Dipping a cloth into the basin, Effie said, “Is that a comment on me cookin’?”
Overcome by a stabbing pain in his belly, Dougall rolled over and hung his head over the edge of the bed. Effie grabbed the basin just in time for him to throw up.
“Shall I fetch the healer?” Leona asked, uncertain at the moment what she should do. Dougall looked awful and sounded even worse.
“Aye, please, see if ye can find her,” Effie said as she handed the basin to her. “Would ye please dump this fer me?”
’Twas all she could do not to vomit herself. Holding her breath, she took the offensive basin out of doors, around the back of the cottage and tossed the contents out. When she returned to her friends, Effie was wiping Dougall’s brow.
“Quit fussin’ over me,” he ground out. “I will be fine.”
Effie was having none of it. “Ye’ll be fine when the healer says ye’ll be fine, ye big, stubborn lummox!”
Leona enlisted the help of Kyth and Gylys in finding the healer. But within an hour of calling for her, Dougall appeared to be feeling much better. He had finally stopped vomiting and managed to keep down a bit of water.
All the while, Effie tended to him with great care, and the occasional threat of gutting him if he did not stay abed. Even when she was cursing him to the devil, he smiled at her with great affection and warmth in his eyes. Any fool could see they loved each other deeply.
The hour was growing late and Leona had yet to begin preparations for the evening meal. Seeing Dougall’s improvement, she begged their leave.
“Thank ye fer yer help,” Effie told Leona as she escorted her to the door. “These Bowie men we’ve married are a stubborn lot, are they no’?” She cast a worried look toward her husband as she spoke.
“Aye,” Leona agreed.
Effie hugged her and thanked her again.
The evening air was cool and felt good against her skin. Retrieving her basket, she set off for her own home.
It had been a busy and full day, but one she had thoroughly enjoyed. As she walked along the path, she noticed some of the clanswomen standing in a small group. When she bid them a good eve, each woman gave her a spiteful look of reproach, as if she did not have the right to address any of them.
“It be a fine eve, aye?” she said as she walked past. She didn’t think for a moment they would return her greeting or respond to her question. And she was right. They all turned away from her with indignant expressions. A turned back can be almost as painful as a slap to the face. She could feel their reproach
It hurt, it truly did.
What she could not figure out was why. Why did these women seem to despise her so intensely? They’d only just met her, did not know the first thing about her. With an inward sigh, she kept her head up and a smile on her face as she walked by and continued on down the lane.
Of course, ’twas nothing new, this harsh treatment.
But here? Not one person thus far had any comments on her eyes. Nay, on the contrary, no one said a word about them. The men all treated her kindly and with as much respect as a Bowie knew how to give.
But the women? Why did they seem to be so angry with her? Patrice and Effie were the only two women who had offered any kindness.
The only thing that made any sense at all was that she was not a Bowie. Mayhap they were upset Alec had married outside the clan. He could have married anyone here, she supposed, and they would have been happy for it.
It wasn’t Leona per se that they hated. ’Twas the fact she was an outsider.
I must show them I do belong here, she thought.
With that tiny bit of hope, she felt better. On the morrow, she would begin to prove to these people that she did in fact belong here.
Chapter 16
I see the way they look at one another. Besotted fools that they are. They say no’ a word when they be around others. But the eyes? The eyes say plenty.
And Leona’s eyes? Who the bloody hell has eyes such as she? Only a witch would possess two entirely different colored eyes.
Can Alec no’ see what is in front of him? Nay, he can no’ because she has cast a spell upon him. A spell that means ruin for our clan. She’s a witch I say. A witch!
She walks around all sweet and innocent. And no one seems to care she’s cast a spell upon our laird. Oh, the women can see, fer I set that plan in motion before the witch set a toe on Bowie lands. But the men? I can see how they lust after the wench. The bloody fools. She’s cast a spell on them as well. They will no’ listen to good sense, so besotted they be with her.
I be plantin’ the seeds of doubt. A word here, a word there, no’ a shout or a battle cry. Nay, sometimes a whisper can do more to change a man’s mind than screamin’ or hollerin’ ever could. So that what I be doin’. Plantin’ seeds of doubt in all their minds.
