It would not take long for her things to dry. Digging into her pouch, she withdrew the handmade book she called her journal. ‘Twas nothing more than scraps of parchment she had collected over time, bound together in auld, soft leather. ‘Twas more precious than gold and held her innermost thoughts and secrets.
She read through past entries, the poems and sonnets she had written long ago. The parchment was precious, and while nothing more than scraps, ‘twas still quite valuable. Someday, she hoped to be able to afford brand new pieces of parchment and not little pieces.
As predicted, her shoes and woolens were soon dry. It felt good to slip her cold feet into something warm.
Though Alec would likely not get much work done out of doors this morn, he would still need to eat. She also wanted to take a meal to Melvin. The poor man was all alone in this world.
Poking her head out of the back door, she was unable to gauge how long the rain would last. She’d need water, but all the buckets were empty. There was no way she was going to trod in the mud and rain to fill buckets. So she grabbed two and set them just outside the door to collect rain-water.
Thankfully, she had eggs left over from yesterday’s collection. Not many, but enough to make Alec a nice morning meal.
Leona rather liked this quiet hour of the day. Alone with her thoughts yet busy enough to make her feel like her life had some purpose. Although she was still upset about the ruined stew from the night before. As she sat in the dimly lit space, sipping on warm cider, she wondered what she could do to prove herself to these people. Assuming, of course, that Alec was right.
She was not so naive as to believe one simple act would bring the clan around. Nay, the Bowies were used to hard living, to not trusting outsiders. For decades, they’d been a ruthless lot of thieves, raiders, and ne’er-do-wells. That would not change overnight, no matter how badly her husband wanted it, nor how hard he worked toward it.
They did not speak much of his plans for the future, other than in vague terms. Of course, they had been married less than a sennight. Hopefully, someday he would trust her enough to let her in. To allow her to help.
’Twas far too early yet to begin to demand such things.
Deciding she had sat long enough, she began to prepare Alec’s morning meal. As she was slicing ham at the table, someone knocked at her back door. Setting the knife down, she wiped her hands on a cloth before pulling the door open. Standing in the rain was a young man she did not recognize. Tall and well built like Alec, and sporting the same dark hair and eyes, he stood in the rain.
“Good morn,” Leona greeted him.
“Mistress,” he said with a nod. “I be John Bowie. Charles asked me to let ye ken he can no’ bring ye any milk this day.”
She had forgotten all about the arrangement Alec had made with Charles.
“Charles is unable to bring ye milk. His roof be leakin’ and he needs to repair it,” he went on to explain. “He will do his best to send it tomorrow.”
Leona didn’t think she could fault a man with a leaky roof. “I thank ye for lettin’ me know, John. Would ye like to come in out of the rain?”
“Nay, mistress, but thank ye. I have to return to the wall.” And with that, he tipped his head and left.
He seemed an odd sort of young man, but then all the Bowies were odd sorts. Shaking her head, she went back to slicing bread.
As promised, Alec had ordered new locks to be installed in her kitchen. Seamus appeared late the following afternoon, apologizing for not being able to get to the task sooner.
“Do no’ fash yourself over it, Seamus,” she told him. “I be certain yer job is no’ an easy one.”
Pleased with her forgiveness, Seamus offered her an affectionate smile. “Thank ye, kindly fer bein’ so understandin’ about it all, mistress.”
It had taken him a full hour to finish his task. Affixing the keys to a long, thin bit of leather, she draped it around her waist and felt instantly better. Determined not to risk another salt incident, she would be diligent in never leaving the kitchen without locking the door behind her.
Lost in her own thoughts, she was startled when Gylys and Kyth entered the kitchen. Water dripped off their cloaks and boots, leaving puddles in their wake.
“Mistress, we be headin’ into the village soon,” Kyth explained.
Rather sheepishly, Gylys asked, “Will ye be needin’ anythin’ besides, well, salt?”
’Twas all she could do not to laugh at his discomfort. He was trying to be kind, something she felt wholly unusual for a Bowie. “Nay,” she said, trying to maintain a straight face. “And I promise to use it sparingly in the future.”
Then two men cast each other peculiar expressions. ’Twas Leona who laughed first. Moments later, they joined in.
“If ye be no’ afraid to try again, lads, I invite ye to sup with us this night. If Phillip Bowie delivers the venison he promised to Alec, we shall dine on that. If no’, I fear I will have to make another stew.”
“Mayhap we should no’ give ye the salt until after ye’ve prepared it?” Gylys offered with a laugh.
She liked these two men, she sincerely did. Like the brothers she never had. As they turned to leave, she was struck with the memory of her previous trip to the village.
“Wait!” she called out. “There is somethin’ I would like ye to do.”
Quickly, she reached into her pouch and pulled out her journal. At the very back of the book, she had drawn a likeness of the brooch she wanted to have made for Alec.
She gave a quick explanation of her idea for the brooch to Gylys and Kyth. “I would like to give it to him as a gift, ye see. I want it to be a surprise. Unfortunately, I did no’ have the opportunity to ask the jeweler about the cost of makin’ it fer me.”
Another curious glance between the two men. “But why?” Gylys asked.
