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

by Suzan Tisdale

  “He’s thrown up thrice in the past quarter hour,” Richard answered as he raked a hand through his hair.

  “Does he have a fever?” Findley asked as his worry increased.

  “Nay,” Richard said. “But the runs have set in as well. We’ve not enough chamber pots to keep up with the lad.”

  Findley’s stomach tightened with worry. If Andrew were contagious there was a great risk that the rest of them would become ill. That thought left a great sense of unease in his chest. While the abbey was not far from town, he couldn’t very well leave a group of sick people with the monks. And forcing his men to travel whilst throwing up and fighting the runs would make for a less than delightful journey.

  Maggy was dressed and standing beside him before he had time to think on it further.

  “’Tis Andrew?” she asked, the sound of her voice giving Findley a start. He turned toward her and he could see the worry and exhaustion etched on her face.

  Richard nodded his head. “Aye, I’m afraid so, lass.”

  She gave a quick nod to both men and headed down the hallway with Richard and Findley following close behind.

  Maggy hurried to Andrew. He was sitting on one chamber pot whilst he threw up into another.

  “Och! Lad!” Maggy said as she felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “Ye’ve no fever,” she said quietly.

  The other boys were awake and standing together watching their brother. Maggy looked at each of them. “Are any of ye feeling unwell?”

  Each of the boys shook their heads and mumbled a nay. Maggy turned her attention back to Andrew. “Do ye have pains, lad?”

  ’Twas all he could do to nod his head. “In me guts,” he mumbled. “I think this is what it’d feel like to be run through with a dirk.”

  Maggy felt his cheeks again. He was clammy, pale and dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes.

  As she spoke gentle words of comfort to her son, Findley came and stood beside her and gently rested his hand upon her shoulder. “Lass, tell us what ye need and we’ll see to it.”

  Maggy could see the sincerity and concern in Findley’s eyes. For some inexplicable reason, his hand on her shoulder and the genuine concern made her feel better. And for the first time in many years she did not feel alone.

  “Milk thistle would be best if ye can find it. But ginger will work as well,” she said. “But where ye’ll find either at this hour, I dunnae.”

  Findley gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Do no’ worry over it. We’ll find it.”

  Maggy nodded, having no doubt in her mind that they would. “Thank ye Findley,” she told him. “I’ll be needed some warm water and compresses as well. And I’ll need a kettle to brew the milk thistle tea with.”

  She turned her attention back to her son. “I’m sure ye’ll be fine soon enough, Andrew,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile. She hoped her worried heart did not belie her words. She was worried but did not want to let Andrew know.

  As long as he did not draw a fever, he should be well in a day or two. Maggy hoped that this current bout of illness would pass quickly and prayed that no one else would come down with the ailment.

