The Warrior Laird (10 page)

But the thought of it grated on him.

As she sagged against him, Dugan realized Maura was exhausted. He did naught to startle her, but allowed the movement of the horse to lull her to sleep in his arms. He held her close and did not let himself think about the moment he would turn her over to Baron Kildary.

Even though, at the same moment, he would collect the money that would save his clan.

 

Chapter 12

W
hen Maura awoke, she found herself deep in the mountains, still in Dugan MacMillan's arms. She pretended to sleep a few moments more, just so she could enjoy the heat of his powerful body curved around hers.

'Twas so much easier to relive the pleasure of his kiss when he held her this way—she did not want it to end.

“Ah, you're awake?”

Maura sighed and straightened up, pulling away from his body. Those quiet moments of feigned sleep had been far too few. “Yes. How long did I sleep?”

“I don't know. I didn't pay much heed.” His voice was lower and softer than when he'd spoken to her before. It sent a wave of warmth through her body.

“We've come a long way?”

She was facing forward, but felt his nod.

The countryside was more beautiful than anything Maura had ever seen. They rode through a high, mossy glen where the shrubs and grasses were just beginning to turn green. Mountains more imposing than any Maura could have imagined rose high up from the valley floor, and she felt as though they were the only humans on earth.

The mountain peaks were shrouded in a light mist, and Maura could feel the threat of rain in the air. She'd hoped to find friendly crofters who would allow her to spend her nights indoors while she traveled, and none would be more welcome than now, as the weather became inclement.

Dugan's men rode ahead of them, riding at a casual pace, as though they were in no hurry to reach their destination.

“Is there a place nearby where we can take shelter when the rains come?” she asked.

He shrugged, and Maura realized that a spring rainstorm meant little to him. He would keep his steady pace regardless of the weather.

Maura shivered.

“Are you cold, Maura?”

“Not very,” she replied. But he did something with his plaid and she found herself wrapped in another layer of wool over her cloak.

He was an odd set of contradictions. After the incident with the thieves in the woods near Sorcha's cottage, she'd been prepared to think the worst of him. He'd mowed them down, all three of them, singlehandedly. Savagely.

And yet he was not a savage. He'd saved her life at the waterfall, only to discover that she'd stolen from him. He had every right to slay her, or at the very least punish her for her thievery. And yet he'd done naught but take care of her.

Yes, he had taken her captive in order to exact a ransom from Baron Kildary, but he had not harmed her in any way. He could have been far rougher with her than he'd been, but he'd seen to her comfort and even allowed her to sleep against his chest while he took them deep into the mountains.

Maura could not complain about that. The farther she traveled on horseback with Laird MacMillan, the faster she would arrive at Loch Camerochlan.

But what a tangled mess she was in. As captive of a man who intended to sell her to a wretched old neep of a fiancé, she would not be going to Loch Camerochlan.

She needed to get away from him. But one glance at the rugged landscape around her made it clear how unlikely that was.

What if she told him she knew of the gold? Maura wondered if he would consider working with her to find it. To be of any value to him, she would need to bluff having knowledge about its location, and she was not sure she could carry it off. At some point he would demand that she tell him exactly where she thought it was.

She sighed. Even if she managed to determine the location of the gold and they found it, the highlanders might not see fit to share the treasure with her.

“You're not planning to use the map to guide you through the highlands, are you, Dugan?” she asked.

He did not answer right away and she wondered if he was weighing his responses to her, just as she was doing. “Aye. As it happens, I am. I don't know every inch of these mountains.”

She did not believe him for an instant. “So . . . you're going into unfamiliar territory?”

“Enough questions, woman,” he said gruffly and sped up to a swift canter to catch up to his men.

He was intentionally concealing something from her, but she knew what it was. He had hoped—just as she had—to use the map to find King Louis's gold.

And now Maura had to decide whether to tell him that she knew of the treasure, too.

T
hey came to a copse of trees and stopped for a while, taking a short rest before continuing north. Not that Dugan's men needed the respite, but this was rough travel for Maura. He figured she would welcome a reprieve from the back of his horse.

While Maura limped on her injured ankle into the brush for a moment of privacy, Dugan took out the maps and studied them.

“If ye're tired o' carrying the lass in yer saddle, Laird,” said Calum with a shy grin, “I'd be happy to take on the task fer ye.”

Archie punched the man in the arm. “Nay, 'tis I who said it first and gave ye the idea, ye great tumshie.”

Dugan ignored them as he scoured the maps for any kind of symbol that might represent treasure.

“Do you see anything useful, Dugan?” Lachann crouched down beside him.

Dugan shook his head. “I cannot fathom how anyone is meant to use the damn thing. We have three of the quarters and I still see no marking to show where the treasure is hidden.”

“But now we needn't worry about it,” Lachann said. “We'll be in the clear when we get the ransom for Lady Maura and pay Argyll.”

“Except that Lady Maura doesn't believe Kildary will pay it.”

Lachann stared at his brother in disbelief. “Ach, shite.” He stood and walked to his horse. He gathered the reins in hand and mounted, then rode ahead. The others finished their small meal and followed him, leaving Dugan to wait for Maura.

Lachann had every right to be angry. If Kildary did not pay . . .

Dugan felt more frustrated than ever. His path to the money he needed seemed to escape him at every turn. He'd be so close, and then . . . He bit out a quiet curse as he turned his attention to the map and studied every detail.

There were small triangles to indicate the mountains and blue ink designating lochs. Intertwining circles showed woodlands. As much as he scoured all three pieces of the map, he saw naught to symbolize coins or riches. There was no convenient square to represent a treasure chest. He was completely thwarted.

