Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

  “Ye did no’ tell him?” Rose whispered softly.

  Ian stopped pacing long enough to look at her. He realized two things in that short moment of time. First, he now understood how an unspoken thing could pass betwixt husband and wife so easily. And secondly, he loved Rose more than he had previously believed possible. He could give her the world now.

  Frederick waited patiently for one of them to explain.

  “There will be no children for Rose and I to pass anythin’ on to.”

  Thankfully, Frederick did not press for more information.

  “Still, ’tis an awful lot I ask of the both of ye. Ye’ll be buildin’ somethin’ ye’ll nay get to keep forever. Unless Ailrig decides later in life ’tis no’ somethin’ he wants.”

  Ailrig was all of nine summers now. Not a one of them knew what the future would hold for any of them, let alone a boy of nine.

  “Ye be right, Frederick,” Ian agreed. “’Tis a tremendous undertakin’, to be certain. But ’tis also a tremendous opportunity fer Rose and me.”

  Aggie left the stool to stand before Rose. “Frederick and I could no’ trust this to just anyone. Ye have been the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had, Rose. Truly, I do no’ wish to leave here, to leave ye or Ian or anyone. But Frederick believes we should at least make an attempt at what Douglas has given me.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her friend. “If I had me own way, we’d never leave here. But I keep thinkin’ of me mum. McLaren lands were hers, ye ken. To ignore that, to let them fall to ruin, to allow neighborin’ clans to take that land? ‘Twould be a travesty to her memory.”

  Rose was just as stunned as her husband. Certainly he would not consider leaving here. They’d already made plans to ask his father for a wee cottage, where she would plant a garden and flowers, and they would spend the rest of their lives simply loving one another. Nay, he could not even consider the proposal.

  She should have known better.

  * * *

  His brother had just given him the chance at a much brighter future. If he took what Frederick and Aggie were offering him, he’d be able to give Rose everything he felt she deserved. And in his mind and heart, he wanted to give his wife the world.

  “I shall give ye some time to think on it,” Frederick said as he started for the door.

  “I need no time,” Ian said with a wide smile. “We shall do this fer ye.”

  Rose pulled away from Aggie’s embrace. Seeing the look of surprise and desperation in her dear friend’s eyes, Aggie said, “Ian, do ye no’ think ye should discuss this with yer wife?”

  As soon as he looked at her with that wide, proud smile, Rose knew she’d not ever be able to change his mind. In that tiny moment, she knew she was destined to return to those lands she had grown to hate and fear. The rundown keep. The land where ’twas impossible to grow anything more than weeds. The lands that held more bad memories than good. ’Twas that smile of his that was her undoing: the one she knew in her heart she’d never be able to deny a thing on God’s earth. So proud, so utterly happy, as if he’d just been handed the world on a golden salver by all the old gods.

  “If this be what me husband wants,” she said, choking back tears, “then we shall do what ye ask.”

  5

  The following days seemed to fly by as Ian and Rose prepared for their future. A future that Ian was far more excited about than Rose.

  Ian spent his days in meetings with his father and brothers, planning the route back to McLaren lands, discussing what supplies would be necessary, as well as the design of the future keep.

  Weeks ago — almost immediately after Aggie had agreed they could use the money found in her father’s old office to rebuild her clan — Frederick had began to put in place plans for a new keep. He had gone to Inverness and met with a well-known and respected carpenter, Ingerame Macdowall, whom he hired immediately. Ingerame would be the lead carpenter on the project, responsible for hiring a team of laborers and carpenters of his own choosing. Frederick had the perfect spot in mind. ’Twas a mile away from the original keep, with more fertile ground, and more importantly, as far away from the glen as it could be. He’d also spent many a night drawing up plans for a much grander and heavily fortified structure. And the bloody roof would never leak.

  Almost immediately after being hired, the carpenter and his team of laborers set out for McLaren lands. The idea was that Frederick would meet him there later in the autumn.

