Chapter 10
Chapter 10
“What’s your interest in the map, Laird?” Maura asked. “Surely you know your way ’round the highlands without it.”
Dugan heard a hint of sarcasm in the woman’s voice and he did not like it. “What’s your purpose at Loch Camerochlan, Lady Maura?” he asked right back. “I know the loch and the area ’round it, and there is naught there but a few crofts gathered together on the hillside.”
She licked her lips, and Dugan forced himself to keep his attention on her eyes. ’Twas much safer that way. “ ’Tis a place where I’ll not be easily found.”
“By whom? Your father?”
She gave a little nod and looked away. “And the baron my father would have me wed.”
“Baron?” He considered what he knew of the noblemen who lived in and around Cromarty, and thought of one in particular. “Would that be Kildary of Cromarty?” Dugan felt a victory of sorts when Maura’s cheeks blushed a deep scarlet.
“Kildary?” Lachann asked, frowning. “He’s a wee beast, eh, Dugan?”
Maura stiffened and Dugan narrowed his eyes as he studied her. Aye, he knew of Kildary. The man was said to be a fiend who misused his family and servants alike.
“Have you a dowry?” he asked her.
She shrugged and looked away.
“How old are you, Lady Maura?” he asked as a plan began to form in his head.
She stuck her chin up and faced him squarely. “I am twenty-four years of age, Dugan MacMillan, not that it’s any concern of yours.”
Aye, she had no dowry, else she would have been married well before now. She was old to be a maiden. Or, he decided, if she did have a dowry, it was unsubstantial. Either her father was a poor man, or she was out of favor with him.
Dugan therefore concluded ’twas the baron who would pay for the privilege of taking Maura to wife. He needed an heir, for his only son had died at Perth two years before, in battle against King James’s forces. Dugan supposed ’twas not difficult for Kildary to find a bride when he was younger, but now the man had to be at least seventy.
In spite of Maura’s thievery, Dugan felt a wave of sympathy at the thought of her being led to the old man’s bed.
He called to Kieran and Calum.
“Aye, Laird,” they responded, dismounting and coming to him, leading their horses.
“Ride to Cromarty,” Dugan ordered, carefully watching Maura’s expression. “Go to the house of Baron Kildary and tell him Laird MacMillan has his bride at Braemore. Tell him that a mere three thousand pounds will buy her back.”
Maura gave out a strangled cry, but Dugan paid her no heed. This was an opportunity he could not ignore. A fortune in French gold would be a grand find, but ransoming Lady Maura was a sure thing.
He felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Ransoming a bride was a fine tradition in the highlands, and ’twas high time the MacMillans took part in the practice.
Oh aye, he still intended to search for the gold, and if he found it, it would be a windfall in addition to what Kildary paid him.
He mounted his horse and rode to Maura, who was still sitting on the rock, and fuming with anger, by the looks of her.
“Lachann, toss the lady up to me.”
Lieutenant Baird rode to the fort and approached the commander’s office. He mopped his damp brow with his sleeve when he considered how his father would react when he learned of his son’s failure to transport one useless female from Glasgow to Cromarty. General Baird was nothing if not exacting, and he tolerated no disappointments from his subordinates.
His father held the respect of every officer and regiment under his command. Even King George paid heed to John Baird’s counsel. For his entire life, Alastair had striven to make his father proud, anticipating and obeying his every command. He had yet to prove himself in battle—but only because the opportunity had not presented itself.
Alastair had written to the general more than once, asking to be transferred to an active regiment—specifically, to the Duke of Argyll’s forces, where his father had distinguished himself many times over. But General Baird had responded by telling Alastair to be patient.
It had been a blow. And so had been his specific orders to remain at Aucharnie during the last Jacobite uprising. Alastair was to keep order at Aucharnie’s holding in case of any unrest in the nearby environs. So he’d missed the action at Edinburgh when the Duke of Argyll’s men had arrived and routed the rebels.
’Twas such a humiliation to stand in the public house beside the men who’d seen action. Next to those who’d christened their sabers with the blood of those damned rebels.
Soon, though. Soon Alastair would demand to be transferred to a regiment where he could demonstrate his worth. ’Twas past time, despite his father’s advice to avoid becoming overwrought.
As though Alastair’s anxiety was unfounded.
He sent for his own men while the commander of the fort assembled his regiment and called the roll. Every soldier was accounted for.
That, however, did not mean Maura Duncanson couldn’t have found some other likely fool to guide her south. There were farmers and shopkeepers ... many a young man about town who might well be pleased and flattered at the request of a comely lass like Lady Maura Duncanson.
Whoever it was would soon learn what a royal pain in the arse she was.
He wasted far too much time looking for the wench in Fort William and searching for any missing soldier who might have accompanied her. When it became clear she had neither stolen a horse nor convinced some hapless soldier to go with her, Baird and his men set off on the southern road to look for her.
Not that she was going to be easy to find. He did not know if she was a proficient rider and had taken someone’s horse—someone who had not missed it yet—or if she was on foot. He wanted to assume she traveled on foot, but he knew it was not necessarily so.
Somehow, this affair was going to end in his favor.