Chapter 26
Chapter 26
When they arrived at Angus MacDonnall’s holding some miles south of Loch Mullardoch, Dugan doubted Maura could have ridden any farther. She seemed to be in significant discomfort, but there was naught he could do for her.
Other than staying away from her last night, and ’twas too late for that. He chastised himself yet again for his actions. He’d known better, and yet...
Laird MacDonnall came out of his keep, a stone tower that was half the size of Dugan’s home, and greeted him. They were old friends, having trained together many years before in the western isles with the MacDonalds. Dugan dismounted and they clasped hands. “MacMillan, what brings ye to m’ lands? I hav’na laid eyes on ye fer a good two years! No’ since Perth. Are ye healed, then?”
“Aye, Angus. Hale and healthy.”
“Aye, I can see that.”
“We are just passing through. And begging for a spare bed if you have one.” Dugan glanced toward Maura, who was visibly wilting.
“Aye, of course.” He slapped Dugan’s back. “So, ye’ve taken a wife, have ye?”
“No, MacDonnall.” His throat suddenly closed up, too dry to swallow. “No wife. This is ... a kinswoman in need of a good night’s rest.”
“Unmarried, is she?”
“Aye,” Dugan replied hesitantly.
“Rhona!” MacDonnall shouted. “Edeen!”
The two serving women hurried out of the keep to answer their laird’s summons.
“Take the young lady inside and heat water for a bath,” MacDonnall ordered the servants. “And tell Catriona we’ll feast tonight.”
The men dismounted as Dugan lifted Maura down. “Go with MacDonnall’s servants,” he said quietly. “They’ll see you’re taken care of.”
As brash as she usually was, Maura was quiet and withdrawn now, and Dugan felt a pang of guilt. He quickly dismissed it as he turned her over to the MacDonnall servants. He and Maura had acted upon a mutual attraction. Mayhap he ought to have exercised better discipline, but what was done ... was done.
MacDonnall put a brotherly arm about Dugan’s shoulders as Maura disappeared into the keep, her step considerably slower than was usual for her. “Ye’ll sup here with me this eve,” MacDonnall said, “and ye’ll rest easy among the MacDonnalls tonight, Dugan.”
Dugan could see that the idea of a night with the MacDonnalls suited his men well, for there were several young maids from the cottages nearby who’d come close to get a look at the newcomers. One in particular had her eye on his brother, and she was plain enough that Lachann wouldn’t suspect treachery in her every move. He wished him good luck with the lass.
Dugan collected his traveling pack and went inside with Angus. He’d been there only once before, and the place looked different. Not as clean or orderly. “You’re keeping dogs inside now?”
“Ach, aye. After Meg died, I ...” He shrugged.
“My sympathies, Angus,” Dugan said. “I did not know you’d lost your wife.”
MacDonnall nodded. “Aye, ’twas soon after I saw ye last. She was taken by a fever. But I find m’self in the mood for a new wife, of late.”
Maura sank into a tub of hot water and said a prayer of thanks. Her muscles were tired and her nether parts were more than a wee bit sore. She hoped never to have to ride horseback again.
Except she knew the morrow would bring more of the same. She hoped it would take only one more day to reach Loch Aveboyne, but knew that highland distances as depicted on a map could be deceptive. It might take longer.
She would not dwell upon that possibility now, not while she could bask in the hot comfort of the bath. She would not even think about Dugan and his indifference toward her all day or the hint of concern she’d sensed from him when he lifted her down from her mount. Chivalry was in his blood—likely toward any female in distress.
Hadn’t he felled the ram at the waterfall before he’d even met her?
Maura sighed and sank down deeper into the water. She just wanted—needed—to get this journey over and done so that she could make her way to the loch where Tilda Crane was keeping Rosie.
She hoped they would find the treasure, and quickly. That was the only way Dugan would ever free her to go search for Rosie and take her away.
Maura felt a pang in the pit of her stomach at the thought of leaving him. Though their night of intimacy had seemed to have little effect upon him, to Maura it had been profound.
And yet she had always known that the only future she would have was the one she created for herself. Somehow, she and Rosie had managed to get on without any nurture or support from their parents and siblings. ’Twas only because of the kindness of the Elliotts that they’d endured.
Maura had no choice but to endure again.
It was not going to be easy once she reached Camerochlan and Rosie, but she’d never believed it would be. She recognized that she was as alone now as she’d been the day she met Dugan, when he’d killed the ram for her. She knew she could not meekly submit to his plans for her.
A vague idea began to take shape in her mind. What if she led them past Loch Aveboyne—locating it for her own benefit—but then slipped away from Dugan and returned to the loch to search for the gold herself?
Ach, ’twas impossible.
She had already attempted to get away, and had not been successful. And there was the matter of what she would do with the gold. If there was a significant amount of it, she would need something in which to carry it. A wagon. Drawn by a horse.
One of the maids came into the room. “I’ve brought ye some soap and a gown for the evening.”
“Thank you—Rhona, is it?”
