Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Taking his ale in the shadow of a British fort chafed at Dugan. The town was crawling with lowlanders, as well as Campbells who were loyal to the English king and responsible for the slaughter of his family.
Dugan would never forget what had happened at Glencoe all those years ago. Murder under trust was the most heinous of crimes, and Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon had been hideously guilty of it.
He tamped down the bile that always came to his throat when he thought of his family’s horrible fate. He knew who was responsible, from Major Robert Duncanson, who had ordered Campbell to put everyone under seventy to the sword, to the Duke of Argyll, whose men had shot down his father and Gordon in cold blood. A child! They’d murdered a mere child because of the fecking king’s wish to make an example of a highland clan.
Dugan swallowed his ale in one long gulp. He could not think of his parents and Gordon now, not when the risk of eviction was very real and more menacing than any disaster the MacMillans had faced in the past twenty-five years.
He had to decide what to do about finding the French gold. If they could not decipher some marking or clue on the two parts of the map in his possession, he was unsure what to do next. Travel up to the western isles and rouse the MacDonalds in his cause?
The thought of war repulsed him. He’d battled for Prince James during the uprising two years before, and been sorely wounded in the process. Dugan had healed, but the MacDonald septs had lost too many men in ’15, and Dugan knew the western clans were still licking their wounds.
He’d already ruled out a cattle raid, for ’twould yield too little profit, and besides, he did not care to rouse any of the clans against him. If the maps were no good, he might not be able to avoid war, and he would need every highland clan to stand with him.
He looked ’round the crowded taproom. He had not been able to secure even one room for himself and his men to share, but the innkeeper had given them leave to sleep in the large sitting room on the opposite side of the stairs. They’d been sleeping out of doors during their travels away from Braemore, and were grateful to be out of the cold for the one night, with a tidy peat fire to warm them. They were to take over the room after all the guests had retired, and planned to be away at dawn.
But it meant they couldn’t really examine their two sections of the map again until everyone—even the servants—had retired and the inn was quiet. By then, Dugan was sure Bryce and Conall would be stretched out in a couple of chairs with their mouths hanging open and snoring to raise the dead.
Dugan was weary as well, but thoughts of the lass who’d left the inn a while ago...
No, ’twould be thoughts of the map that kept him awake. He had to have missed the marking that showed the location of the gold. Perhaps he ought to leave it to Lachann to figure it out, for his brother was the canny one. Dugan’s strength was in defense and decisiveness, the main reasons his grandfather had chosen Dugan to succeed him as laird.
’Twas unfortunate that he’d not been decisive when it came time to marry. If he had wed sooner, mayhap he would not find his thoughts quite so tangled up with the beautiful Lady Maura. Auld Hamish MacMillan had been after Dugan to woo and wed Artis MacLean several years ago. But back then Dugan had not felt ready to take a wife. He was fully occupied with training his men and seeing to the fortifications at Braemore. And then the old man had died and Dugan’s responsibilities to the clan had piled up even more, one after the other.
Artis was a comely lass, and had shown some shy interest in him. Mayhap Dugan had been a dolt to let her slip through his fingers, but she’d been painfully quiet and far too timid for him. No, he did not want a shrew, either, but a wife he did not have to fear would faint away if he raised his voice.
Someone more like Lady Maura, who had set Lieutenant Baird in his place firmly and without hesitation. And ’twould be no hardship to take her to his bed every night.
Dugan took note when the red-haired lady returned to the inn with her soldier escort. She did not seem pleased with his company, and it occurred to Dugan that she might be a prisoner of sorts.
He discarded the notion as soon as it entered his brain. The woman could not possibly be a prisoner, else she would not have been allowed to walk alone near the waterfall that afternoon. One of the soldiers would have accompanied her.
No, she traveled with them willingly.
Dugan tamped down his disappointment when the twitchy, bald lieutenant came to escort Lady Maura to a chamber at the top of the stairs. ’Twas the last he would see of her, for he intended to leave at first light.
He kept his eyes on her as the soldier opened her door and stood aside. Instead of entering the room, Maura turned to look down the stairs, catching Dugan’s gaze. Her eyes were wildly alluring in spite of her connection to the royalist soldiers.
Dugan decided he would not hold her allegiance against her if she happened to favor him with a smile.
Her cheeks flushed bright with color, and then she did flash him a brilliant smile before ducking into the room. Her escort closed the door behind her and took his own leave.
What Dugan would not give to follow her, to join her in that room, where he would loosen her hair from its coils and let the bonny, silken mass stream down her back. A few kisses and he would begin to undress her, uncovering pale, smooth skin inch by inch...
