The Warrior Laird, Page 2

  “No, Lachann. Moving in on the MacDonalds’ lands is not the answer. Not even temporarily.”

  “Well then, what is?” His frustration was palpable, but far less than Robert’s would have been. ’Twas fortunate their hotheaded brother was away. “We’re not likely to find anyone to loan us three thousand pounds. We’d be hard-pressed to find someone who could lend more than a few shillings.”

  “We have another option.” The highlands had risen up against English rule two years before with the backing and assistance of the French king, who’d sent soldiers as well as funds. ’Twas said they’d hidden a cache of gold somewhere in the highlands.

  “Oh aye?” Sarcasm infused his words.

  Dugan considered his words carefully. “You remember the map Grandfather gave me before he died?”

  “Aye—a worthless scrap of a map,” Lachann retorted.

  Dugan shook his head.

  “Mayhap ’twas a useless scrap of parchment a year ago. But I heard some talk when I was up at Ullapool last month . . .”

  “What kind of talk?” Lachann frowned as fiercely as he’d done as a mere bairn. His skepticism was as healthy as ever. Dugan was not about to tell him he’d heard it from a Campbell.

  “It seems there’s a man in possession of another piece of the map.”

  “Where?”

  “Down east of Fort William—in Kinlochleven.”

  “Ach, well then. That settles it!” Lachann scoffed. “We find the man, and when we look at his piece of the map, we’ll surely know where our bonny King James’s loyal Frenchmen hid their stash of gold. Especially if the damned thing is as well marked as Grandfather’s.”

  Dugan narrowed his eyes. Lachann’s cynicism could be worse than irritating. True enough, the map showed no place names, and only drawings of lochs and mountains, but Dugan knew there was a way to interpret it. Why else would the French have made the map? “Grandfather was sure it could be read. But only if he found the key to it.”

  And the former laird, Hamish MacMillan, was no fool.

  “Grandfather was riddled with sickness when he died, Dugan. How can you put any stock—”

  “Even before he became ill, old Hamish believed the gold could be found. The Frenchman who gave it to him said the map had been torn into quarters and if the four pieces were put together, the way to the gold would be clear.”

  Lachann rolled his eyes toward the heavy oak beams of the ceiling. “When did he speak to you of this?”

  “Two years ago, when I came home wounded in battle during the uprising. He spoke of it often and spent many a night studying the map.”

  “If he believed so firmly, why did he not go looking for the other parts of the map—or the gold—himself?”

  “Because he only had the one piece of the map. And he could not read any clues from it.”

  “Why didn’t he ask the bloody Frenchman where the other parts were?”

  “Lachann—”

  “You believe you can find the rest of the map in Kinlochleven? And decipher the clues?”

  Dugan gave a quick nod, though he was not entirely sure of it. All he knew was that he could not think of any other viable possibility for raising the kind of funds Argyll demanded. Three thousand pounds was an astronomical sum, and no cattle raid on earth would garner that much money.

  “Well, then,” Lachann said with resignation. “Mayhap a trip to Fort William is in order, eh?”

  Chapter 2

  Ilay House. Glasgow, Scotland. Early April 1717.

  All was quiet in the richly appointed mansion Maura Duncanson had been forced to call home for the past two interminable years. She slipped out of bed and listened at the door for a few moments, just to be sure.

  Naught. No sounds of movement could be heard.

  Maura crept silently to her dressing table, took a handkerchief from a drawer, then picked up her shawl. Tossing the warm wrapper about her shoulders, she caught a quick glance of her reflection in the mirror.

  Her bright red hair was its usual frantic mess, but at least she appeared calm. Far calmer than she felt after reading the callous missive her father had sent her from the family seat at Aucharnie Castle, many miles away near Edinburgh. The moment she’d been waiting for had arrived.

  She was going to escape her prison and rescue her young and helpless sister.

