The Chieftain's Daughter Page 6

  “I think a better notion would be for ye to show me around the rest of the Keep, it looks as if it were once very fine, and could be again.”

  She moved to the door, insistent, and he found himself following, reluctant to be separated frae her scent and her warmth, and then there was her smile. He would miss that and didn’t protest over much except to say, “So, it doesn’t worry ye that yer father might want to murder me?”

  Maggie’s smile was still in place, though he did wonder if he should be worried about the twinkle in her eye. Mayhap a warning that she was planning something he might not like. He was certain of it when she said, “I think it might be a good thing, but I’ll tell ye all about him and the rest of the McArthur clan later, as ye show me around the Keep.”

  ***

  With the horses well-rested, Nhaimeth and the others made guid speed, leaving Shug to begin searching for Maggie, after giving him the benefit of a few more harsh words.

  Out the corner of his eye, Nhaimeth saw a wide-eyed Ghillie take note of his father’s firm stance. Aye, he questioned Shug’s ability to find his way home, ne’er mind recover Maggie. At times like this Nhaimeth, liked to pretend his father Erik the Bear stood behind him. Not that his late father had thought much of the dwarf he had fathered, but when it came to being obeyed, attitude and tone went a guid long way.

  Being Euan McArthur’s man was nae hindrance either.

  As Cragenlaw reared up o’er the horizon, he was still mulling o’er Shug’s idiocy. During the time away at Dun Bhuird, the place of his birth, each time Shug and Maggie occupied the same space, Nhaimeth had observed the housecarl’s eyes following her. Which made him think that if Shug managed to lose her, Maggie was behind it. Meantime, he would decline to convey his thoughts on her disappearance to Euan, likewise Shug’s obsessive scrutiny—that was unless he had nae other choice.

  As soon as the wee group that had left for Dun Bhuird but one month afore rode back along the narrow road topping the spit of land betwixt the castle and the mainland, Nhaimeth could nae longer avoid the natural question of how Euan might react.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Within the hour they were retracing their path westward with Euan leading and Nhaimeth wearing a frown—not because of facing the McArthur’s ire. Nae it was frae the look of fear in Morag’s eyes. Rob and Morag were his auldest friends, the first and for a while, the only ones he’d had at Cragenlaw after his sister Astrid—Euan’s third wife—died in childbirth. It broke his heart to see Morag distressed. Nae matter how worn down he became by repeating his journey, both at a horrendous pace, he wouldnae let her down. Even as they left, Rowena stood beside her, reassurance spilling over frae his wife to Morag.

  He trusted Rowena with his life, believed in her gift, and when she told him once more that Maggie was simply seeking her fate, he wanted to have faith. His wife kenned well how he felt; that’s why Ghillie, young as he was, made the return journey with him.

  He only hoped that when they reached the marker Shug had made, it wasnae already dark.

  Chapter 8

  Having yer heart set on something, as Maggie discovered, came with an amazing amount of control. She’d heard her mother mention that her daughter dashed in where angels feared to fly. Not this time. If she and Dhugal were to share a future that wasnae only a figment of her imagination, she had to be patient. Yesterday he had shown her all over the Keep, as surprised as she had been at some of the treasures they had uncovered.

  Dun Bhuird had begun life as a longhouse, along the lines that the Norsemen built. Cragenlaw sat fiercely above the North Sea, a threatening promise of death to any invaders frae Norway.

  Aye, King Edgar had awarded Caithness and the Hebrides into King Magnus of Norway’s gift. A fortunate occurrence for the Norsemen occupying the lands to the north, one that didnae make the Scots clans living on the coast feel any safer. Despite the vicious and bloody tale of the Skene clans origins, the Keep was so different, more than braw or bonnie, it looked as graceful as the swans floating across the waters of the loch, like white flowers thrown frae the top of the Keep.

  This morning, she waited for him in the Bailey. He had spoken of taking her home, and she protested that her responsibility didn’t end until his wound healed. His agreement had been accompanied by a twisted smile tinged with reluctance. They had enjoyed the time they shared yesterday, laughed over jests, exchanged histories, compared their clans. She had seen the beginnings of understanding when she related the story of Morag and Euan, told him of the curse that appeared to have brought them back together.