  But with the recent turn of events and changes in leadership, ‘twould now be Ian and Rose meeting the man, and much sooner than originally anticipated.

  A swearing-in ceremony was held on the same evening Ian accepted the position. In front of his family and new clan, he swore an oath to protect each and every one of them, to lead with a firm yet fair hand, and to do a damn sight better than their last chief.

  While Ian was busy planning, Rose was busy organizing the packing of all the supplies and meeting with the women who would be making the journey with them. Most were McLarens, but a handful of the women were the wives of the Mackintosh warriors who had volunteered to go.

  Ian chose his older half-brother, Brogan, as his second in command. Brogan looked very much like Frederick, resembling him in coloring and build. However, that was where the resemblance ended. Brogan was a quiet man, speaking only when he believed he had something intelligent to say. He did not sing as Frederick did, nor did he play any musical instrument. He was also not as jovial or as quick to smile. But he was just as honorable and as good a warrior. He exuded power and strength and led by example more than by boisterous words.

  The next man Ian chose to help turn the McLaren men into a strong fighting force was his long time friend, Andrew the Red. Rose did not find the man quite as humorous or as brave and wonderful as Ian found him, or for that matter, as the man himself did. She tolerated him only because Ian both admired and trusted him.

  Both men swore their fealty to both Ian and to Rose. Never would they take their duties lightly.

  * * *

  There was not a moment’s peace to be had on the long journey west. At least not in Rose’s mind. At Ian’s insistence Brogan and Andrew the Red were made her personal guards for the entire excursion. “Ye’re far too valuable to me to take a risk,” her husband explained. “I can no’ be with ye at all times. ’Tis dangerous land we trek across.”

  Rose thought it quite senseless, the need for personal guards. And she told him just that as they stood in the courtyard one cool afternoon. Brogan stood to Ian’s left, Andrew the Red on his right. They were a formidable sight, these three men. Well muscled, with broadswords dangling from their hips, anyone else would probably have simply agreed with her husband and run away. But Rose was not anyone else. ’Twas one of the things Ian loved most about her: her fierce determination and inner strength.

  “I wonder how I was able to live me life all these years without guards?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “Ye have never been the wife of a clan chief before,” Ian explained. “Ye’re no’ only valuable to me, but to the entire clan.” Admittedly, he admired her independent streak. But on this, he would give no quarter.

  “Come now, lass,” Andrew the Red said, flashing a bright smile at her. “Our company can no’ be so bad, can it?”

  If he thought he would alter her opinion by charming her, he was sadly mistaken. “Ye think ye can change me mind with a smile? I am no’ some half-witted young lass who can be swayed by a man’s charm” she told him, her tone blunt and firm. “Better men than ye have tried. Ask Ian.”

  Andrew’s smile evaporated instantly. Ian chuckled outright at his wife and his friend’s response. “She be tellin’ the truth, Andrew.”

  “I can take care of myself, Ian. Ye ken that as well as anyone,” she told him.

  “Aye, I ken verra well ye can. But our current situation calls fer more protective measures. Remember, ye be the wife of a clan chief now.”

  �
�So ye’ve reminded me. Repeatedly.” Crossing her arms over her chest to mimic her husband, she was not quite ready to give up the battle. For days now, that was all he’d spoken of, being the chief of her clan. She wished she could be as excited about the future as he.

  “M’lady,” Andrew addressed her formally as he took one step forward, “I think what yer husband is tryin’ to say is that he cares a great deal fer your safety. We all do. I’ve sworn to protect ye, with me own life if necessary. ’Tis me great honor to do so.”

  “I ken verra well what me husband is sayin’, Andrew,” she informed him as politely as she could manage.

  “Then allow us to do our jobs,” Andrew said unflinchingly.

  Ian decided ’twas best to step in before things escalated between the two of them. “Rose, if anythin’ were to happen to ye on our journey west, I could no’ live with knowin’ I did no’ do all that I could to protect ye.”

