Findley's Lass, Book Two of The Clan MacDougall Series

by Suzan Tisdale

  Two evil-looking eyes stared back at him. One was a dull brown, the other colorless and milky looking. A large scar ran down the entire right side of the man’s face, across his eyebrow, his white eye, his cheek, and his beard before it disappeared somewhere under his filthy shirt.

  The madman continued to stare at Ian, all the while maintaining an insidious smile on his lips. His teeth were yellow with bits of food stuck to them. There was a festering sore on his upper lip. Grimy, slick looking hair the color of dirt framed his filthy face. ’Twas difficult to ascertain the true color of his skin, for it was so dark and greasy.

  Ian felt his legs turn to jelly and he was glad the man next to him held such a firm grip on his arm. If the man let go, Ian was certain he’d not be able to stand on his own two feet.

  Ian had heard stories of the Buchannan before. All of the stories held the same vein, that the Buchannan was a ruthless, greedy, and insane man. Aye, he had heard of the scars and how ugly the man was, but nothing could have prepared him for witnessing it with his own eyes.

  They were silent for several long moments whilst the Buchannan seemed to stare right into Ian’s very soul. Ian’s breathing began to increase from sheer fright as he looked at the sight before him.

  After a very long time, the man slowly leaned forward across the desk, never taking his dull eye from Ian’s. He kept his palms flat as he spread them out across the dirty wood.

  “Bah!” the Buchannan suddenly shouted.

