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

by Suzan Tisdale

  And none were as insane or ruthless as Eduard Bowie.

  That name alone was enough to make Rutger shudder. To say Eduard ruled with an iron fist would have been a tremendous understatement of fact. ’Twas more than that he ruled heartlessly and without mercy. Eduard Bowie was the stuff nightmares were made of. The man took what he wanted when he wanted, no matter who might be the rightful owner. People in general had been terrified of the man. And his clansmen? They hated him passionately. However, they knew that a revolt of any kind would be met with brutal death. He had possessed too many loyal men who would do his bidding, no matter how disgraceful or cruel that bidding might be.

  Silently, Rutger raised his cup of usaige beatha to the woman who had taken Eduard’s life. As far as he was concerned, that wee lass had more courage in her little toe than all of Eduard’s men combined. Though it had been a horrible way for any man to die — a grappling hook to his neck— ’twas no less than the bloody son of a whore deserved.

  He’d oft thought of sending Aggie Mackintosh a letter of thanks for killing Eduard. Were it not for her, he would have lived a verra long time and Rutger would be nothing more than another member of the clan simply praying for their chief’s death.

  9

  Before the afternoon was out, tents had been erected, wagons unpacked, goods stored, and camp set up. It amazed Rose no end how everyone came together to do more than their fair share of hard work. The air around them sizzled with excitement and anticipation.

  Fires for cooking were started, tables set up for food preparation, and much ale was poured and drunk.

  From atop the hill, Ian stood in the early evening light, looking down at his new clan. An overwhelming sense of pride enveloped him as he watched his people happily working together.

  His people.

  ’Twas odd for him to think of himself as the chief of any clan. Odder still, this one in particular. He did not worry about the Mackintosh men, for they were a fierce and loyal lot, not afraid of hard work or a challenge. Nor did he worry about those Frederick had hired to build the keep, for they were being paid well for their work. Neither did he worry about his beautiful wife. Rose was strong, and betimes just as stubborn as he. There was not a doubt in his mind that she would have no trouble being the mistress of the keep.

  Nay, he worried about the McLarens and them alone.

  Never had he met a sorrier, more hapless and lazy lot of individuals. ’Twas the men’s attitudes that bothered him most. He’d seen their lethargy and idleness first hand and on countless occasions. Not one was ever bothered by sitting back and watching women — his Rose and Aggie in particular — doing the work of ten men. Where was their pride? Their honor? He would have to lose both arms and legs before he’d let a woman work as hard as those two women had in the past.

  He could name only a few of them, for he hadn’t bothered to learn their names. Even though they’d just spent the last three weeks travelling together, he was certain that once the hard work began, they’d leave without so much as a by-your-leave.

  There were, by his count, only forty-three McLarens. Of that number, more than half were women. He was certain that if they all left on the morrow, none of them would be missed. He reckoned they could be replaced with only five good men and still get the same amount of work done.

  Nightfall was fast approaching when he caught sight of his brother Brogan walking up the hill towards him. Though they were not as close as he and Frederick, they were still brothers and allies. He admired Brogan’s ability to look at a problem from more than one angle; he was also quite intelligent. Knowing he was still grieving over the loss of his wife, Ian had been careful not to talk too much about Rose. If their roles were reversed and Ian were the grieving widower, he would not want to be constantly bombarded by someone else’s happy marriage.

  “Ian,” Brogan said as he crested the hill. “’Tis a good, warm night, aye?”

  “That it is,” Ian said as he slapped him on the back affectionately. Brogan winced ever so slightly, then began pulling at his tunic to help cool his skin.

  “It be no’ that warm,” Ian remarked sarcastically.

  “Do ye think me weak?” Brogan asked. “I worked all afternoon with me tunic off and now I suffer the affects of the sun.”

  Ian grimaced, knowing full well how badly skin burned by the sun could hurt.

  “I fear I be no’ used to all this sunshine,” Brogan said. “It rarely shone back home, aye?”

  Ian chucked. “Aye, that be true. I imagine it will take us some time to get used to. Ye should seek out Rose. She will have somethin’ to help ease yer pain and soothe that burnin’ back.”