  She’d tried to leave Ilay House twice before, but had been found out before reaching the city’s edge. And Lady Ilay watched her as though she were the lowest of felons. Guards patrolled the grounds at night and made certain she did not attempt to escape again.

  With one deep breath, Maura left her room and slipped down the long corridor of the mansion. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she listened again for sounds of anyone who might be up and about, which would not be surprising, given that the Duke of Argyll was in residence, visiting his brother, Lord Ilay.

  She had not been invited to sup with the family that evening. The duke and Lord Ilay were her father’s cousins, but Maura was a mere daughter of an earl. And an unfavored daughter, at that. There was no reason on earth for Lord and Lady Ilay to include her in their intimate family gathering.

  It suited her just as well. All through her own solitary supper, Maura’s mind had whirled with plans and schemes. She was not about to travel up to Cromarty as her parents had decreed, to marry the decrepit old baron they’d chosen as her husband. She would cut her own wrists before taking vows with Kildary.

  And it was not only because of his age and his questionable reputation. Maura knew the old man would never allow her to bring her poor wee sister Rosie to Cromarty to live with them. And that was a requirement of any man she wed.

  Not that suitors were lining up to woo her.

  The opposite was true. Any mirror told Maura that she was not unattractive, but she would never become a sophisticated lady like her mother and elder sisters, not when she preferred riding to housekeeping. Not when she was more adept at hiking than keeping her hair and clothes in good order, or smiling like a perfect idiot through mindless conversation with fops in lace cuffs and powdered wigs.

  Maura knew her dull, two-year “visit” at Ilay House was but a thinly veiled ruse her parents had used to separate her from Rosie and remove her from the family seat at Aucharnie Castle, where she had always managed to do as she pleased. She also knew Lady Ilay had been charged with grooming Maura as a proper wife.

  But Lady Anne had not been entirely successful. Oh, aye, Maura had learned the skills to manage a household, and deal with housekeepers, servants, and dressmakers. She’d studied household accounts and listened to reports given by Lord Ilay’s steward until her eyes crossed.

  But still, the idea of marriage to any one of Lady Anne’s silly milkweed acquaintances was as distasteful as the specter of Baron Kildary as her husband. Maura knew any prospective bridegroom would expect her to give up her freedom of thought and deed.

  Maura was twenty-four years old. She should have wed by now, and had children of her own, and yet she’d vehemently rejected every suitor her parents had foisted upon her, as well as the men Lady Ilay had brought ’round. Clearly, she was not meant to be any man’s wife, not when her own opinions and preferences were so marked.

  Hadn’t she defied her own father to save Rosie after he’d given the order to leave his poor, weak, newborn bairn in the hills to die? It was two years before Lord Aucharnie had discovered that Rosie still lived. The old midwife had not told him what Maura had done, and Maura had secretly made sure the Elliott family, who’d taken Rosie in, always had food from the castle kitchen and every other necessity to be comfortable in their croft.

  But Rosie had not developed the way Deirdre Elliott’s own bairns had done. She’d become pink like wee Janet, but had not grown to normal size. She did not speak until she was five years old, and even then her speech was not entirely intelligible.

  But Maura loved and protected her from her callous parents and their many coldhearted siblings, and Rosie returned h
er love absolutely. The child grew to be pure and sweet, with a loving personality that defied logic, considering her weakness and various infirmities.

  In the two years since Maura and her sister had been separated, not a day had passed that Maura did not think of poor Rosie and the callous stick of a woman her father had hired to take her away from Aucharnie. Tilda Crane was mean-spirited if not outright cruel, and Rosie did not deserve to be banished to the ends of the earth just because her parents were embarrassed by their youngest daughter’s shortcomings.

  Now Maura’s banishment was to become complete. She’d been instructed to leave Ilay House at dawn with Lieutenant Baird, the grim officer who carried out her father’s most contemptible assignments. Evictions. Arrests. Mayhap even killings.

