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

by Suzan Tisdale

  As they turned to face the well-wishers, Findley bent down and whispered in her ear. “Are ye ready to admit yet that ye find me handsome?”

  Maggy couldn’t remove the smile from her face. “Aye, as far as pig-headed lummoxes go, ye be handsome enough.”

  Findley quirked an eyebrow and gave her a wink. “’Tis a step in the right direction.”

  “And if ye kiss me like that again, husband, I’m apt to admit to anything,” she teased him and gave his hand a squeeze.

  In a matter of moments, they were swarmed and pulled apart by their families and friends and nearly suffocated with hugs and well wishes. As Maggy and Findley stood in the middle of the crowd, they found each other with their eyes.

  They smiled at each other from a distance. Findley gave her a wink before mouthing the words, “I love ye.” Maggy blushed and returned his words.

  It would be a good many hours before the celebration died down and they could slip quietly away to their room. At the moment, neither really cared, for they knew they had the rest of their lives to spend loving each other. And that’s just as it should be.

  Epilogue

  ’Twas a few weeks before Christmas tide when Maggy fell ill. Morning, noon, and night, she was throwing up and when she wasn’t throwing up, she was sleeping. None of the herbs or teas that Beatrice brought to her had helped to calm her stomach. Dark circles had formed under her eyes and her color had gone deathly pale.

  The healer had been called to tend to her and now they were locked away in Findley and Maggy’s bedchamber. ’Twas the eve of Christmas and Findley and his boys were pacing the halls awaiting news of Maggy. Findley was on the verge of breaking the door down if someone did not allow him entry very soon.

  Ian and Liam were huddled together at the end of the hallway. Robert and Andrew paced opposite each other, while Collin traced his new da’s footsteps and followed close behind.

  After a time, Ian came racing up to Findley, his eyes filled with tears. “Da!” he said as he grabbed Findley about the leg and refused to let go. “Liam says if mum dies, ye’ll no’ be our da anymore and ye’ll send us away!”

  Findley’s heart felt lodged in this throat. He didn’t want to think of losing Maggy. They’d gone through too much to have it all simply ripped away.

  He scooped Ian up and hugged him close to his chest. “Ian, yer mum will be fine, dunna worrit!” he whispered, hoping if he said it enough times it might turn out to be true.

  But Maggy had been so ill! She couldn’t keep even a plain broth down and it seemed as if the life was slowly draining from her. Though she did her best to maintain her spirits and tried not to have them worry over her. When she had asked Findley to summon the healer, he nearly keeled over from the fright. She must be seriously ill to call someone away from a family Christmas celebration. He couldn’t lose her. She was his whole world.

  When Findley opened his eyes, he noticed all the boys were looking up to him. He hadn’t answered Ian’s burning question.

  “Lads, do no’ worry over yer mum, she’ll be well and fine in no time. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be yer da. I’d never send a one of ye away.”

  “Do ye promise?” Ian sniffed and wiped away his tears with the palms of his hands.

  “Aye, I do so promise!” Findley gave him a hug before setting him to his feet.

  His thoughts turned back to Maggy. Please Lord, keep me wife safe and let her be well, Findley prayed silently as he resumed his pacing. He needed Maggy like he needed air. Without her, he was nothing.

  Findley paused in front of a tall window that looked out onto the rolling lands of Maldreigh Castle. Together, he and Maggy and the boys were making this their home.

  Together Maggy and Findley made plans on how they could bring Maldreigh back to the glorious place it had been long ago. Come spring, they’d plant crops, invest in cattle and sheep, and in a few years they felt they’d be on their way to having a productive castle and plenty of wealth to feed their growing boys.

  But then Maggy had suddenly taken ill. And now she was sequestered behind the chamber door with the healer and no one was telling Findley a damned thing! He paced and worried, his heart growing heavier with each passing moment. Findley had grown tired of waiting. If they wouldn’t allow him entry, he’d bust down the door!