  In all that time, he hadn’t once kissed her, although a few times they had missed by a mere whisper, a breath—temptation denied, and not only by her. Dhugal’s honour shone like a silver shield in the sunshine. She hoped that when her father came, he could see what she saw, when she looked at the man she loved.

  Aye, she loved Dhugal. She only prayed that it didn’t take him too long to leap to the same conclusion and that her patience held out for that second kiss. She turned to face the main entrance, shrugging to chase off the desire to tap her toes atop the cobblestones covering the floor of the Bailey and used the tamped down impatience building inside her to spin round as a terrible growl filled the air behind her. Her first impression had been ‘bear’, then she saw Shug.

  His hair stood up round his head like a bush, or as if he had been dragged through one. His eyes were red and wild and a long scratch spotted with blood ran down one cheek into his beard while other scratches covered his arms and chest, for his shirt hung round his waist shredded as if by a wild animal.

  Wide-eyed, as if this must be a dream, she called out, “Shug, what happened to ye,” as he approached. He didn’t answer except to growl and kept coming, his fists clenched by his side as if ready to fight someone—her?

  She opened her mouth but only managed a strangled squeak before he reached out, but thankfully didn’t strike her. Instead he grabbed her around the waist, a hand on each side, and slung her over his bare shoulder. The first thing that hit her was the stench of sweat—an odour that stood out as foetid compared to Dhugal.

  His back bore as many scratches as his chest. Being upside down, she had a fine view of it all, including the ragged tail of his plaid dragging across the cobbles. She wanted to pound his back with her fists but for once, lassie-like, didn’t want to touch the blood and gore on his skin so at last she found the scream she had been saving and let it rip frae her throat in an elongated, “Dh-u-u-u-gal!” as Shug swung around, taking her back the way he had come.

  “Unhand her ye black-hearted fiend!” The roar echoing through the Bailey was Dhugal’s and the air squeezed frae her lungs in relief.

  Maggie’s heart started beating again, though her head spun until she felt dizzy as Shug spun round on his heel taking her with him. Once again, her worsted bonnet went flying, releasing the hair she had been careful to hide frae Mhairi and Michael—Dhugal’s notion to mind her reputation, aware as her they would both face her father’s chagrin if she was compromised. For herself, she hadn’t minded.

  With great difficulty she twisted, seeking the dizzying view beneath the arm holding her steady. Stolid as a big lump of clay, Shug mumbled a curse through his teeth, “Devil take ye,” and in the face of Dhugal’s sword, warned, “Dinnae try to stop me, I’m returning her to the McArthur. I lost her and I’m taking her hame.”

  Her forehead pounded as her blood rushed into her scalp, until she wondered if it would drip off the ends of her hair onto the cobbles the way Shug’s leaked frae his scratches. If Dhugal was going to kill him, she hoped he would do it soon.

  She fixed her gaze on Dhugal’s eyes, his gaze narrowing as it slid frae side to side, searching the ground behind them. “Put her down right now, or I will be well within my rights to kill ye for stealing my hand-fasted wife.”

  As daft as he seemed, Shug’s surprise travelled through his shoulder and arms as they tensed about her delicately balanced hips, but then he wasna
e the only one who had been shocked. Slowly he let her slide off of his shoulder onto the cobbles at his feet.

  She staggered and, against her inclination, pushed away frae him with a hand to his mucky blood and dirt-streaked chest. Fortunately, she bounced away frae him in the right direction, towards Dhugal.

  “Is that true, what he says, Maggie?” he asked giving her a way out and, come to think on it, he had made a contribution toward her heart’s desire.

  She reached out for Dhugal’s hand, felt its warmth as he folded hers in his, looking directly into her eyes, while she told Shug, “What he says is true. Dhugal Robertson Skene is my hand-fasted husband.”

  “And as God is my witness, Margaret McArthur is my hand-fasted wife.”

  There it was done. Dhugal had protected her and through that might have given up everything he had been trying save at Skene. He wouldnae lose by it, not if she had her way.

