Each man broke into a fit of laughter at his innocent statement. Maggy cringed inwardly, not liking at all the path their conversation was taking.
“Well, ye see, lad,” Wee William began.
Maggy stopped him before he could go further. “Food!” she nearly shouted. “A woman brings ye the comfort of food, Liam.”
Her son was just eight and she wasn’t prepared to have that particular conversation with him just yet. She prayed the men would realize her discomfort and drop the subject all together.
Wee William cleared his throat. “Yer mum is right, lad. A woman brings ye the comfort of food. Delicious, hot, remarkable sustenance.” He looked rather content at the moment, as if he was lost in a fond memory.
Maggy shot each of the men a look of warning.
Liam shook his head again. “I would rather cook fer meself,” he told Wee William.
The men broke into another round of raucous laughter. Maggy shook her head and let loose a frustrated sigh. Liam and Collin cast confused looks at the group.
Collin leaned closer to Ian. “Dunna worrit, Liam. I’d rather cook meself too.”
“Aye,” Liam said. “Women are no’ worth the bathin’.”
Twelve
“Why does yer mum refuse to marry me?”
Malcolm Buchannan stared across the table at the small boy. He was beginning to question his own sanity. Perhaps the rumors he had heard about himself were true. They had to be, for what other explanation could there be for asking an eight-year-old lad for advice on women.
But who better to ask than the woman’s own son? The boy could surely offer some insight to what Malcolm might need to do to get Maggy to agree to his proposal of marriage.
Malcolm was torn. The bastard in him wanted nothing more than to find the wench and force her into marriage. But there was another part of him, something he thought he had lost long ago, that begged him to try a more gentle approach. But if the gentle approach failed, he was not above dragging her by her hair and implanting his seed deep within her womb, thus forcing a marriage between them.
Ian stared up at the mad man. He was completely confused, for what did an eight-year-old boy such as himself know about women.
“Ye ken yer mum well, lad. Tell me why she refuses me offer of marriage.”
Ian was terrified at speaking the truth. He worried that if he said what he was really thinking, Malcolm would run him through with his broadsword.
They stared at each other for a very long time. The fear in the young boy’s eyes was quite evident.
“If I promise not to harm ye in any way, will ye tell me?”
Instinct and common sense warned Ian not to believe a word the man told him.
Malcolm ran a hand across his bearded chin. “I ken ye be afraid of me lad,” he said. “As well ye should be! But I am a man of me word. I promise I’ll hold nothin’ ye say agin ye.”
Ian continued to stare at Malcolm and his silence began to frustrate Malcolm. “If ye do no’ tell me, lad, I’ll cut yer wanker off with me sword.”
Buchannans didn’t make idle threats. ’Twas the only time their word held any value. Mayhap if he gave the man a few answers, he’d leave him be.
“She does no’ like yer beard,” he offered.
Malcolm touched his long beard and cast a look of disbelief at the boy. “Yer sayin’ me beard be the only reason she wilna marry me?” There had to be more to it than that.
Ian shook his head. “Nay, there be others.” Mentally he ticked off the reasons his mum had voiced over the past months for declining the Buchannan’s offer. He wouldn’t tell him though, not even if he had a hundred warriors standing beside him.
“What else?”
Ian shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “She does no’ like bad smells.”
Malcolm could not contain his laughter. “She thinks I smell badly, does she?”
Ian nodded his head. “Me mum has a fondness fer bathin’. She makes me and me brothers bathe thrice weekly. More often in the summer.”
“So yer telling me that if I shave me beard and bathe she would agree to marryin’ me?”
Ian blinked. He knew it would take more than a bath and shave to get his mum to agree to such a thing. It would take divine intervention.
“Tell me, lad,” Malcolm said drawing his chair closer to the boy. “Be there more?”
Ian swallowed hard and thought for a moment. He worried he was tempting fate.