  No doubt escorting a detested daughter fell into the category of distasteful tasks. She was sure the lieutenant was displeased with his assignment, for he despised her, ever since the day he’d made advances and she’d set him down in no uncertain terms. She supposed she ought to have attempted to be more tactful with him, but Baird had crossed a line. He’d grabbed her and whirled her into his arms while his men laughed.

  Maura had been incensed, though not surprised by Baird’s treatment of her. For her own father showed naught but disdain in his dealings with her. How could she expect anything better from his men?

  Maura cringed at the memory of Baird’s rough handling and the thought of spending several days on the road with him. She had no intention of going all the way to Cromarty and yielding to a betrothal agreement—especially this one—made by her father without her consent. She had a plan to get away from Baird and his men and rescue Rosie from Tilda Crane. And then . . .

  Well, perhaps one of their four brothers would take them in. Though she had not seen any of them in years, Maura could certainly hope at least one of them would feel sufficient responsibility toward his youngest sisters to help them.

  Maura heard no voices as she took the first step down the wide staircase, but she was cautious. This was likely her last chance to get to Rosie and take her away from Tilda Crane. If she failed and was forced to wed the old baron, he would never allow her to collect her sister, who’d been exiled far away in the wild highlands at Loch Camerochlan, away from everything she knew—from the Aucharnie hills, from the Elliotts and their youngest daughter, Janet. Away from Maura.

  She reached the main floor and turned the corner toward Lord Ilay’s study. The floor beneath her feet creaked, and Maura stopped on her toes. She held her breath and waited, certain that someone would burst through a doorway and expose her midnight wanderings.

  But no one came, so she moved on, finally reaching the study. If discovered, she had an excuse for being there, but hoped she would not need to use it. She did not relish an encounter with her father’s cousin, whom she barely knew since he spent most of his time at Stirling with his mistress.

  She shuddered at the thought of encountering Ilay’s brother, the duke.

  The study door opened soundlessly and Maura slipped inside. Her plan was to accompany her father’s surly guards only as far as Fort William. Then she intended to slip away and find the road to Loch Camerochlan, which she knew was many leagues to the northwest. Once there, Maura would remove Rosie from Miss Crane’s care.

  With only a pale stream of moonlight from the window to guide her, Maura went straight to Lord Ilay’s desk, where the money sent by her father for her allowance and expenses was kept. She’d removed small amounts of his coin over the past two years, collecting funds with the hope that one of her attempts to get away from Glasgow would finally work. So she knew a few more pounds would not be missed, not when there was well over a hundred. She would take what she needed and—

  The sound of voices outside and the clop of horseshoes startled her. Maura glanced through the window and saw that it was the duke, riding alongside Lord Ilay, with several of their men following behind.

  As they dismounted and turned their horses over to the grooms, Maura felt a moment’s panic. If the duke and his brother were not yet abed, then there must be servants about.

  All at once, she pulled open the drawer and located the strongbox at the back. Beside it was a map she’d not seen before, rolled to expose its markings. It was just what she would need—along with the money—for her foray into the highlands.

  A door opened, spurring Maura to action. She tucked the map under her arm and removed the top of the money box. Hastily grabbing as many coins as possible, she wrapped them inside the handkerchief she’d brought for that purpose.

  The voices and footsteps became louder, approaching the study. In a panic, Maura looked for a place to hide. She went to one of the large chairs near the fireplace and crouched down behind it, but quickly realized one of the men might sit down in it if they happened to come in. Desperate, she fled to the large bank of windows and concealed herself behind the thick velvet curtains that framed either side.

  Her heart in her throat, she tucked her feet in and waited. The footsteps came closer and she heard the sound of men’s voices. She prayed they would not open the door. Swallowing hard, she held her breath.

  “We’ll want a party of at least twenty men,” she heard Argyll say, his voice low and secretive.

  “It may take some time to gather them,” Lord Ilay replied.

  “No. I must move quickly. And make sure no one else hears of my plan, Archie,” Argyll said. “We’ll need men we can trust.”