Lachann thought they should go raiding, but Dugan knew full well that a raid would not garner the funds they needed. They had to wait until they knew whether Baron Kildary would turn up with the ransom. Then their troubles would be over and Dugan could pursue the rumor about gold at his leisure.

'Twould be good to have a wee cushion, for there was no guarantee that Argyll would not come back next year and demand yet another impossible rent. If there was gold to be had, Dugan intended to be the one to take possession of it.

He was just about to roll up the maps and stash them away when he realized he was seeing something on Maura's piece of the map he'd not noticed when he looked at it earlier. 'Twas a wee mark in green at the edge of one of the lochs. He could see how he'd overlooked the tiny dot, for it was nearly overshadowed by the blue ink of the loch. But now, the late afternoon light caught it just right. Or perhaps it was just his desperate eyes.

Bloody hell—was he seeing things?

He rubbed his eyes. No, the small green dot was still there. But what loch was it? There were so many in the northwest highlands. Could it be Loch Monar?

Dugan studied the long blue slash of a loch and the symbols all around it, and came to the conclusion he was right.

He felt Maura's presence before he even saw her, and then she stood beside him, her skirts brushing his shoulder as she looked at the maps. Dugan's mood was decidedly improved with the sighting of the green spot, but he somehow managed to resist grinning like a lad who'd just stolen his first kiss.

Maura crouched down beside him, and Dugan felt the urge to see if her kisses still had the power to arouse him, in spite of her untrustworthiness. “Why do you suppose there's naught but symbols on the maps?” she asked.

Dugan gave a shake of his head, as much to clear it of his erotic thoughts as to indicate his negative reply. “I don't know. Why do you think?”

She shrugged. “Do you see anything that might be Loch Camerochlan?”

He pointed to a long, narrow strip of blue ink, not far from the area he believed was Braemore Glen. He was no geographer, but he knew his own lands. “Here.”

She did not speak for a moment, and when she did, she nearly knocked him off his heels. “You know about the French gold, don't you?” Her voice was quiet and slightly unsure.

Bloody hell.

He almost rolled up the maps to stash them out of sight, but thought better of it. There was no need to tip his hand just yet. “French gold?”

“You've heard the rumor, have you not?” she asked quietly, crouching down beside him. “That's why you need the map. Not to find your way through the highlands.”

She touched her document with one finger, drawing it down the blue length of Loch Camerochlan, and Dugan felt a tightening in his groin at the thought of how her intimate touch would feel. On the most sensitive parts of his body.

“
Gesu
.”

“What?”

“What do you know of it? The gold?” he asked, gaining control of his unwieldy thoughts. He was going to turn this woman over to her intended husband, not bury himself inside her.

She shrugged, the movement of her shoulders and neck so sensual, Dugan nearly groaned aloud. “I know naught but a rumor of a cache of French gold hidden somewhere in the highlands.”

The question of Loch Camerochlan returned to Dugan, and he suspected she knew more than she was saying. Was the green mark significant? “You know naught of Loch Camerochlan, then? That the gold is hidden there?”

Her brows creased. “No.”

“You wouldn't be trying to mislead me, Lady Maura?”

“Not at all, Laird,” she said. “I must go there whether or not there is gold to be found.”

“Ach, aye. To elude Baron Kildary.”

“To rescue my sister.”

M
aura had not meant to say so much, but Dugan's deep blue eyes kindled what she knew was a misplaced sense of trust. She had not been able to resist them.

“My sister is very young,” she explained, realizing how pointless it was to hold back now. “She is unable . . . Rosie was not right at birth. My father wanted to take her away and let her die, but I just couldn't . . .”

Dugan frowned fiercely and looked as though her words made no sense to him. Maura realized they wouldn't. He did not know the kind of man her father was. And she was not explaining very well.

“Rosie managed to survive her birth, but she does not function as others do. She is frail and has difficulty walking. She can speak no more than a few words and her hearing is poor. But she is a sweet child, and she is in need.”

“Why is she in need? From what—or whom—do you rescue her?” He brushed away a tear that slid down her cheek. She had not even noticed the moisture gathering in her eyes as she spoke of Rosie, and his kindness was nearly her undoing. It had been so very long since she'd cradled her wee sister in her arms.

Maura cleared her throat and blinked away her tears. “My father does not wish to see her. Ever. And so he hired a horrible stick of a woman to take her far into the highlands . . .”

“To Loch Camerochlan.”

Maura nodded. “A severe winter could kill my sister, Dugan, and she has already been at the loch for two years. I must get her away from there.”

Dugan rested back on his heels, letting his hand drop away from her face, quite obviously pondering her tale of woe.

But it was more than a tale. She swallowed hard and prayed Rosie had managed to survive so far.

“ 'Tis a father's right to deal with his children as he will, is it not? But—”

“ 'Tis a father's duty to take care of his children! All of them!”

Maura would have risen to her feet and stalked away, but Dugan grasped her arm before she could move.

“I do not disagree, Maura. 'Tis harsh to send away a bairn that needs cosseting. 'Tis murder.”

She considered which of the sentiments he'd expressed was the true one, but did not know him well enough to draw a solid conclusion. “How you manage your family is no concern of mine, Laird.” She tried to yank her arm away. “But I will somehow find my way to Loch Camerochlan and take my sister from the pitiless nurse my father hired to tend her.”

“I have no family, Maura. None but my brothers and sister. No children. No wife.”

The low, seductive tone of his voice sent a wave of acute longing through Maura. She wanted . . . Well, perhaps she wanted more than just Rosie. Perhaps there could be more to her life than the care of her sister.

Maura recognized that Laird MacMillan treated his brother with respect and humor—the same way he treated his men. And he'd been kind to her, in spite of the wrong she'd done him.