The Warrior Laird (28 page)

“If only we could make out that one word on the map,” she said.

“We have time now, Maura,” Dugan said. “I'm going to send Lachann to Inverness with Kildary's gold. He can pay Argyll while we go to Loch Camerochlan for Rosie.”

Maura took a deep, shuddering breath and Dugan pulled her into the curve of his body. How she loved this man who would delay his return home to help her rescue her sister.

“What is it, love?”

“I'm afraid of what I'll find there. What if Rosie—”

“Someone has taken her in,” he said.

“How can you be so sure? My own father didn't want her when she was born. He never even looked at her after he decided her spine was crooked. She
was
too small,” Maura recalled. She'd hidden in the tower room where her mother had given birth, watching the proceedings, listening to his father berate the midwife for allowing the bairn to be born too soon.

“ 'Tis no excuse. Your father ought to be whipped.”

His gruff words warmed her. “My father never saw Rosie's perfect little fingers or her rosebud lips . . .” Maura remembered her mother's screams as she labored to birth her youngest child, remembered looking at wee Rosie, covered with wax and blood, lying abandoned in the well-used cradle. “Her lips were gray . . . not rosy red as they should have—”

She stopped abruptly as a thought struck her. “Rosy.”

“Rosie?” Dugan repeated.

Maura sat up, wincing at her many aches and pains. “Her lips were shaped like a tiny gray rose, but they should have been red. Rose red. Rouge.
Rouge
, Dugan! That's the word that's missing from the clues!”

“Rouge?”

“Yes! That's where the treasure will be—under a large
red
rock!”

Dugan pushed up onto an elbow and looked up at her. “I saw one—a great rusty red boulder,” he said. “At the tree line where you ran into the woods to evade Kildary.”

“That is where you must dig, Dugan. If there's any gold to be found, it'll be there.”

Maura settled down into Dugan's arms again, but hardly slept all night. She was anxious for dawn, eager to see if she was right.

D
ugan knew his confidence had not been misplaced. Once he'd realized Maura was his ally, he'd been certain he would find the treasure. His luck could not possibly be all bad.

'Twas time the fates ruled in the favor of his clan, and not the bloody Duke of Argyll.

When morning came, Dugan kissed Maura awake. “ 'Tis time, love.”

“Dugan—”

“We'll find it.”

Joined by Lachann, Archie, and Conall, Dugan walked down to the water's edge, then they turned and looked back at the line of trees.

Dugan held back the rush of excitement that ran through him when he saw it, a great red rock that was barely visible from the loch. “There it is,” he said. “
Rouge
. Just past those trees.”

'Twas huge. While Maura paced nervously at the water's edge, the men dug 'round the massive rock to loosen it. Finally, with all four of them pushing, they tipped it over and discovered what they had been chasing for what seemed like eternity.

A metal chest, far larger than Dugan had expected.

“Are you going to open it, Dugan?” Archie asked.

He knelt on the ground beside it. Using the ax, he dug away the earth at its front and reached down to the latch. He held his breath as he pulled it open.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Lachann muttered in a low voice. “Maura was right.”

Dugan slipped his hand into the cache of cool, brilliant gold coins, and only then did the magnitude of his discovery strike him. “There must be thousands of pounds here.”

“Aye. Ten, at least,” Conall said.

Lachann slapped Conall's back. “Thirty if there's ten!”

With this kind of wealth, Dugan's clan would never have to grovel again. He could buy their land and more cattle than anyone in the highlands possessed. When he married Maura they would raise their family without fear of further exploitation by Argyll or anyone else.

Suddenly, Maura was beside him, kneeling in the dirt. “Oh Dugan! You found the treasure!”

“Aye, lass,” he said, his heart full at the sight of her. “And I found a chest of gold, too.”

 

Chapter 34

Loch Camerochlan. Early May 1717.

“W
e're looking for a small, red-haired child,” Dugan said to the first man they came upon when they reached the village at the edge of Loch Camerochlan. He kept his arm about Maura's shoulders, giving his love and support, for he knew how worried she was. “The lass was brought here a couple of years ago with a woman by the name of Tilda Crane.”

“Ach, aye!” the old fisherman said. “Terrible thing, that woman drownin' as she did. But 'twas her own fault, goin' out alone in Cathal MacLeod's curragh.”

“Where is she?” Maura asked. Questions about Tilda Crane could wait. “The child, I mean.”

“Ye'll find her up at MacMurrough's cottage.” He pointed to a tidy little house on the hillside west of the loch. “Geordie MacMurrough and his wife took her in after . . .” The man shrugged.

Maura wasted no time, but sprinted up the path toward the cottage. She heard Dugan thanking the fisherman and following after her.

Dugan had not delayed their quest to find Rosie, sending his brother with their solicitor to meet the Duke of Argyll at Inverness and hold him to the bargain they'd made at Loch Monar. Lachann would pay him for the MacMillan lands, and never again be subject to the duke's whims. With the treasure in his possession, Dugan had the financial power to meet the wily old man on any terms.

Maura reached the MacMurrough cottage, out of breath and anxious, and was greeted by the sight of her small sister sitting on the ground outside the house, with two other children playing nearby.

