Highland Deception (Highland Pride) (16 page)

As Maggie’s hips swayed while she strolled back toward the keep, his thoughts drifted back to Edinburgh. The night Finlay had commandeered the letter from Nathair.

With the first rays of morning light disappearing behind him, Finlay had limped into the inn and closed the door, but not before peering over his shoulder as if someone were trailing him. The rest of their group was sharing the corner table in the common room for breakfast, planning to make a hasty exit from Edinburgh before Conall could find his father and have them arrested after yesterday’s altercation. Lachlan had just started to become concerned that his man hadn’t returned.

The quiet, unassuming one, Finlay had a knack for moving around people without being noticed, which was the reason Lachlan had sent him to Edinburgh Castle to keep an eye on Conall.

“Och, what happened to ye?” Dougal said as he approached the table.

Finlay sank onto the bench by Alan. He said nothing, but opened his sporran and pulled out a folded piece of paper then tossed it onto the table in front of Lachlan. Then he leaned in and said quietly enough for only their band to hear, “I amnae certain what is in that letter, but ’tis sealed with the mark of the governor of Edinburgh and is directed to Archibald Campbell, Earl of Argyll. I overheard Conall telling his man that the deal was almost done before he handed it to him. I kenned anything going to Argyll wouldnae be good.”

Lachlan picked up the intricately folded paper and studied the red wax seal, then broke it and read the contents. “We need to leave now. He plots his father’s murder and pledges the Erskine men to Argyll. They will come looking for it.” Conall had used his father’s seal to ally himself with the monster who was prosecuting men and women for standing behind their kin and beliefs.

The crafty bastard was a dangerous man, and what he’d read in that letter, combined with testimony from Robbie, would either put the blackguard in jail for the rest of his life or send him to the gallows.

Aye, Conall would be out for blood.

“I’ll take ’em now.” Wallace returned and interrupted his thoughts. He nodded as he passed the second horse to the man and turned toward the keep just in time to see Maggie disappear inside.

She would stay in the gates until this business was over. If Conall found out how much she meant to him, the bastard would take her. He didn’t want the man to know she existed, and that meant keeping her within the castle walls and out of sight.

…

That next afternoon, Finlay and Gillies returned. Loaded with food from the kitchen, they met with Lachlan in the library. News of their arrival had him hurrying into the room to see his typically exuberant men sour faced and quiet. They lounged in chairs and threw each other furtive glances as he entered. Dread assailed him, and he briefly considered walking back out.

Finlay spoke up. “We have news.” He averted his gaze. “We were asking about the wrong lass. At least we were using the wrong name.”

“Her name isnae Maggie?” Lachlan pinched the bridge of his nose then rubbed his hand up to his temple and back down again.

“She does go by Maggie to her family, but most everyone knows her as Margaret.” Finlay gulped. “Margaret Murray, the Duke of Kirk’s only daughter.”

It was like a physical blow, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, and for a motherent he couldn’t breathe. The Duke of Kirk was a powerful laird, a Royalist and an ally.

“This cannae be true. Dougal tracked her horse. She is the daughter of a priest’s sister.” Lachlan shook his head, but the denial he’d refused to analyze before rose up, and he knew they had uncovered the truth.

“The day she went missing, there was a priest visiting her family. His horse disappeared as well,” Gillies said.

Lachlan gulped. He had bedded her. A duke’s daughter. Silence filled the air while he let the news sink in.

“She’s a Murray, then. That isnae so bad.” He sighed as he let go of the tension. He would just have to wed her. Sure, the man was of higher status, but Lachlan was laird of one of the most powerful clans in all of Scotland. Many titled lairds had tried to get him to form an alliance.

It surprised him how easily he gave in to the idea of making Maggie his wife.

His shoulders relaxed, and he gave Finlay a smile. It was not until then he noticed neither man was smiling back, and in fact, they looked downcast, as if the worst was yet to come.