  Just as he was raising his hand to pound on the door, it opened slowly. The healer, a woman nearly as auld as dirt with long gray hair and more wrinkles than teeth, looked up at him with an irritated scowl.

  “Och! Ye nearly scared me to death, m’laird! Ye shouldn’t do that to an auld women!”

  Findley was irritated and about to tell her to get out of his way so that he could go be with his dying wife when the auld woman shook her head and clucked her tongue at him. “Ye can go see her now,” she said. “But mind ye! Do no’ upset her!”

  Findley swallowed, suddenly frozen with fear. “How is she? Will she live?”

  The auld woman shook her head again. With all the wrinkles and missing teeth, it was rather difficult to tell if she was scowling, frowning, or smiling.

  “Och! She’s news fer ye. She wanted to tell ye herself,” the old woman shook her head again. “I warn ye, lad, do no’ upset her none! She’s in a verra fragile state and she needs her rest.”

  Findley felt his heart fall to his toes. Nay! She couldn’t be dying! He needed her, didn’t she know that? Anger, grief, and sadness blended together and brought tears to his eyes.

  The auld woman stepped aside and he raced to Maggy’s side. He knelt by the bed as he took her hands in his. The boys appeared, looking heartbroken, solemn and very afraid for their mum.

  “Maggy,” Findley spoke, choking back tears.

  “Husband!” Maggy smiled up at him until she saw his eyes brimming with tears and sorrow. “What be the matter?” she asked as she tried to sit. Were they under attack? Had someone died?

  “Maggy, I love ye,” Findley said as he squeezed her hands. “The healer didna,” he cleared his throat. “Should I make the boys wait in the hall while ye speak with me?”

  Maggy tilted her head a bit confused by the look on Findley’s face. “Nay! Husband, tell me, what be wrong?”

  “I dunnae! The healer said ye wanted to speak with me,” he swallowed again, never before feeling this weak or befuddled.

  “Aye, I do, but ye look so sad! Are ye no’ happy?”

  Findley shook his head. Mayhap she had little time left and was growing delirious. The thought nearly did him in.

  “Happy? What have I to be happy about if yer dyin’?” he whispered as he buried his head in her hands.

  “Dyin’?” Maggy asked. “Who said I be dyin’?” Had the healer told Findley something she did not share with Maggy? Was Findley here to tell her she was not long for this world? She certainly felt that way, with her queasy stomach and spinning head.

  Findley looked very puzzled. “She didna say it outright, but Maggy, ye’ve been so ill for weeks now! Tell me,” he said, bracing himself for the worst. “What did the healer say?”

  Maggy bit her lip to keep from laughing. Now she understood. They were all worried because she’d been so sick and the healer hadn’t told them what was the matter.

  “Well, I be no’ dyin’,” she said as she tried to sit up. She looked at her boys and could tell that Ian had been crying. They all looked very worried about her and that warmed her heart to no end.

  “Lads! Please, yer sorry faces do me no good! And Findley,” she said with a warm smile. “Ye worry over nothin’ that won’t be solved come summer.”

  He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved, angry or sad. He supposed it was all of those things. She had only until summer bloomed across the valley! Aye, he should be very glad for having a few more months with his beloved wife, but his heart ached with realizing it was nowhere near enough time. He hoped her illness would not leave her suffering and lingering. That was no way for a beautiful lass to die!

  Maggy rolled her eyes an
d punched Findley in the shoulder. “Husband! Please! Ye look like ye’ve lost yer best friend!”

  Tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. His lovely, sweet, optimistic Maggy! Even with the news she’d received, she still held her good humor. Och! He’d miss her!

  “Findley,” she said plainly. “I be no’ dyin’. I be no’ goin’ anywhere for a verra long time. I’ve no illness, ye fool!”

  He wiped away the tears and smiled thoughtfully at her. “Maggy, I love ye. Tell me true, lass!”

  She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Ye are a fool. And a pig-headed lummox to boot! I be no’ dyin! I be carryin’ yer child!”

  His face went blank and he sat taller. He looked as though someone had just punched him in the stomach. “What?”