  Brogan shrugged as if it were nothing more than a nuisance, even if his back burned as hot as the cooking fires below the hill.

  Sensing his brother’s reluctance to admit to any kind of injury, Ian rolled his eyes. “’Twill no’ injure yer reputation as a whoreson to get a balm fer yer back, ye stubborn eejit.”

  Brogan ignored him and changed the subject. “Would ye like me to call everyone together so ye might talk to them about yer plans and what ye expect from them?”

  “Aye,” Ian agreed with a nod. “We shall sup together and afterward I will address them.”

  Feeling somewhat devilish, Brogan said, “Ye’ll make a fine McLaren.”

  Ian glowered at what he considered an insult. “Ye’re either verra brave or a foolish bastard. Either way, I’ll kick yer arse up over yer shoulders if ye ever refer to me as the McLaren again.”

  * * *

  Rose was very proud of the fine meal she and the other women had prepared for their first night. Everyone had their choice of roasted duck, venison, or fish, along with savory vegetables, fruits, and sweet cakes. Copious amounts of ale and wine were poured and everyone — save for Rodrick the Bold — seemed in fine spirits. Rodrick sat alone on a log, away from the rest of the clan, watching everyone with either a scrutinizing gaze or a scowl; she didn’t know him well enough to ascertain which it was.

  There were not enough tables and benches for everyone to sit around, so many took seats upon the ground, or on felled logs. Fires roared and crackled whilst a few men took out lutes and drums to play lively tunes.

  Rose knew each of the McLaren women, and had built fast friendships with those Mackintosh women who had followed their husbands to these new lands. Most of the carpenters and laborers were single. Only a few had brought their wives with them. Rose made a point of seeking each of the women out to welcome them to the clan. She was also eager to meet Leona Macdowall.

  Ian was also quite proud of what his wife and the clanswomen had been able to accomplish in such a short amount of time. Seated at a table, surrounded by his men, his attention was more on his beautiful wife than whatever the men were discussing. He watched as she stood talking with a small group of women. What they were saying, he could not hear. Occasionally, that brilliant smile he’d grown more than fond of, broke over her face. Instantly, his desire flared and he wanted only to seek out their tent and love her all the night long. Though he had explored nearly every square inch of her luscious body, he imagined he’d never grow tired of daily discoveries.

  ’Twas Andrew the Red’s voice in his ear that broke through his thoughts. “Are ye ready to speak to yer people?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred from too much ale.

  Inwardly, Ian sighed, then gave a curt nod. Frederick and Brogan were always far better with words, and he hoped he wouldn’t muddle things. It had been Frederick who had addressed them weeks ago, back on Mackintosh lands. It had been Frederick who told them of their plans, of what they hoped to accomplish in the months and years to come. Nightly, Ian prayed these people would continue to follow him, that he could lead as well as his brother.

  “Stand on the table so they can hear ye,” Andrew suggested as he stood to allow Ian more room to leave the bench.

  Swinging his long legs around, Ian stood tall and stretched for a moment before climbing onto the table.
As he stood in the center, Andrew let out a loud whistle to draw everyone’s attention. “Yer chief wishes to speak to ye!” he shouted over the din of conversation.

  Ian grimaced slightly at Andrew’s bold behavior. He knew he was only trying to help, but perhaps he needn’t help quite so much. The people soon grew quiet. Taking a deep breath, he addressed his people for the first time as their chief.

  “I wish to first thank me wife and the fine women who prepared a feast fit fer a king,” he began. The crowd clapped and cheered and tankards were pounded against the tops of tables. Looking directly at his smiling wife, he held out his hands for her to join him. Brogan and Andrew assisted her up to stand next to Ian. Taking her hand in his, he said, “My wife, yer mistress, Rose Mackintosh of Clan McLaren.” Another cheer erupted through the crowd who had drawn closer in order to hear their chief speak. Ian noticed a few of the single men were smiling a little too fondly toward his wife, but he ignored them. It made sense for men to stare, for she was quite beautiful to look upon. But if any of them were to so much as step one toe out of place, he’d have no problem beating them senseless.

