The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

  Wooden platters, bowls, spoons were stacked neatly under tables. All manner of instruments, more than she’d seen, were tucked neatly here and there. ’Twas heaven on earth! Bright and cheery and clean, save for the dust that had accumulated on everything.

  No worry, she assured her happy heart. It might take a few days, but she’d have everything sparkling clean very soon.

  Gleefully, she set her torch in the wall and donned her apron. Amongst the linens on the center table, she found a drying cloth that could serve as a kerchief. Quickly, she braided her hair, then wrapped the cloth about her head.

  Empty and dusty buckets sat on the cold hearth and under the shelves at the back door. She grabbed two, swung open the back door, and went in search of the well.

  To her right was a long, narrow chicken coup, ahead, the well. The chickens were still and quiet. Until she walked past and one of them squawked at her in protest. “Lay abouts,” she whispered at the coop with a giggle.

  Happily, she swung the empty buckets as she skipped to the well. She was much relieved to see a block and tackle with winch, to hoist up full buckets of water.

  She lowered the bucket down, the crank squeaking and groaning in the early morn. She hoped she would not wake anyone, but there was no way around it.

  In short order, she had two buckets of clear water to haul back to the kitchens. Much heavier now, there was no skipping of feet or swinging of buckets. But her heart was still light and happy.

  Setting the buckets on the table with a thud, she wiped her brow with her apron. Next, she started a fire in one hearth. Once it was blazing, she set the buckets on the hearth to warm and went to retrieve more buckets of the icy cold water.

  Soon, she had six buckets warming. She took a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. Still, she was quite happy, quite eager to begin preparing a meal fit for her laird, her husband.

  With a light heart and humming a lively tune, she all but skipped to the larder. The images of sizzling ham, warm bread dripping with butter and jam, brought a smile to her face.

  It took a few yanks before the door opened. ’Twas eerily dark inside, so she fetched a candle from the table, lit it, and went back to the larder.

  What she saw inside made her heart plummet.

  ’Twas bare.

  There was nothing on the shelves save for an empty jar, a few empty egg baskets, and dust-covered salvers.

  There was no ham. No cheese, no bread, no dried fruits, no butter, no jams. Nothing.

  ’Twas enough to bring tears to a grown woman’s eyes. Enough to make her curse under her breath.

  Of course the larder would be empty. Why wouldn’t it be? There were no servants living within. No cook, no maids, no one for whom meals needed to be prepared on a daily basis. Her husband was used to eating in the armory with his men. Why would he even have so much as a nugget of cheese or a few bannocks?

  Unwilling to be disheartened, she left the larder. Placing the candle on the table, she looked about the large space. Everything a body to could ask for with which to prepare a meal, but not a morsel of anything to prepare. How ironic.

  Determination set in. Eggs. She could at the very least make a few hardboiled eggs to break their fast. Hopefully, her husband would be willing to replenish the empty larder.

  Hardboiled eggs.

  Alec looked at the bounty before him. Nothing but hardboiled eggs.

  “I ken now, why there are no rats within the keep,” Leona said as she placed three eggs on the table before him. “There be no’ a morsel of food anywhere within.”

  His choices were few. He could pretend to be perfectly content with hardboiled eggs, thank his wife for her trouble, then hie off to the armory where he could eat sizzling slices of ham, eggs, and bannocks.

  But he could not just leave her here with nothing more than hardboiled eggs for each meal. ‘Twould be wholly unkind.

  “There be a village about an hour’s ride from here. Let us say we eat our eggs, then go to purchase supplies for our bare larder?”

  The smile that lit her face? As if he’d just presented her with a ruby encrusted necklace. “Oh, thank ye Alec!” she exclaimed. Jumping from her seat, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I wanted verra much to prepare ye a good meal this morn.”

  He patted her arm, enjoying her display of affection. “’Tis just a trip to the village, lass.”

  “Oh, but Alec, ’tis so much more than that. Ye’re used to eatin’ with yer men. Ye’re no’ used to havin’ a wife to sup with. Ye could have gone to eat with yer men and left me here to fend fer meself.”

