Before Alec married Leona, Ian Mackintosh had told him of the countless times Leona had wandered off, gone for days at a time. When Ian had asked her to explain those lost days, she had politely informed him that she wasn’t lost, but merely taking time to herself, to write in her journals.
Alec was not about to risk her safety or welfare. For a whole multitude of reasons, the most important being one he did not want to admit. If anything were to happen to her, he didn’t think he could bear it.
Instead of telling his beautiful wife — who was glaring at him angrily right now — the truth, he chose instead to say something else, something that ended up wounding her tender heart.
“Aye, I am quite serious. I’ll no’ have ye wanderin’ off and gettin’ yerself lost. I do no’ have the time to form a search party. I have more important things to tend to.”
He saw it immediately, the intensity of both her anger and her hurt. There was nothing to be done about it. He could not apologize in front of the dozens of little eyes staring at them. ’Twould be a sign of weakness, and one he’d not give in to. Pushing all his guilt aside, he stood taller, and glared back at her.
“Well, let me tell ye somethin’, ye unkind, stubborn, lout! I will go where I damned well please and when I damned well please and I’ll go without escort!” The words were out before she realized it. The only thing that would have stopped her tirade now, would have been an arrow to her heart.
A collective gasp filled the air behind them, the children more than a bit stunned to hear anyone talk to their laird and chief in such a disrespectful manner. Leona cared not what they might think.
“And another thing, if I ever do get lost, I would no’ want ye to come find me! I’d rather be lost in the woods, starin’ down a wounded bear and a pack of wolves than to have ye rescue me!”
Before she could utter another syllable, Alec grabbed her arms, pulled her in, and planted a firm, passionate kiss on her lips.
’Twas the only thing he could think to do. The only thing he wanted to do.
She struggled, albeit briefly, before melting into his arms. He took a good measure of pride in the fact that every time his lips touched hers, she melted and melded so sweetly into him, as if she had been made specifically by God for such a purpose.
’Twas the children’s laughter and giggles that brought him out of his momentary lack of composure. Regaining that lost composure took a moment longer than he would have wished. “Are ye certain ye’d no’ want me to rescue ye?” he asked playfully. Twining a lock of her hair around his finger, he waited for her answer.
Why on earth had he kissed her? Like that? With such abandon and passion? And in front of the children?
The answer was staring her right in the face, in the form of a very smug expression. She slapped his hand away from her hair and took a step back. “Aye, I be certain,” she ground out. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I have rushes to gather with Effie.”
Though her legs had the strength of warm pudding, she managed to spin around and walk away from him. Haughtily, with her chin up, so he could not see just how his kiss had affected her. The children fell in around her, all a-twitter and giggle.
As she stomped toward Effie’s cottage, she heard her husband’s laughter. “Just follow the children. They ken how to get to Effie’s!” he called out to her.
If his mission was to humiliate her, he had failed. However, if his intent was to anger her further, he could call it a rousing success. She stopped in her tracks and spun around.
There he still stood, just where she had left him. All smug and superior.
Two can play at this game, she thought to herself.
Masking her anger, she returned to him, grabbed his face with her palms and stood on her tip-toes. Without begging permission, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him just as soundly, just as passionately as he had her moments ago.
Pushing him away, she looked into his eyes, and spoke. “If ye were ever lost, I would no’ take time out of my busy day to go lookin’ fer ye. I’d let ye rot.”
Pretending she was unaffected by the exchange of kisses with her husband, Leona set off for Effie’s cottage. The children, bless them, were all too willing to take her there straight away. Thankfully, her husband did not follow after.
Biting her bottom lip was the only way to get rid of the still lingering tingle he’d left on them moments before. It also helped to remind her just how angry she was with him.
Standing in front of Effie’s cottage, she decided to push away the anger and hurt. ’Twould do her no good to dwell on that which she could not change: her stubborn husband.
Before she could knock on the door, Effie opened it for her. Her bright smile faded when she caught sight of the children standing with Leona. There was a flash of disappointment behind Effie’s eyes.
Instantly, Leona regretted her decision to allow the children to tag along. Mayhap Effie had been looking forward to time away from children, or time to have adult conversations without little ears listening.
“I seemed to have picked up a few new friends along the way,” Leona told her. “I hope ye do no’ mind if they join us.”
Effie’s frown was gone in the blink of an eye. “Nay, the more hands we have helpin’, the quicker our task is done,” she said before stepping away from the door. “Just let me get me basket.”
Somehow, Leona didn’t quite believe her attempt at sounding cheerful or agreeable. Then she remembered Rose, and how often her mood would change, especially the last two months before giving birth. Believing the sudden shift in moods was caused by Effie’s being with child, she decided not to dwell on it any further.
Effie was still smiling when she left the cottage and closed the door behind her. “How be ye wee lassies this fine day?” she asked the horde of little girls. “How be yer families?”
Leona and Effie spent the next two hours gathering rushes and listening to the little girls giggle and laugh. The women did more gathering than the little girls, but Leona didn’t mind. She thoroughly enjoyed watching them as they played together.