  When he spoke from his heart like that, Rose could not deny him anything. Reluctantly, she acquiesced. “Verra well then,” she said. “But hear me now. I will no’ spend the rest of me life bein’ surrounded by yer men. ’Twill drive me to madness.”

  Andrew was about to speak again when Ian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and away from Rose. “I thank ye fer understandin’,” he said with a smile.

  Realizing he would not give in, Rose let the matter rest, with the belief that once they reached McLaren lands, the need for guards would pass. She could not have been more wrong.

  “I shall return to me duties,” Rose said. Giving a nod to all three men, she left them in the courtyard.

  Once she was out of earshot, Andrew said, “Why did ye no’ tell her she’d be guarded the rest of her days?”

  Ian turned around to face his brother and friend. “Because had I told her, I would never get her to leave this keep.”

  Andrew raised one brow in confusion.

  Brogan slapped him on the back. “Ye have never been married, lad. A man must choose his battles wisely when it comes to his wife.”

  Andrew scoffed at the notion. “Bah! A wife must always do what her husband says.”

  Ian and Brogan exchanged knowing glances before bursting into a fit of laughter.

  “If ever ye marry, make sure to explain that to yer wife,” Ian said.

  “And let us ken if ye’re successful with such an opinion,” Brogan offered.

  They left Andrew in a state of confusion. “But that is the way of things,” he called out to them. “Every man kens that!”

  Ian and Brogan paused and turned to face him. “Aye, every man kens it. But every woman kens it is just a pack of lies.”

  “Bah!” Andrew said, waving the two men off. “Ye’re both daft.”

  Smiling, the two men left him alone once again.

  Mumbling to himself he said, “If ever I am blessed with a wife, I’ll no’ let her rule over me like Ian does.”

  Oh, the naiveté of unmarried men.

  * * *

  It took two weeks to prepare the tangible necessities for the journey west. But ’twas impossible to prepare for the pain of saying goodbye to her family. Rose was quite certain ‘twould take a lifetime to get over the heartache of leaving her closest, most treasured friend behind, as well as all the new friends she had made since her arrival.

  They said their goodbyes the night before they were to leave. Alone in Rose’s old room, the two women sat and talked for hours, remembering all the good times they had shared, along with some of the bad.

  Rose’s room was empty now, save for the furniture. Elsbeth had insisted she take the fabrics and supplies with her to the new McLaren keep. ’Twas a gesture that meant the world to Rose. If they grew low on funds, she could always sell her talents as a seamstress.

  “Ye have been the closest thing to a sister I ever had,” Rose said as she wept and held on fiercely to Aggie. “I do no’ ken what I shall do without ye, or Ailrig and Ada.”

  Aggie was just as bereft. “If I could, I would leave McLaren lands to fall to ruin. Let the Bowies and other clans fight over it.” She pulled away, wiping her tears with a bit of linen. “But I can no’ do that to me mother’s memory.”

  Rose’s mother had left her nothing more than memories, a few bone needles, some blankets, and unfinished dresses. But those few things had meant the world to her. ‘Twasn’t a keep and lands, but ’twas just as important. “Ye can no’ turn away from what yer mother wanted, Aggie.” Rose agreed. “I just wish we were goin’ with ye, to Am boireannach dubh-ghlas.”

  The keep was named Am boireannach dubh-ghlas The Dark Grey woman. Neither Rose nor Aggie necessarily liked the name. Hopefully the keep was not as dark and foreboding as its name.

  Aggie began to cry again. “I wish the same!” she cried as she pulled Rose into another warm embrace.

  “Please, promise me we’ll see each other again,” Rose said as she held her friend close.

  Aggie nodded rapidly. “I do so promise. Next spring, we shall come to visit ye before we go to Am boireannach dubh-ghlas.”

  A year seemed an eternity at the moment.

  “And Frederick has promised to write to ye fer me,” Aggie told her. “We shall write to ye every day.”

  Rose could barely read and write, but knew that, with Ian’s help, she would be able to write to her friend and sister. “And I shall write to ye as well.”