As Ian sat in quiet contemplation, one of the Buchannan’s men brought out two trenchers of venison stew and warm bread. Ian’s mouth instantly watered. The man set both trenchers in front of Malcolm. The boy’s wide eyes and grumbling stomach did not go unnoticed by Malcolm.
“Are ye hungry lad?”
Ian nodded his head slowly. He imagined he could eat both trenchers and still remain hungry. Silently, he hoped he was not being a coward or betraying his family by admitting to the weakness of hunger.
Malcolm slowly slid one of the trenchers across the table. He smacked the back of Ian’s hand when the boy started to lift the spoon to take a bite.
“Ye may eat when ye answer me questions,” Malcolm told him.
Ian’s heart sank. He prayed that the Buchannan would not ask him to reveal the whereabouts of his mum. Ian knew well where his mum would be heading. Maggy had told them long ago what they would do in the event of an attack.
“So,” Malcolm said as he dipped his bread into the warm stew. “Yer mum does no’ like me beard or the way I smell.”
Ian’s stomach growled as the aroma from the stew hit his nostrils. He nodded his head and watched as the Buchannan stuffed his mouth full of bread.
“What else might there be lad, that I could do to win yer mum’s heart?” Malcolm asked with a mouth full of food.
Ian’s defenses were waning. “Ye might think of cleanin’ yer keep.”
Malcolm’s brow creased. “Cleanin’ the keep?”
“Aye. Mum likes a verra clean home. She does no’ like messes.”
Malcolm shoveled a bite of stew into his mouth and waited.
“Ye might want to lay down new rushes.” Ian offered as he watched the Buchannan take another bite. “Mayhap ye’d want clean clothes as well.”
Malcolm smiled inwardly. While he no longer had a handsome face, mayhap a bit of charm and cleanliness would help to sway Maggy his way.
Ian watched every bite the Buchannan took. His stomach hurt and he was tired of cold porridge. The hunger pangs began to loosen his tongue. He’d give Malcolm just enough information in exchange for food. But he made a solemn vow not to disclose too much. Just enough to keep Malcolm happy. “Mayhap have yer men to bathe, too.”
Malcolm laughed loudly at that bit of advice. He could well imagine the uproar that little scenario would cause and he began to warm to the idea. If nothing else, it would bring him a good deal of pleasure to see the looks of horror on his men’s faces when he made the order.
“So yer mum has strong fondness fer cleanliness, does she?”
Ian nodded his head vigorously and hoped he’d soon be allowed to eat. “Aye, she does,” he answered. As an afterthought, he added, “And flowers! She loves flowers!”
Malcolm took the last bite of stew and chewed slowly. He had charmed many a woman in his younger days, and had even won the heart of a very special lass. Was there a shred of hope that he could win another’s?
Maggy was younger than himself by ten years, mayhap more. He knew very little about her other than what she could offer him by means of lands and a title. Aye, he loved being the evil bastard that he was, but a little validation wouldn’t hurt.
He shook the thought of winning her heart from his mind. He wasn’t after the woman’s heart. What he truly wanted was the wealth, status, lands and title that would come with the marriage. A marriage to Maggy would give him the legitimacy he craved.
He decided he would give a try at cleanliness and charm. A lifetime ago his life had been filled with both. The
concept was not in the least foreign to him.
If all else failed, he could return to his not-so-old ways, steal off with Maggy, and force her into a marriage. He wasn’t above using tactics such as threats and murder. When it was said and done, he hadn’t become the chief of his clan through niceties. Niceties, kindness, and compassion were feelings and emotions that left oneself vulnerable. Cairen had broken his heart and ripped his soul away many years ago. He’d not take that chance again.
Thirteen
Most of Stirling was fast asleep as Findley and his men -- and the woman and boys they had promised to protect -- rode its dark streets. The inns however, were still brightly lit and filled with all manner of travelers and men seeking the comforts of any available bar wench. Loud laughter and conversations spilled out into the streets as Findley and his group quietly passed by on horseback.
They managed to find an inn with three available rooms. As they did in Renfrew, the men shared two rooms with the lads. Findley and Maggy would again pretend to be husband and wife, and share the remaining room.