Finlay looked to Gillies, likely for some kind of reassurance, but he avoided Finlay’s gaze as well. “That isnae the disturbing part.” Finlay swallowed, and he shifted in his seat. “She is betrothed. Well,
was
. The wedding was to be yesterday. ’Tis why the priest was at her home.”

Lachlan’s breath became shallow. His insides twisted, and his gut hurt as if it had been repeatedly punched. He had to sit because his legs had turned to mush, and he was afraid they would not hold his weight, so he skirted the corner of his desk to collapse into his chair.

He wasn’t ready to lose her—he’d just gotten started with her. He could feel the color drain from his face as he contemplated handing her over to another man, then his disbelief turned to anger. How could she have kept something like that from him? She belonged to another, and she had led him to believe there could be more between them.

“Who?” Lachlan growled, slamming his fist down on the desk.

Finlay gulped. Lachlan did not recall ever seeing the man frightened before. How could this get worse?

“Who?” he barked and stood to stare daggers at the messenger.

“Ye arenae gonna like it.” Finlay’s voice dropped to a whisper. He shook his head as if he did not believe the words coming from his own lips. “Conall Erskine.”

Lachlan’s heart stopped beating.

Conall. His worst enemy. The man who had betrayed their country and was forcing his religion on others. The man who had murdered a priest and had tried to kill Robbie and him was Maggie’s betrothed. It would have been better had she been betrothed to a Sassenach.

“Ye didnae just say Conall Erskine?” he asked with barely disguised fury. A scalding rage clawed at him and threatened to destroy whatever was in his path. Finlay nodded, and Lachlan’s hands shook. He was going to kill someone.

Was she a spy? She had not asked him any questions of a political nature, had even said at one point she didn’t care for the politics of men. Had she been lying to gain his confidence? He was a fool.

All along, she had been right. Had he known who she was, he would have sent her home the motherent he found out, or he would have left her there in the woods. Her presence at Kentillie could cause a war. Hell, he’d slept with her.

She had put his people in danger, and he had been blinded by her looks, just like with Aileen. But this was worse. At least Aileen had cared about his people—Maggie didn’t even know them.

Although he didn’t want to believe it, the pieces started to click together. The Duke of Kirk had three sons, but he had not known of a daughter. That wasn’t uncommon, though.

Lachlan kept up with news from the other clans and recalled the man’s wife had died several years ago. Maggie had confided to him only last night she’d found her mother dead after she had taken too many of her own herbs. He had not heard the duke’s wife had taken her life, but the family would have hidden the stigma of a suicide in the laird’s home.

She was near Murray land when they found her. What a lucky coincidence to insert herself into their midst.

He didn’t believe in coincidence.

The whole affair had probably been planned, some scheme orchestrated by Conall to find out what Lachlan knew. How gullible he had been to put his faith in another woman. He wanted to scream, but despite his rage over Maggie’s betrayal, the thought of Conall putting his hands on her soft skin still made bile rise in his throat.

His men looking on, he paced the room, clenching his fists and shaking with the anger consuming him. It ate at him, a fury he had never known, not even in battle.

“What do we do, Lachlan? If she is found here, it could be war.” Gillies only told him what he already knew.

“We will have to get her back to her family, but I need time to think. I slept with her, thinking she was the orphaned niece of a priest. I willnae be returning her in the same condition she came to my bed.”

Maggie’s father had probably been scouring the countryside looking for her, and the Murrays would be out for blood, thinking they had kidnapped and compromised her. He couldn’t blame them; were she his daughter or sister, he would do the same.

Chapter Thirteen

The sick room door flung open and banged against the wall with a heavy thud. Maggie jumped at the intrusion and almost dropped the salve in her hands. Two men took up the doorway scouring the room, but with the late-day sun shining through, she couldn’t make them out.

The dark, ominous shadows seemed to swarm the room hunting for a victim. As they marched in, their faces took form, and Maggie recognized them as men she met the first night she had left her family’s lands.