As she watched them picking flowers and chatting about all manner of things, she could not help but think about her own childhood. How desolate and lonely it had been.
Never once had she had a friend. There had been no carefree days for her, where she giggled incessantly with even one other child, let alone a group of them. She had been an outcast in every sense of the word. Accepted by no one, not even her father.
Ingerame.
An overwhelming sense of heartache began to build. Not with missing him. Nay, on the contrary. She felt melancholy over the loss of the childhood she should have had instead of the one she’d been given.
Why? Why could he never accept her as she was? Why did he hate her so vehemently? Those were questions she’d been asking since she was a little girl. To date, she still had no answers.
’Twas then she made a silent oath. My children will have this kind of life. Filled with carefree days, many friends, and they will always ken they are loved.
Expecting her husband to give her another lecture on how to behave when others were around, Leona was not eager to return to the keep. But knowing there was no way to avoid it, other than walking back to the Mackintosh keep, she decided ’twould be best to simply face the moment head on and get it over with.
But the lecture never came.
She and Alec ate their evening meal together with Kyth and Gylys, and not a word was said on what had transpired that afternoon. All in all, ’twas as pleasant an evening as any other.
Mayhap, just mayhap, he was coming to realize she was a strong, independent woman who was quite capable of taking care of herself. A woman who could be his ally and friend.
Or mayhap he was saving it for future use.
Either way, if he wasn’t going to mention it, then neither would she.
Chapter 15
With her husband’s habit of wiping his hands on his tunics, working in the fields
each morn and training with his men in the afternoons, it didn’t take long before he’d amassed a large pile of laundry. Married more than a week now, ’twas past time she washed his clothing.
’Twas the blood splattered on his clothes that upset her the most, even though ’twasn’t his blood. Nay, ’twas from the men he trained with on a near daily basis.
The thought sickened her. Not that she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. On the contrary, it wasn’t the blood that made her feel ill at ease. It was what the blood represented: fighting.
She was doubtful she’d ever understand a man’s need to fight, either with his bare hands or with weapons. Why were they so keen on destruction? The search for power? For wealth? And at any cost?
Mayhap, if she ever made it to heaven, she could ask God for the answers to those questions. Hopefully, He was not as stubborn as the men on earth, and would answer honestly. With words instead of the same annoying ‘grunting’ sound most of the men here were so fond of using.
With her arms filled with Alec’s dirty clothes, she left the kitchen through the back door. It would have made sense that the laundry was near the well. Try as she might, she did not see anything that resembled what she was looking for. So she stood, staring at the buildings around her in hopes that something would stand out.
The armory was to her left, not far from the granary. To her right, and down a beaten down path stood the stables. In between were a few tiny, ramshackle buildings that she surmised were far too small to house a laundry. Behind her was the keep, her kitchen, and the chicken coop.
Worry began to settle in. What if, by chance, the lairds before Alec had never built a true laundry? What if they had to trek outside the keep and down to the loch to wash dirty clothes? Nay, that made no sense. Before Alec, the keep was filled almost to the rafters with men and guests and servants.
“Can I help ye, mistress?”
Startled from her reverie, she jumped at the sound of Patrice’s voice. It had been several days since she had seen her. She looked just as regal and as beautiful as the last time they’d met.
“Och! Patrice! Ye nearly scared me out of me own skin!”
“I be terribly sorry! ’Twas no’ me intent.” Her smile was warm and infectious. “Ye looked lost. Be there somethin’ I can help ye with?”
Leona let loose a breath as she struggled with the weight of the laundry in her arms. “Aye, ye can. Where be the laundry?”
“It be behind the granary,” she told her. “I can take ye there if ye’d like.”
“That would be wonderful,” Leona said, relieved once again to have Patrice’s assistance.
“Let me help ye with that,” Patrice said as she took half the bundle of laundry into her own arms. “Though I do no’ think the mistress of the keep should be doin’ laundry.”
Leona wanted desperately to agree out loud. “’Tis no trouble,” she lied. In truth, this was the one area she was dreading the most. Spending an hour over a boiling pot of water was not her favorite way to spend a day.
“I do no’ see why Alec will no’ get ye some help with all the cleanin’ and cookin’,” she said as they made their way toward the granary. “’Tis no’ like he’d be revertin’ to the auld ways of the auld chiefs. ’Tis just a bit of help, after all.”
Help would be nice, but she doubted Alec would be too keen on the idea. He had seemed adamantly opposed to it when she had asked him about it the first night she had arrived here.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that mayhap there simply wasn’t enough coin for such a luxury? With what she knew about Rutger, he’d nearly bankrupted the clan with his penchant for extravagant clothing and lavish feasts. The thought saddened her. If that was the case, and she was completely certain it was, ’twas no wonder her husband was working as hard as he did. Not only was he trying to lead his clan toward a brighter and better future, he was also trying to restore the coffers.
“’Tis a bonny and bright day, is it no’?” Leona asked, changing the subject altogether.
Patrice looked up at the bright sky for a moment. “Aye, I suppose it is,” she said as she led the way around the granary. A well-worn path had been beaten over the grassy space. “There be yer laundry,” she said with a nod toward the structure. If one could call it such.