Maggy wished she were not wearing the cap and veil the boys had given her, so that she could wrap her shawl around her face to better conceal herself. It was a very uncomfortable feeling walking through the inn, her face so exposed. She could feel the many eyes upon her as she walked alongside Findley, his hand holding firmly to hers.
She kept her eyes cast down and prayed no one would recognize her as they trudged through the crowd and up the stairs to their rooms. She had come too far to be found out now.
It wasn’t until Findley closed the door behind them that she was able to breath a sigh of relief. The room was not much bigger than the one they had shared in Renfrew. Utilitarian by nature, the room held a bed, a small table, and two chairs by the fireplace. As she had done in Renfrew, she offered to take the floor while Findley slept in the bed.
“Let us not argue that again, lass,” he told her as he started a fire. “Fer ye ken ye’ll lose.”
Maggy let out a heavy sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, too tired to argue. “Fine then,” she told him. “If ye want to be that stubborn, I’ll allow it.”
He stood and smiled at her. “Ye catch on quick, Maggy. Yer makin’ a good wife!”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, annoyed with his arrogance. She carefully removed the cap and veil and set it on the edge of the bed. “Aye, but ye’ve far to go as a husband.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly as he sauntered toward her. Her dark red hair spilled over her shoulders and it was all he could do to keep from reaching out and running his fingers through it. “I do, ye say?”
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him. There was a twinkle in his dark brown eyes and she knew if she stared into them for too long, they would be her undoing.
“Did ye no’ promise to teach me a few things earlier this night?” he asked as he leaned toward her.
Her thoughts flashed back to their earlier conversation. Surely he had not taken her seriously when she spoke of the pleasures she could bring him? A jolt of fear started in her toes and spread through her body and she found she could not speak. She knew there was not a thing she could teach him when it came to intimacies of a romantic nature.
“I believe ye said I had a duty to perform as a husband,” he leaned in closer.
He was close enough that had she any desire to, she could have simply leaned a mere two inches toward him and her lips would be firmly planted on his. As wonderful as the thought of kissing him might be, she knew she could not succumb to such a desire. Swallowing hard, she pushed the pleasing thought aside.
“Am I to take yer silence as meanin’ ye’ve no desire to teach me anythin’ this night?” he said, feigning confusion.
While she felt warm and tingling sensations wash all over her, she was quite frozen in place. Unable to speak or move, all she could manage was a slight shake of her head. Her mouth had gone horribly dry and she prayed he could not see her trembling fingers.
“Does me wife reject me after only three days of being married?” he asked, pretending to be offended and hurt. It suddenly occurred to her that if his eyes weren’t so dark and sensual, and his face weren’t so ruggedly handsome, she wouldn’t be losing all of her senses. And those broad shoulders and tightly muscled arms weren’t helping her either!
He inched closer, so close that Maggy could feel his hot breath on her lips. Did he really plan to kiss her? She closed her eyes, swallowed hard and took in a long, deep breath. What harm could one kiss do?
In the next instant, she heard Findley begin to chuckle. Her eyes flew open in surprise as he stood tall and his chuckle turned to a full laugh.
“Lass!” he said as he slapped his hand on his thigh. “Ye look absolutely terrified!”
Her nostrils flared as she pursed her lips. The excited anticipation of a kiss was quickly replaced with anger and embarrassment. Maggy stood, placed both hands on his chest and pushed.
“Yer a despicable man Findley McKenna!” she said through gritted teeth.
Her anger seemed to amuse him further and his laughter increased. “Am I despicable because ye thought I meant to kiss ye? Or are ye angry that I didn’t?”
She scowled at him and stomped her foot. “I’d no’ be wantin’ any kisses from the likes of ye!” She was angry and frustrated, and had no clear inclination as to why she felt that way. Frustrated, she pushed against his chest again, but it had no affect on him. He was as firmly planted as a wall made of stone.