  “I’m with child, ye eejit! Yer child. Our child!” she let the words sink in to his thick skull. Och, she had married a tetched man.

  Had he not been sitting, he surely would have fainted from the shock. His hands shook as a new wave of emotions came over him. Aye, he was a father to five boys by adoption, but now? Now he’d be a father to his own flesh and blood.

  The boys erupted into shouts of joy, while Findley paled further.

  “Ye won’t have a girl, will ye?” Liam asked, his face twisted into a look of disgust.

  Maggy laughed at him. “We’ll have whatever the good Lord deems we should have,” she said as she held out her hands for a hug.

  The boys came to her one by one, giving her hugs and kisses and words of encouragement. She took note that Findley remained seated, looking nearly as ill as she felt. With a smile, she ordered the boys to go and enjoy the celebration below stairs.

  She waited until the door closed behind them before turning her attention to her husband. He was staring at something on the wall, muttering under his breath and appeared visibly shaken by the news. It wasn’t the response she had expected.

  “Husband?” she whispered as she took his hand in hers. “Are ye no’ happy?”

  Findley’s mind had been racing for several minutes. How could she remain so calm at a time like this? He had resigned himself to the fact that she was dying, only to learn she was carrying his babe. He wasn’t sure which one shocked his senses more.

  He was stumbling over his own tongue and the only word he could manage to utter was how? He meant to ask how she could be so calm at a time like this. How could she be so relaxed and content when she was so ill? How on earth was he going to be a father? Suddenly he felt very weak and ill prepared for the task.

  Maggy raised an eyebrow at him. “Findley, are ye serious?” she asked. “Surely ye understand how this happened! We canna be lovin’ each other mornin’, noon and night like we have and no’ expect a child to be the result!” Not only was he tetched, he was a bit slow as well! How, indeed!

  Findley couldn’t resist the smile that came to his lips. “Lass, I ken the how of it! I meant, how can ye be so calm?”

  Men. “Husband, I’ve been pregnant before. Although I must admit I was never this sick with Liam. I suppose I’m this ill because I carry your child and he’s sure to be just as stubborn as his father. But I’ll no’ allow him to grow to be as pig-headed.”

  Findley chuckled and squeezed her hand. “And if it be a girl child ye carry, I’ll no’ let her be as hot-tempered as her mum!”

  “Hot tempered? Me? I ken not what ye speak of!” Maggy chortled. “When a man grows angry and speaks his mind, he’s considered strong and intelligent. Let a woman act the same way and she’s hot-tempered. I dunna see the equality in that!”

  Suddenly he felt quite fearful. A daughter? If she were half as beautiful as her mother, he’d have to spend most of his time fending off the lads. He’d need more swords. He’d need to build a mote around their castle to keep potential ne’er-do-wells and defilers of her virtue away. He’d need more men who would swear their fealty and allegiance to protect her honor.

  He would need more men like Wee William! Aye, if he had a few dozen men as tall, big, strong and honorable as Wee William, he’d no’ have to worry about the countless fools who would be tripping over their tongues to get to his precious, innocent daughter!

  Eunuchs. Dozens of them and all as big as Wee William. ’Twould be the only way to protect his beautiful daughter’s virtue.

  “Findley?” Maggy was trying to gain his attention.

  “Aye,” he mumbled before looking down into her green eyes. Och! Those eyes! If his daughter had those same eyes, he knew he was doomed. He’d never be able to deny those eyes anything. He was going to make a most miserable father!

  “Findley!” she repeated. “Ye look ill!”

  “I’m perfectly fine, wife!” he shook his head at her. Didn’t she realize they had much to do to prepare for their daughter’s arrival?

  “Och! I swear ye’ll be the death of me!”

  “Hold yer temper, wife! I’ve much to do!”

  Maggy looked up at him. He could tell she was confused. Women.

  “And what do ye have to do? I’m the one who has to carry this babe, then birth him, then there’s the feedin’, the changin’, the bathin’-”

  Findley touched her lips with his finger. “Aye, but I be her da! I’ve motes to have dug, more men to bring in to protect her, weapons to amass! ’Tis a great responsibility you’re puttin’ on me wife!”