  Ian sucked in a deep breath as the room began to spin all around him. In an instant, everything turned black.

  ~~~

  The Buchannan wasn’t insulted by the fact that the boy fainted. His skin had grown quite thick over the years. He had grown used to the stares, the faces that turned away from his hideous scars and terrifying eyes. Such responses to his ghastly appearance no longer bothered him.

  Aye, in the beginning, it had bothered him. Each time someone turned his head away from him, it was as if the cold blade of a dirk was being twisted into his heart.

  Even his beautiful Cairen, with a heart of gold, could not abide his grotesqueness. The fact that she could not look beyond the scars had been his undoing. The day she had informed him that she could not marry him, had been the day of his ruin. Malcolm was never the same after that.

  He hadn’t always been this way -- ruthless, insane, and greedy. Nay, in his younger days he had been a handsome fellow, braw, strong and honest. He owned a heart back then. He cared for the sick and the poor, grieved for men and friends lost on the battlefield. And he had loved.

  He had loved Cairen deeply, passionately and without restriction. Cairen had been his world. Until fate intervened and destroyed his face and his life along with it.

  The fact that the boy fainted was nothing new for the Buchannan. What had shocked him to his nettles was the fact that he felt sorry for the lad. The Buchannan hadn’t felt pity for anyone or anything in a very long time. He hadn’t felt anything but anger and hatred toward his fellow man in more than a decade.

  But the fear in the little boy’s bright green eyes right before they fluttered shut and he fell to the floor? It chilled him to the bone. The child’s reaction had been exactly what he wanted: terrified. But something else had happened, something that Malcolm Buchannan wasn’t prepared for. It was the flutter of a memory of a feeling he had no desire to feel. Compassion.

  Aye, that was what had angered him to the point that he ran his arm across his desk, flinging the contents to the floor.

  The three men standing in the room did not flinch. They were used to such outbursts from their leader.

  “Take him back to his room!” Malcolm ordered.

  The man who had brought Ian in scooped him up and headed toward the door.

  Malcolm called after him, “And see to it that he’s fed!”

  The man nodded. “Aye, m’laird.” He waited a moment for any further instructions. When he saw none forthcoming he turned away again and resisted the urge to shake his head.

  “And for the sake of Christ give the brat a bath! He stinks worse than me!” Malcolm shouted.

  The man halted for only a moment and was glad his back was turned to his chief. His leader could not then see the quizzical look upon his face. It was as he and the other men had feared. Their laird had finally lost what little of his mind he had left.

  Seven

  The sight of Renfrew in the distance brought a great sense of relief to Findley, Maggy and the rest of their rag tag band. Even though it was a mere dot off in the horizon, the relief was palpable. They would enter the town under the cover of darkness.

  Neither he nor Maggy had uttered a word to each other in the past hour.

  “Is that Renfrew?” Maggy asked, finally breaking the silence.

  “Aye, ’tis.” Findley answered, glad to hear the sound of her voice.

  “What be yer plan here, Findley?” she asked, keeping her gaze straight ahead. She began to grow fearful over the possibility of being seen by someone from her past.

  “’Tis late in the day. We’ll seek rooms at the Bent Arrow Inn. In the morning we’ll trade our wagons for fresh horses and more men to help us. I’ll also send a messenger back to Dunshire seeking more help.”

  Maggy took the chance to look at him. “And what of me and me boys?”

  He had decided hours ago that he could not leave her in Renfrew. However, he had also decided he’d not let her go against the Buchannan clan with him. They would travel together as far as Stirling. He was not sure what he would do with them then and was glad he had a few days to think it over.

  His plan, if Angus would agree to it, was to have more men meet him in Aberdeen. While he did not like the idea of leaving her alone in Stirling he did not see where he had much choice in the matter. He needed to keep her as far away from Malcolm Buchannan and his men as he could.

  “I’ll not be leavin’ ye in Renfrew,” he answered. He would not share his entire plan with her for he did not want to argue with her further.

  “I thank ye fer that Findley,” she told him. “Do ye plan on launching our attack from Aberdeen?” she asked. Aberdeen made the most sense, as it was the closest city to the Buchannan keep.

  “Aye, I do,” he answered.

  “I’ve a brother in Aberdeen,” she told him. “He’ll be more than willin’ to help us. It will be good to see him again.” Maggy knew her brother would be more than simply surprised to see her.

  While it was good to know she had a brother who might be willing to help, he had no intentions of allowing her to get that close to the Buchannans.

  Maggy took note of his furrowed brow and instinct told her he was holding back.

  “Does that not fit with yer plans?” she asked, reading his face like an open book.

  For a moment Findley began to wonder if the woman wasn’t a witch or sorceress of some sort, with the ability of reading a man’s mind. He studied her for a moment and decided perhaps she wasn’t a witch but simply a very astute young woman.

  “Nay,” he said. “It does no’.”