  “Och! The thought never entered me mind,” he lied.

  She hugged him once more before stepping away.

  Chapter 8

  The village of Kinbrea lay to the south and west of the Bowie keep. An hour by horse or more than two by wagon. ’Twas primarily a fishing village that stretched out along the coastline.

  Alec drove the team of four and wagon down a grassy, winding path. Today, Kyth and Gylys acted as outriders, on the off chance any trouble arose. Dougall was spending the day with his wife and bairns. In his place was Patrick Fitzgerald who, if you stood him next to any Bowie, you would know right away that he belonged. The lad was in his early twenties, a distant relative of Alec’s stable master, who had come to live with them several years ago, after the death of his parents.

  As they drew nearer the town, Leona knitted her brow. “What is that smell?”

  “’Tis the ocean, lass. Carried in on the morn’s breeze.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I did no’ realize we were that close to the ocean.” Her smile widened. “Is it yers?”

  “The village or the ocean?” he teased.

  “The village,” she giggled.

  “Nay, this stretch of land belongs to the MacLeods. They be the only clan who does no’ wish to see the Bowie clan obliterated and wiped from the face of the earth.”

  “So they be our allies?” she asked hopefully. Oh, she knew the Bowie clan’s reputation quite well and had made peace with it the day she married Alec.

  “In so much as they leave us be and we leave them be.”

  Her thoughts fell to the wayside when they crested the hill. There, at the bottom, stretching along the seashore was the village. ’Twas breathtakingly beautiful from this vantage point. And beyond that, the ocean.

  As far as the eye could see, blue water crested into waves and foam, like little clouds sent to the earth from the heavens above. Waves that crashed against an outcropping of large, jagged rocks or lapped against the sandy beach. Her toes all but itched to be near it, to touch it with her own fingers and toes.

  “I never thought to see the ocean,” she murmured with awe.

  Alec studied her closely for a moment. To him, ’twas just another ocean, but to his wife? He took note of her wide eyes, brimming with tears of what he assumed were awe. When he searched his mind for how he might have felt when he saw this place for the first time, he came up blank. It had always been a part of his life, from as far back as he could remember. He could not ever remember feeling the sense of awe or wonder he was now witnessing in his wife. ’Twas as common as the trees across from the keep, or a bowl, or a hearth. ’Twas always there; therefore it did not seem quite as special as it ought.

  “If ye like, I shall take ye down to the beach later, if there be time.”

  Pulling her eyes away from the ocean, she smiled that bright, beaming smile he was growing so fond of. “Och! Alec! I would very much like to dip a toe into it! Just to say that I have.”

  He returned her smile as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

  Moments later, she was digging into her pouch where she retrieved her eye patch and settled it over her blue eye.

  When Alec saw what she had done, he pulled the wagon to a stop. “What on earth are ye doin’?” he asked.

  Facing him, she said, “Coverin’ me bad eye.”

  “Take it off,” he said through gri
tted teeth. Just why she felt it necessary to hide either of her eyes, he cared not. It made him angry.

  “But Alec,” she replied, her voice holding just a hint of trepidation.

  His jaw set firmly, he said, “Ye do no’ have a ‘bad eye’,” he ground out. “Take it off.”

  Reluctantly, she untied the patch, but did not immediately return it to her pouch. Instead, she rubbed it betwixt her fingers as she stared at her toes. “Ye do no’ understand.”

  No, no he didn’t. And he didn’t care to. As far as he was concerned, her eyes were as intriguing as they were beautiful. “I’ll no’ allow ye to hide yerself from anyone, lass. Ye do no’ need to be ashamed of yer eyes. Or your breasts. Or anything else.”

  She tried to explain that it wasn’t necessarily shame, but a technique she had used over the years, simply to avoid the stares and taunts whispered at her back. “I cover me eye to avoid the ridicule. Ye could no’ understand that, fer ye have no’ lived the whole of yer life bein’ called a witch or the devil’s wife.”