  Aye, she’d married a tetched, pig-headed man. Her heart swelled with love and pride. He may be tetched and pig-headed, but she loved him. He was strong, braw, loyal and very honorable. He was already a wonderful father to her boys so she felt confident that he’d do well with all of the children they would have. And they would have many, many children.

  He was going on about how he needed to protect their daughter from men who would want to steal away her virtue and her heart, but she wasn’t listening too closely. She was studying his face and marveled at how handsome he was, even when he was angry, as he was now, already worrying over the safety of a daughter that had yet to be born!

  She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Aye, he was going to make a wonderful father, even if he was a pig-headed fool. A verra handsome, pig-headed fool.

  Prologue

  Wee William’s Woman

  Winter, 1345

  Winter was unrelenting. It held on as fiercely as a Highland warrior to his sword; it refused to let loose its grip and allow spring its turn.

  The cold night air bit at the nine men who sat silently atop their steeds. Watching, waiting, looking for any movement that might stir in the cottage that lay below them. Gray smoke rose slowly from the chimney before disappearing into the moonlit night.

  White mists blew from the horses’ nostrils like steam from a boiling kettle. The nine men were draped in heavy furs, broadswords strapped to their backs, swords at their sides, and daggers hidden in various places across their bodies. If anyone were by chance awake at this ungodly hour, the sight of these fierce men would bring a chill of fear to even the bravest of men.

  Each man had been handpicked by his chief for the special qualities he held. Whether it be his fealty, his fierceness, or his ability to enter a place unheard and unseen. ’Twas a simple task they’d been given; sneak in under the cloak of darkness and retrieve hidden treasures so they could be returned to their rightful owner.

  The first inkling that things may not go as planned came from the fact that it was not dark. The full moon shone brilliantly, casting the earth in cold and icy shades of blues, whites, and grays. Had they not been delayed two days by a snowstorm of near epic proportions, they would have arrived two nights ago when it would have been pitch black.

  No worries, the leader of the nine had assured his men. The inhabitants of the cottage were more likely than not fast asleep at this hour. They would proceed with their mission, moon or no.

  After studying the land and the cottage a while longer, the leader gave a nod of his head. He and his men proceeded toward the little farm, the horses’ feet barely making a
sound in the fresh, soft snow. The men took their positions around the perimeter of the small farm. Two of his stealthiest men headed towards the barn where they dismounted and with the grace and silence of a cat, they entered.

  He stood with two of his men not far from the entrance of the cottage. They waited patiently, keeping a close eye on the barn as well as the cottage. Everything seemed to be going as planned. But the leader of the band of retrievers would not breathe a sigh of relief until they were far away from these God forsaken English lands. The longer he remained on English soil, the dirtier he felt and the more his skin itched.

  He wished he could bust down the door of the cottage and slit the throats of the three bastards inside. But his chief had shot that idea down, but not before thinking on it for a long moment. The chief had admitted nothing would have brought him greater pleasure than knowing the bastards would not live to see the light of another day. But he could not allow his men to take the chance of being found and taken to the gallows.

  Nay, their mission was simple and if all went well, no blood would be shed this night. In a manner of days, should the weather hold, the treasures would be returned and the men handsomely rewarded for their efforts.

  Uneasiness began to creep in under the skin of the leader. The men in the barn were taking too long. Concern began to well in his belly. If the treasures weren’t where they should be, he’d have no problem then in busting down the door to the cottage and killing the men inside. He shuddered when he thought of returning empty handed. ’Twas a possibility he did not enjoy. He swore under his breath he’d tear this farm apart until he found what he had come for.

  God’s teeth! What was taking them so long? He exchanged a look of concern with the two men who sat on horses beside him. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

  After what seemed like hours, his men appeared from the barn and looked across the yard. They held up empty hands as they shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. Damnation! This was not good, not good at all. He let out a heavy sigh and hung his head.