Rosie turned her head and looked at Maura as she approached. Her sister looked well enough, but too small for her age, her back still bent, crippling her. But her face was as bonny as ever, her smile revealing her sunny temperament.

“Rosie?” Maura said quietly, hardly able to believe that she was here. Finally.

Rosie's smile faded and she looked blankly at Maura. But only for a moment.

Suddenly, the bright smile reappeared on her face. “Morra!” she cried, and raised her arms toward her sister.

Maura dropped down to her knees and took Rosie into her arms. “Yes, my wee one,” she said. “We've come to take you home.”

Dugan spoke to the MacMurroughs while Maura lavished her affection on her sister.

For the first time in Maura's life, all was right in her world.

 

Epilogue

Braemore Keep. Late July 1717.

M
aura covered her hair with a length of plaid to keep the dust from it as she swept out a large room near the bedchamber she shared with her husband. With carpenters and masons working on improvements to Dugan's tower at all hours of the day, the place was impossible to keep clean, even with all the servants Dugan kept.

She worked her way to the window where she could gaze down at the rich MacMillan fields to the west, and the loch beyond. 'Twas a beautiful holding, and now that Dugan owned every acre of it—much to the consternation of the Duke of Argyll, who could not bring himself to turn down Dugan's payment in gold—he'd begun to make significant improvements. Maura could see hundreds of cattle grazing on the hillsides, and her heart clenched tightly at the sight of Archie MacLean lifting her wee sister into the special chair he'd constructed for her inside a small wheeled wagon.

Dugan had chosen a big shepherd dog to watch over Rosie, and the diligent canine had taken to his task completely, much to Rosie's delight. Even now, the dog, Davey, was circling 'round and barking at Archie to take care with his fragile mistress.

Rosie laughed with true glee when Archie lifted the handle of the wagon and pulled her down the lane and out of sight with Davey running alongside them. Maura did not think Rosie's life had ever been quite so full.

Nor had her own.

“What are you doing up here, love?” Dugan asked. Maura turned and smiled at him as he came to her and took her into his arms. “ 'Tis a fine day full of glorious sunshine and we should be outside in it. Let the servants do this work.”

He was warm and sweaty from his exertions on the practice fields. Though he was now the wealthiest of highland lairds, he would never take his clan's safety or security for granted. Maura knew he had witnessed with his own eyes exactly how easy it was to lose everything.

But he was a generous man. He'd enriched his entire clan with his treasure, and was doing all that he could to enhance the grazing land and the arable acres.

“I'll come out,” Maura replied, “just as soon as I finish sweeping out this room. I've chosen it—”

“Why must it be you who does the cleaning? Hmm?” He pulled the cloth from her head, letting her hair fall free. He slid his fingers through it, causing delightful shivers to skitter down her back.

“Because this room is special, my dear laird.”

“ 'Tis just a bedchamber.” He bent to kiss her. “Have I told you today how very much I love you?”

Maura smiled through the kiss and pulled his plaid from his shoulder. She began to untie the laces of his shirt. “Yes, but that was hours ago. 'Tis always a pleasure to hear the words from my much-loved husband.”

“Ah, Maura lass, you are my life.” He nipped a few light kisses on her ear and down her throat. “ 'Tis complete only because of you.”

“ 'Tis about to become even a bit more complete, Dugan.”

“Aye?” His kisses did not stop as he lifted her into his arms and carried her away to their bedchamber.

“
Ach, aye
,” she said, imitating his highland brogue, “when our firstborn joins us come the winter.”

Dugan stopped walking and gazed down at her. His throat moved as he swallowed thickly. “Our firstborn?”

Maura nodded. “In February, according to our midwife.”

Dugan grinned. “You've made me the happiest man alive, my sweet Maura.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, and Laird MacMillan and his lady wife did not make it out of doors to enjoy the glorious sunshine until much later. They were far too busy enjoying each other.

 

Author's Note

T
he Earl of Aucharnie is a fictional character, and so is his relationship—and Maura's—to Major Robert Duncanson and Captain Robert Campbell.

However, a terrible massacre actually did take place at Glencoe, Scotland, on the morning of February 13, 1692, on the orders of a Major Robert Duncanson, who wrote that the royalist soldiers were to “put all to the sword under seventy.” It was called murder under trust because the soldiers had been fed and sheltered by the clan in their own small homes for about two weeks prior to the incident.

Scottish history books and the Internet are full of information and details about the events that took place at Glencoe in February 1692. My source was primarily a book called
Glencoe
, by John Prebble, first published in 1966, with many reprints.

The gold that is rumored to be hidden somewhere in the highlands did not actually come to Scotland from France until after 1746. The gold was supposed to have assisted Prince Charlie in his escape from Scotland after the battle of Culloden, but its location is still unknown.

If you happen to visit Scotland, don't try to find Aveboyne, Loch Camerochlan, Braemore, or Loch Monar, because they are all locations that sprang from my imagination as I was writing this tale. But if you do find the French gold, well, let's just say I would be very interested in talking to you!