“Why what?”
He cleared his throat once before explaining his confusion. “Why do ye wish to give Alec a gift? And such a nice one as this?”
“He has a birthday in few months does he not?”
“Aye,” Gylys said, still baffled.
“Well, I want to give our laird, me husband, a gift to commemorate it.”
’Twas Kyth who said, “Ye be right fond of givin’ gifts, aye?”
She felt her face grow warm with a blush. Clearly these people were unaccustomed to gift-giving. “Aye, I be quite fond of it. ’Tis me way of showin’ him me gratitude.”
“Gratitude fer what?” they both asked.
Her blush grew hotter. “Does it truly matter? I simply wish to give me husband a gift.”
She was grateful when they gave up their questioning. “Ye want us to have him make it?” Kyth asked as he looked at her drawing.
“Nay, no’ yet. I simply want to ken how much to make it and how long it will take him.”
Although they did not quite understand the why of it, they agreed to do as she requested.
Alec did not like waking up to an empty bed. ’Twas an entirely new sensation, this feeling of missing his wife, and he did not like it. Not one bit.
But he could not help but think of her as he lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. She was a beautiful woman, his wife. He thought back to the disastrous supper the night before. If he were honest with himself, he would admit he was quite proud of how she handled the entire situation. She hadn’t broken down into sobs, hadn’t railed against the world, nor had she demanded he seek out the person guilty for ruining the stew. Nay, she’d taken it with graceful aplomb, even though he knew she was mad enough to bite steel.
And afterwards, when they ate their meal alone, here in their bedchamber, she had done her best to make him comfortable. He could not help but wonder, however, if her eagerness to please him was one more way to crack his otherwise stone-cold heart. One more way of getting him to appreciate her, to eventually fall in love with her.
Oh, he liked her well enough. Seriously, what was there not to like? Beautiful, kind,
and oh so willing to please him in their marital bed. He found a little bit of heaven on earth when he was joining with her. The way she would call out his name, the way she would look at him with a smoldering heat, desire, and adoration.
’Twas enough to unsettle any man with a sound mind.
To his way of thinking, ’twas one more step toward the proverbial cliff, this sense of adoration for his wife.
’Twas not supposed to be like that. He was not supposed to have anything other than a warm regard for her. And he certainly was not supposed to follow her around like a hungry pup looking for its mother’s teat.
Determined not to allow these dangerous feelings to guide his life, he left his warm bed, washed up in the basin and got dressed.
She be just yer wife, he told himself. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.
Then why on earth was he possessed with the overwhelming need to see her?
Less than an hour later, Alec came below stairs just as Leona was setting the meal on the table. “Good morn, to ye,” she said with a smile.
He stopped a few feet from the table and stared at her, for an uncomfortably long moment. “Be there somethin’ the matter?” she asked as she nervously wiped her palms on her apron.
Aye, there was something the matter. She was the matter. Over her blue dress she wore that blasted apron. Why he hated the bloody thing, he doubted he’d ever fully know, but hate it he did. Perhaps because it hid so much of her fine figure. A figure he had enjoyed thoroughly the night before.
Her hair hung in a braid across her chest. Over it, she wore a kerchief, something else he was beginning to deplore, for it covered far too much of her gloriously soft hair.
Images of her naked, with her golden hair splayed out like the morning sunset popped into his mind. His arousal was instant.
Somehow he managed to reply, “Nay.”
She studied him closely for a moment before turning back to the table. After fixing his trencher and setting it before him, she sat down next to him. “What be yer plans fer this day?” She asked as she spread butter onto a slice of bread.
“Prayin’ the rain stops soon,” he replied as he cut off a hunk of ham and popped it into his mouth. “And ye?”
“When the rain lets up, I plan on takin’ Melvin a meal.”
He gave an approving nod. “He will appreciate such a gesture.”
And ye? Will ye appreciate it? She dared not ask the question.
“And as soon as I can, I plan on gatherin’ rushes fer the floor. Get some of the chill out of this place,” she told him, taking another delicate bite of her bread.
“It does get a bit cold, aye?” He remarked, again, with a mouth full of food.
Soon, he had consumed his meal. Wiping his face on the sleeve of his tunic, instead of the linen cloth she had placed next to his trencher, he pushed away from the table. “I will be in me study fer a time,” he told her. “Then I have to see Dougall.”
Before she could offer him a warm goodbye, he was strolling away from the table without a care in the world.
No sweet kiss goodbye. No kind word bidding her good day. He simply left.
She thought of Ian and Rose. Ian would not step a foot away from his wife without bidding her a pleasant farewell along with a kiss. Mayhap, had Alec spent more time with Ian, he would be able to see how a husband properly treats his wife.
But a visit to her former home was a long way off. ’Twould be too much to ask for one of the twice yearly visits he’d agreed to. Mayhap not until after the harvest would they be able to visit.
Should she wait until then to teach her husband the manners and things he would already know, had he not been raised by thieves and the like? Nay, that was too far off. She might grow too frustrated in the interim, and clout him over the head with a pot.
Nay, the best course of action would be to politely teach her husband the ways of the world.