The silhouette of an even more deadly form, more formidable in size and stature, took their place in the doorframe. They scanned the room until their gazes stopped on her and knives of unease stabbed her when they glared at her as if she were Satan himself.

The third shadow lingered in the door a motherent longer; she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she knew it was Lachlan as he marched in behind the other men. He was stiff, his brows pinched together and teeth bared. Looming closer, his menacing stare came into view and sent shivers racing straight to her heart.

Villagers and farmers crowded the room seeking medical attention, but as he glowered at her with rage through the narrowed slits of his eyes all movement ceased.

The balm fell from her hands to the floor, her heart sank, and her entire body went numb.

He knew who she was.

He hated her for her deception and was taking it worse than she had ever imagined. Waves of fury emanated from him like currents hammering a lonely vessel trapped on the sea in a squall.

And she was that little boat that was about to sink.

His eyes were so cold hers started to blur, but she held back the tears, because she’d brought this upon herself. A small crack formed in her heart.

He was going to send her away, was rejecting her, and would return her to Conall.

Her breath caught. No, she couldn’t breathe at all and was on the verge of collapsing and tumbling into an endless abyss. She teetered. It was a good thing she was sitting, because her shaky knees wouldn’t have held her up, and he was so angry he would probably not believe it if she fainted.

But defending herself would only make him angrier, so she opted to remain quiet. She had no excuse to justify putting him and his people at risk, and she should have left long before now. It had been a mistake to take time to enjoy herself, to think she could be wanted here and he would keep her safe. Now she would pay.

What hurt worse was the set of his jaw and the angry gaze that warned her he wouldn’t give her a chance to justify herself. If she’d sought out the map this morning like she had planned, she would be gone, but Coira had sent a maid to fetch her early because a man had been injured and the Cameron healer had wanted her help to set a bone. There hadn’t been another opportunity to leave the sick room, because it had been overflowing with others in need of assistance.

“Margaret Murray, ye were right. I am going to send ye home, but as far as I care, ye can go to the devil.” The icy-cold words pierced her heart, and it felt as if the world had disappeared from under her.

Too numb to do anything but breathe, she rose on trembling legs and stood tall. It took all her willpower. Anxious to be away from all the stunned faces, she walked toward the men and kept her face as emotionless as possible. She was so mortified and hurt, her only focus was to get away.

Lachlan looked to one of the men—she couldn’t remember his name. “Take her.” And he disappeared.

A wretchedness like she had never known assailed her.

She was vaguely aware of Lorna jumping in front of the men in what would have been a vain attempt to stop them. She didn’t want her friend to be punished for trying to help her, so she placed her hand on Lorna’s arm, she said, “I will go. Dinnae worry.”

She nodded to the men—Finlay and Gillies—she remembered now. They had been so nice to her that first day, but now they glared at her as if she were Satan’s spawn. A strange numbness washed over her as she placed one foot in front of the other and followed them from the room.

Her thoughts turned to what would happen when they sent her back to Conall. Bile rose up and threatened to consume her. The fiend would punish her. He was not the kind of man to brush off a slight like that without stiff penalty.

Surely, Lachlan didn’t know what kind of man he was. If he had cared for her even the smallest bit, he would never turn her over to the likes of that beast.

Numbly, she walked between the two men, her head straight and posture erect, as they marched to a side of the keep Elspeth had told her was not in use. They proceeded past the shocked faces of people she had met and come to care about. Curiosity, pity, or anger filled their eyes.

They would all hate her now. What had ever made her think she could have friends? That she would be anything other than a pawn in the games men played?

After ascending two flights of stairs, she was taken to a tower, left in a room that had only a bed and chamber pot. Heavy scrapes reminded her that she was bolted in like a common criminal, a caged bird, a game piece yet to be played. Her freedom was gone, and she collapsed on the cold stones. Only then did she break down and let the tears flow.

