Maggie Mine (2 page)

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Maggie awoke to frantic shouts of alarm.
Heart pounding, she looked toward her closed door, abruptly thrown open by
Anice, the woman who had been first her nursemaid and now her maid
. Looking disheveled
,
Anice
burst into the
room
.

“The English are comin’ back! Ye must hide!
”
The rounded woman all but flew across the room to tug Maggie from beneath the furs.
“Hurry, lass!”

A heavy feeling of dread in her stomach
, Maggie
quickly
sli
d
from the bed in her chemise. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet. Daylight squeezed into the large chamber through the two narrow windows.
Daylight
! She usually rose with the first rays of s
un, but she’d been so exhausted after all that had happened lately.

Anice
frantically
pulled on her arm, frowning with urgency. “’Tis time ye’re wastin’! Ye must hide now.”

“Nay!”
Maggie
pulled back
and refused to be drug from the room. “I’ll no’ hide. I’ll fight with the men.”

The same look the older woman had given
Maggie
many a time before
when her stubborn side had taken hold
crossed
Anice’s
face. “’Tisna right, ye fighting l
ike that. Yer father would no’—”

Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes
at yet another battle she must face
, but she blinked them away. She refused to show weakness. She couldna
, she was The Durward’s daughter
.
She was in charge now.
“Father is no’ here! Nor my brothers. ‘Tis
my
place to help defend
Urquhart
and our people.”

When Anice appeared ready to protest, Maggie lost her patience. S
he shoved Anice toward the door she’d flung open.
Her tone rang with every bit as much authority as she could muster.
“Round up the other maids and
the
kitchen staff.
Get
them to the cellars beneath the kitchens. Stay with them.”

Anice stood her ground
, looking grimly determined. “My place is with ye.”

“Do no’ fight me on this,” Maggie countered
. “I need ye to do as I asked. I need ye to be safe.”

Still, Anice didn’t move, her expression filled with indecision. Finally she
nodded and raced out of the chamber.
“Ye be verra careful. Do no’ get yerself hurt.”

She loved Anice like a mother and it was difficult to send her away. But it was what she had to do, keep the beloved woman as safe as she could manage. She sprang into action, throwing
off her chemise and donn
ing
one of Brodie’s long-sleeved white shirts that hung nearly to her knees. Then she quickly pulled on the chainmail
chausses
, tucking in the shirt, which made the borrowed
chausses
fit better. The hauberk she’d worn only yesterday followed.
She’d hoped not to wear any of this again anytime soon.

Still hearing the shouts outside and feeling a sense of panic, of doom, she hurried to slip on low boots.
She pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the wild fluttering. It didn’t help. Resigned,
she grabbed her quiver with arrows and the heavy crossbow from atop the chest holding her clothes. For just a second she thought about changing into the more typical Highland dress of her chemise, skirt, and bodice to fight off the dreaded English as a true Scot
tish noble woman
. But she tossed the thought aside. Some of her clan would be wearing their
clan plaid
, some clad in chainmail
, most of her warriors would wear their
leine croich
, the saffron-colored tunics more common to wear in battle
.
But she was the chieftain’s daughter; she would not merely
blend in with her men.

Sh
e set the quiver and bow down to cover her startling blonde hair
—
fortunately still up in braids wrapped about her head
—
with a chainmail coif. Then she gathered her weapons to go and face the English invaders once more.
She swore them all to Hell.

She’d no sooner joined Douglas on the battlement than he
narrowed his eyes in clear disapproval
. “Ye dunna belong here, lass.”

“I belong nowhere else.” She shot a warning look at the other half dozen men spaced out along the parapet.

No one said a word, all knowing the verbal battle not worth it. Even Douglas
blew out a deep breath,
gave up
,
and faced the north again.

“I dunna believe these are the same men as
befo
re. And they dunna appear to be comin’ hard at us this time.”
Douglas looked intently at the unwelcome small army.

Maggie followed his gaze and studied the couple dozen men riding toward the castle. They did look different and there were no men on foot as there had been before. Nor did the
se soldiers
seem to be in a hurry to get here, although they rode steadily. Two men rode in front, both in chainmail hauberks and shirts, one in chainmail
chausses
as well. The dark-haired man, taller in the saddle than the other, wore breeches.

She raised her crossbow and drew out an arrow. “That they’re English is enough fer me.”

The group had nearly reached the drawbridge leading to the main gate now. Everything in her chilled, and then heated. She would not allow more of her people to die today. If she took out their leader maybe…
.

She prepared her bow and pointed it downward.
Her hands were sweaty; her fingers trembling. But she refused to back down.

“They arena raising their weapons, lass,” Douglas protested and reached to stop her.

Just then one of the men below called out, “There’s an archer aiming at us
, m’lady
!”

The obvious leader heard his men pulling weapons out and turned toward them.

Maggie
watched as
two of them prepar
ed
arrows and panicked. No one around her had bows raised. No one but her had seen this group as ready to attack her home, her people. She had to act. She had to take out the leader.