’Twas nothing more than three walls draped with dingy looking, auld panels of fabric. The roof was made out of the same ugly fabric. A large copper pot sat in the center of the space. It was suspended over a large, empty pit where a fire could be built. A long table sat against the back wall. Next to that was a narrow opening that lead to the yard behind.
Seeing Leona’s disappointment, Patrice said, “Do no’ fash yerself over it. At least ye no’ be trying to do laundry for the entire clan. ’Tis just the two of ye after all.”
Aye, ’twas just the two of them. But what if they had many children? And what about the winter months when the snow was deep or the wind bitter and cold? ’Twas a disagreeable thought.
“Aye,” she said taking a deep breath. “At least I do no’ have to find a stream and beat the clothes against the rocks.” Try to remain positive, Leona. Ye’ve suffered worse than this.
“There be lines to dry the clothes behind it,” Patrice explained. “If we’re lucky, there might also be some wood left to build the fire. They used to store it back there.” She set the pile of clothes in a large basket in the corner. “Now, ye’ll be verra glad to ken there be a well back there as well, so ’tis only a few steps to fill the pot.”
That information brightened Leona’s spirits. At least someone had given some thought to it all.
Leona added her pile to Patrice’s before following her around to the back of the structure. The stockpile of wood wouldn’t last long, but at least the well was only a few steps away. ’Twould be enough to do at least this one load of laundry. Ten lines of thin rope on which to dry clothes had been hung from the structure, across the little yard, and attached to sturdy looking beams. All in all, ’twasn’t nearly as bad as she had first surmised.
“I’ll help ye get a fire started,” Patrice said as she grabbed two nicely sized logs and headed back inside. Leona was right behind her with two logs of her own.
In short order, they had a decent fire built and had managed to fill the pot with several buckets of water. Grabbing two squat stools, they sat outside in the sunlight while they waited for the water to heat.
“How is yer mum doin’?” Leona asked as she stared at the back of the granary.
“Much better,” Patrice replied. “She had fought the ague fer so long, I began to worry she would never get better.”
“That is good to ken,” Leona said as she enjoyed the sun beating down on her face. Off in the distance, she could hear the men training, the sounds of metal clanging against metal, the muffled sound of shouts and curses floating in on the air.
“What about your parents?” Patrice asked thoughtfully.
Leona didn’t like talking about either of her parents. Whenever she thought of her mother, she often felt sad and quite lonely. Whenever she thought of her father, she felt angry and ashamed. “Me mum died when I was six,” she said in a low, melancholy tone.
“Och!” Patrice turned to face her. “I did no’ ken, Leona.”
She gave an indifferent shrug, as if it didn’t matter. But it did. “’Tis all right, do no’ fash yerself over it.”
“And yer da?”
Ingerame Graham was not a subject she wished to discuss. “He still lives.”
Sensing her unease, Patrice decided it best not to press the matter. She fell silent for a long while. “Do ye have any other family? Sisters? Brothers?”
“Nay, I do no’,” she replied before thinking on Rose. “I do have a cousin, though. Rose Mackintosh.”
Patrice’s cheeks flamed with shame.
Thinking of Rose led them both to think of Rutger and what he had done.
“I did no’ ken Rose was yer cousin,” Patrice said.
&nbs
p; “I did no’ ken it either until recently. Our mums, as it turns out, were cousins. I suppose ’tis why Rose and I look so much alike.”
Patrice fell silent again, undoubtedly thinking about Rutger and how he had kidnapped Rose. Mayhap even the turmoil and strife he had brought to his clan.
“Patrice,” Leona said, turning to face her. “I do no’ want ye to dwell on what Rutger did. It all turned out well in the end. I do no’ hold against ye anythin’ he did to Rose.”
Damp eyes filled with pain looked back at her. “What about what he did to ye?”
“Och! Nay!” Leona exclaimed as she took Patrice’s hands in her own. “’Twas no’ me first beatin’, though I do pray it was me last,” she said with a smile, hoping to add some levity to the moment.
“Had I been there that day, I would have stopped him,” Patrice said, wiping tears away with the sleeve of her dress.
“I have no’ doubt at all that ye would have.”
“I did no’ ken until it was too late, what he had done to ye.”
Leona gave her a warm smile and patted the back of her hand. “Do no’ fash yourself over it. I meant what I said. I will never hold what Rutger did against ye. Now, let us talk of somethin’ far more pleasant.”
Before a new topic of conversation could be decided, a man came walking toward them. He appeared to Leona to be in his early twenties. Every bit a Bowie with his long dark hair and piercing brown eyes. A handsome lad, tall and lean.
“Good day to ye, Allen,” Patrice said as she wiped her face dry and pretended she hadn’t been crying.
“Good day to ye, Patrice. Mistress,” he gave a slight nod as he addressed each woman. No official introduction was evidently needed. Everyone would by now know the wee woman with the odd eyes and blonde hair was the laird’s wife. “I saw the smoke and came to see if all was well.”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 17