MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (46 page)

Not able to stand it any longer, the women embraced, hugging each other tightly as the tears came.
 
Angus had been standing quietly in the doorway.
 
He came to them and knelt on one knee hugging them both tightly.

 
“I hate it when lasses cry!” he said with a scowl.
 
A tear came to his own eyes then, thinking of Laiden, of his daughter and of what had taken place over the years.
 

Isobel and Aishlinn laughed at him wiping away tears from each other’s faces.
 
“I haven’t met a Highlander yet, who could stand the sight of a woman in tears,” she told Aishlinn as she hugged her again.
 

Later that night, long after the guests had left, Duncan held Aishlinn close to him in their bed.
 
She slept peacefully with her arm draped over his chest, her head nestled into his shoulder.
 
He enjoyed the way her breath tickled his skin and how warm she felt next to him.

It had taken weeks for him to be able to sleep soundly without the fear that he would wake and find her gone.
 
Tonight, he lay awake thinking about their future, the bairns he wanted to give her, the life he wanted her to have.
 
He felt blessed, more blessed than he knew he deserved to be.
 
His entire world was under this roof, in this bed, and he didn’t think he could ever be happier than he was in this peaceful moment.

“Husband?” Aishlinn whispered sleepily, startling him slightly.
 
“Why are you awake?” She asked, snuggling in even closer.

“Just thinkin’, wife,” he said as he gently caressed her bare arm.
 

“Thinking of what?” She yawned, hugging him gently.

Duncan let out a sigh.
 
“How much I love ye. How blessed I am to have ya as me wife.”
 
He hugged her; his heart filled with more love than he felt a man ought to have for someone.

Aishlinn lifted her head and looked at him with sleepy eyes.
 
A warm smile came to her face.
 
“I love you as well.” She kissed him tenderly, her lips barely touching his, but it was enough to bring desire to his belly.
 
Damnation, he thought.
 
All she had to do was cast him a glance, barely touch him, and he was filled with want and lust of her.
 

An urgent need, one he thought she had quenched for him just a few hours before, rose once again.
 
Never in his life had he felt so starved or so needy. ‘Twas as if the more she fed him, the more he needed.
 
There’d been no other lover he had ever taken that had managed to make him feel this way.
 
Nor had there ever been one who to satisfy him with the intensity his wife managed to bring to him.

He rolled her over to her back, his hands desperate and needy, caressing every inch of her soft skin that he could reach.
 
He could feel her desire for him rising with each rapid breath she took, as she tenderly caressed his back and arms, pulling him closer.
 

As he nuzzled her neck, he whispered in the dark to her.
 
“I want to give ya many bairns, lass.” Her neck was soft and smelled of lavender, the scent of her made him nearly delirious.
 
    

“You will,” she said as she released soft moans of pleasure, pulling him on top of her.
 
She loved the way he felt when he was joined with her, the sweet rhythm that would increase with his desire and need of her.
 
His need to bring her pleasure only intensified the explosions that washed over her each time they joined.
 
Knowing she brought him just as much satisfaction made it all the more wonderful and left her feeling quite proud that she could make him call out her name.

 
She had been keeping a secret from him for many days now, wanting to wait until the moment was right. As he made love to her now, speaking of the many bairns he so desperately wanted to give her, professing his love of her, she felt was it the perfect time.
  

“Come spring, the first should be here,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed her fingers into his back.

Duncan stopped instantly and looked at her not certain he had heard her correctly.
 
His mind whirled and he forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be making love to his wife.
 
“Aishlinn?” he asked.
 
“What did ye say?”

She smiled up at him.
 
“I said come spring you’d be getting your wish.
 
Our first bairn should be here then.”

Stunned, he could only look at her.
 
“Are ye certain?”

“Aye, I am certain.” She kissed him, wanting very much for him to return his attentions to loving her.
 

Duncan doubted his heart could ever be filled with more joy than at that very moment. He was going to be a father come spring. Come spring, their cottage would be filled with the delight of a bairn, the love and laughter that he and his wife had so profoundly wanted to give to each other.

He stopped for a moment to look at the beautiful woman he had married.
 
“Are ye certain ‘tis all right to do this? I dunna want to bring you any discomfort.”

“The only discomfort you’d bring me is if you stop now,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed her fingers into his back, urging him to continue.
  
“Now haud yer wheest and love me.”
 

To be released December, 2012

The Highlands, Autumn 1344

‘Twas not long after the heather had bloomed that Findley and three of his men left Castle Gregor on their journey northeast.
 
Had they been on horseback, and not driving heavy wagons, they could have arrived at their destination in three short days instead of the five it was taking them.
    

The sun shone brightly in the bright blue autumn sky.
 
A whisper soft breeze caressed the deep crimson, gold and purple trees that spread across the highlands.
 
No other season was as beautiful as autumn in the highlands, well, other than winter, spring and summer.
 

Although there was plenty of time before winter would arrive, Findley was quite eager to get to the reiver camp before the fall rains set in.
 
It was difficult enough traveling by wagon in good weather and he had no desire to travel through mud and muck with wagons
hopefully
full of people.

For days now he had been quietly mulling over in his mind what he intended to say to Maggy.
 
He needed to convince her and what remained of her clan to return to Castle Gregor with him. He prayed that she and her people would be glad for the offer of a safe and permanent home.

Findley had only met the woman once, months ago, when he and his men had tracked down the notorious reivers that had stolen cattle from his clan.
 
