could think of to get to her sister.
Lieutenant Baird mounted his horse and looked down at her with a deep anger in his charcoal gray eyes. Twin peaks of color had bloomed on his cheekbones and an invisible wave of fury rolled off the man as he straightened up in his saddle.
“Next time, you’ll do as you’re ordered, Lady Maura,” he said. “Men, do not allow her out of your sight.”
Her few moments without Baird or Bridget hovering over her had not been worth this new, far more intense animosity. Fortunately, she was going to leave his arrogant presence that night, soon after they reached Fort William.
“Your mother warned me that you were headstrong,” Bridget scolded in a huff, “but I had no idea!”
Maura said naught to Bridget, but went directly to the carriage. She climbed inside, having no intention of discussing the incident any further. Already her jailers were primed to watch her more closely, and that was the last thing she wanted.
She could hardly wait until they reach
ed the garrison town and she could leave Lieutenant Baird and her overbearing companion. She’d packed good walking clothes in her overnight bag, and figured she would secrete away some of tonight’s supper for later, when she struck out alone.
She had not yet had a moment by herself to look at the strange map she’d pilfered from Lord Ilay’s study, not when she’d had to share a room every night with Bridget Hammond and the old woman watching over her every second. Argyll had spoken of gold the night before she’d left Ilay House, and Maura believed it was possible the map showed the location of the gold.
The thought of using Argyll’s map to find it left Maura a little breathless. With the French king’s treasure in her possession, she would be able to care for Rosie and herself without worries.
Maura contained her excitement at the thought of escape and glanced up at the hills ’round her. They were tall, but not insurmountable. Even so, she knew her path would not be easy once she left Baird and the others at Fort William. She was familiar with the geography of the highlands, for she’d studied Lord Ilay’s conventional maps over the past two years, in case the chance to escape Ilay House ever presented itself.
Now that a serious opportunity had come along, Maura concentrated on what she remembered of Fort William and its environs. The loch was just west of the garrison and ran north, curving to the west. If she kept the loch on her left as she hiked away from the town, she would soon find herself in the highlands and on her way to Rosie at Loch Camerochlan.
But perhaps a slight detour to find the French riches would not be amiss. First, though, she had to get away from her escort.
“I have no intention of marrying Baron Kildary,” Maura said to Bridget. “If only Captain Baird would take me back to Glasgow, I could write to my father and ask—”
“Your father is set on this marriage, Lady Maura,” Bridget retorted sourly.
Maura crossed her arms over her chest and turned a petulant glare toward the floor of the carriage, like a spoiled adolescent. ’Twas an intentional ruse that she’d used numerous times over the course of their journey. She hoped her escort and companion would think she was merely a foolish, incompetent child, and when she disappeared, they would backtrack and look for her on the road to Glasgow.
It would garner her some much needed time to get ahead of Baird and lose herself in the mountains.
Maura knew her plan to travel to Loch Camerochlan was an ambitious one, but she could do no less for her frail sister. The two of them had been outcasts together, and Maura had vowed always to take care of her.
She’d failed her once, but would not fail her again.
“ ’Twas a bonny shot, Laird,” Bryce remarked as they turned their horses to head north, away from the water.
Kieran slapped Dugan on the back and grinned. “You might have crossed through the burn and spoken to the lass, Dugan. She’d likely show you her gratitude in a very—”
“Ach, aye, Laird!” Archie chimed in with enthusiasm. “Ye’ve missed a wondrous opportunity for a fine tumble. The lass was as fair as any I’ve seen.”
“And leave you bloomin’ idiots to find your way to Fort William without me?” In truth, Dugan could think of little but those bright eyes and full, sensuous lips that had been frozen in fear. He’d like naught more than to feel that bonny mouth upon his, but he could not afford to be distracted from his purpose.
The men laughed, clearly in need of a bit of good humor, for they all knew the dubious state of Dugan’s grand plan.
At least he had a plan. Of sorts.
“We’ll stop here, while we still have daylight,” Dugan said. He dismounted in a dry, rocky area and pulled the two sections of the map from his traveling pack behind his saddle.
Lachann took both pieces from him and laid them out side by side on a large, flat rock. The men all gathered ’round to look.
“What do ye see, Lachann?” Archie asked.
“Blue ink, which seems to indicate lochs and rivers,” Lachann replied, pointing to a large, elongated blue pool that looked to Dugan like the shape of Loch Shin, far in the north.
“What are those?” Calum pointed to the various symbols that had been drawn in black ink.
“Mountains and forests,” Dugan replied. He’d studied his grandfather’s portion of the map often enough to know what they meant. And it was quite clear that they were looking at the northernmost portion of the highlands.
“ ’Tis not much of a map,” Archie remarked.