  Within moments, Findley sent Richard and Patrick in search of the items Maggy had requested. He took the other lads to the room next door so they might get some rest and told them not to worry too much over Andrew.

  ~~~

  It had taken Richard and Patrick less than an hour to find the items that Maggy had requested. They returned to the room to find Andrew still doubled over in pain and vomiting. Neither man could hide their worry.

  Like nervous fathers, Findley and his men paced the hallway outside the bedchamber. Findley worried that the other boys and mayhap his men, might come down with whatever was plaguing Andrew. This could set their plan back by days, if not weeks. He felt instantly guilty for worrying about the delay instead of worrying about the boy. As a warrior and leader, he not only had to worry about those people he was responsible for, but he must also concern himself with the mission at hand. He wished Angus were there to take over the responsibility of worrying about the mission so that he might concentrate fully on Maggy and the boys.

  They’d not been in the hallway long when Maggy stepped out of the room holding a very full and smelly chamber pot. Richard took it from her with the offer to dispose of it properly so that she might stay by Andrew’s side.

  So it went for the next several hours, Maggy handing filled chamber pots to one man or another in exchange for clean ones. Andrew had vomited to the point that he had now had dry-heaves but the diarrhea would not subside.

  Maggy sent Patrick off to find large stones. He hesitated for a moment when she made her request.

  “Do no’ worry, Patrick,” she said with a tired smile. “I mean not to pummel ye with them. I want to be warmin’ them in the fire for Andrew’s stomach.”

  She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when Patrick blew out a sigh of relief. He returned a short time later with good-sized stones and helped Maggy set them in the fire. It didn’t take long before the stones were hot and she could wrap them in cloths so that Andrew could hold them against his stomach. As sick as he was, Andrew still apologized repeatedly for delaying their quest.

  “Wheest, lad!” she told him more than once. “I’ll no’ have ye worrin’ over it. I think we all could use a day or two of rest. We’ll have yer brother back before you ken it, Andrew.”

  “But had I not gotten ill we’d be even closer to getting’ him back,” he retorted weakly.

  Maggy didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. Sick or not, the only people who would have been any closer to getting Ian back were Findley and his men. Had Andrew not taken ill, they would, at this very moment be locked away at the monastery.

  While Maggy was dreadfully worried over her son, she was glad for the delay. It would give her time to think of a plan, to come up with some way to not be locked away whilst Findley and his men rode on to Aberdeen without her. She tried to think of a means of escape but knew escape would be quite difficult with four young boys in tow, especially if they were all ill. She prayed often that Findley would not abandon her just yet, for if the rest of the boys grew ill, she would need his help.

  Dawn had come and gone hours ago and none of them had slept well. Maggy’s back ached from sitting on the small stool next to Andrew. Her legs burned from the constant up and down of tending to her son.

  Before she realized it, noon time had come and gone. Andrew was finally able to remove himself from the chamber pot and lie down on the bed. He was weak and exhausted and his stomach and bum were quite sore.

  Maggy knew it would be at least another day or two before they’d be able to resume their trek. That was unless the others came down with the same ailment. She didn’t know which was worse; having all the boys sick at once or having it drag out for days on end with little to no rest for any of them.

  She kept a watchful eye on her son while he slept fitfully in the bed. Her body had grown numb but she could not bring herself to leave his side just yet. Repeatedly, she would reach out to touch his cheeks and forehead and each time, send a prayer of thanks up to the good Lord for keeping fevers away.

  Fourteen

  “So, lad,” Malcolm asked as he placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Does me clean face meet with yer approval?”

  Ian stared up with eyes wide at his captor. He didn’t have the courage to tell the man that no matter if he bathed a hundred times a day or shaved thrice daily, his mum would still not marry him. He nodded his head but remained quiet.

  A broad smile came to Malcolm’s face before he threw his head back and laughed loudly. Ian could only stand on trembling feet and stare as the man’s belly shook with laughter.

  After several long moments, Malcolm’s laughter subsided but his smile remained on his face. Ian did his best to keep his legs from shaking but it was quite difficult. He wasn’t sure which terrified him more: an angry Malcolm Buchannan
or a happy one.

  “Lad,” Malcolm said as he turned Ian and began to walk. “I fear yer still mightily afraid of me.”

  Ian swallowed hard. The last thing he wanted to do was to say something that would anger the Buchannan.

  Malcolm chuckled and gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I canna say that I blame ye, lad. I imagine I’d be pissin’ me pants with fear as well, were I in yer shoes.” He smiled thoughtfully as he led the boy down the stairs to the large gathering room.

  “Do ye see how we’re cleanin’ our keep, lad?” Malcolm asked with a touch of pride to his voice.

  Ian looked around the large room and was quite surprised to see the moldy rushes and dog poop had been removed. The room was full of women who were scrubbing floors and washing walls. A young woman, heavy with child, was industriously scrubbing the layers of smoke from the stones of the fireplace.