  “But me brother can help us, Findley. Surely ye see the logic in it.” The chances of being recognized in Aberdeen were immense. But it was a risk she was willing to take in order to get Ian back.

  She wondered for a moment how much more she should share with him. Should she tell him of her brother in Dundee or the one in Perth? Both would be more than willing to help.

  “Maggy, do not fly into another rage, for I swear I’ll lose me mind if ye do! If ye’ve a brother in Aberdeen ye wish to stay with, then I’ll take ye there.” He would take her anywhere she wished to go as long as it was not the Buchannan keep.

  What she didn’t catch was the fact he hadn’t said when he’d take her there. When the whole ordeal was over he would take her anywhere she wished to go. He prayed however, that she would wish to stay with him.

  He watched as her shoulders relax in relief.

  “I mean not to be a bother to ye, Findley,
” she said after a moment. “I ken ye mean well. And don’t be thinkin’ I’m not grateful to ye, fer I truly am.” She knew that without Findley her chances of reaching Renfrew alive and in one piece would have been next to none.

  The question of why the Buchannans had attacked her clan still gnawed at him. The boys had said the Buchannan wanted to marry her. Maggy was the most beautiful woman he had ever known and he could well understand any man’s desire to marry her. Och! Even Wee William was willing to shave his beard for her.

  But for Malcolm Buchannan to attack and kill her people made no sense. What could the man gain from it? Aye, she had turned down his offer of marriage, but was that enough to drive the man to kill? Instinct told Findley that the attack wasn’t simply the workings of a madman. There had to be more to it.

  “Maggy,” he asked. “Why did the Buchannan attack yer home?”

  “Who kens what makes a man do anythin’?” she mumbled.

  He had caught a glimmer of fear and worry flash over her face in the instant before she answered.

  “Maggy, if there is more to it, let me ken now. I can no’ help if I dunna ken the whole truth.”

  He could only hope she heard the sincerity in his voice for she couldn't see it on his face. She was keeping her eyes glued to the horizon. He knew she was holding back and assumed it was fear that kept her from telling him.

  “Maggy, I be nothin’ like the Buchannan or any of his men. I truly do want to help. But I need to ken the truth of it.”

  She could not muster the courage to tell him. If she told him then he would look at her and Liam differently. Not with compassion and care, but with hungry, greedy eyes. Though she didn’t understand why, she simply couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at her that way.

  “Findley, I canna say why the Buchannan attacked.” She could not tell him the truth just yet.

  “Do ye no’ mean ye refuse to tell me?” he gritted his teeth. Why could she not trust him?

  “If I promise to tell ye someday, will ye leave me be?” She had no intentions of telling him anything in the immediate future.

  He knew someday could mean anything, for he had bade her the same promise of taking her to Aberdeen.

  “And can ye give me an idea of when someday might be, lass?”

  She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were filled with a combination of anger and weariness. “Please, Findley, leave it be.”

  “I’m only tryin’ to help ye, ye stubborn woman!”

  “And I thanked ye fer it, ye fool!”

  Findley growled. “I swear ye’ll be the death of me someday! Yer the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met!”

  “And ye be a pig-headed lummox!”

  His eyes drew into angry slits. “I’ve a mind to leave ye in Renfrew after all.”

  Maggy’s eyes instantly mirrored his. “’Twould be fine with me! I’ll walk to the Buchannan’s keep if I have to. I’ll even marry him if I must!”

  His breath hitched at the thought of it. “Ye’ll do no such thing!”

  She threw her shoulders back and put her hands on her hips. “And just who do ye think ye be to tell me what I can and canna do?”

  She had him there. He had no more a right to tell her what to do than she him. But it would be over his dead body that he would allow her to marry Malcolm Buchannan. Or anyone else for that matter, for no matter how much she irritated and frustrated him, he was still hopelessly in love with her. He was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t as insane as the Buchannan chief.

  “I be the man who travelled for days to bring ye supplies and an offer of a new home! And I ask for nothin’ in return! I be the man who bade ye a promise to get yer son back!” He felt ashamed for raising his voice but he had to get his point across somehow.

  She had done a good job over the past days at keeping the tears at bay, at least while in the presence of her boys. She had succeeded in hiding her fear and dread from them, knowing she could not burden them any further than she already had.

  But the wall began to break and as much as she tried, she could not hold the tears at bay any longer. “I’m afraid for Ian, Findley,” she said as tears trailed down her cheeks.

  Aye, give him a battlefield full of men hell-bent on taking his life from him. Give him a broadsword or a dirk and he could fight any man and win. But make him stare into those bright green eyes filled with tears and he was done. The anger and frustration he had felt only moments ago, disappeared in the blink of a teary green eye.

  “Wheest, lass,” he spoke quietly and tried to reassure her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her in to his chest. “All will be well. We’ll get yer Ian back. I swear it.”

  He sent a silent prayer up to God that it would be a promise he could keep.

