The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

  Her father was always taking the lord’s name in vane, so she ignored him.

  “No one wants to marry ye!” he said as he made his way toward her.

  The crowd laughed at his declaration.

  “No one with a right mind, anyway!” someone nasty replied.

  “Mayhap that’s why she be volunteerin’, because we all ken the Bowies ain’t in their right minds!”

  More guffaws at her expense. It hurt, oh it truly did. No matter how hard she tried to ignore them, their words always stung like a slap to her face.

  Her father was pulling on her arm again, cursing at her, as was his way. “Yer mum should have let me drown ye when ye were a bairn!”

  From the dais, Ian’s voice boomed out over the crowd. “That is enough!”

  The moment Ingerame began making his way toward his daughter, Dougall and Kyth started making their way through the crowd. Alec was on his feet, his insides a blend of relief and astonishment, unable to utter even something incoherent.

  Unsheathing their swords, Dougall and Kyth pressed the tips of the cool blades against Ingerame’s neck. “We’ll thank ye kindly to remove yer hands from our laird’s betrothed.” Dougall said with a most menacing tone. It made Leona’s knees knock.

  Ingerame swallowed twice in an attempt to dislodge the knot of fear from his throat. “Ye can no’ be serious?” he stammered. “Yer laird does no’ want her.”

  Her. He’d said the word with such distaste, he made it sound as if she were a pox-riddled, diseased whore. That was his way, when it came to Leona. He despised her. Hated her. Passionately.

  “Aye, we are.” Dougall glowered at the man intently.

  “But she be bedeviled,” Ingerame argued, as if it were both true and would bring clarity to the situation. “Just look at her eyes.”

  Dougall had seen her eyes before. Didn’t give a rat’s arse about them. He’d liked this young lass from the moment he first met her. She’d taken a hellish beating from Rutger Bowie not long ago. He’d witnessed it with his own eyes. ’Twas her sense of loyalty to her mistress, Rose Mackintosh, that impressed him most of all. No matter what Rutger said or did to her, she refused to divulge where Rose was or who had her. You had to admire a woman like that.

  Besides, she’d volunteered and Alec would undoubtedly accept her. So as far as he was concerned, ’twas as good as if the marriage contract had already been signed and the ink dried.

  “I’ll no’ tell ye again,” Dougall warned. “Take yer hands off our laird’s betrothed.”

  “Ingerame,” Ian called to him. “I think ye best listen.”

  Stupefied, Ingerame let go of his daughter’s arm. Leona let loose the breath she’d been holding. There’d a bruise on her arm by morning but she’d not let him see her discomfort.

  Alec finally managed to find his voice. “Lass,” he said as he stepped around the table. “I would like to speak to ye. Privately.”

  Leona swallowed hard, willed her nerves to settle, and gave a curt nod of agreement. With great tenderness, he took her by the elbow and led her out of the tent.

  Ingerame was fit to be tied. “Ian, ye can no’ allow this!”

  “I would think ye’d be glad to be rid of her, Ingerame.” Ian’s words dripped with sarcasm that barely hid his anger.

  Alec led her away from the tent, toward the armory. His mind was beset with questions, most of them concerning the lass’s mental state. No one in their right mind would marry a Bowie.

  Past the armory, near the tall, massive wall, he came to a stop. He had to admit, she was a pretty woman. He knew what lay under that god-awful apron she wore to cover her ample bosom. Oh, he hadn’t seen them free and bouncing over his head, but he knew they were there. Had seen just a hint of their majesty when she’d dressed like a common bar wench in order to help affect Rose’s escape less than two months ago.

  Gold hair, the color of honey, shone brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight. Her skin he knew to be softly kissed by the sun, even though it was currently a dark crimson. He was much relieved to see she had healed from the beating she had endured at the hands of his brother.

  “Lass,” he began. The scratchiness of his voice surprised him. Odd that. “Lass, are ye sure ye want to do this? To marry me? After all me brother did to ye?” Although it hadn’t been Alec who had beaten her so badly, he still felt a good measure of guilt for what had been done to her.