Alec, however, he will be a much harder one to convince, so I shall no’ even try.
I’m going to kill her.
Then he’ll see.
Chapter 17
Leona was more tired than she could ever remember being.
Alec kept her awake for long hours at night, loving her until her body had the consistency of warm butter. She didn’t mind the loving. In fact, she looked forward to it with great anticipation. ’Twas the one time of the day where she felt they understood one another. The one time of the day where he made her feel beautiful and important.
They might not have been able to talk to one another about feelings, ideas, or dreams of the future. But at least they could connect on a far deeper level when they were in each other’s arms.
Mayhap her husband, being the leader of the ruthless Bowie clan, simply did not know how to express himself with words. Far too frequently, she would compare their relationship to the one between Ian and Rose. The differences were significant.
Where Ian and Rose’s marriage had been a love match, hers and Alec’s was not.
Where Ian was quite comfortable with telling Rose how much he loved her, no matter who was about, Alec did not have the same capability.
Oh, she was not so gullible as to believe Alec loved her. At least not in the same way Ian loved Rose. The only thing she could hope for was mutual admiration.
But deep down, she began to want something more. ’Twas futile and immature, she supposed, but she could not help herself.
’Twas a bright and sunny afternoon, with the birds chirping in the trees, a light breeze, and nary a cloud in the sky. Leona had finished the laundry earlier in the morn and the clothes were now hanging on the line to dry.
She had obtained two more customers that morn. Men who would pay her the same amount of coin as Allen had agreed to. It did her heart good to know that soon she’d have enough coin to purchase her own milk cow. There would be no more dealing with Charles, or beggin’ Effie for a mug of milk in order to prepare a meal. Aye, doing laundry for the unmarried menfolk added to her daily chores, but she didn’t mind. She was earning much needed coin. Coin for a cow, and coin for Alec’s gift.
With nothing to do while the clothes dried, she returned to the keep. She spread fresh rushes on the floor of the gathering room and looked about the large space. ’Twas a dull, depressing room. There was nothing to indicate people actually lived here. No tapestries, no flowers, no cushions on the chairs or benches.
’Twas all hard and cold and desolate. Her previous good mood was quickly dissipating the longer she stood in the center of the grand space. What on earth could she do to spruce it up, to make it more inviting? Lost in her own thoughts, she came close to jumping out of her skin when a voice startled her.
“Good day, to ye, Leona,” Patrice greeted her warmly from the doorway. She’d apparently come in from the direction of the kitchens.
“Och, Patrice!” Leona declared, placing a palm to her startled heart. “Ye scared me.”
Patrice came to her at once. “I be terribly sorry, Leona. I seem to do that to ye frequently. Please, forgive me.”
Leona g
iggled at her own silliness. “Do no fash yourself over it,” she told her friend.
“Ye looked to be thinkin’ hard on somethin’,” Patrice replied.
With a heavy sigh, Leona said, “Aye. I be tryin’ to figure out how I can make this place a bit more homey.”
Patrice placed her hands on her hips and looked about the room. “It be a bit cold, aye?”
Leona nodded her agreement. “I need to do things a little at a time, so Alec does no’ notice it all at once.”
“Ye could start with a tapestry,” Patrice offered.
“I fear I do no’ have any.”
“Of course ye do,” Patrice told her. “The room I showed ye when ye first arrived? It has a few tables, chairs and such. But that be only a tiny part of the treasures this keep holds.”
She had no idea to what Patrice was referring. She had been in every room of the keep, and thus far, had not discovered anything that could be deemed a treasure.
Sensing her confusion and doubt, Patrice offered her a warm smile. “There be four floors in the north tower. Three of them be filled near to burstin’ with all the things Alec had removed after Rutger died. Come, I shall show ye.”
Taking Leona’s hand in her own, she lead the woman out of the gathering room in search of supposed hidden treasures.
