Findley's Lass, Book Two of The Clan MacDougall Series
Page 15
After a few more breaths of air, she righted herself and looked about her surroundings. The fog muffled the early morning sounds of the awakening world. Birds chirped and tweeted happily as they fluttered from rooftop to rooftop. A pig squealed in the distance and she heard the whicker of a horse coming from the stables.
“Patrick, do ye think we could walk about for a short while? I’d be grateful to work the kinks out of me back and legs and take in some fresh air.”
Patrick looked nervously toward the inn and debated the suggestion. ’Twas early yet and Maggy had been cooped up all of yesterday taking care of Andrew. Surely there could be no harm in a short walk. He was well armed and as long as they stayed within earshot of the inn all should be well.
“Aye, but a very short walk and we’ll not venture far, lass,” he told her.
Maggy’s smile lit the morning darkness and she appeared relieved as well as grateful. Without thinking, she gave Patrick a hug. “Thank ye Patrick!” she exclaimed before breaking the embrace.
Patrick swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Mayhap Wee William was correct and women were indeed strange, mysterious creatures best left alone.
Maggy looped her hand through Patrick’s arm and together they walked away from the stables and inn. They kept to the rear of buildings while Patrick strained to listen for any signs of trouble. He knew Findley would run him through with his broadsword if he let anything happen to his Maggy.
They had not ventured far before the sky let loose with a heavy rain. Large raindrops pelted their heads and shoulders, and splattered across the black soil. Maggy gasped as she pulled her shawl over her head and looked up at Patrick.
Patrick gave a quick survey of their surroundings. The blacksmith shop was closer than the inn. Grabbing Maggy’s arm again, he ran toward the shop and gave a hard pull on the door. Thankfully, it was not locked and gave way easily. Once they were safely inside, he closed the door closed enough to keep out most of the rain and still allow him to maintain a watchful eye for any signs of trouble.
Maggy removed her shawl and shook the rain from it. The air in the blacksmith shop was heavy and warm from the embers that remained in the forge. Apparently unaffected by the fact that he was nearly soaked to the bone, Patrick stayed near the door.
Maggy walked to the forge and began waving her shawl over it in hopes of it drying. As she fanned the coals, she apologized to Patrick. “I be terribly sorry, Patrick. I didna realize ’twould be rainin’.”
Patrick did not turn from his post. Over his shoulder he replied, “Dunna worrit lass.” He wondered how angry Findley would be if he learned that he and Maggy had been trapped in the barn. While Patrick and the others enjoyed tormenting Findley over his affections for Maggy, he doubted Findley would see any humor in the matter. Still, the image of Findley grinding his teeth and threatening to disembowel them all if they so much as laid a finger on his Maggy, was enough to bring a wry grin to his face.
Maggy was beginning to feel guilty for asking to take a walk. If they weren’t back soon, Richard would begin to worry. She was certain he’d wake Findley and a search would immediately ensue and she had no doubt that he’d be extremely upset with her.
Her stomach tightened with anger. Why did she care if Findley would be upset? Aye, he was making a sacrifice in order to help her get Ian back. But what did he expect as his reward? Her hand in marriage?
He was a braw, handsome man who was showing great kindness to all of them. Her heart longed to be able to trust him, to believe that he was doing all of this for reasons other than what he could gain from it. Mayhap he did have some sort of affection for her, affections or feelings that he’d been unable to share. After all, he had kissed her and that had to mean something.
Her mind still warned her heart however, that men were never moved to do anything if there weren’t a gain of some sort in it for them. The only exceptions to that rule had been her father and brothers. Aye, those were the only honorable men she had ever known. Until now. Could she really trust these men? Or more specifically, Findley.
When she thought back to the conversation she had overheard between Findley and Wee William, the anger began to creep back up. They had talked about her as if she were a filly that needed her temper tamed. Broken was more like it. Findley wanted to crush her spirit and her independence, just like Gawter had done.
It had taken a long time to rebuild the spirit that Gawter had taken from her. Maggy was not ready to give that up, not for Findley nor any other man. She had made a promise to herself that she’d never let another man treat her as Gawter had, with a cold and spiteful heart.
Nay, she’d been alone too long. She had grown to like her independence and not having to answer to anyone but herself. She’d not give that up no matter how much she had enjoyed Findley’s kiss or the way she felt when she had been wrapped in his arms.
’Twas merely a physical reaction, or so she tried to convince herself. She was a grown woman for heaven’s sake! She wasn’t naive enough to believe that only men had physical needs.
As soon as Andrew was better, they’d be leaving for the abbey. Findley would leave her and her sons while he went off to rescue Ian. How many weeks would it be before they returned? How long would she have to remain cosseted behind the abbey walls waiting?
As if she weren’t capable of offering some sort of help in getting her son back. As if she were incapable because she’d been born a woman and therefore, couldn’t form her own thoughts, ideas or solutions to problems.
As if I’d wait patiently behind like a docile lamb. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Escape was not an viable option for she knew Findley would find her in very little time.