  She thought it a very odd question considering she was the one labeled witch, daughter of the devil, or the devil’s whore, depending of course, on who you asked. “Aye,” she murmured. “I ken ye be nothin’ like yer brother.”

  If she could lay aside the past, then he should try to do the same. He swallowed once, then again. “Why?”

  Oh, she imagined it could take a fortnight to answer that question. Why? Because I do no’ want to spend the rest of me life under me father’s thumb. Because I do no’ want to spend the rest of me life alone, never married, never touched. Besides, I like how warm yer hand feels right now, holdin’ me elbow. And ye’re no’ runnin’ away in disgust or fear. That has to mean somethin’.

  Instead, she answered with the only believable reason she could think of. “We both want the same things, m’laird. Peace.”

  Alec doubted that was her sole reason for volunteering.

  “M’laird? If ye were no’ truly serious about findin’ a wife here, I will no’ hold it against ye. And if ye do no’ want me, I will understand.” Pain flashed behind those odd eyes of hers before she stared at her feet.

  She was giving him an out. ’Twas as plain as the delightful freckles on her slender nose. Inexplicably, his stomach turned to knots. He didn’t like what he saw in her eyes in that brief moment before she looked away. He also did not like how it made him feel when he saw it.

  All in all, she was a good choice. They were not complete strangers and he admired the determination and quiet strength he had seen in her months ago. And her skin was free of moles; she had all of her teeth and limbs.

  “I was indeed quite serious about findin’ a wife,” he said. With his fingertips, he gently lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. Aye, they were odd. One was a deep, olive green. The other was the palest blue. The color of ice when it forms on the loch in winter.

  “Me eyes,” she whispered after he had stared for such a long while. “They unsettle ye.”

  Cocking his head to one side, he said, “Nay, they do no’ unsettle me. They intrigue me.”

  From her bewildered expression, she either didn’t believe him or thought him completely insane. He couldn’t tell.

  Suddenly, he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Odd that, for he was rarely beset by such urges. At least not toward innocent maidens. But put a bar wench or whore in his path? ’Twas an all together different story then.

  Instead of kissing her and terrifying her in the process, he felt it best to list all of his bad qualities. If she were going to be his wife, ’twas best they start off as honestly as possible. Besides, once she knew what a cad and scoundrel he was, she would change her mind.

  “I be no’ an easy man to live with,” he said. “I am verra set in me ways. I work verra hard and expect others to work the same. I prefer late nights to early morns. I like order in my life and despise chaos. I drink far too much than is probably necessary or wise.” If that didn’t get her to change her mind, what he was about to say next surely would. A lass as pretty as she deserved far better than what he could offer. “I never wanted to be chief, but I accept that responsibility wholly and with great respect. This marriage, if ye agree to it, will never be a love match. ’Tis simply the best way I ken how to obtain peace fer me clan.”

  She was quiet for the longest time. Her eyes searched his, looking for, he supposed, any sign of deceit or treachery. “Are ye tryin’ to talk me out of marryin’ ye?”

  He could be brutally honest or skirt the truth. He chose the latter. “I merely be tryin’ to warn ye what ye would be gettin’ yers
elf in fer, with me as a husband.”

  Leona could certainly appreciate his straightforwardness. Mayhap she too, should be just as honest.

  “I prefer morns over late nights, m’laird. I am used to solitude, so I do no’ expect ye to entertain me all the day long. I sometimes get weepy when I’ve gone too long without sleep, but I will try to manage that out of respect fer ye. I prefer cider over strong drink but I’ll nay keep ye from enjoyin’ somethin’ stronger.” She took in a deep, steadying breath.

  Her father abhorred the sight of her most days. People, people she didn’t even know, believed the lies he told. Mayhap she should let Alec know about that before he agreed.

  “Me father is convinced I be a witch, because of me eyes, ye ken. A witch or the devil’s spawn, he be never really sure. But I swear to ye, I be neither.”