…

The motherent Lachlan opened the door to the garderobe, Elspeth burst into the library. “Get her out of there right now. What are ye thinking, lad?” She only called him
lad
in private and when she disagreed with a decision he had made. It was morning. It had rained all night, and he had barricaded himself in the room and drowned himself in whisky.

“Do ye ken who she is?”

She blasted past him, forcing him to turn back into the room. His head pounded and there was a shooting pain in his neck, because he had fallen asleep on his desk in the wee hours of the night. While his mother continued her verbal assault, he massaged the back of it with his hand.

“Aye, I heard who she was born to and who she was pledged to, but ye ken that isnae who she is. She is a lass, the daughter of a duke, and has no choice in those matters.”

Her words rang true, but they didn’t change the facts. She was betrothed to the man who had tried to have him killed twice, a man who would slit a boy’s neck without even flinching. Oh, Christ, had the second group of Conall’s men been after him or her? Thinking back, that man with the dirk had acted as if he knew her.

But if she were here spying, why would they take her away? His thoughts swirled with unanswered questions and too much whisky. In a vain attempt to clear the fogginess, he shook his head then stomped over to his chair and plopped down.

“She lied to me. She may have brought our clan into a war.” He jammed his elbows on his knees and buried his aching head in his hands.

“She didnae lie to ye. She told ye the truth. If she had told ye who she was, ye would have sent her back. And she was right, now wasnae she?” She poked a finger into his chest.

Lachlan groaned, reached for his whisky and gulped, but he didn’t even taste it anymore. He wanted to drink Maggie into oblivion.

“Give me that. Ye have had enough.” She snatched the bottle from his hand, walked across the room, and poured the whisky out the window, then turned to cross her arms, daring him to challenge her. “Have ye even given her a chance to explain?”

“Explain?” He growled. “What? That she is to be wed to my greatest enemy? I dinnae think she can explain it away.” He rolled his eyes, and his brow knit together as the fury overtook him again.

“Let me talk to her, then,” Elspeth pleaded. “Dougal willnae let me in to see her.”

“No one will see her. She willnae get the chance to poison another’s mind. She will go home tomorrow and with all speed, and I pray the Murrays and the Erskines dinnae swoop down on us the next.”

“She has been in there all night with no food or drink.”

“She can starve.”

Elspeth gasped. He said it, but he did not mean it—he still felt so betrayed. He reached for the flask she’d put down on the desk and tipped it back, but it was empty.

“Ye willnae mistreat her. Aileen poisoned yer mind, and ye let it cloud yer vision.” His mother stamped her foot. “I see the way Maggie looks at ye. The lass is in love with ye. She would never do anything to harm ye or our people.”

Did the lass care for him? A dim ray of hope attempted to burst into his frozen heart. Even if she did care for him, though, what could he do about it? She was pledged to Conall Erskine.

“Ye owe it to yerself to get an explanation, and ye owe it to yer brother, whose life she saved, to let her defend her actions.”

…

Lachlan unbolted the door to the tower room and strode in confidently. He didn’t want to show any signs of weakness. He expected her to be on guard and ready to hurl angry words at him, but the bed was empty.

Scanning the small chamber, he found her huddled on the floor, leaning into the curved stone wall. Her arisaid was unclipped and wrapped around her like a blanket. She was a small lass, but now she looked more like a child. Maggie didn’t move or acknowledge him.

His steps echoed in the almost empty room, and her gaze lifted to stare at him blankly. She didn’t say a word; he knelt down beside her, and she flinched away. Her tearstained face was dry, but trails of salt had been left in their wake.

She was sallow, not her usual glowing pale, but a drained, dull shade of white. Guilt gnawed at him. He had not expected to find her so broken. She wasn’t the fiery, reckless girl he had come to know.

“Finlay,” he called out to the man guarding the door, “she needs some food and drink. Have Lorna bring her something. Some whisky, too. She needs a little color.”