Mayhap Findley’s only reasons for leaving her behind was so that he rescue Ian and return as the valiant hero. Did he mean to sweep her off her feet? Did he hope she’d be so impressed with his skills that she’d lose all of her good senses and agree to marry him? And how would he behave afterward, if she did agree to such a union? Would he remain the honorable man she was beginning to have feelings for or would he end up like Gawter; cold, cruel and uncaring?
She could not risk it. There was too much at stake. He couldn’t possibly want her, or her heart. Nay, it had to be all that she and Liam could give him.
Fuming with anger she waved the shawl more vigorously over the embers. He knows the truth yet pretends he does not. ’Tisn’t me he wants, but all that Liam and I can give him. ’Tis the land, the title, the power, and nothing more.
She vowed she would not allow him to leave her at the abbey. There had to be a way out of this, a way to keep her dignity intake and her heart her own.
If only she had a weapon. Armed, she might be able to force him in to at least listen to her. Nay, he’d just lie and agree with her until she put the weapon down, then go on with his plans like the pig-headed Highlander that he was.
As she cursed under her breath, her eyes fell to an object that hung on the wall just a few steps away. She cast a quick glance at Patrick who still stood at the doorway with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes focused on the area surrounding them.
Her pulse quickened as hope began to build. A devious smile came to her lips as a plan began to unfold in her mind. Her prayers had been answered. Nay, Findley, ye’ll not be leaving me so soon after all.
Sixteen
Malcolm Buchannan gave an approving nod as he stood in the center of the large gathering room. He could not remember a time it had ever been this clean. Nor could he remember a time that the women of his clan had been this happy. He also could not remember his men ever being this sorely disappointed in him.
"We're warriors for the sake of Christ!" Almer shouted as he stomped across the room toward Malcolm.
"What be yer problem this fine, beautiful mornin' Almer?" Malcolm asked as he calmly crossed his arms over his chest.
Almer's face was alight with fury. His dark brows furrowed giving him the appearance of having a larg
e wooly-worm resting above his eyes. He came to an abrupt stop a few steps away from Malcolm and dared not to get too close to his leader for he no longer trusted the man.
Almer shook his head. "The problem? The problem is yer lettin' the women folk drag me men away from trainin' in order to clean the keep! The problem is ye've got men scrubbing walls and washing windows! The problem is yer spending money on draperies and fabrics and nonsense!" He wagged his finger at Malcolm.
Malcolm remained steady. He momentarily debated running his dirk across Almer's throat but decided against it. The floors had just been scrubbed and new rushes laid down. Gertie, the woman he'd put in charge of the keep, would likely beat him with her broom if he bloodied up the newly cleaned gathering room. Malcolm stifled a chuckle and wondered how many years had passed since he worried over angering a woman.
"And yer problem with that is...?"
Almer huffed. "Ye've lost yer mind!" He swallowed hard as fear flickered momentarily in his dark eyes. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had crossed the line. Certain that he'd be dead in the span of a few heartbeats, he took a step backward.
Malcolm tilted his head. "Ye think I've lost me mind?" he asked, proud that he was holding his temper in check. "Ye think I've lost me mind because I've got the women folk happily cleanin' the keep?"
"And the men are forced into helpin'," Almer added.
"And what be wrong with the men helpin' to reach places the women folk canna reach?"
Almer didn't answer. He was too busy trying to figure out a means of escape to save his own life.
"Almer," Malcolm began "I'm sure ye ken well why I'm doin' what I'm doin'."
When Almer remained silent, Malcolm continued. "Do ye worry I've gone soft? Merely because I be preparing the keep fer me future wife?" He studied the silent man standing before him for a moment. More likely than not, the rest of his men were thinking along similar lines.
"I can assure ye, Almer, that I've not lost me mind. Nor have I gone soft. I'm merely having the keep prepared for Maggy. She's a fine woman who is used to the finer things in life. I ken ye think I should just drag her here by her long red tresses and plant my seed in her against her will, but I'll no' be doin' that."
Almer noticeably flinched when Malcolm uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands behind his back. Malcolm was pleased to see that he was still capable of evoking fear in a man.
"My plan is to gently win the woman over for that is the kind of woman she be. Maggy be no' bar wench, no scullery maid, no whore," he told Almer as he took a step toward him. "Think of battle Almer. Do ye go against every man in the same fashion? Or do ye adjust yerself for each man ye go up against? Do ye no' look for his strengths as well as his weaknesses and use both against him? Or do ye just go in swingin' yer mace at anythin' that moves?"
Malcolm nodded his head in approval when he saw Almer's expression change from fear to confusion before finally turning to understanding. "That's right, Almer, ye adjust yerself for each battle. Ye get to know yer enemy before ye take him down."
"So this is all just a ruse?" Almer asked.
"Aye, that it is. Once I've shown the lass what she wants to see and get what I want from her, I assure ye that things will go back to the way they were."
Almer's lips began to curve into a smile. "We'll go back to trainin' instead of cleanin'?"
Malcolm nodded his head.
"And we'll go back to takin' what we want instead of askin’?"
Another nod from Malcolm caused the man's smile to broaden.
"And no more makin' the men to bathe every other day?"