The fact that he didn’t move blended with the fact that he looked so positively pleased with himself for making her angry, nearly threw her over the edge of reason. She tried pushing him again and still he didn’t move.
“Lass,” he said with laughing eyes, “ye can push on me all the night long and I’m afraid ye’ll not get the result ye want!”
His last statement was enough to push her over the edge. She drew her face into a twisted knot of anger, placed both hands on his arms and kicked him square in his knee. The toe of her new boot landed squarely in the soft spot under his kneecap.
His laughter instantly disappeared as he let loose with a grunt. She had caught him off guard. As he leaned forward to grab his injured knee, Maggy placed both palms on his shoulders and pushed hard.
She could not hide her proud and satisfied smile as she watched him tumble backwards onto his rump. “Did I ever mention that I have seven older brothers?” she asked, quite pleased with herself. “I be the only girl and the youngest child. They taught me well to defend meself against all manner of men.”
Findley glared at her angrily whilst he rubbed his knee. Under different circumstances he may well have let her be, let her feel as though she had done well to defend herself. God’s teeth, how can I find this woman to be so breathtakingly beautiful yet she frustrates me to the point of murder at the same time?
His anger and frustration won over. A low growl escaped his throat as he reached up, grabbed her about her waist and pulled her down to his lap. The look of utter surprise and fear in her eyes brought him a momentary sense of satisfaction.
In the blink of an eye he decided there were times in life when it was better to ask forgiveness than it was to ask permission. Forcefully, he put one hand at the back of her neck and pulled her closer.
This wasn’t happening as he had imagined all these past months. In his daydreams he had imagined their first kiss would have taken place under the moonlit sky while walking along the loch near his castle. Or mayhap on a blanket after sharing a picnic. In those daydreams, Maggy was sweet, demure, and innocent. The kiss would have been tender and soft.
But this was no daydream. He pressed his lips against hers with a firm, hard and unyielding desire that surprised even himself. He wanted her with a passion he’d never felt before, not with any woman. His want of her increased a thousand fold when he realized she was returning his kiss with a zealous passion of her own.
Gawter never kissed me l
ike this! Brazen, hard, passionate! I cannot feel me toes or me fingers! I swear there be lightening bolts flashing in me stomach!
It was impossible to think clearly with his lips so firmly pressed against hers. Her body seemed to grow a mind of its own and for the life of her she could not find the strength to resist. She realized then that she didn’t want to resist, she did not want the kiss to end.
After a time, the kiss softened and turned gentle, as did his hold on her. Maggy drew herself closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. She was losing herself, losing her heart and if she were able to think on it, she was losing her mind.
Just as she was enjoying the way his hands felt as they caressed her back and the way his teeth felt as they nibbled on her bottom lip, a sudden sense of guilt flooded over her.
Ian.
Malcolm Buchannan was still holding him as a prisoner. That is if he still lived. Her son had to be alive for she couldn’t imagine her life without him.
And where was she? Falling into the arms of a man she had known only a short time, letting passions and desires cloud her judgment.
She reclaimed her good senses and pulled away from Findley’s hold.
“Nay!” she said as she tried to catch her breath. “I canna do this!”
She scurried off his lap and raced to the fireplace. Her heart was pounding and her breathing was coming in rapid bursts. She was angry with Findley for kissing her and angry with herself for enjoying it.
“I’ll no’ be yer whore, Findley McKenna,” she said to him over her shoulder. She didn’t have the strength to look at him.
Findley stood, mystified by her statement. “I dunna recall askin’ ye to be me whore, Maggy.”
“What difference does it make? The intent was the same. Ye were tryin’ to win me over with yer bright smile and yer kisses.” She had been won over by both and felt painfully guilty for it.
“It was just a kiss, Maggy, nothin’ more. ’Tisn’t like we--”
She spun on her heels before he could finish. “But ye’d have been glad if I’d let ya…” she searched for the right words. “Let ye do whatever it was ye were plannin’ on doin’!”
Findley's Lass, Book Two of The Clan MacDougall Series Page 12