“Aye, ma’am.” The girl went to the fireplace and added a brick of peat to the fire.
“Laird MacDonnall requested that ye be made ready to sup with him ... at his right hand, ma’am.”
Maura opened her eyes. She wondered if it meant the laird had decided to show her special favor. And whether she might be able to use the man’s partiality in order to escape.
Because the fact remained ... She was unlikely to be able to escape Dugan, and if there was no gold at Aveboyne, he was surely not going to allow her to leave him and give up the ransom from Kildary.
The MacDonnall had brought in musicians to entertain them during the meal. He’d had the old rushes swept out of the great hall and new ones, fragrant ones, laid. The dogs had been chased out, and the savory scent of roasting fowl was in the air. Even the laird himself wore a clean shirt and plaid, with an ornamental doeskin sporran about his waist. He’d combed his hair and pulled it into a neat queue at his nape.
Now that Dugan took note, MacDonnall was not half bad-looking. He was only a year or so older than Dugan, and though a wee bit shorter than the MacMillan brothers, MacDonnall was no weakling. Dugan knew he was an apt archer and an even better swordsman. The man had the means to care for and protect his clan. And the good luck not to be obliged in any way to the Duke of Argyll.
“Take a draught o’ my best whiskey, Dugan, while we wait.”
“Wait?”
“Fer the lady. I’ve invited yer kinswoman to sup with us.”
MacDonnall poured some of the clear amber liquid into a delicate glass and handed it to Dugan, who had the distinct feeling he ought not to drink it and cloud his thoughts.
As he had done the night before.
MacDonnall turned toward the curved stone stairs as Maura descended. “Ach, look at ’er,” he said. “She will do nicely.”
Dugan frowned at MacDonnall, then turned toward the stairs. God’s eyes, but she was beautiful.
“I had the lasses take whatever they needed from Meg’s belongings since she’s had no need of ’em these past two years.”
Maura’s hair had been arranged artfully, and some white stones—pearls?—were strewn about her curls and dangling from her ears. The brocade and lace gown was one Dugan had not seen before, so it must have belonged to MacDonnall’s late wife. The thing suited Maura to perfection.
’Twas the blue of a darkening sky, with a low bodice that displayed the assets he’d so enjoyed the night before. The gown fitted tightly to the waist, then flared out, draping her legs modestly, and yet so seductively Dugan had to fight the arousal that hit him like a punch to his gut.
Worse was the glorious smile she bestowed on MacDonnall.
“My bonny lady!” Angus approached her and took her hand, bowing over it in a manner Dugan knew was far more formal than he ever would have done had he known she was a Duncanson.
“Good evening, Laird,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me to join you.” She gave a cursory glance in Dugan’s direction and murmured, “Laird MacMillan,” as though he was not the man whose cock had made her whimper with pleasure all through the night.
MacDonnall called for the meal to be served, then took Maura’s hand and led her to the table. He seated her, then sat down beside her, clearly as pleased as a pig in clover to be the recipient of her brilliant smile.
“Dugan tells me you are a kinswoman,” he said.
“Well no, not exactly—”
“Maura came from Fort William,” Dugan interjected. Damn all, he did not need everyone in the highlands to know he was escorting a Duncanson through their territories. MacDonnall was liable to toss them out onto their arses if he knew.
“Ah. Clan Cameron. Or clan—”
“Close enough,” Dugan quipped as he tossed back the rest of his whiskey.
Fortunately, MacDonnall found it far more entertaining to blather all about his own exploits rather than question Maura or Dugan about their travels. Dugan did not care to lie to his old friend about Maura and the ransom. He especially did not want to discuss the possibility of gold hidden somewhere in the highlands. But the man’s overly engaging manner with Maura grated on his nerves.
And if MacDonnall did not raise his eyes from the abundance of bonny flesh displayed above Maura’s neckline, Dugan was going to be compelled to put his fist down his old friend’s throat.
Dugan sat back in his chair and forced himself to be calm. Maura could spend a festive evening in the relative safety of MacDonnall’s hall, wearing the clothing of his dead wife, for she would be back in the saddle on the morrow. Leading Dugan to the treasure that was going to get him out from under Argyll’s—aye, hercousin’s—thumb.
Angus poured yet another glass of wine for Maura and she laughed at one of his inane jests. “Ah, Laird MacDonnall! You are so very clever.”
Dugan felt himself frowning fiercely, for he’d never enjoyed watching a man make an arse of himself for a woman. He stood up. “ ’Tis time Maura retired. We’ll take our leave at dawn on the morrow, MacDonnall.”
“Aw, ’tis early yet, Dugan,” MacDonnall said while keeping his eyes trained on Maura. “And I’d hoped to convince ye t’ stay another day. Or two.”
“ ’Tis not possible. Regrettably,” Dugan added between clenched teeth. He extended his hand to Maura. “I’ll escort you to your chamber.”
She rose—without taking his hand—and turned to MacDonnall, who stood at the same time. “Thank you for a splendid evening, Laird. Will I see you in the morn?”