“Ach,” he muttered. Until he settled his outrageous debt to Argyll, there would be no room in his life for distractions. He put Lady Maura from his mind, finished his ale, and looked at his men. He knew they were tired. Even Dugan felt the burn of fatigue behind his eyes. They’d been riding for days, away from the familiarity and comforts of home, and the result of their travels so far was dubious at best.
“I still think we ought to go raiding,” Lachann remarked, breaking into Dugan’s thoughts. “Clan Chattan is not far away and ’tis said they have hundreds of cattle. Mayhap even thousands. We could drive them south and then sell them in the lowlands.”
“Lachann, not even a thousand head of cattle would cover Argyll’s demands,” Dugan said bluntly.
“But the map isn’t—”
“We don’t yet know what it is or is not,” Dugan said. “We’ll look at it again later, when all is quiet. And then mayhap one of us will see the clue we need.”
Archie stepped back from the bar. “My eyes are burnin’, Laird. Can it wait until the morn?”
“Aye, mine as well,” Kieran said with a yawn. “I’m not sure I’m up to any map readin’ tonight.”
They spent another hour or so at the bar, waiting for the sitting room to clear out. When they were finally alone, Dugan’s companions wrapped themselves in their plaids and stretched out wherever they found adequate space. Lachann made a trip outside while Dugan took out the maps and spread them out on a low table. He pulled a lamp close, but before sitting down with Lachann, he saw a fetching feminine figure slip down the stairs and out the door.
The inn was shrouded in darkness, so Dugan wasn’t certain who had gone out, but he had a suspicion. ’Twas the bonny Lady Maura, the thoughts of whom he had not been able to eliminate completely from his mind.
He followed her scent and was rewarded when he stepped into the shadowy veranda of the inn.
“You’ve abandoned your escort, Lady Maura?”
She whirled to face him, and in the soft light of the moon, Dugan saw that her expression was troubled. Her distress touched him deeply and he put aside his own difficulties for the moment.
“Are you in trouble, lass?” he asked, recalling the obvious animosity between the lady and her escort. He felt a perverse satisfaction in it.
Lady Maura shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m ...”
Dugan came close enough to touch her. The top of her head barely met his shoulder, and he could not resist reaching out to feel the texture of one of her soft curls. “You are what, Lady Maura?”
“I-I am ...” She turned her gaze upon him, seemingly at a loss for words.
“A woman as lovely as you should have naught to worry about.”
She frowned as she looked up at him, and he could not resist sliding his hand down to cup her jaw. Her cheek was so smooth, he ran his thumb across it as he thought about tasting her. Just one kiss, though ’twould not be nearly enough to satisfy his burgeoning arousal.
She shivered and closed her eyes. “As lovely? As much trouble, you must mean.”
“Are you trouble, Lady Maura?” he asked quietly, tipping his head down toward hers. Aye, she was more enticing than any lass in Braemore Glen—and as unsuitable for him as any lowlander would ever be.
He felt her throat constrict beneath his hand. She was so delicate, he wanted her as he’d wanted no other. She made all his protective instincts come to the fore.
“Aye. Trouble to all who know me.” He heard her tremulous sigh and knew there was a world of turmoil lurking within her breast.
Dugan had an urge to discover exactly how much trouble she could bring him. And he intended to start with a kiss. He leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. He felt her sharp intake of breath, but then she softened and her body drifted toward his.
Dugan gathered her close, fitting her wondrous curves against him. He sensed her inexperience, but deepened the kiss anyway, as raw desire shot through him.
Some part of him knew there could be naught but a kiss between them, but Dugan could not keep from drawing her tightly against him and ravishing her mouth with his lips, tongue, and teeth. She tasted of sweet highland water and smelled like heather.
He was lost. The desire to do more than just steal the most incredible kiss of his life nearly overpowered him. With a low growl, Dugan continued to plunder her mouth while he fought a savage instinct to carry her away to some private bower and gratify the primitive needs she roused in him.
He slid one hand down to her waist, and she slipped her fingers into the hair at his nape, loosening his queue. He let his hand drop lower, pulling her hips against his, making her quite sure of her effect on him.
She pressed back against him, fitting his hard length to her body in just the right place. Dugan felt glorious and powerful, all at once.
He had to be insane.
He could not do this, not with a highborn lady who was under the protection of a Sassenach guard. Rational sense slammed into him and he broke away, ending the kiss.
She made a small sound he thought must be dismay, but for what, Dugan was not sure. Dismay that the kiss was finished? Dismay that she’d allowed it? The latter, of course. A minor flirtation in the taproom was not an invitation for ravishment.