Malcolm laughed. "Nay, ye'll still be made to bathe. I didna realize just how badly the lot of ye stank!"
~~~
Ian watched quietly from the alcove. He had known all along that it was too much to pray for that a man like Malcolm Buchannan would suddenly change into a good and decent man. Ian knew that no matter what Malcolm did to portray himself as a kind and decent person, deep down he was still the same evil man.
Ian had decided days ago to play along. They had moved him out of the small, dank room and into a nicer chamber near Malcolm's own bedchamber. Ian still kept track of the days by scratching marks on the wall. He prayed it would not be much longer before his mum and brothers came to rescue him from this place.
His heart ached with missing his mum and brothers. He had no idea how they would actually go about freeing him from Malcolm, but knowing his family, they would do whatever they could to rescue him.
He would do what he must to convince Malcolm that he was warming to him and believed the lies the man told. By doing so, he would be able to learn more of Malcolm's plans and in the end, it might just end up helping his family.
Seventeen
"Yer a fool!"
Findley took a deep breath as he tried to reign in his anger. If he did not know better, he would think Maggy was intentionally trying to anger him.
"Lass, I'm sorry," he told her between clenched teeth.
"Ye can be as sorry as ye want, it does no’ change the fact that yer a fool," she shot back at him.
He took another deep breath. "Lass, ye've been yellin' at me fer nearly a quarter of an hour now and I still do no' know what I've done to anger ye so."
"Bah!" she said. "I could tell ye and draw ye pictures and ye still would no' understand anything. Yer a fool and an eejit!"
Findley sighed heavily and rubbed his palms over his face. He was gaining no ground with her and he was not getting any closer to finding out what he had done to offend her.
"Lass," he said. He spoke softly in an attempt to calm her.
"Do no' try being kind now!"
"I'm merely attempting to make amends with ye," he said quietly.
"Amends? Amends?" Maggy began pacing around the room. This was not going to be as easy as she had thought. Why must he be so insufferably calm?
"Ye want to make amends? I do no' think that is possible, for ye be a foolish, eejit of a man." If he didn't get angry soon, she would have to move on with her second plan, a plan she did not want to use.
Findley stood with his fingertips resting on his narrow hips. It was all Maggy could do to keep from running to him, begging forgiveness and begging him to kiss her as he had done yesterday. But she knew that one kiss would not be enough and it would seriously interfere with her plan.
“Maggy,” he said, sounding quite tired, “forgive me.”
He looked forlorn, lost and if she didn’t know better, quite sorry. Her heart wanted very much to tell him the truth. All of the truth, from her true identity and why Malcolm Buchannan wanted to marry her, to why she was purposely trying to anger him. Reminding herself there was more at stake than Findley’s feelings, she pushed further.
“I’ll no’ forgive ye,” she told him and hoped he did not see her trembling fingers. She was about to cross a line she had no true desire to cross. She had to stay her current course for her second plan of action would throw her own heart into such despair she doubted she’d ever be able to overcome it. It was cowardice that propelled her forward and nothing more.
“I’ll no forgive ye and ye’ll not find yer redemption with me. Yer a coward Findley McKenna.”
His response was not what she had expected. He was supposed to have yelled back, called her a few choice names and mayhap thrown a chair or two against the wall. Then he was to have stormed off and not returned until he was well into his cups. That was how Gawter would have responded. She was quickly learning that Findley McKenna was nothing like her dead husband. Findley McKenna was not like any man she had ever known.
Hurting him had not been her intention. But hurt was exactly what she saw when she finally had the courage to turn and look at him. Pain and sorrow were etched in his handsome face and she’d give anything to take it back.
Before she could find her voice to whisper an apology, Findley shored up his shoulders, pursed his lips together and cast her a disdainful look as he left the room.
“What have I done?”
~~~
Findley sat alone at a table tucked into a dark corner of the inn. He was on his sixth tankard of ale when his brother, Richard, appeared and sat in the chair opposite his own.
Richard sat quietly, studying his brother. While he had not heard the words spoken between his brother and Maggy, he had heard a good deal of Maggy’s shouting through the walls that separated their rooms. Whatever his brother had done, it had definitely upset her. As he looked at his brother, who was tossing back the remainder of his ale and waving at the comely bar wench to bring another, Richard knew his brother was drinking with a purpose.
“What did ye do to anger Maggy so?” Richard finally asked.
Findley huffed and shook his head. “I’ll be damned if I ken.”
Richard turned in his seat and stretched out his long legs. Getting information from his brother would be like pulling teeth from a bear.
“Ye dunnae what ye’ve done?” Richard asked as he adjusted his broadsword to rest across his lap. “Did she no’ tell ya?”
“Ha!” Findley laughed and thanked the bar wench, who set two tankards of ale on the table. “Keep them comin’ lass and do no’ stop until I’ve slid under the table. And then still bring them and pour them down me throat until my heart no longer beats and keep bringin’ them for a fortnight after they’ve set me body in the hard, cold earth.”
The plump young woman rolled her eyes and walked away. Apparently she’d seen many men in a similar state as Findley’s and was not shocked by the request.