  Nay, he had not been called either of those things. But he had been called much worse.

  Gylys and Kyth rode up to the wagon. “Be there a problem, Alec?” Gylys asked.

  “Nay. Go ahead. We’ll no’ tarry long,” Alec said.

  With a shrug, the two men left and made their way down the hillside.

  When they were out of earshot, Alec turned to look at his lovely wife. His wife who was doing her best not to shed the tears clinging to her lashes.

  “Leona, I ken ye’ve gone the whole of yer life facin’ ridicule over yer eyes. I understand how that hurts. I am, after all, a Bowie. ’Tis no’ as if people welcomed me with open arms.”

  When she looked up at him with those damp lashes surrounding eyes that had brought her nothing but pain, it stole his breath. “’Tis different fer ye, Alec. Ye’re a man, and brave, and ye do no’ let what others say about ye wound ye. I pretend the taunts do no’ hurt, but they do.”

  With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. He did not want to have these tender feelings toward her, but she made it nearly impossible to avoid. Resisting the urge to pull her into his lap and make promises he could not keep, he chose, instead, to share a secret. A secret his parents and brothers had taken to their graves.

  “When I was a lad, all of nine summers, me da wanted me to foster with a strong clan. None would have me, simply because of me last name.” To this day, he could remember the dejected feeling.

  “I thought ye fostered with the McGregors?”

  “Aye,” he nodded. “I did. But we had to lie. For five long years, I was known as Alec Mackenzie. I had to use me mother’s family name.”

  Understanding settled in. “I did no’ ken that.”

  “No one did, save fer me parents and me brother.”

  “That could no’ have been easy fer ye, as a little boy,” she whispered.

  He pushed the old ache aside. “Nay, ’twas no’ easy,” he said. Mayhap, someday, he might tell her the rest of it. Of how, when other families came to visit their sons once a year, he was the only boy without a family. He’d made up stories of how his parents were off working for the king of Scotland, hence their reasons for not attending the yearly celebration.

  “Now, let us go to the village,” he said, clicking his tongue and snapping the reins. The wagon jolted forward at the pull of the team. “And ye’ll be goin’ in with yer head held high, lass. Ye be the Bowie bride. That alone will get ye more whispers and insults than if ye had three eyes and a second head.”

  They left the empty wagon on the edge of the village. After helping his wife down, Alec placed her hand in the crook of his arm before setting off down the narrow street. Gylys and Kyth followed close behind, while Patrick stayed with the horses.

  Merchants and fishmongers called out as they passed by. A group of laughing children ran through the booths, weaving in and out, without a care in the world. Leona wished she could possess such a carefree attitude.

  “We’ll walk through once, to see what is being offered this day,” Alec told her. “Do ye have a list of things ye need?”

  “Aye, I do. ’Tis in me pouch,” she said, patting the pouch at her waist with her free hand. “We’ll need flour, salt, honey, spices, meats, and cheeses. As well as fruits, nuts—”

  As she ticked things off the list, Alec only half listened. Ever watchful, ever on guard, he was scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of trouble. Whether it be from enemies or something as simple as a pick-pocket. Silently, he wondered if there would ever come a time in his life when he would not have to worry about anyone wanting to seek revenge for things his brother, or those lairds before him, had done to them.

  “But ye’ve no’ told me how much I can spend,” Leona remarked. “Have ye a budget? Mayhap upon our return, ye could show me the books.”

  Distracted, he hadn’t heard her.

  “Alec?” she whispered his name. “Be there somethin’ wrong?”

  “Nay, lass,” he replied, only hearing half of what she said. “Come, let us visit the miller.”

  So much for walking through the booths and stalls first.

  They spent the rest of the day with Leona going from one merchant stall to the next. Alec soon realized his wife was careful and shrewd with her coin. He stood back, watching her haggle over the price of flour with one of the millers.

  “I hear yer flour be the finest north of Edinburgh,” she told him.