Crouching down, he reached out to touch her cheek where the salty trails lingered. Her skin was cold to the touch, and he looked around to find there were no coverings on the walls to keep the chill at bay and the fireplace looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. It had been unusually cold for September last night—the wind and rain had pounded through the night as well.

She didn’t move but followed him with her sad eyes. Lachlan hated seeing her like this; he was used to the fearless lass who matched his verbal quips.

He stood and scooped her up in his arms. Although she tried feebly to pull away, he held on and carried her to the bed. She shook, refusing to meet his eyes.

He’d missed having her next to him last night. When he’d woken up on his desk, it was because he had reached out for her warmth. Sitting on the pallet, he cradled her body against his and rocked with her until he could speak. “Why, Maggie? Why did ye not tell me?”

She continued to look down and away from him. Her voice scratchy and weak, she said, “Because I kenned this would happen. I kenned ye would send me back.” Her breath caught, and he thought she would sob. “I dinnae want to go back. I dinnae want to be wed to that monster.”

He stiffened. “Conall?”

She nodded and finally gave him a tentative glance. He caught her chin in his hand so she couldn’t look away. “Aye. Have ye heard of him?” Her eyes were wide with surprise. “I have been dreading it for years, and then ye came and I thought I was safe. I thought ye would save me.” A single tear fell down her face. “I never should have believed ye would be different.” A spark of defiance lit the watery depths of her eyes.

“Are ye aware of Conall’s treachery, then, lass?”

Everything hinged on her answer. He studied her carefully, because if she was being less than honest, he would pick up on it instantly.

“I only ken he is a monster, and I would rather be in the cloisters than tied to him.”

Lorna entered with a tray and smiled at Maggie. “Dinnae worry, Maggie, ye belong here.” She huffed at Lachlan, “If he tries to send ye away, Elspeth will castrate him.” She set the tray on the bed beside them.

“Out with ye, Lorna,” Lachlan said.

She ignored him. “Are ye all right, Maggie? Elspeth will want to ken he is treating ye fairly.”

Maggie nodded but didn’t meet Lorna’s gaze.

“Lachlan, she is one of us now.” Realizing all the women were rising up against him, he snorted, raised his eyebrows, and pointed toward the door. She smiled at Maggie and turned to go.

Rising, he set Maggie down on the bed, grabbed a glass, and poured her a generous dram of whisky. “Ye need some color. Drink,” he ordered as he placed the cup in her cold, trembling hand and molded her fingers around it. She obeyed and shuddered as the warm liquid went down.

“Now, tell me what ye have against Conall.”

She flinched at the mention of his name. Obviously struggling to say whatever she had kept hidden, she peeked up at him through her long, dark lashes.

Maggie took another swallow and whispered so quietly he could barely hear her. “It started on the day the betrothal contract was signed.” After another gulp she continued, “He cornered me in one of the stairwells at home. It was dark. He said he wanted a taste of what he would be getting.” She shivered. “I refused him, and he got angry.” Maggie looked down at her glass and watched the amber liquid swirl around as she rotated the cup.

Seconds ticked by before she added, “He punched me several times in my midsection. Afterward, I told my father. He either didnae believe me or didnae care. He told me I would have to get used to the man’s gruff manner, since we were to be husband and wife.”

His anger returning, Lachlan ground his teeth at what had been done to her. A tic in his jaw twitched fiercely.

“’Tis not all. That night, a light rapping on the door woke me. It was Miranda. We had been friends since we were babes.” Maggie stopped to inhale sharply; she blew it out and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he sat next to her and took her empty hand in his much warmer one. “She had been beaten. Bruises and blood all over her face. He had raped her. I will never forget the way she looked.”

As she stared blankly at the wall, she continued, “Broken. It was like she was a broken doll. ’Tis the only way I can describe it. She could barely hold herself up. And she blamed me. Miranda never spoke to me again.”