“Ye may count on it, dear lady.” MacDonnall took her hand and planted a solid kiss upon it.
It felt to Dugan as though he needed to haul her away from MacDonnall. Against her will. He had no idea what the man’s appeal could possibly be.
He took a candle and lit their way up the staircase.
“Which room?”
“Up again, one more flight,” she replied.
They walked in silence down a narrow passageway to yet another staircase. Dugan followed her up the next set of stairs, and when they reached the top, he saw that the staircase ended at the door to a large solar. The water from Maura’s bath had been cleared away and the empty tub stood just behind a screen next to the fireplace.
The bed was large and inviting, but Dugan had no intention of making use of it. He’d made that mistake once, and was not going to repeat it.
Much as he might want to do so.
“I don’t understand your sour mood, Laird. What has gotten you into such a temper?” Maura asked. She walked into the solar and sat down at the dressing table. “I thought you would enjoy an evening with your old friend.”
“You mean the man who is looking to marry himself another wife?”
“Oh? Is he?”
She began to remove the gems from her hair. “I found him charming.”
“As charming as a hedgehog.” Dugan watched intently as she slipped her delicate fingers into her fiery curls and drew out the pins that held the pearls.
“Oh, not at all. He has a way with words, and seems to understand how to truly appreciate a woman.”
“Aye, by looking down her bodice!”
She laughed, and the sole freckle near her eye crinkled. The urge to kiss it was nearly insurmountable. But he managed. He stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Why he did not just remove himself from her chamber and find his own bed...
“Hardly, Dugan,” she said. “He was a complete gentleman, and I am half tempted to—”
“You have other plans, Lady Maura.”
“They are not my plans, Laird.” She looked at his reflection in the glass, scowling. “I have not had any say over my own actions in more than two years.”
He would not feel guilty for it. “You’ll not be staying here with MacDonnall.”
“Of course not,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I am your prisoner, Laird.”
Dugan felt the whisper of a curse pass his lips. “Maura, you—”
“What? I am not your prisoner?” she taunted. “That is lovely to know, Dugan. Mayhap I will just—”
“You will continue to travel with us on the morrow. Just as we planned.”
“We?”
Dugan said naught.
“Never mind,” she said as she stood and came to him. “Help me with these. I don’t wish to call the maids.”
She presented her back to him as though she’d not just accused him of holding her against her will.
Aye, he was. And he was not ashamed of it. A laird did what was necessary to protect his clan. They both understood his duty.
“I don’t know what MacDougall’s wife would have wanted with such an elaborate gown,” he groused. “We’ve no need of these ornate—”
“Hush, Dugan,” she chided. “You are only being disagreeable.”
“Oh, aye?”
He finished with the fastenings and turned her ’round to face him, keeping hold of her arms. “Why would I want to be disagreeable with one of my oldest friends?”
“Mayhap you can tell me, Dugan,” she said. The gown gaped in front, giving him an enticing view—or would have if he bothered to lower his eyes. Which he would not. He was a well-trained warrior with far more discipline than he’d displayed the previous night.
But her cheeks were flushed an enthralling pink and her eyes sparkled with green fire. He trapped her hands behind her back and lowered his mouth to hers.
Maura was drowning. Dugan’s sensual onslaught was all-consuming and overpowering. He was taking her to that place where she could not think, where she could not even reason. All she could do was feel—his mouth, his tongue, his hard body against hers.
He released her hands and she felt her gown slip off her shoulders and down to her feet. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he came over her, nipping her neck with his teeth while his hands freed her breasts from her shift.
He bent over her and sucked the tips of her breasts into his mouth, the exquisite sensation shooting right to her womb. Maura reached for him and laced her fingers through his hair as he pleasured her.
“You will never share a bed with MacDonnall.”
His words shocked Maura back to reality. Her emotions threatened to choke her. She did not want to share a bed with the MacDonnall or any other man. She only wanted Dugan MacMillan, and he was a blockheaded fool if he did not realize it.
“Do you think not, MacMillan?” She rolled out from under him and straddled him when he lay flat on his back.
“He is not for you, Maura.”
She balanced herself on both hands resting upon his chest. He drew her down for his kiss.
“I suppose only you are,” she retorted, blinking back tears.
“You know I am,” he said. He took her mouth, and as he battled with her tongue, slid his hand under her shift and touched her intimately.
Maura broke the kiss as she blinked away tears. “Oh yes. You and Baron Kildary!”
Dugan froze. He was nearly mindless with the need to sink into Maura’s tantalizing body, but her words chilled him to the bone. He lay perfectly still for a moment, then extricated himself from her bed, from her body.
He strode to the door and pulled it open, but not before noticing that she’d rolled to her side and faced away from him. Her shoulders trembled, and Dugan knew she wept.
“Shite,” he muttered as he left the solar and closed the door behind him.
Why did it have to be her? Why was Maura Duncanson the one who stirred his blood in a way no other woman had ever done? Why did she have to be a Duncanson?