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’!”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, prouder than he ought to be with the realization that the kiss had affected her. She had responded in a very positive manner when his lips touched hers. He had heard her breath hitch and felt her melting into his arms. He hadn’t imagined her response.
“I think ye liked me kiss and ye feel guilty over it.”
“Nay!” she said unconvincingly. “’Twas just a kiss, as ye said and I’d no’ let it go to yer head, Findley McKenna!”
“Go to me head?” he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Aye! To yer pig-headed head!”
“Pig-headed?” he asked nonplussed.
“Aye! Ye be a pig-headed lummox to think that one kiss could turn me into a wanton woman, ready to swoon and rip yer clothes off and let me have me way with ye!”
He could not stifle a very proud chuckle. “Do ye no’ mean to say fer me to rip yer clothes off and have me own way with ye?”
“That’s what I said, ye fool!”
He shook his head. “Nay, ye didna say that. What ye said was--”
She cut him off again by stomping her foot, her level of frustration growing to unbelievable heights.
“It matters no’ what I said ye eejit! I’ll still no’ be yer whore! I canna let me feelings get in the way of things. I canna think of nothin’ else but gettin’ Ian back!” Tears clung to her eyelashes as she did her best to fight them back.
There it was: the truth. It wasn’t that she had objected to the kiss. She felt guilty for kissing him while her son remained Malcolm Buchannan’s captive. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to hold that against her.
He realized a few moments later that he should have simply agreed with her and apologized for his behaviour. However, he hadn’t much experience with the opposite sex other than the few bar wenches he had purchased on rare occasions. Findley knew nothing about real relationships. He would regret the next words that came from his mouth for a very long time.
“So, ye did like the kiss and ye did want more, but ’tis yer guilt over yer son that makes ye behave so--” he paused as he searched for an apt description.
Maggy’s eyes narrowed with anger. “So what, Findley?”
“Like an angry fishwife,” his answer was more blunt than he had intended.
Maggy’s eyes grew wide and her mouth flew open, utterly appalled by his choice of words. She began searching the room with her eyes for something to throw at him, when they fell on a silver candlestick that rested on the mantle.
She had moved so quickly that he hadn’t the time to brace himself for the impact when it landed in the centre of his chest. Her aim was as good with the candlestick as it had been with stones.
The pain took his breath away for a moment as he doubled over, clutching his hand to his chest. As he fought to get his breath back he saw that she had picked up the small stool that sat near the fireplace.
He held up his free hand, “Maggy!” he shouted. “Put that down!”
She cocked her head slightly as a wicked smile came to her face. Findley barely managed to duck out of the way as the stool hurled past his head, grazing his ear in the process. It hit the wall and fell to the floor.
“Maggy!” he shouted again. “Settle yerself down!” His voice boomed throughout the room.
“Nay! I’m just playin’ the part of the angry fishwife, Findley!” She looked for something else to throw but the only things within reach were the chairs standing next to her.
“Fishwife! I wouldna marry ye if ye were the last man on God’s earth! Ye could ask me a thousand times and I’d give ye the same answer as I gave the Buchannan!”
Findley righted himself, dumbfounded by her statement. He hadn’t asked her to marry him so he could not think where she got that notion. Aye, the thought of marrying her, at least up to this point, had been very pleasant. The angrier she became the more he questioned his earlier desires.
“I didna ask ye to marry me,” he told her.
“And I wouldna if ye did!” she shot back, putting her hands on her hips. She knew that Findley hadn’t come anywhere close to a proposal. But the events of the past few years had her suspicious of all men. She assumed it was just a matter of time before Findley proposed.
It was the kiss that had her behaving in such a manner. It had been passionate, deep, warm, moist, and quite disarming. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and her heart would not stop its incessant pounding.
“Maggy,” he began but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
The knock told him it was one of his men. Findley and Maggy stared at each other with unmistakable anger alight on their faces and in their eyes.
Findley took a deep breath before going to open the door. Wee William loomed large and held a curious look to his face. He had to duck under the door jam in order to enter the room.
“I’ve got lads in the next room who are tryin’ to sleep. But there be such a loud argument takin’ place between the two of ye that sleep is impossible.” Wee William cast each of them a chastising look.
“The lads be worried. They dunna like to see the two of ye goin’ at it like a couple of cat-o-mountains.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Maggy was the first to break her silence. “I’m sorry William,” she said as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go see to the boys. There will be no more fightin’ this night.” She swept past both men, her lips pursed into a thin line of fury as she left the two of them alone.
Wee William continued to stare at Findley as if he were a father waiting for an explanation of an argument between two of his children.
“And what have ye to say fer yerself?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Findley took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “I canna explain it William. I’m doing me best but no matter what I say or do, she becomes angry with me. And then I feel the need to reciprocate her anger.”
