The Warrior Laird Read Free Page B

at hiking than keeping her hair and clothes in good order, or smiling like a perfect idiot through mindless conversation with fops in lace cuffs and powdered wigs.
    Maura knew her dull, two-year “visit” at Ilay House was but a thinly veiled ruse her parents had used to separate her from Rosie and remove her from the family seat at Aucharnie Castle, where she had always managed to do as she pleased. She also knew Lady Ilay had been charged with grooming Maura as a proper wife.
    But Lady Anne had not been entirely successful. Oh, aye, Maura had learned the skills to manage a household, and deal with housekeepers, servants, and dressmakers. She’d studied household accounts and listened to reports given by Lord Ilay’s steward until her eyes crossed.
    But still, the idea of marriage to any one of Lady Anne’s silly milkweed acquaintances was as distasteful as the specter of Baron Kildary as her husband. Maura knew any prospective bridegroom would expect her to give up her freedom of thought and deed.
    Maura was twenty-four years old. She should have wed by now, and had children of her own, and yet she’d vehemently rejected every suitor her parents had foisted upon her, as well as the men Lady Ilay had brought ’round. Clearly, she was not meant to be any man’s wife, not when her own opinions and preferences were so marked.
    Hadn’t she defied her own father to save Rosie after he’d given the order to leave his poor, weak, newborn bairn in the hills to die? It was two years before Lord Aucharnie had discovered that Rosie still lived. The old midwife had not told him what Maura had done, and Maura had secretly made sure the Elliott family, who’d taken Rosie in, always had food from the castle kitchen and every other necessity to be comfortable in their croft.
    But Rosie had not developed the way Deirdre Elliott’s own bairns had done. She’d become pink like wee Janet, but had not grown to normal size. She did not speak until she was five years old, and even then her speech was not entirely intelligible.
    But Maura loved and protected her from her callous parents and their many coldhearted siblings, and Rosie returned her love absolutely. The child grew to be pure and sweet, with a loving personality that defied logic, considering her weakness and various infirmities.
    In the two years since Maura and her sister had been separated, not a day had passed that Maura did not think of poor Rosie and the callous stick of a woman her father had hired to take her away from Aucharnie. Tilda Crane was mean-spirited if not outright cruel, and Rosie did not deserve to be banished to the ends of the earth just because her parents were embarrassed by their youngest daughter’s shortcomings.
    Now Maura’s banishment was to become complete. She’d been instructed to leave Ilay House at dawn with Lieutenant Baird, the grim officer who carried out her father’s most contemptible assignments. Evictions. Arrests. Mayhap even killings.
    No doubt escorting a detested daughter fell into the category of distasteful tasks. She was sure the lieutenant was displeased with his assignment, for he despised her, ever since the day he’d made advances and she’d set him down in no uncertain terms. She supposed she ought to have attempted to be more tactful with him, but Baird had crossed a line. He’d grabbed her and whirled her into his arms while his men laughed.
    Maura had been incensed, though not surprised by Baird’s treatment of her. For her own father showed naught but disdain in his dealings with her. How could she expect anything better from his men?
    Maura cringed at the memory of Baird’s rough handling and the thought of spending several days on the road with him. She had no intention of going all the way to Cromarty and yielding to a betrothal agreement—especially this one—made by her father without her consent. She had a plan to get away from