  Dhugal might never say the words but she felt certain he must love her too, why else would he tie himself to her, if only for the year a hand-fasting lasted.

  A tingling sensation, a warmth like nothing he had ever experienced afore ran up the length of Dhugal’s arm leading frae his hold on Maggie’s hand. Mayhap it was shock? After all, until now the most rebellious act he had ever committed was remaining at Skene when the King had taken away all the clan’s rights. The only thing that could have hurt him more would have been if the King had declared him nae longer a Scot and banished him frae the land Dhugal had thought he loved more than aught else in life.

  Today, he had discovered his mistake.

  He knew he had been wrong frae the exact moment he saw that brute lay hands on Maggie. Ach aye, he had often threatened murder, frightened away many a trespasser with the point of his sword and the swiftness with which he could manoeuver it. Without boasting, he could admit to never having been beaten and seldom having to spill blood.

  Until Maggie—and that blood had been his.

  Useless to question the black humour clutching his heart at the sight of that tattered-clothed, vile-mannered monster with his dirty paws on his woman. Aye, his woman.

  His woman … in truth.

  One look and the notion leapt into his mind faster than his sword slid into his hand and out of its scabbard. The words had tumbled frae his mouth as if they couldn’t wait to be said. The wonder of it all was Maggie hadn’t hesitated. She had simply held his gaze as she took his hand and repeated the words that bound them together for a year.

  It wasnae enough; he already knew he wanted more.

  With her by his side he could achieve aught.

  With her by his side, if it took take forever, it wouldnae matter.

  Frae now on his biggest problem looked to be called the McArthur.

  Still holding Maggie’s hand, he cast his eyes over the wild-eyed beast he had rescued her frae. “Do ye know this man, Maggie?”

  “He’s one of my father’s housecarls. Shug and two others accompanied us to Dun Bhuird, protecting us by the McArthur’s command.”

  He cast another gander over the man; surprised the McArthur had put their care in the hands of one such as he. “Only this man and two others?” he demanded, unable to hide his ire that an unkempt lout had gained her father’s trust.

  He watched Maggie sigh, his eyes caught by the sight of her breasts rising and falling under the leather lacing of her short coat. “He doesn’t usually look so bad,” she explained glancing in the housecarl’s direction. “What happened to ye, Shug? Ye look as if ye had been attacked by some sort of beast.”

  He supposed that might explain it, but Dhugal had a sinking feeling he might be responsible, but what to say when she looked up at him, her eyelashes fluttering, not an attempt to enthral but a show of nervousness. “Are there any bears around here?”

  He shook his head. An explanation could wait. For now he had better do something to help the daft idiot who must have spent the better part of yesterday falling into every trap he had set. Aware that Mhairi and Michael had left their wee bothy and were looking bemused by the commotion. “First off, we need to get his hurts attended to, the auld folks can see to that.”

  “The McArthur will be here soon. Nhaimeth left a day ago to fetch him and some others to search for ye, but I was determined find Maggie first.” Shug turned, looked over his shoulder. His yellow teeth bit down on his lip, holding back a growl, “Ye tricked me, did ye no’. Ye werenae truly hand-fasted until ye said so to me.”

  His next comment was all but indecipherable, but Dhugal caught the gist of it, “A could kill ye for this, ye dinnae deserve such a braw lass.” Clearer now, he practically spat, “I ken whau ye are noo, a broken man, outlawed, and the McArthur will hear about it.”

  Shug sneered, expression ugly since his lips were dry and cracked and face scratched, “Frae ma lips to his ear.” It contained all the venom of a death threat as he continued, “The McArthur wullnae be far a-hint me.”

  Maggie wasnae having a bar of it and told him so, “Aye, I’ve nae doubt he will, but never mind all that now. Auld Mhairi will tend yer hurts, and make ye feel better.” She winked an eye at Dhugal, made him smile as she said, “I believe she has dram or two of Uisge beatha. What she doesn’t need for yer scratches, she might give ye to sip.”