  “We shall always be sisters,” Aggie declared. “Our bond is stronger than blood.”

  Sniffling, Rose pulled away to look into her dearest friend’s eyes. “Our bond is stronger than blood.”

  6

  The auld McLaren keep had been deserted for some time now. He knew because he’d been watching from a careful distance and with a wary eye. Today was the day he decided to give it a closer inspection, and he was fully prepared to kill anyone who might cross his path. There was far too much at stake to take any chances.

  For weeks, he’d been living in the woods near the glen, watching from a safe distance. As far as he could tell, the last of the McLarens and bloody Mackintoshes had left days ago. They’d loaded one wagon with what appeared to be very meager belongings, the last of the horses, and taken off, heading north.

  His stomach grumbled, hungrier than he could ever remember being. The last good meal he’d partaken of was in Edinburgh, two months past. He’d survived the winter — albeit barely — in Edinburgh and had left as soon as the snows had melted, on a horse he had stolen from a drunken lout. Hundreds of miles away now, he felt confident that he needn’t worry about anyone coming after him.

  Deciding now was as good a time as any, he left the safety of the wood.

  The gates stood wide open, another sure sign no one was about. Cautiously he crept through the gates and into the courtyard. An eerie quiet had befallen the place. He very nearly came to shitting himself when he neared the burned out keep and a tiny bird who had decided to take up residence in the eaves, flapped it’s wings. With a start and a pounding heart, he cursed up at the ugly bird who began to chirp it’s warning. “Ye will no’ be laughin’ when I eat ye fer me supper,” he cursed. The bird stared at him, chirped a few times before settling back to building his nest.

  Nary a soul remained, save for the rats that had taken up residence in nearly every spot imaginable. From the abandoned granary to the stables and burned out shell of the keep, the blasted things were everywhere. Just what they were dining on, he couldn’t rightly say. He himself had been hard pressed to find little more than grouse and the occasional rabbit to eat.

  With due diligence, he made his way inside the keep. The roof had collapsed some time ago; the beams lay scattered across the stone floor of the gathering room. One heavy, blackened beam lay across the staircase, barring any entry to the floors above. The air was dank, musty, and smelled of decaying wood.

  Stepping through puddles of water, undoubtedly left by the last rain, he headed to Mermadak’s private room. The door was ajar and groaned in protest
when he pushed it open. It scraped against the hard stone floor and stopped, allowing just enough room for him to squeeze through.

  The moment he pushed through, an eerie sense of foreboding settled in, making the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. Where the rest of the keep had fallen into decay and rot, this room seemed almost untouched. A thick layer of dust covered every surface, and a creeping vine had sprouted up through the floor near Mermadak’s desk. Other than that, one wouldn’t be able to surmise the condition of the rest of the keep based on this one room alone.

  There was a door on the opposite side of the room that was also ajar. A strong breeze came in from seemingly nowhere and began to stir up bits of dust and debris. For an instant, he could have sworn he heard someone whisper something incoherent, and it sent a chill up and down his spine. A forewarning from the world beyond, mayhap? Mermadak reaching from the pits of hell to warn him to leave this place at once?

  Nay. He’d not leave, not now. There was too much at stake to run away now. ’Twas just his mind playing tricks on him. But just to be certain, he unsheathed his dirk.

  Taking a steadying breath, he made his way to the large desk. Using the tip of the dirk, he began to pick through the parchments, afraid for some unknown reason, to allow his hands to touch them. Nothing in them seemed of any significance to the matter at hand. He was here to find the fortune Mermadak had hidden away.

  How many hours had he spent in this room? Countless hours to be certain. He’d been one of Mermadak’s messengers, one of only two men the laird trusted. It had been he who had collected much of the silver and gold from those men the McLaren had blackmailed. It had been he who had broken a leg or two when a victim developed a backbone and threatened to stop paying. Together, the three of them had collected vast amounts of money. How much, he was not sure, but he knew he alone had collected hundreds if not thousands of groats, merks, and sillars over the years.