The next time ye leave me, Alec Bowie, ye shall kiss me proper.
God did not answer Alec’s prayers regarding the rain, thereby forcing him to stay indoors the entirety of the morning. He kept himself busy by going over the keep’s ledgers and accounts.
Not much had changed since the first time he’d looked at them, not long after Rutger’s death. His brother had a penchant for spending, and it hadn’t been wise spending. Countless groats and sillars had been spent on frivolous things, such as silks, fancy clothing, jewels, gold necklaces, and the like.
Decades of thieving and marauding, of building up their coffers, had been wasted in a matter of less than a year. And for what? Silk tunics and baubles to adorn himself with? Alec wondered if Rutger would now agree ’twas all for naught. Unfortunately, he would never know the answer to that question.
He also wondered if, at the end of his life, in that brief moment right before the horse trampled him into the earth, if Rutger had a fleeting thought for anyone other than himself. Had he realized in that brief time that Alec had been right? Had he finally seen the error of his ways?
Again, ’twas doubtful.
Raking a hand through his dark locks, he let out a heavy sigh. Closing the book, he pushed it away and sat staring into the hearth. They had enough funds to see them through another year, if he were exceedingly frugal. If he’d been a praying man, he would be on his knees now, praying to the gods that their crops would be plentiful and that they might be able to sell enough to see them through another year.
Right after Rutger’s death, Dougall, Kyth, Gylys and a handful of other clansmen had come to him and begged him to take over as chief. That had been the last thing he ever wanted. Nay, he would have been happy to stay in the shadows for the remainder of his days. He had not planned on staying here as long as he had. But when he saw how much his brother had changed and how he was leading the clan to utter ruin, he found he could not leave.
Months of pleading for change had fallen on deaf ears. Countless nights of trying to talk his brother into altering not only his ways, but the ways of the clan, had been for naught. His pleas, his arguments had been ignored.
And now, here he was with a handful of Bowie men who had been listening. They too, desired change. The kind of change Alec had been begging his brother for.
For reasons he still could not explain to himself, he had agreed to their request. He had become the chief of clan Bowie on one condition: they had to somehow manage to get the rest of the clan to agree to stop their thieving ways and work alongside them.
It hadn’t been easy. But in the end, they agreed. But those skeptics who were not entirely loyal to him, had a condition of their own: they would put down their swords and pick up the plows for one year. If they did not turn a profit with their crops, then they would go back to the old ways.
The old ways that had left them with their current reputations as thieves, murderers, and criminals.
Thus far, the crops were doing quite well. Still, he worried. There could be too much rain or not enough. Too much sun or not enough. There was also the risk of blight or infestation.
In truth, he’d never farmed a day in his life. But he had read about it and had fostered with a family of warrior farmers. He referred to them as such for they were a fierce lot, the McGregors. But they were also farmers. They grew barley and wheat and raised cattle. Some of the best beef in all of Scotia.
That is where he wanted to lead his people: to a brighter future where coin was earned, as well as a reputation for being decent people. He wanted the Bowie clan to be the people one turned to in time of need and not the cause for the need.
Everything, his entire future, depended on the barley that was growing in the fields. He had yet to decide what he would do if the crops failed or if they did not turn a profit. Would he remain as chief of clan Bowie and sit idly by while his clan went back to their old ways?
The thought made his head pound.
He was about to pour himself a dram or two of whisky when a knock came at the door.
“Come!” he ground out in frus
tration.
The door opened and Leona stepped in. Gone were the kerchief and apron, for which he was grateful. Now, he could see just how beautiful she was. The blue dress clung nicely to every luscious curve of her magnificent body. Though her hair was still braided, he could see more of it now. The candlelight glinted across it most majestically.
Pushing away the lascivious thoughts that crashed into his mind, he asked, “What can I do fer ye?” Then downed the entire contents of his cup. The whisky would help steel his nerves against her.
She smiled then. That glorious smile that lit up the room. Damnation, he cursed inwardly as he tore his gaze away from her full lips and grabbed the ledger he’d just closed.
She laughed then, a sweet, melodious laugh. A laugh that unsettled him as much as her smile. “I came to see if I could do anything fer ye,” she explained as she sidled up to the table. “Ye have been in here fer quite some time. Be there anythin’ I can help ye with?”
Chancing a glance, he saw her hopeful expression. For the briefest moment, he considered showing her the books, sharing his worries and concerns with her. Then he thought better of it. The more time he spent with her, the more his heart betrayed him with skipping beats. “Nay, but I thank ye,” he said, turning back to the ledger.
“I be verra good with cypherin’,” she told him. “I kept me father’s books fer him.”
No. No. No. He looked up at her again. God’s teeth, but she was a strikingly pretty woman. High cheekbones, full lips, breasts that he could all but feel under his hands. “Nay, I be done.” He closed the book, pushed it away and stood.
“I have to go see Dougall,” he said. ’Twas the only thing he could think to say, the only excuse he could come up with at the moment that would allow him to flee her presence with some of his dignity still in tact.
Her lips curved into that delightful ‘o’. She did look rather disappointed.
“But it be pourin’ rain,” she said.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 15