“Lady Maura—”
“ ’Twas my fault, Dugan MacMillan,” she said with a tinge of anger in her voice, “so please do not apologize.” Besides her anger, she sounded as frustrated as Dugan felt. Lowering her hands from his shoulders, she looked at him with confusion in her eyes. Or perhaps ’twas mistrust.
“Maura.” He took hold of both her arms before she could run from him, and held her so that she had no choice but to look up into his eyes. He wanted her still. But he knew better, and he tamped down the arousal that continued to rage within him. “I should not have taken advantage.”
“Laird Mac—”
“You are a beautiful lady who deserves a man of means who will take you to wife. Not a rogue who lost his head for a moment here in the moonlight. And so I do apologize, though I will ever regret the experience.”
Maura closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, the sound of her heartbeats pulsing in her ears. Her little foray down the steps and outside had been for the purpose of seeing if anyone was about, to determine whether it was safe for her to leave yet.
She hadn’t thought she would see the highland laird again. Or let him kiss her breathless.
Her body tingled, still. The yearning for more of MacMillan’s touch, more of his masculine power persisted.
The interlude had done more than take her breath away. It had shown her what else had been absent in all the men Lady Ilay had brought ’round—raw male potency. Dugan MacMillan’s touch had given rise to an excitement that charged through her nether parts like lightning. ’Twas the yearning of a woman for a man’s touch.
Maura shivered even now when she remembered the slide of his hand down to her hips. The press of his body against hers had felt so intimate and so incredibly arousing, she had lost all sense of reality. She’d forgotten her purpose, failed to ascertain who was up and about.
Besides Dugan MacMillan.
But now her reckless moment was over. She had a plan to put into play and it could be delayed no longer. With Bridget tucked away downstairs, Maura had looked closely at Argyll’s map and found no indication of any hidden treasure. There hadn’t even been the expected notations giving the names of villages and lochs. Even worse, the map seemed to be merely a torn portion of a larger document.
It appeared to be completely useless, but Maura knew that could not possibly be. Not when it had been tucked away in Lord Ilay’s desk.
She and Rosie could manage for a time with the money she’d been pilfering from Ilay’s desk for months in anticipation of her escape. ’Twas enough to get them away at least to Belfast. Or perhaps even to America, where no one would know them.
Maura could not waste any time thinking about what they would do then. She knew her money would not last forever, and Rosie was too frail to work. Somehow she would figure a way to support them. Marriage to Baron Kildary was out of the question. And asking her brother Aiden for help was a dodgy proposition at best. He was as likely to confine them in his house and send for their father as he was to give them shelter and listen to reason.
Her bag was packed and she was more than ready to start on her hike toward Loch Camerochlan. But she could not leave yet, not while the highlanders were still about.
She looked down at her map again and wondered if Laird MacMillan’s map had anything to do with Argyll’s gold. What if he had the missing piece?
Maura wrung her hands together. A cache of gold would solve her problems. With only a few handfuls of gold coin, she could take Rosie to America and buy a house somewhere, and their father would never find them.
But she needed to figure out where to look for the treasure before she began making grandiose plans.
Dugan took a moment to compose himself.
It had taken every bit of discipline he possessed to let Lady Maura go, and even now he was as hard as the claymore in his belt.
He did not know when he’d ever wanted a woman more. She possessed a compelling combination of strength and vulnerability, and he found himself wanting to protect and care for her.
After he bedded her, of course. Even now, the desire to broach her bedchamber bedeviled him. And yet he knew he could not. She was no strumpet. He’d tasted inexperience as well as passion in her kiss.
Dugan swore under his breath. He would not seduce an innocent. Besides, there was no time for any sort of dalliance, especially not with a woman who was accompanied by a troop of Sassenach soldiers.
Aye, the woman was trouble.
He finally returned to the sitting room to find Lachann studying the map. He glanced up. “What is it?”
“Naught.” Was his state of arousal so transparent? “One of the guests stepped outside. We ... spoke for a few minutes, that’s all.”
Lachann’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Dugan sat down and turned the maps to see them better. He found that the markings were just the same as before. Unhelpful.
“I don’t know what you can possibly be thinking, Dugan. I don’t see how this bloody puzzle helps us.”
“The man who gave the scrap of map to Grandfather,” Dugan said quietly, “was a dying Frenchman.”
“Where? In Perth, I suppose?”
“Aye,” Dugan said, scrubbing one hand across his face. He suddenly felt exhausted. During the uprising two years before, Dugan had been wounded protecting his grandfather from an Englishman’s blade, and taken it himself. Old Hamish had gotten him home alive, though. “He said the map had been torn asunder so that only allies could band together to find it.”