  “We have travelled a long while, over rough terrain, through rivers and over mountains, to reach this most beautiful of places,” he began. “Just as our journey here was no’ easy, neither will it be an easy task rebuildin’ Clan McLaren to its former glory. But with hard work and our determination and strong will, together, we will prevail, no matter what obstacles may come our way.” The McLarens cheered more loudly than the others. He eyed his Mackintosh brethren for a long moment. Clearly, they were not as excited as he or the others.

  “I must admit that I do no’ ken much about the history of Clan McLaren. I do know that fer a very long time, ’twas run by a ruthless man known as Mermadak. The McLarens who stand with ye today, ken all too well what kind of man he was. To ye, I promise that as long as I live, ye’ll never endure again that which ye endured at his hand.” The McLarens broke out into another cheer, even louder than the first. “To the Mackintoshes,” he began, raising his hands once again for quiet. “I ken ’twas no’ easy fer ye to leave our homelands to come here, to help rebuild a clan who until recently, ye’d never known. To each of ye, ye have me undyin’ gratitude and thanks, as well as Frederick’s and his Aggie’s.”

  The Mackintoshes burst into a roaring cheer, waving hands and swords in the air. “Fer Aggie!” they shouted. “Fer Aggie!”

  Ian looked to Rose, who was smiling as proudly as if the cheers were meant for her. When he looked out again, with the Mackintoshes and McLarens now cheering ‘fer Aggie’ in unison, he knew these people were not here for him, but for his sister-by-law. ’Twas a slight wound to his pride, but he’d rather have them here for Aggie than not here at all.

  As the crowd began to quiet, someone shouted, “Ian! We will follow ye anywhere! Our new chief! The new McLaren!”

  Grimacing inward, he painted a smile on his face. Would he ever get used to being referred to as the McLaren? He prayed to God he did not.

  10

  Two days passed before Rose had the opportunity to meet the elusive Leona Macdowall. She was not at all what Rose had expected.

  She was a strikingly beautiful woman, with long, wavy blonde hair. Why her father believed she was unmarriageable, Rose could not understand. Only slightly taller than Rose, she possessed a far more buxom figure, and a very sweet, nearly melodic voice. The only thing Rose found unusual about the young woman’s appearance was the fact that one eye was a dark green and the other a pale blue. Could that be the reason?

  Highlander men, by nature, were superstitious. Mayhap they thought her different colored eyes were a sign of the devil or a bewitchment. ’Twas wholly ludicrous, by Rose’s way of thinking. She found Leona Macdowall soft-spoken and good natured, even if she were easily distracted.

  “I shall be happy to assist ye in any way I can, m’lady,” Leona said as they stood near one of the cooking fires.

  “I shall be glad fer it, Leona,” Rose said with a smile. “I look forward to gettin’ to know ye better.”

  Leona simply returned the smile, gave a slight curtsey and walked away, leaving Rose perplexed. Had she not just expressed the desire to get to know her better? The young woman had left before Rose could ask even the simplest question.

  In the few short days that followed, the new Clan McLaren had settled into a routine. With the influx of extra men, they began erecting the wooden wall. Though ’twas not meant to be a permanent structure ’twas built as soundly as if it were. While teams of men felled the massive trees, other teams worked to remove limbs and branches before scraping the bark away. The top of each beam was cut to a fine, sharp point.

  While those men made the beams, another team worked to dig the holes in which those heavy beams would be set. And less than a mile away, men were busy quarrying stone.

  ’Twas dirty, back-breaking work, but none complained, at least not in excess.

  The women were just as busy ensuring the men were well fed and had clean clothes, as well as tending to the occasional cut hand or broken finger.

  Ian was as proud as any man could be, though he did his best to maintain a serious facade. Rose knew he worried that if he seemed more the men’s joyful friend, he’d seem less their fearless leader and chief. Only at night, when they were alone in their tent, would he let his guard down.

  “The McLaren men be workin’ just as hard as the Mackintosh,” he told her. They’d been there a week now and much had been accomplished.