  ~~~

  Night had fallen when they reached the outskirts of Renfrew. It suddenly dawned on Findley that they would have problems securing rooms. While he, his men and the lads would have no troubles, Maggy would be a different story.

  “Lass,” he said suddenly. “Do ye have something with which to cover yer hair?”

  “Aye, it’s among me other satchels and trunks ye have in the back of yer wagon,” she answered sarcastically, shooting him a look that said she thought he was daft.

  Findley let out an exasperated sigh. “Lass, forgive me. But ye’ll need to cover yer hair here.”

  The only thing she had to cover her hair was her shawl. She cursed under her breath. It mattered not that she was a widow. Travelling with four men without the aid of a chaperone would be enough to have her branded a harlot. Not that she planned on staying in Renfrew long enough to worry over her reputation.

  She pulled her shawl up over her head and grasped it under her chin. She would save her argument against such customs for a later time. All she wished for at the moment was to be off the hard wagon seat, to soak in a hot bath and slip into a warm bed.

  “And lass, ye’ll have to pretend to be me wife fer the night.” He braced himself for the protest he was certain would come.

  “I beg yer pardon?” she asked, shocked that he would suggest such a thing.

  “Lass, they’ll no’ give a room to a single woman -- widowed or no’, without a proper chaperone. Ye ken it as well as I.”

  She did know it and she didn’t like it. “If we pretend we be married, it means we’ll be sharin’ a room,” she murmured.

  She looked at him closely for a moment. He was a very braw man. His dark brown hair hung well past his shoulders with braids that framed a more than handsome face. His deep, dark brown eyes and thick eyelashes could melt the heart of many a young woman. Hers included, if she were to allow such a thing to happen.

  His broad shoulders and muscles seemed to be chiseled from stone. She had felt them when she had grabbed on to him earlier. For a brief moment she imagined resting her head in a very intimate fashion on his wide and masculine chest.

  Under different circumstances, she might well have liked the thought of sharing a room with him. She shook the thoughts aside and castigated herself for allowing her mind to roam to thoughts no self-respecting mother of five should have.

  “Aye, lass, that we will,” he tried to hide the pleasure such a thought brought to his heart.

  “Findley, I,” she tried to find the right words to explain what she was thinking. Then she realized she could not share such thoughts with him.

  He sensed her apprehension and took it to mean she would rather not share a room with him. “Would ye rather pretend Wee William was yer husband?” he asked, gritting his teeth together.

  She did not need to think on it. She knew sharing a room with Wee William would just fuel her sons’ plans for the two of them to marry. That in itself was a battle she did not wish to wage.

  “Nay,” she told him.

  “Richard or Patrick then?”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “Would you prefer to sleep in the wagons?” He sensed an undercurrent of something and dared not
hope it meant anything other than her having a proper sense of right and wrong.

  “Nay. I wish for a hot bath and a warm meal. And if it means pretending to be yer wife fer a night, then so be it,” she told him. She was tired, worn and hungry.

  “But dunna be gettin’ no ideas, Findley. It’ll be a marriage in name only.”

  He could not stifle a chuckle. “But lass, it be our weddin’ night!” He feigned hurt feelings and smiled at her. She returned his smile as she shook her head.

  He was very glad he had finally managed to bring a smile to her face.

  ~~~

  There were only three inns from which to choose. Two of them Findley would not have set foot in without at least ten more men to watch his back.

  The Bent Arrow Inn sat at the edge of town. While still filled with nefarious sorts, it was the least dangerous of their options. They pulled the wagons in and parked near the stables. Two young lads came out to greet them and take charge of the horses. Findley recognized them as the innkeeper’s youngest sons.

  Patrick gave a coin to each lad with instructions to keep a close eye on the wagons.

  “If the wagons still be here in the morn,” he began, “and nothin’ be stolen or lost, I’ll give ye each another piece of silver.”

  Wide smiles erupted on the boys’ freckled faces.

  “Aye!” the tallest of the lads said. “We’ll sleep in the wagons if we have to!”

  Findley had known the innkeeper and his wife for several years. Beyton and Fiona Lindsey were well into their forties. They, or more specifically Fiona, ran their inn with an iron fist.

  It was commonly known that Beyton, who was short compared to most men, was the brains and Fiona, who was several inches taller than her husband, was the brawn. She had no qualms about hitting an unruly visitor over the head with a broom, chamber pot, or whatever else might be within reach. She had hauled enough men out of her inn over the years that most knew not to try her patience.