  My, but those brown eyes of his were captivating. Before she could lose herself in them, she mustered the courage to go on. “I too, like order. And I am no’ afraid of hard work. As fer a love match betwixt us? I do no’ expect that of ye either. I’ve gone the whole of my life without bein’ loved, so I be accustomed to such. I will be happy to have a marriage with mutual respect, mayhap even friendship. I’ll nay ask ye fer more.”

  ’Twas as honest as she could be. Not since her mother died had she felt loved, save for the friendship she had with Rose Mackintosh. The whole of her life had been a cold, desolate plane of existence. She knew ’twas folly to ever expect anything more than that. However, if she and Alec did marry and she were blessed with children? Aye, that cold, isolated life would be no more.

  Never loved? ’Twas it an exaggeration or the cold hard truth?

  He’d been loved and adored by both his parents. ’Twas each other they despised. But their children? They loved their children without condition.

  Though he had only met Ingerame Macdowall once before today, Alec knew he was a callous, hard man, and a fool. He treated his only child abhorrently.

  A warm sensation, wholly odd in its entirety, spread from his stomach to his chest. He was not a man who sported tender feelings. Those had been drilled out of him by his father over many years. Never trust a woman. They may be soft and pretty, but they all lie, he had told Alec more times than he could count.

  ’Tis nothing more than compassion. It showed he had a heart in that he did care for others, nothing more. He cared for his people, therefore it would make sense that he could care for this woman.

  Clearing his throat, he gave the lass a warm smile. “We be in agreement then, aye? We shall go into this marriage fully aware of what the other expects.”

  She gave a slow nod of affirmation. “Aye m’laird,” she said.

  “I shall have Ian draw up the marriage contract,” He informed her, with an inclination of his head.

  “Wait!” she said before he had a chance to leave.

  With a knitted brow, he paused.

  “I would like a contract betwixt the two of us. Just ye and me.” Where she found the courage to voice her desire for such a thing, she did not know. She could only hope he would not take offense.

  “What kind of contract?” he asked, most curious.

  Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin. “Promises, betwixt ye and me,” she stammered out.

  “What kind of promises?”

  Swallowing again, she wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. “I would like yer promise that ye’ll never beat me.”

  The idea appalled him to his marrow. “I would never—”

  She went on before he could finish. “And yer promise that I can have as many bairns as I want.”

  Flummoxed, he tried to respond to that request but she kept going.

  “And if ye ever tire of me, ye’ll no’ just toss me out. Ye’ll take me to a convent.”

  “A convent?” The idea appalled him just as much as the idea of beating her.

  “And ye’ll never lock me away anywhere dark. And if ye take a mistress, ye’ll no’ flaunt her in front of me. Ye shall be discreet about it.”

  He could bear no more. Raising a palm, he was able to stop her long list of demands. “Lass!” He didn’t mean for his tone to sound so sharp. She took a timid step back. “Lass,” he started again in a softer tone. “Draw up whatever contract ye wish. I will gladly sign it, if it means to set yer heart and worries at ease.”

  Relief fell over her. He could see it in the sparkle of her eyes and the way her shoulders relaxed.

  “Thank ye, m’laird,” she said with a curtsey.

  “We’ll be married soon. I think ’twill be good fer ye to call me Alec.”

  “Very well, Alec. If ye have any promises ye’d like me to make ye, please, let me ken.”

  He could think of many things he’d like from her, but none of them appropriate to put to voice at the moment.

  “I have no dowry, m’laird - Alec,” she explained. “I fear I’d be comin’ into this marriage with no’ more than the clothes on me back.”

  His thoughts immediately turned lascivious. If he had his way, there would be little need of clothing most of the time. The thought was unsettling, to think he could have such strong feelings of lust and desire for this young woman – a woman he barely knew. “Do no’ fash yourself over it, Leona,” he told her. “I care no’ of dowries, only peace.”

  Relieved to hear it, she smiled up at him. ’Twas a warm smile, quite beautiful.

  Before he could fall to the urge to kiss those pink lips, Ian found them out. “Leona, me wife needs ye.”