  Though the faint scent of urine still hung in the air, the sight before him was a vast improvement over days past. Still, he knew that no matter how clean the Buchannan or his keep became, his mum would never agree to marry him.

  “Do ye think yer mum would be pleased with the improvements, lad?” Malcolm asked hopefully.

  “Aye,” Ian muttered.

  Malcolm nodded his head and led Ian out the large door and down the stairs into the courtyard. In a matter of moments, four, large and mangy dogs charged towards them. Ian’s eyes grew wide, instantly terrified the animals were going to attack. Reflexively, he jumped behind Malcolm and held on for dear life.

  He could hear Malcolm laughing as he reached around and grabbed Ian. “No worries lad!” he told him. “I’ll no’ let them bring ye any harm!”

  Ian’s eyes were closed tightly and he braced himself for an attack. He did not trust anything Malcolm Buchannan might say. He could still hear Malcolm laughing as the man bent down.

  “There’s a good dog!” Malcolm said playfully. “Did ye miss me, lassie?”

  Ian held his breath and waited for gnarled teeth to start eating away at his limbs. A short time passed and nothing happened. His curiosity was piqued, forcing him to chance taking a look. Slowly, he opened one eye.

  There before him on the steps of the keep was Malcolm Buchannan lying on his back being licked to death by the four dogs. Malcolm was petting the animals, talking to them as if they were bairns, and laughing loudly.

  Ian was astonished to see the man behaving in such a manner. He almost appeared human.

  One of the dogs took notice of Ian and came bouncing up the stairs. It was a large, gray, wiry-haired beast whose face was level with Ian’s chin. The dog playfully put his front paws on Ian’s chest and when he stood on his hind legs he was a good two heads taller than Ian. The dog began an all out assault with his tongue. Ian couldn’t help but giggle as the dog pushed forward with more force and knocked Ian down.

  The remaining three dogs heard Ian’s laughter and came to join in the tongue attack. Before Ian realized it, all four dogs were playfully sniffing and licking at him as they stepped all over him. Ian couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much.

  For a few short moments, he forgot where he was and why he was there. But when he looked up and saw the smile on Malcolm’s face, he remembered. He supposed it would be all right for him to play with the dogs, but he’d do his best not to forget that Malcolm Buchannan could not be trusted.

  Fifteen

  Maggy had dozed on and off refusing to leave Andrew’s side until she knew the worst of his ailment was over. When the dark of evening fell and Andrew said he might like to try eating a bit of bread, she felt very relieved. She continued to keep a watchful eye on her other sons for any sign that they might become ill.

  Findley had made several attempts throughout the day to get Maggy to rest and eat. The only time she accepted his offer to sit with Andrew was when she took a few moments to tend to her own necessary needs.

  Findley did his best to hold his tongue and not argue with her need to remain at Andrew’s side. He admired her devotion to her son but worried that she would exhaust herself to the point of becoming ill as well.

  It wasn’t until she saw that Andrew could keep the bread and light broth down that she finally agreed to leave his side to rest, much to Findley’s relief. He left her alone to tend to her ablutions while he met with his men at the end of the dark corridor.

  “I doubt Andrew will be able to sit a saddle for a day or two,” Wee William said.

  Findley and the others agreed. “Aye, and we dunna ken if any of us might contract the same illness,” Richard whispered.

  “’Twould be wrong to leave them at the abbey just yet. I’m sure the monks wouldna appreciate us leaving them with a group of sick people,” Patrick offered.

  Findley chewed on the situation at hand for a few moments before finally speaking up. “’Tis agreed then,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll wait two days more, and if none of us become ill, we’ll take them to the abbey.”

  The men agreed, with nods of their heads and Wee William offered to take the first watch. Findley was beginning to grow fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep. He had been up all night and day, in case Maggy or Andrew needed him.

  He tapped gently on the door of the chamber he shared with Maggy. When no reply came, he knocked again, a bit louder. He paused for a moment before slowly opening the door in case she was indisposed.

  He found her asleep in the bed, still fully dressed. Her long, silky, auburn hair spread over her shoulders and onto the pillows. Her beautiful face rested on her hands and her legs and feet were curled up under her skirts.

  ’Twas a sweet and beautiful sight and it warmed his heart. Careful not to wake her, he quietly closed the door. Taking the blanket from the end of the bed, he covered her with it. Standing quietly in the warm glow of the fireplace, he watched her sleep.

  For a moment, he was quite tempted to crawl into the bed and lie down next to her. What he would not give for just a moment to hold her in his arms. A moment would not have been long enough. Nay, he wanted an entire lifetime.

  He shook the thought away. Now was not the appropriate time to be thinking such things, no matter how pleasant simply holding her might be. He pulled off his boots and spread his plaid on the floor to face another restless night. If he didn’t get to Ian soon, he was going to lose his mind.