  “Of course. Any talk of French gold hidden in the highlands would bring out every clan in the hills.”

  French gold? Maura continued to hold her breath.

  “I feel sure it’s there . . . ’Tis only a matter of time before the damned western clans hear of it and go . . .”

  Maura squeezed her eyes shut, straining to hear their muffled words. The moments dragged on, and then the men’s voices receded, along with their footsteps.

  It seemed hours before there was silence again, and even then, Maura didn’t move. She waited another few minutes to be sure, and then stepped out from behind the draperies. She moved furtively to the door and stopped to listen, but there seemed to be no one outside.

  With one deep breath, she opened the door and quickly crept away from the study and back up the stairs to her room. Her trunks had already been loaded onto the carriage in which she would ride on the morrow, but she had one small traveling bag that she would keep with her.

  An interesting thought occurred to her and she unrolled the map she’d taken from Ilay’s desk. ’Twas a strange document, quite obviously torn along two of its edges. There were ink markings indicating lochs and mountains, but no towns or villages were noted. And certainly no reference to any gold.

  Yet what else could this be? The map had not been there the last time Maura had slipped into the study to pilfer her father’s money. Argyll must have brought it.

  Feeling suddenly quite tired, Maura tucked the map into the bag along with her stolen money to be ready when she made her escape from Lieutenant Baird and the rest of her father’s guards.

  What she would do about Argyll’s gold remained to be seen.

  The village of Kinlochleven.

  Dugan and his warriors dismounted and approached a filthy little hovel located in a copse of trees a good half mile outside the village. He knew Lachann still thought this was a wasted trip, but Dugan thought his brother was wrong. His grandfather believed the French had hidden a significant cache of gold somewhere in the highlands, and Dugan was determined to be the one who found it.

  He was sure he was on the right track.

  “Could this be it?” Lachann asked, glancing ’round the place.

  “The villagers said Mackenzie lives here. That’s who we want.” While in Ullapool last month, Dugan had saved a fool Campbell from a bloody beating outside a tavern, and the idiot had blathered drunkenly about a man named Hector Mackenzie in Kinlochleven who had possession of a French map. ’Twas all Dugan needed to hear for his instincts to fl
are to life.

  And it could not have pleased him more to have received his information from a hated Campbell.

  Lachann knocked on the cottage door.

  “Go ’way!” called a gravelly voice inside.

  “We’ve come to trade, Mackenzie!” Dugan called.

  An old, disheveled drunkard came to the door. “Ach, aye, and what d’ ye have that I might possibly want?”

  “More important, Mackenzie,” Dugan said as he walked past the man and into his stinking cottage, “is what you have that I want.”

  It took only a bit of bargaining and a handful of coins for the man to give up the map, though Dugan was disappointed to see that ’twas only another piece of the whole. And, like the scrap his grandfather had given him, there were no markings or any lettering to give him the names of the mountain ranges and glens, or the lochs and rivers.

  He began to doubt the possibility of finding the gold without more information.

  He ignored Lachann’s disparaging glance and stepped outside with the rolled parchment in his hand. He would study the two documents together once they were away from Kinlochleven and try to determine the clues to where the gold was hidden.

  “Is that it, Laird?” Kieran Cameron asked. He tipped his head toward the rolled parchment in Dugan’s hand.

  Dugan nodded and mounted his horse. “Aye. This is it.”

  “ ’Tis so small, Laird,” said Archie MacLean, the youngest of their company. Dugan remembered the days when Archie had followed Alexandra about the village as a tiny lad, barely able to walk. And she—no more than five years old—had taken him under her wing as though he were one of her wee wounded beasties.

  Now Archie was a man grown and the best shot of all the MacMillan warriors, and Alexandra was the midwife and healer of their clan. Robert had married Meg Cameron and was a father to Dugan’s two young nephews. MacMillan blood ran through their veins, and he would do everything in his power to keep his people from being evicted from their ancestral lands.