Patrice had not lied. ’Twas indeed a treasure trove of everything one could imagine. Candlesticks made of pewter, silver, even gold. Slavers and platters and goblets galore! Opulently upholstered chairs, some with matching hassocks. Chests, armoires, and items which she had no idea of their purpose. Shields, swords and weapons, as well as luxurious rugs, and yes, even tapestries.
’Twas all right there, in the north tower. Room after room of things she could use to turn this cold, dark place into a home.
“Lord, allmighty!” Leona exclaimed with wide, astonished eyes.
Patrice smiled with a good measure of pride. “I told ye, did I no’?”
“Aye, ye did!”
Leona reckoned that if she added only one item a sennight to any of the rooms within the keep, ‘twould take ten lifetimes before she had emptied the tower rooms. For the briefest of moments, she thought of hauling it all below stairs now, and surprising her husband. But only briefly. He’d have an apoplexy if she changed things too quickly.
“I do no’ ken where to begin,” she admitted out loud.
“If it were me, I would begin small. Put a tapestry up in the gatherin’ room, and mayhap some of the simpler candlesticks in yer bedchamber.”
’Twas as good a plan as any. “Verra well,” she said, resting her hands on her hips. “A small tapestry today, mayhap a larger one in a few days?”
“I really do no’ understand yer husband,” Patrice said as she stepped over a hassock to get to a pile of tapestries draped across a long table.
“Ye be no’ alone in that regard,” Leona mumbled as she followed her friend. “I can no’ understand his need to remove everything from all the rooms.”
As they began to lift one tapestry up for inspection, Patrice said, “I have only come close to marryin’ twice before. ’Tis times like these I feel I be the lucky one, escapin’ the gallows, so-to-speak.”
“Twice?” Leona asked absentmindedly as she lifted another tapestry.
Patrice fell silent for a moment, pretending she hadn’t heard the question. “Do ye like this one?” she asked, changing the subject.
’Twas a beautiful tapestry, the needlework most excellent. But upon looking at it more closely, Leona decided against it. ’Twas an exceedingly graphic battle scene, complete with disemboweled men, dead horses, and much blood. “Nay,” she said with a shake of her head. “I want somethin’ a bit more peaceful.” ’Twas bad enough she had to clean the blood from her husband’s and her client’s clothing. She did not want a constant reminder of what exactly they were doing or preparing for.
They continued to look through the heavy pile. All the tapestries seemed to be the same. One bloodbath after another.
“Is warrin’ and fightin’ the only thing this clan ever thought about?” she mumbled, growing more disheartened with each piece.
“Well, the men folk are quite fond of their lovin’,” Patrice replied with a giggle.
Leona laughed in response. Alec was all the proof she needed in that regard. He was nearly insatiable most days. Like a man starvin’, and she was the only bit of bread he’d seen in weeks.
Keeping her thoughts to herself, she continued to riffle through. Finally, nearly at the end of the pile, she found something that would suit. “This is quite nice!”
’Twas most intricately done, and quite elaborate. It depicted hills and heather, and a glorious sunset. It also showed several scenes of a man and woman, as well as them together with two little boys.
“It could no’ have been a Bowie woman who created that,” Patrice declared. “’Tis far too sweet!” She giggled once again at her own jest.
“I do no’ care who created it,” Leona said. “’Tis just the thing I want fer the gatherin’ room. There be a peaceful feelin’ to it. And it be no’ too big.”
With the decision made, they pulled and tugged until the tapestry was free. After rolling it up and setting it by the door, they went in search of smaller things they could add without issue.
“What about these candlesticks?” Patrice asked, holding up a pair of carved, silver candlesticks.
“Nay, I fear they be too grand. Somethin’ more simple and less likely to have me husband accusin’ me of turnin’ his keep into a likeness of Stirlin’ castle.”
In the end, they settled on plain, wooden candlesticks and a hassock she could place in front of one of the chairs in their bedchamber.
“That should be enough fer now,” Leona declared. “I be awfully grateful to ye fer showin’ me these things, Patrice.”
“Och, think nothin’ of it. I am always glad to help.”