“What did ye say or do to anger the lass so?”
The last thing he wanted to do was explain the kiss or what happened after it. “Tis nothin’. Leave me be.”
“Nay, I dunna think so.” Wee William stood firm.
“I dunna wish to discuss it with ye,” Findley told him.
Wee William lifted an eyebrow but remained silent.
Findley was growing impatient with him. “I said I dunna wish to discuss it with ye.” As if Wee William hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Lad,” Wee William began. “Any fool with half a brain can see how ye feel about the lass.” He held his hand up when Findley began to speak.
“Findley, dunna try to deny it. She is a bonny lass. Smart, strong, and as sweet as the day is long.”
Findley snorted at Wee William’s last statement. Aye, Maggy could be as sweet as honey. But rile her? Get her mad? Aye, she had a temper that could flare in the time it took for a heart to beat once!
“I think it be time ye told the lass how ye feel.”
Findley shook his head and began to pace the room. “I dunna think that be the best idea ye’ve ever had, William.”
Wee William turned to watch his friend and leader pace the room. He was glad not to have a woman in his life that would make him behave so foolishly. To his way of thinking, there wasn’t a woman in all of Scotland, nay, the entire earth who would be worth the trouble. William made a quiet, solemn vow to remain single to his dying day. As much as he wanted children of his own, he didn’t believe a wife was worth the trouble. He would remain happy with spending time with other people’s children.
As angry as Maggy was with him, Findley doubted she would be willing to listen, let alone warm to the idea of a romance with him. He knew he would love her until the end of time, but doubted she would ever return his feelings.
“I’ll take that under advisement, William,” Findley told him knowing full well he would not be sharing any of his feelings with Maggy at any time in the near future.
Wee William wasn’t fooled but decided to let the matter drop for now.
“Good,” he told him. “Now, about the morrow. What time would ye like to take Maggy and the lads to the abbey?”
“I say we leave at first light,” Findley answered. “We’ll not tell them what we’re doin’ until we are safely inside the abbey.” He imagined it would take a good amount of time to convince Maggy that the abbey was the safest place for her and her sons.
Wee William nodded his head in approval. “And do ye think ye’ll be able to get the lass to see the sense of it?”
Findley shook his head and sighed heavily, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach. He could feel the bruise forming. “William, do ye think about these questions before ye ask them?”
Wee William chuckled. “Sorry, I must have lost me head fer a moment.”
They stood in quiet contemplation for a moment before Wee William spoke again. “What is yer plan if she refuses to stay with the monks?”
“To lock her away until we are far gone from the place.” Although he didn’t like the idea, he could not come up with a better plan.
“I feel sorry for the monks.”
“Aye,” Findley nodded in agreement. “Mayhap we should see they have plenty of armour with which to defend themselves. For we’ll be unleashing a wrath unlike any mankind has ever seen.”
Wee William noticed Findley rubbing his stomach and the candlestick and stool lying haphazardly on the floor near the door. “Which one did she hit ye with?”
“Both.”
William nodded his head approvingly. “At least we ken the lass can defend herself!”
“Aye, that she can.” Finley agreed.
“She is a strong-willed lass,” William offered.
“Aye, that is true as well.”
William contemplated the situation for a moment. “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”
Findley raised an eyebrow at his friend.
“Proverbs 15:1,” William explained. “My da was fond of referring to it. Ye canna gentle something without a soft voice, Findley.”
Findley sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “What on earth are ye goin’ on about?”
A broad smile came to Wee Williams lips. “Lad, if ye want to win that lass over, ye canna do it with harsh words. If ye want to warm her to ye, use soft words, kindness and a gentle hand. I imagine ’twould go quite far with a lass like that.”
Findley considered the idea for a few moments. Mayhap he could be a bit gentler with her. The trick would be in controlling his own temper. For some strange reason his thoughts turned to the young lad, Robert. Hadn’t his opinion of the lad been that if he could get his temper under control, he would someday be fine warrior? Mayhap Findley would need to take a bit of his own advice, especially when it came to Maggy. In that instant, he made a silent vow that no matter what she might say or do, he would keep his temper and anger in check.
~~~
Infuriated, it was all Maggy could do to keep from storming into the room and beating both men senseless. She had not heard the entire conversation between Findley and Wee William, but she had heard enough.
She was never one to eavesdrop or lurk in the shadows. After settling her sons down for the night she had returned to her room. Just as she was ready to push the door open, she heard Wee William’s voice coming from within and he was talking about monks.
Maggy wasn’t sure which part of the conversation offended her more. The fact that they intended to leave her and the boys with the monks, or the arrogance of both men discussing her temperament?
Gentle me? Gentle me? As if I’m some kind of wild animal!