  “Aye, ’tis, m’lady!” He all but beamed with pride.

  Leona poked a finger into the sample he had on display. A heaping mound of flour set in a pewter dish. “’Tis well ground,” she said. “I reckon I’ll no’ have to spend time digging out any big pieces of shaft.”

  Proudly, the man replied, “Of course no’, m’lady! I take great pride in me work. Ye’ll be makin’ the best of breads this side of anywhere, of that, ye can be certain.”

  They haggled over price. In the end, Leona won over the man with her compliments, as well as pointing out she could get the flour cheaper from a miller three stalls down.

  “Och! He does no’ ground it as fine as me,” the miller declared. “Ye’ll be spendin’ a good deal of time picking through it.”

  “Possibly,” Leona said. “But it might be worth the coin I save.”

  Eventually, the miller acquiesced and sold her the flour at a discounted price. Alec felt quite proud of her and more than slightly relieved. She would not be one to simply pay whatever price was asked for anything. ’Twas good to know she was thrifty in her spending.

  And so the story repeated, from one stall to the next. Although she had haggled down the price with every merchant, she somehow managed to make each feel as though he had gotten the better end of the bargain.

  As Alec and the miller loaded her bags of flour into the wagon, Leona set off back down the street. Though she was never one to long for silk gowns, she did pause briefly to look at the fine wools and silks the milliner had on display. A dark green wool caught her attention. ’Twas nearly as soft as the silks. Deciding ’twas too early in her marriage to ask for such a fine fabric, she left it without even inquiring as to the price.

  The streets were growing more crowded, the air more alive with chatter and bartering. Thus far, not one person had given her a second glance, nor had she heard anyone discussing her odd eyes as she walked by.

  A few spaces away from the milliners sat a jewelers. All manner of fine necklaces, rings, and bracelets were on display. Just as she never longed for silk gowns, she also never longed to adorn herself with rubies or emeralds or other such baubles.

  But as she walked past, something did catch her eye. ’Twas a very fine kilt broach, crafted out of silver. Intricately carved to resemble a dragon with tiny garnets for eyes.

  “’Tis a fine piece, aye?” the man behind the counter asked.

  “Aye, ’tis verra fine,” Leona replied, unable to keep from staring at the brooch.

  �
�Be ye lookin’ fer something fer yer father?” he asked.

  Leona gave a slight shake. “Nay, me husband,” she said with a smile. She wondered if she’d ever not smile when she thought of him. Looking away from the brooch, she finally noticed the jeweler. Mayhap a bit older than Alec, with light brown hair and blue eyes. Not nearly as tall nor nearly as handsome.

  “Do ye make custom pieces?”

  “Aye, I do,” he said, returning her smile.

  “Can ye craft a brooch like this one, but instead of a dragon, it be a raven?” She had seen a crest over the mantle in the gathering room just that morning. Set against a deep, blood red background, was the image of a raven, with bright red eyes. In its mouth was a ribbon with the Bowie motto Conquer With Might.

  “Aye, that can be done,” he told her. “Mayhap with emerald eyes?”

  “Nay, with garnets,” she told him.

  Before they could settle on a price or when such a piece could be made, she heard Alec’s voice behind her. “Come away, Leona,” he said.

  Smiling proudly, she turned around. For some reason, he did not look nearly as happy to see her as she was to see him. He was scowling something fierce.

  He took her arm and led her away. “I turn me back fer a moment and ye’re off spendin’ me money on baubles?” he asked through gritted teeth. Aye, she had saved money on the things they needed. But to spend money on useless baubles? Married less than a sennight and already she was looking at expensive jewels. It angered him no end.

  “Nay!” she argued.

  He cut her off before she could explain. “We’ll no’ be spendin’ money on emerald and ruby necklaces, or rings, or other such nonsense. Ye can get such ideas as that out of yer mind at once.”

  “But I was no’ lookin’ fer meself!” she told him as he stomped furiously down the street, dragging her behind him. “And please, slow down!”