  She smiled again, a bit brighter. Brighter even than she had smiled at him. Why that irked him, he hadn’t a clear idea. ’Twas just a smile. Why should he have such a strong need for her to smile at him that way?

  As they stepped away, it suddenly dawned on his addlepated mind that he was going to marry. Leona Macdowall was going to be his wife.

  Chapter 2

  Upon hearing the news of Leona’s betrothal to Alec Bowie, Rose immediately sent her husband to fetch the girl. What she did not tell her husband was that her pains had begun early that morn. If she did not get a respite from his hovering — no matter how well intended — she was going to kill him in his sleep. Or, mayhap, ’twas just the birthing pains making her want to put a pillow over his head. Either way, ’twas for his own safety she sent him to find her.

  Bedamned if he didn’t return in less than a quarter of an hour.

  “Ian, would ye mind if I spoke to Leona alone?” she asked, using her sweetest voice, her brightest smile.

  “I’d prefer no’ to leave yer side, Rose,” he said. His smile was a blend of worry and joy, if such a thing were even possible.

  “Husband,” she said as affectionately as she could, considering the sharp pain twisting in her womb. “Leona does no’ have a mother. She is betrothed now, so this is the type of conversation we should have alone. Amongst women.”

  He paled visibly when he realized what she was saying. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I shall be right outside the door.”

  Blast it. “Mayhap ye could find me some berries while ye’re out?” she asked sweetly. “I have a strong hankerin’ fer berries.”

  “Verra well,” he said. “I shall return shortly.”

  She knew better. For days now, she’d been in collusion with every woman in the clan. They knew that if Ian appeared with anything she might have a ‘hankering’ for, the food would mysteriously be unavailable and he’d have to go from one woman to the next in search of it. ’Twould take him at least a good hour before he found the berries and returned. ‘Twould be a much welcome respite.

  Her smile faded as soon as he stepped out the door. “I love him, I truly do, but he hovers like flies over a rotten apple,” she blurted out as she bent over, holding her back.

  Leona rushed to her side. “When did yer pains start?”

  “Early this morn,” she replied with a wince.

  “Shall I fetch Angrabraid?”

  Rose gave a rapid shake of her head. “I want to speak to
ye first.”

  Leona helped her to sit on the edge of the bed and joined her. “I already ken how a man and woman join, Rose. Are ye sure I should no’ fetch Angrabraid now?” The last thing Leona wanted was for Rose to give birth before their healer arrived.

  Ignoring Leona’s concerns, Rose said, “We have plenty of time before the babe arrives. I need to talk to ye first.” Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, she went on to say, “There be a difference between joinin’ with a man and joinin’ with a man.”

  Leona wasn’t sure what the difference was, other than the inflection in her tone.

  “Are ye sure ye want to marry Alec Bowie?” Rose asked.

  “Aye, I am.”

  Rose ran a hand across her belly as she looked into the embers of the fire. “Why did ye volunteer?”

  Just why her motive for volunteering was so important, Leona couldn’t understand. “Many reasons, I suppose.”

  “Are ye worried this is yer last chance at ever havin’ a husband?” Rose asked, hitting the mark on her first attempt.

  Leona nodded as she fought back tears of guilt. “Do ye think that is wrong of me? Do ye think me desperate?” She certainly felt that way.

  “Mayhap no’ desperate so much as naive? Marriage can be wonderful when a man and woman care for one another. It can be hell on earth if they do no’.”

  Leona’d already thought about that. “I like him well enough,” she admitted. “And he is quite handsome. And he was awfully kind to me when we were helpin’ ye escape from his brother.”

  Those things were all true. Alec had been as much of a gentleman as any man could be. More so even than her own father or his laborers or even her own clansmen. It had been he who carried her out of the cold, dark dungeon that day. She’d been badly beaten, covered in bruises, and as cold as ice. To this day, she marveled at how such a tall, powerful man could be as gentle as he had been.

  And not once during the entire ordeal had he or his men made any off-color remarks or jests regarding her eyes. And just a little while ago, he told her he found them intriguing. She could only hope he meant it in a good way and not bad.