She was half tempted to burst into the room and ask them if they intended to use a bit and bridle to temper her spirit.
Far better men than ye have tried, lads, she thought to herself.
Their conversation could only mean that Findley did know her secret. Just like the Buchannan, all that Findley wanted was to increase his purse, power and lands through Maggy. Apparently the kiss had meant nothing to him other than a means to soften her heart toward him.
Her mind whirled and her hands shook with anger as she stood in the hallway listening. They intended to leave her with the monks while they attempted to rescue her son. She’d have none of it.
Her first thought was to get her sons, get to their horses and hie off without the men. She quickly dismissed that notion. Even if they did make it to the Buchannan keep before Findley and his men, what would she do then? There was no way she could defend herself against all the Buchannans, no matter how many rocks she might have at her disposal.
Being alone with Malcolm Buchannan was a revolting prospect. The only way of surviving that encounter would be to marry the man. Mayhap she could agree to marry him and then slice the ghoulish man’s throat while he slept. Nay, there was too great a chance of having to bed him first, before she had the opportunity to put a blade to his throat.
There were two things she was severely lacking at the moment: time and a plan.
A sudden thought came to her. Would it really be all that bad to marry Findley? It was a more palatable alternative to marrying Malcolm Buchannan.
Findley had shown on more than one occasion that he could be a kind and generous man. Had he not brought her lads back to her that past summer? He hadn’t been angry and demand she beat them as punishment as she knew other men might have. Nor had he beaten them himself. He hadn’t ranted or raved or stomped his feet demanding payment for the time spent searching for his stolen cattle.
Nay, he had done none of those things. On the contrary, he had been quite pleasant and patient about the entire ordeal. He had even left three cattle behind to feed her people with, a blessing that had, at the time, meant a great deal to her. It had been an act of generosity that brought tears to her eyes every time she thought of it for weeks after. If she were honest with herself, she had thought of him many times since that day.
She was still angry with him and she could not be certain that his intentions were still as honourable as they had appeared to be that summer. Her life with Gawter had taught her that men would say or do anything to get what they wanted. Findley was no different, was he? He was, after all, a man.
The sound of Patrick’s voice broke through her troubled thoughts.
“Maggy?” he asked. “Are ye well?”
Startled, she spun around to face him. “Aye, I am Patrick,” she answered softly. ’Twas an out and out lie. She imagined it would be quite some time before she felt well again.
~~~
Findley paid to have a bath brought up for Maggy. She had been unusually quiet when she had returned from settling the lads. He reasoned it was the hard days of riding and worrying over Ian, not to mention the argument that had taken place between the two of them.
He left her alone for the better part of an hour while he washed the layers of road dirt from his own skin and hair and changed into clean clothes. He shook out the clothes he had been wearing, getting rid of as much dust and dirt as he could, and carefully folded them and returned them to his pack. He
sorely missed the comfort of Castle Gregor, the smell of clean clothes, and Mary’s cooking. It would be weeks if not months before he would be back into the friendly folds of his clans.
Patrick had taken the first watch and sat on a stool in the semi dark hallway. Findley thanked him and told him he would take over in three hours’ time.
Maggy was already in the bed and under the covers when he returned. Her back was to the door, the covers pulled up around her ear. He felt sorry for her, exhausted from the journey and the worry over her son. And he’d been a damned fool for kissing her!
Nay, he didn’t regret the kiss, just the timing of it. The kiss had been beyond pleasant; he had felt it all the way to his marrow. His groin ached with remembering it now.
And how joyous he had felt when she returned the kiss. There was something there. He hadn’t imagined her melting into his arms or the soft sighs of pleasure. Mayhap when this was all over and done with, she might open to the idea of spending the rest of her life with him.
He was disappointed that she was asleep but relieved to know there would be no further arguing this night. Spreading his plaid out in front of the low fire, he lay down and tried to sleep.
But sleep was impossible. Maggy was but a few steps away and his mind kept wandering to what it might be like to be lying next to her in that warm bed. He took in a deep breath and realized she must have used rose scented soap in her bath. An image of her lying naked in the grass came to his mind. He thought of covering her nakedness in rose petals before kissing every square inch of her body.
He wanted to start with her toes and take a sennight to work his way up to the top of her beautiful head. Then take another sennight to work his way back down. Try as he might to push all those thoughts aside, he could not.
Tossing and turning on the hard floor, his mind could not settle. His thoughts ran rampant from images of a rose petal covered Maggy to devising creative ways of torturing Malcolm Buchannan. When he wasn’t thinking of clever ways to woo Maggy, he was making mental notes on all they would need to lay siege to the Buchannan keep.
He imagined he’d need at least fifty men, and a floor plan for the keep would be helpful. In between plans of courtship and plans of attack, he prayed.
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