  ~~~

  When the cock crowed at dawn the next morn, Maggy damned the hapless bird to the bowels of Hades. Grumbling under her breath, she wearily pulled herself from the warm feather bed. Findley was still asleep on the floor in front of the fire.

  Maggy rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stretched and took a deep breath all the while doing her best not to let her eyes linger on Findley’s resting form. He was lying on his back with an arm draped across his forehead, his bare chest rising and falling slowly with each breath he took.

  Even in sleep his muscles seemed to be chiseled from stone. His chest, with its mass of soft-looking hair swirling over it, made her breath hitch. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it or to rest her head against it.

  Chastising herself for such thoughts, she pulled on her boots, grabbed her shawl and quietly stepped out of the room. Richard was on watch, dutifully perched on a chair between the two rooms the lads shared. From his vantage point, he could see anyone who might be ascending the stairs.

  When he saw Maggy softly closing the door behind her, he jumped to his feet with a questioning look.

  “Be there a problem lass?” he asked.

  “Nay, Richard. I simply need to use the privy,” she told him.

  “I canna let ye go unattended, lass,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “We’ve chamber pots.”

  ’Twas far too early in the morning to be arguing such nonsense. “I’m well aware of that Richard. But Findley sleeps still and I will not be using a chamber pot whilst he sleeps but a few steps away.” She pursed her lips and stood taller.

  Richard sta
red down at her with a firm look of his own. “Lass, I canna allow ye to go alone. Me brother would kill me.”

  She really didn’t care one way or another if Findley would be angry. Her bladder was full and begged for relief. “Richard, I am a full grown woman and I am perfectly capable of tending to my own needs. I do not need an escort, what I need is the privy. Now kindly step aside and let me pass.”

  Richard let out a heavy sigh. “Wait here. I’ll have Patrick go with ye.”

  He held up a hand to stop her protests. “Lass, we dunna ken if any Buchannans are about. We need to be vigilant.”

  Although she knew he was right it did nothing to make her feel better. She would be glad when this ordeal was over and her life could get back to normal. She shook her head at the notion of normal. Her life had been far from normal for many years.

  Patrick appeared after a few moments looking quite tired but untroubled at having been awakened to escort Maggy. “Mornin’, Maggy,” he said, his voice rough and sleepy.

  Padding softly down the stairs with Patrick leading the way, they made their way out of the inn and to the rear of the establishment. ’Twas not yet light out and not a star could be seen through the early morning fog. Maggy could smell the threat of rain in the distance, as well as the foul-smelling privy that stood a good fifty yards east of the stables

  As they drew nearer she wondered if a tree might not be preferable to the foul smelling privy. Giving the horizon a quick look for a tree, she realized there were none close enough. She would simply hold her breath and move as quickly as possible.

  Her lungs were close to bursting by the time she finished. She pushed through the privy door and ran as fast as she could away from the disgusting smell. Patrick grinned as he quickly fell in behind her.

  “Not the best way to start yer mornin’, is it lass?” he said with a chuckle.

  Maggy stopped half way between the inn and the privy and rested her hands on her knees. She took deep gulps of air and tried to settle her stomach. Shaking her head, she said, “Nay, ’tisn’t, Patrick.” But it was still far more appealing than trying to use a chamber pot within ear and eyeshot of Findley.