“ ’Tis ridiculous when you think of it, Dugan. Why would—”
“Look here,” said Dugan.
“Where it’s torn?” Lachann moved the lamp closer.
“Aye. Do you see it? A different sort of marking.”
“You think this spot shows where the gold is hidden?” Lachann frowned. “I don’t know. Mayhap.”
“ ’Tis not the same kind of scratching that marks a loch or a town. It doesn’t look like a mountain, either.”
Lachann was silent for a moment. “If the Frenchman was right, won’t we need the last pieces of the map?”
“Look. The mark is right at the juncture of the two sections. We would not have noticed it without having both.”
Lachann sighed and tapped his finger on the strange mark. “But it might mean naught.”
Dugan’s vision blurred with fatigue. He did not want to argue with Lachann, nor did he care to ponder the maps or the possibility of gold, or the bloody Duke of Argyll any longer. He had to get some sleep, for they would ride long and hard on the morrow. “Aye. You’re right.”
’Twas past midnight, and Maura assumed everyone in the inn must be asleep by now. Even the highlanders.
She dressed warmly and put on her good walking shoes, then picked up her traveling bag and exited her room. It was dark in the stairway, but she made her way down to the main floor of the inn just as she’d done before. This time, there was naught but moonlight coming in through the windows.
She wondered how long it had been since she’d left Laird MacMillan. Well over an hour, she was sure.
And yet the impossible yearning Dugan had engendered with his kiss had not dissipated. If only Rosie’s well-being was not at stake, Maura might—
She quickly came to her senses. Even if she had not been on her way to find Rosie, she could not possibly entertain any romantic notions about the highlander. Maura knew nothing about him, other than the deep rumble of his voice and the way his touch made her feel. But he might be a Jacobite rebel, or one of the road bandits Lieutenant Baird warned about as they traveled to Fort William.
He was certainly a rascal.
But the most impressive rascal she’d ever encountered, boldly kissing her on the veranda where anyone might have come upon them.
Maura crept toward the back kitchen, but stopped suddenly when she heard the sound of snoring to her left.
She held her breath, afraid Lieutenant Baird had decided to post a guard after all. He had not hidden his dislike of the highlanders, no doubt believing they posed some threat.
Keeping her feet where they were, she leaned forward to peer into the sitting room and heard it again. A soft snore. The fire had burned low, but she could see that the only occupants of the room were the highlanders, all wrapped in their plaids and lying on whatever surface was handy—chairs, settees, floor. All were sound asleep, even Dugan. Now she understood how he had seen her when she’d come down earlier.
She wondered why these men had come to Fort William. Surely, they did not enjoy the presence of the king’s troops. Clearly, they were en route somewhere.
She clutched her traveling bag tightly in her hand and held her breath, wondering ... It seemed impossible that the other piece of her map would be in the highlanders’ possession—that it was not merely hidden somewhere in Lord Ilay’s study and she’d just missed it during her midnight foray. And yet...
Her mind raced as she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the faint light cast by the glowing embers in the fireplace. Laird MacMillan lay on the floor, wrapped in his tartan, his pack right beside him. She told herself that if she did not look now, she would never know.
She took a deep breath and crept silently to the spot.
MacMillan shifted in his sleep, startling her.
She held her breath and considered what to do. Did she dare untie the laces and look inside his pack? She could take just a wee peek at the map his companion had spoken of, and if it was not like hers, she would tie up the pack and leave.
But if it looked to be the other part of the document she’d taken from Argyll—
Dugan took a long, deep breath, and Maura heard him mutter something low. Her name?
No, of course she’d only imagined it, mayhap wishing it was true. For his embrace had shown her how a man’s touch could soothe and excite, all at once. Even in her dreams, she hadn’t imagined that a kiss could make her blood sizzle and her knees weak.
Of course, she’d never encountered a man like Dugan MacMillan.
The sound of a deep snore to Maura’s left startled her and she realized she tarried too long. If she was going to satisfy her curiosity, she had to do it now, and do it quickly. She opened Dugan’s pack and slid her hand inside. In complete silence, she watched his handsome face for any sign of awakening as she felt for a document. She quickly came upon a rolled piece of parchment at the bottom of the pack.
Drawing it out carefully, Maura did not unroll it, but held it up to the light of the fire. Her heart pounded with excitement when she realized ’twas exactly like Argyll’s—tattered, with markings for lochs and mountains, but little else. Maura had no doubt its ragged edge would fit perfectly against the edge of the map in her possession.
An ominous creak sounded above her, and she knew she had to move.