  Auld Mhairi chivvied Shug until he accompanied her inside the bothy, and with him out of hearing, Dhugal prepared to speak by drawing in breath to form his confession when Maggie cut him off by laying one palm flat against his chest, making his heart leap.

  All it took was a touch.

  “Mantraps,” she whispered moving closer. With her other hand, she released the unyielding grip wrapped around the hilt of his sword, freeing Dhugal’s hand to touch her in return—to pull her into his arms as if to kiss her openly in the middle of the cobbled Bailey. Then his protective instincts slipped into play, stepped betwixt them and the sensual dance their breath and lips prepared to combine in, and drew back, aware of the ructions that could occur in the auld folks’ bothy if Shug observed them.

  Lifting his head and he stared up the once well trodden path into Skene as if the McArthur might be riding towards them. “We should ride out to meet yer father. I wouldnae like him to follow the route Shug took.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Nae sense of setting yer father agin me afore we’ve even met.”

  Deciding that with nae need to share a mount with Dhugal, the return journey to the trail along the boundary of Skene in search of Nhaimeth and Rowena would take less time—less than naught she discovered at the sight of her father, the McArthur, approaching, supported by a group of armed Cragenlaw men.

  Giving Dhugal nae more than a glance, her father nudged his huge black mount into a trot. Pulling up alongside Maggie, he immediately threw a long arm around her shoulder to pull her close, rumbling frae deep in his broad chest, “Maggie, lass, ye gave us a scare. We thought ye were lost.”

  Lifting one arched eyebrows, a feminine version of his fierce dark brows, Maggie drawled, “Truly father? Ye thought I’d got lost, or possibly that I had managed to lose my escort.”

  He merely laughed at her impudence, “The former of course, he replied afore setting his sights on Dhugal. “Introduce me to yer wee friend, Maggie.”

  Maggie responded in kind, “Ye’ll have to do better than that father, he’s at least as big ye, though mayhap slightly leaner about the hips.”

  It had the desired affect in the curl of his lips and the announcement, “We’ll go into how ye acquired that knowledge later, but at least tell me the lad’s name afore I have to kill him.”

  Turning Star to face the same direction as the McArthur’s mount they ambled towards Dhugal side by side with her explaining, “Easier said than done. I already tried that but only succeeded in wounding him, which was the reason I couldn’t just turn home and leave him to fend for himself.”

  Despite his wound, Dhugal sat up straight in the saddle, making her proud to introduce him to the McArthur, who smiled as Dhugal bravely thrust
out his hand to him.

  A poignant moment for her, as the father who had once been her be-all-and-end-all met his replacement. But she didn’t believe in putting difficult moments off and, as their hands met and clasped, she said, “A happy moment father, this is Dhugal Robertson Skene, once heir to all this land and now a broken man, but I’m sure we can do something about that since we declared ourselves hand-fasted afore witnesses this very morning.”

  The looks they threw her were remarkably similar, which, to her lively mind, merely served to make her point. Fortunately, since her father had brought a crowd, they carried enough supplies for auld Mhairi to put an evening meal together. She supposed it wasnae surprising that her father would come accompanied by both Rob and Nhaimeth, but Jamie Ruthven she hadn’t expected. In some ways it took her back down through the years to when she was a child, left with her mother at Cragenlaw while they all went off on an adventure.

  Was it any wonder that yon freedom was what she had envied the lads most?

  After they had all finished eating, she continued the tour, still full of determination to impress her father with all that Dhugal could fall heir to if the McArthur helped to smooth his way. Not that she said as much, for as they had wended their way frae the hall to all the chambers, she could tell by the occasional frown marring Dhugal’s handsome features that she should desist—obvious to her at last that reclaiming Skene frae the crown was an event he wanted to win through his own efforts.

  She had just shepherded her father into the muniment room, filled with all of Skene’s recorded history and, wanting to impress had run her fingers over the carvings on the ancient wooden chair Dhugal had sat on the first night, the night she fell in love with him, said. “Have ye ever seen aught so bonnie?”

  “Christ on the cross,” Euan gurgled, his words wrapped up in a ball of laughter as they spilled frae his mouth, “It’s a miracle, that’s what it is Maggie; ye’re finally a woman.”