  “Why do ye find that so hard to believe?” Rose asked him. He was sitting on a stool whilst she struggled to remove his dirty boots.

  He looked at her with a good measure of disbelief. “Ye’ve met the McLaren men, have ye no’?” he asked sarcastically.

  She tugged the first boot free and set it next to the entrance of their tent. “Aye, I have. Apparently it be ye who has no’.”

  “I be referrin’ to the same McLaren men who stood by and let ye and Aggie do the work of ten men,” he said, referring to how things had been when they had first met more than a year prior.

  Freeing the other boot, she set it next to its partner before standing to her full height. “Nay, ye be referrin’ to the cowards that followed Mermadak. Most of them be dead now, thanks to Rowan Graham — may the man be someday sainted fer comin’ to us in our hour of need.”

  It had been Frederick’s long-time friend and ally, Rowan Graham, and his men, who had wrested the old McLaren keep from the Bowie. Mermadak had convinced Eduard to kidnap and kill his only son-by-law, Frederick. In return, he gave Eduard the keep and all the McLaren lands. Eduard’s plans failed — and failed miserably, for Aggie McLaren-Mackintosh killed the bloody bastard with her own hands. Rowan Graham had come to their rescue by seizing the McLaren keep and taking it back from the Bowie.

  Ian continued to look at his wife with an expression that questioned her soundness of mind.

  Rose rolled her eyes as she rested her hands on her hips. “Do no’ look at me that way,” she admonished. “I’ve no’ lost me mind.”

  Ian quirked a brow.

  “The men that be here now? They were at one time good and hardworkin’ men. But after all those years of livin’ under Mermadak’s rule, they lost hope. They gave up, ye see. Would ye have worked from sun-up to sunset fer him?” She already knew the answer. Ian had grown up inside the powerful yet loving arms of a very strong clan. “Nay, ye would no’. The men that be here workin’ alongside ye now? I grew up knowin’ these men. I remember how things used to be. So do they. They have ye to thank fer givin’ us hope fer a much better future, Ian. As do I.”

  Ian hoped that his wife spoke the truth.

  * * *

  It did not take long to realize Rose was correct in regards to the McLaren men. The following morn, Ian woke just after sunrise. After making love to his wife slowly and with much passion, he dressed quickly, grabbed a bannock from their small table, and left her to sleep in the tent.

>   ’Twas a brilliant morn, with the sun casting shades of bright golds and yellows across the land. Until he met Rose, married her, and moved to this place, he’d never been one to enjoy early mornings. Nay, he much preferred to drink and carouse all through the night and to sleep the mornings away.

  But now, everything was different. He was the chief of this hardscrabble clan. He was now a man who possessed dreams and goals which he intended to work very hard to make them come to fruition. Save for a few women who were readying fires in order to prepare the morning meal, he saw no one else as he made his way across the clearing.

  As soon as he walked into the forest he caught sight of men already fast at work. And every one of the dozen men were McLarens.

  From the looks of things, they’d been at it for some time. Two men to a timber, six in all, were scraping bark from the massive logs. The other men were scooping the remnants into wooden wheelbarrows and carrying them off to add to the large, growing pile near the entrance. Covered in sweat — a few of the older men looked as though they might keel over from the exertion — out of breath and hard at work.

  But every single one of them bore a proud, beaming smile.

  Ian was struck at once with the realization that these men were much like him. They too had dreams and goals.

  As he approached, the men all looked up from their work to offer him a quick nod or a warm greeting. “Good morn to ye, m’laird,” one of the older men called out as he steered his full wheelbarrow toward the pile of branches and bark.

  Feeling a bit ashamed for not remembering the man’s name, Ian returned his greeting, patted the man on the back. “Fast at work already, I see.”

  “Aye m’laird. Ye never ken how long the weather will hold, aye?” the gray-headed man said with a smile as he went on his way.

  The mood amongst these men seemed light and merry. Cheerful laughter echoed from farther inside the dense forest. Try as he might, he could not find a Mackintosh man among those already up and at work.