Dugan could not deny it. Mackenzie’s quarter had been torn from the whole, just like his grandfather’s. But perhaps this was the part that held the all-important clue that Dugan needed to discover where the gold was hidden. The bottom edge of it fit against the top of the MacMillan map, and Dugan recognized the shapes of his own territory—Loch Maree and Skye, to the west.
“Look at that marking.” Dugan pointed to an irregular pattern of black ink next to what looked like Loch Monar.
“Is it a village?” Lachann asked.
Dugan frowned. “There are no other villages marked.”
“Do ye think the gold is hidden there, Laird?” Archie asked.
Dugan gave a puzzled shake of his head. He did not know what to think.
“ ’Tis possible there are villages marked on the other pieces of the map,” Lachann said.
“True.” But they did not have any other pieces of map to compare this to.
“Do ye think the French would have hidden their gold in a village, Dugan?” Conall MacMillan asked. “Seems like they’d want it away and well hidden, where only their own men could find it.”
“Aye.” That’s what his grandfather had believed, too.
Lachann walked away from the group. He’d never hidden his doubts about this quest. Hell, Dugan had his own doubts. But their grandfather’s faith in the map and the rumors about gold had been too strong for him to ignore.
And his clan had never been in such dire need.
The MacMillans had lived at Braemore on the banks of Loch Maree for centuries, raising cattle and growing the crops they needed for sustenance. To Dugan, Braemore was the most beautiful place on earth, and not just because it had become his home after he and his siblings had fled Glencoe.
The loch was grand, as were the mountains that circled it. Dugan and his brothers and sister had been raised in the auld keep, the home where his mother had spent her childhood, before going to Glencoe and marrying Gavin of the MacIain clan. Dugan was damned if he would let it fall into Argyll’s hands.
He was going to use whatever means necessary to find that gold and save his people from being dislodged from their ancestral home.
Lieutenant Alastair Baird was in a high temper by the time he reached the Speckled Trout Inn at Fort William, just ahead of the carriage and passengers in his charge. He’d had more than enough of Lord Aucharnie’s headstrong daughter, and wanted to get her off his hands in Cromarty as soon as possible.
The willful wench did not know how to obey the simplest of orders. And next time she went off on her own, he was going to see to it that she suffered more serious consequences than a bit of mud on her skirts.
It was beyond irksome to have been sent on this nursemaid mission by the earl, and Alastair hoped his father never got wind of it. ’Twas a humiliating task for the son of the illustrious General John Baird.
Alastair muttered a few disparaging words that only he could hear. Lord Aucharnie had been all set to send Major Ramsay, their idiot commander, to escort Lady Maura. But the wily bawbag had managed to talk his way out of it, as he did every other unpleasant task. The bloody fool was useless.
“Aye, old and useless,” he mumbled.
Baird was the one who should have stayed behind and trained with the rest of Aucharnie’s troops while Ramsay played road nanny to Maura Duncanson. Somehow, Ramsay always managed to have the earl’s ear, and it had gotten so far past annoying, Baird had begun to dream of smothering the old man in his sleep. The bastard was an absolute incompete
nt in everything but empty talk—as if the bloody bastard’s useless blatherskite ever had any value.
Baird stood in front of the inn and observed as Corporal Higgins assisted Maura from the carriage and walked to the inn beside her. He remembered a time when he’d thought he wanted the red-haired wench for himself. ’Twas when he first arrived at Aucharnie, nearly six years before, when she was just a girl of eighteen. He felt sure he’d heard his father’s voice telling him to take his chance with her, to go after the earl’s disfavored daughter. She was young enough still to be a biddable lass, but she’d spurned him rudely, and in front of two of his men. Her actions were unforgivable.
His only satisfaction was that her father the earl must despise Maura as much as he did. To marry her off to a man like Kildary . . . Well, Baird had heard a few things about the old baron that made him a questionable candidate for marriage.
Such decisions were beyond him, but one truth had become perfectly clear. The Earl of Aucharnie did not care what happened to his daughter. And if she dared to embarrass him in front of his men again, he was going to see that she suffered a mishap from which she would not return.
While Bridget napped in the carriage, Maura’s thoughts turned to the braw highlander who’d rescued her from certain death.
She’d been told to keep away from any tartan-wearing Scots whose path she might cross, both in Edinburgh and in Glasgow, for they were said to be untrustworthy barbarians.
And yet this “barbarian” had saved her life. He’d not attempted to do anything untoward at all. Of course, the man had been a fair distance away. What could he possibly have done to her?
Maura’s skin heated when she considered the possibilities.
He seemed to be of some other world, one without wigs and lace cuffs, where men braved the elements and battled fierce foes to survive. Maura wondered how it would feel to have the admiration of such a man. She’d experienced his protection, and it had felt utterly foreign to her. And utterly wondrous.
Her knees were no longer shaky, but the rest of her body shimmered with an intense awareness. Of the man, she was sure. She’d never felt this way before, had never reacted in such a physical manner to any other man.
The Warrior Laird Page 3
