The Warrior Laird by Margo Maguire Page A

when she arrived on the church steps for their nuptials. ’Twould be the one way to guarantee that the old baron would have naught to do with her when Aucharnie tried to make reparation.
    Baird wondered what kind of pact Aucharnie had made with Kildary. ’Twas likely that a great deal of money was involved. But whose? Did Aucharnie pay a handsome dowry to be rid of his troublesome offspring? Or had Kildary paid the earl a generous bride price for a young, fertile wife?
    Of course, Lord Aucharnie had not shared any information with him. But he hoped his success in this mission would prompt Lord Aucharnie finally to recommend his promotion. He deserved a captaincy, by God. Everyone knew it.
    His posting at Aucharnie Castle was supposed to have been a boon to his career. His father, General John Baird, had promised as much when he’d recommended Alastair for transfer to Aucharnie from a tiny outpost west of Aberdeen. The general had told him to bide his time, and when Alastair was ready, he would be transferred.
    But Aucharnie was hardly any better than the outpost.
    â€œ ’Tis Ramsay who is in Lord Aucharnie’s confidence,” Baird muttered as though his father could hear.
    Early in his tenure at Aucharnie, he’d taken matters into his own hands and set his sights upon the earl’s daughter. For surely the son-in-law of an earl would possess significant prestige and authority. ’Twas the perfect way to bypass Ramsay’s influence.
    Alastair’s ears burned at the memory of Maura’s humiliating rejection. She’d toyed with him for months, leading him on until he’d been in a fever to possess her. The lass wandered about the estate at all hours with no escort but her stunted cripple of a sister. ’Twas only right that he rein her in and rid her of the wee red-thatched troll that was so attached to her.
    But the bitch had spurned him at the last while two of his subordinates looked on. Her behavior toward him was utterly unforgivable, and Baird had every intention of seeing that the earl’s daughter got what she deserved—marriage to the old lecher in Cromarty. Either that . . . or perhaps ’twould be more satisfactory if she met with a convenient “accident” if she defied him again.
    They had at least two more days on the road before they reached Cromarty, and Baird was not familiar with the territory ahead of them. According to his map, there would be no inn where they could spend the intervening night. They would have to sleep in some cold, dank crofter’s cottage if he found one along the way.
    The more he thought of it, an accident was far more appealing than having to complete the rest of his journey to Cromarty with the higher-than-mighty Maura and her crotchety old companion. Next time Maura decided to take a walk among the craggy cliffs of the highlands, he intended to give his permission. Gladly.
    Then he would follow her and show her the error of her ways—while he took his pleasure of her sinfully enticing body—and then discard her like the proud piece of rubbish she was.

 
    Chapter 5

    T aking his ale in the shadow of a British fort chafed at Dugan. The town was crawling with lowlanders, as well as Campbells who were loyal to the English king and responsible for the slaughter of his family.
    Dugan would never forget what had happened at Glencoe all those years ago. Murder under trust was the most heinous of crimes, and Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon had been hideously guilty of it.
    He tamped down the bile that always came to his throat when he thought of his family’s horrible fate. He knew who was responsible, from Major Robert Duncanson, who had ordered Campbell to put everyone under seventy to the sword, to the Duke of Argyll, whose men had shot down his father and Gordon in cold blood. A child! They’d murdered a mere child because of the fecking king’s wish to make an example of a highland