The reivers, as it had blessedly turned out, were five young boys, the oldest of which was ten and three. They had stolen the cattle for two reasons: one, to convince their mother and their clan that they were indeed fine warriors and two, to feed them.

It had taken very little effort to convince his chief and the counsel that this small band of people were in serious need of assistance. Findley had appealed to the chief’s strong sense of honor and duty towards the less fortunate, but he had personal reasons for wanting to bring them back.
 
He was quite certain that he had fallen in love with the beautiful mother of five.
 
Or that he had lost his mind all together.

At the moment, he was leaning more towards insanity, for how could a person fall so hopelessly in love with someone after only a few hours together? It had not, by any stretch of the imagination, been a romantic interlude they had shared.
 
Nay, ‘twas far from that for most of the time had been spent with Maggy scolding her sons for stealing, for skulking away in the dark of night and terrifying her beyond measure.

She had admitted to Findley that day that her biggest fear was the boys had either been kidnapped for ransom or taken as slaves.
 
Either way, she would not have had the means necessary to procure their freedom.
 

She had apologized repeatedly to Findley and his men for her sons’ stupidity and apparent lack of morals.
 
Between apologizing and scolding her sons, there had been little time for anything remotely resembling romance.
 
There was just something about the woman -- even as she scolded her sons -- that he found intriguing.
 
He could not have told anyone what that
something
was, only that he felt drawn to her.

At some point after leaving the reivers and their beautiful mother, the image of Maggy’s dark auburn hair and bright green eyes began to creep into his thoughts.
 
If he thought about it long enough he would surmise that those thoughts began to creep in approximately one minute after saying good-bye.
 
It was all downhill from there.
 
For some strange and unknown God-forsaken reason he was consumed by her.
 

When he had taken a dirk to his side in a battle against the English that summer, his thoughts had been of Maggy. As he lay on the bloodied battleground, clinging to life, his last thought before losing consciousness had been of her. He fought death as fiercely as he had fought any battle in his life just so that he might live to see her again.
 

During their first and only meeting, Findley had learned that most of her clan had been wiped out three years before by the pox. All that remained of her clan were a few auld people, a small handful of men in their late forties, and the five boys.
 
        

Maggy had borne only one of the boys, the eight-year-old named Liam.
 
Unfortunately the lad was as stubborn and willful as his father had been.
 
While it was indeed a fine trait to have as a grown man and as a warrior, it made raising him alone a difficult task. The other four boys had lost their parents to the pox and Maggy had taken them in to raise as her own.
 

 
When it came time for Findley and his men to leave, she had thanked them for the hundredth time for returning the boys to her.
 
Those beguiling eyes of hers had been brimming with tears of joy at having her sons back.
 
She had told him that day that she would forever be in his debt.

Findley and his men, Richard, Patrick and Wee William drove the wagons as fast as the rocky terrain would allow.
 
As far as Findley was concerned they couldn’t go fast enough.
 
The longer they travelled, the more anxious he became and he could only pray that Maggy and her people would listen to reason and agree to leave.

It was early afternoon when they crested the small hill near the River Tay where Maggy’s clan camped.
 
Something was wrong.
 
Very
wrong.
 

Death lingered in the air.
 
The smell of it made his heart and stomach seize.
 
His men caught the faint scent as well and instantly broadswords were drawn and horses pulled to a stop.
 
Alert eyes scanned the remnants of the burned camp and the surrounding hills and land for any sign of life.
 

They paused for a few moments to study the sight before them.
 
From the looks of things, the attack had taken place days ago.
 
His heart raced as he threw on the wagon brake and leapt down from his seat.
 

Nothing remained of the hut where the auld had at one time slept save for the charred wooden frame and three bodies burned beyond recognition.
 
He choked back the bile that threatened and began to breathe in through his mouth with his arm to his nose to help block out some of the stench.

Wee William stood beside him, shaking his head.
 
Patrick and Richard were looking through what remained of the tattered tents.
 
Richard lifted up the corner of one and found the dead body of an auld woman, too far gone to tell who she may have been.

“I’d say it happened at least two days ago. Maybe three,” Wee William said in a hushed, reverent tone.
 

Findley could only nod his head.
 
His heart was pounding ferociously and his hands shook as he looked for more dead bodies. He prayed that Maggy and her boys wouldn’t be among them.

Patrick and Richard walked towards the river and found two more lying dead along the bank. Findley and Wee William soon joined them.
 

While he got his bearings, his men continued to search.
 
The final death toll was put at seven of the auld and two of the men.
 
There was no sign of Maggy or her boys anywhere.

It was Richard who finally asked the question that Findley couldn’t bear to think of.
 
“Where are Maggy and the lads?”

Findley couldn’t respond, his heart wouldn’t allow him to go there, to think of the possibilities of where Maggy and the lads could be.
 
He bent and studied the tracks left behind and judged there had been at least ten on horseback. The tracks led in from the east.
 
It appeared they had left the same way they’d come in.

“Who ya think coulda done this?” Wee William asked to no one in particular.
 

Just then, a gust of wind swept down from the hills, scattering dust and leaves as it went along.
 
A small bit of plaid landed on Wee William’s foot.
 
It was as if God Himself had answered his question.
  
Wee William bent and picked up the bit of fabric and studied it closely for a moment. His jaw set as anger filled it eyes for he’d recognize that bit of plaid anywhere.
 
He handed it to Findley for his inspection.
 
It took only a moment for him to come to the same conclusion.

“Buchannans.”
 
A chill slid down his spine at saying the name.