“Nay, lass!” Douglas reached for her but it was too late.

Her arrow sailed down and hit
the leader’s
right thigh
and he immediately roared in anger, in pain
.
The men around him raised their weapons, but he bellowed, “No!
Do not return fire
!”

Douglas swore vividly
, never taking his attention from the men furious and barely controlling their need to retaliate
.

T
he warriors close by prepar
ed to defend her action
. Something was different this time.
She felt sick. Had she endangered them all? Had these men really come for some other reason besides wanting to take her home? But they were English, not to be trusted. Still….

Douglas grabbed her and pulled her beside him.
“Do no’ fire upon them,” he growled to the anxious warriors nea
r
by
.

Maggie tried to wriggle free but he held her fast to his side. “Let me go!” she bit out, struggling harder. Her coif slipped and fell at her feet. At the same time her long braids came unwrapped and dropped down her front and to her waist.

“It’s a woman, My Lord,” the man who had been riding with the leader said in amused amazement.
Chuckling.
His voice carried easily upward in the still morning air.

“The devil it was. No woman—
” But the leader’s words faded as he lifted his head and faced her.

Even from this distance, Maggie felt the heat of his gaze. A shiver curled through her. Her reaction to him unnerved her.

“Why come ye here?” Douglas
called down
in his deep Scottish burr.
He still refused to let her go, obviously afraid she would do something else to make the situation worse.

The wounded man clutched his thigh
, no doubt
in agony.
His gaze still held hers.
“To speak with Lady Maggie Durward.” H
e glanced at the soldier beside him
in disapproval, and then back at her.
“Tell me you’re not Lady Durward.”
His statement had sounded like a plea.

Maggie
tipped up her chin and
managed to edge away from Douglas, although he grabbed her bow. “Then I’d be lyin’ to ye. ‘Tis Maggie
,
I am.”

She couldn’t make out what he said after her admission, but, from the fierce scowl on his face, she was sure he hadn’t been pleased. Odd, that.

The other man beside him called out
to all could hear
, “We come in peace. It is important that Lord Neville speaks with
your
Lady.”

All of this was unsettling. She had wanted to never set her eyes on another Englishman. They had attacked her home, killed many of her people. They couldn’t be trusted. This man with his dark gaze and powerful build in particular. She was sure of that.

“Peace. Ha!” she snapped
. “Ye English never want peace. Ye want only—”

Maggie’s words faded off as she watched the man she now knew as
Lord Neville sway in the saddle. No doubt he’d lost a fair amount of blood by now
.
She
felt a twinge of regret. If they’d
really
come in peace…
.
Nay! It mattered no’
. They were the hated English, at least hated by her. Her father had a number of English friends, which had included King Edward. But, in her biased opinion, the English were not to be trusted. They had taken away her father and brothers to fight a losing battle. They had attacked her castle only yesterday.

Still gripping his leg, the English lord found the strength to yell up at her. “I’ve
come with
word of your father and brothers.”

Her father and brothers?
Word of them?
T
ightness
squeezed
her heart. Why weren’t her father and brothers riding here now instead of these men? Whatever the truth, she needed to know.

“Let them in,” she said quietly to Douglas. “But have our men watch them verra carefully.”

Nicholas knew he needed to get the arrow out of his thigh, knew he had lost a lot of blood. He was having trouble staying upright in the saddle. Yet he refused to show weakness in front of the harridan that had dared to shoot him with her arrow. It was a relief when her man in charge called out the order for the men guarding the front gate to allow them entrance. He hadn’t thought he could manage another shouting match with Lady Maggie Durward.
Lady? Hardly
.

Each bounce of his horse beneath him was sheer torture. His hand holding the reins had balled into a fist; the other pressed hard around the wound to help staunch the bleeding. He’d nearly ground his teeth into pulp by the time he and his first in command, Gerald, led his men over the drawbridge. The fair-haired Scot
—
strange that
—
would pay for wounding him later. Oh, yes, she’d pay dearly, protecting her home or not. He’d turn her over his knee and burn her b
u
tt until she could not sit comfortably for days.
He winced again. Make that she would not sit well for weeks.

They had just reached the raised portcullis guarded by six brawny men
, two in
kilts of the
Durward plaid and four in the saffron-colored tunics many of the
Highlanders
wore in battle,
when Gerald turned to him. “This could be a trap.”

It could, but in Nicholas’ gut he didn’t believe so. He
w
ould go in alone, though, and order his men to drawback far enough from the castle that they’d be out of harm’s reach. He started to say just that when Gerald shook his head.

“
Do not even think it, My Lord.
We go with you.”

My Lord.
His long-time friend only referred to him that way when protocol called for it, or when Gerald was grimly determined and disagreed with him. The man would not back down from his stand. It was becoming a battle to keep his thoughts centered. He didn’t have the strength to argue, instead urged his horse forward so that he
at least
led the way into the bailey.