Alec did not notice the wooden candlesticks placed in the center of the table when they sat down to sup. Neither did he seem to notice the tapestry she had hung. Of course, it was hanging in shadow, on the wall next to the fireplace on the far end of the room.
This night, they supped on roasted mutton with vegetables, a nice broth and dark bread. As a special treat, she made sweet cakes covered in raspberry jam. As had become the standard, Gylys and Kyth were dinning with them.
“Did Derrick tell ye he broke young Walden Bowie’s arm durin’ trainin’ this day?” Kyth asked as he tore a hunk of dark bread from the loaf.
Leona came close to choking on that bit of news. “He what?” she cried out in a blend of shock and repulsion.
All three men stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted wings and taken flight.
“Derrick broke young Walden Bowie’s arm durin’ trainin’ this day,” Kyth repeated.
Exasperated, she said, “I heard ye the first time. But why on earth would he do such a thing?” As she often did when nervous, she began to ramble. “Surely it must be an accident. Yes, that is it, an accident. Pardon my surprise and outburst, Kyth. Would ye like more butter fer yer bread?”
He gave a slight shake of his head, as if he were trying to make some sense of her rambling. “But he did do it on purpose,” he told her. “And aye, I would like more butter.”
Leona’s hand was suspended in midair, holding the small jar of butter. “Certainly, ye jest?” Looking to Alec for help, she said, “Tell Kyth no’ to jest so, Alec. ’Tis no’ polite.”
“But he is no’ jestin’,” Alec replied. “And I would like more butter as well.”
Stunned, she sat staring at these three men. The jar remained in her hand, hovering over the table. “Ye jest. Certainly, ye be all be jestin’ with me.” Shaking her head, she set the jar down on the table, next to her own trencher. “Ye men, ye certainly love to jest with me.” She offered up a half-hearted laugh. “No man, no’ even a Bowie, would break a young man’s arm on purpose.”
Kyth and Gylys looked to t
heir laird for some guidance. All he offered them was a shrug of his shoulders.
“Lass, why does the fact that Derrick broke Walden’s arm bother ye so? And may we please have the butter?”
“Stop jestin’,” she told him, growing more certain that none of them were. Their own confused expressions said as much.
“I am no’ jestin’. I want the butter,” Alec said with a nod toward the jar.
Butter? Was the man insane? How could he even think of eating at a time such as this. “He truly broke the boy’s arm?” she murmured.
Alec rolled his eyes, exasperated with his wife’s line of questioning. And the fact she wasn’t passing him the butter. “Aye,” he said as he scooted his seat away from the table. “And Walden is no’ a boy. He’s ten and eight.”
“Ten and eight?” she all but screeched as he made his way to her end of the table.
“At that age, he should ken better,” Kyth offered up his own option.
“Know better than what?” Leona demanded to know.
Alec grabbed the jar of butter and returned to his seat.
Answering his wife’s question, he said, “Walden should ken better than to try the patience of a man of Derrick’s size — as well as his skill.”
Good, lord! She was supping with savages! Stammering, she asked, “And if we have children, Alec, and they try yer patience, will ye break their arms?”
“Only if the situation calls fer it,” he replied dryly.
“Ye can no’ be serious?” she asked, totally dumbfounded. “Ye would truly break yer child’s arm?”
In frustration, he handed Gylys the jar of butter. “If any of our children were dumb enough to come at me, as Walden did Derrick, supposedly unarmed, and drunk and proceed to call me every foul name under the sun, and declare they’d bloody well marry whoever the bloody well they pleased, then proceed to attack me by throwin’ dirt in my face before he pulled a dirk out of his boot and slash me hand, then aye, I would break their damned arm! Ye can no’ disrespect a man like Derrick, or me, in such a manner. The young man asked fer Derrick’s daughter’s hand. Derrick declined it, because he kens Walden. Walden is a hot-headed fool who thinks he can beat any man in any kind of challenge. Derrick kens Walden would treat his daughter poorly. And Lucinda does no’ want Walden. So there ye have the entire story, lass. Are ye satisfied that the poor boy deserved what he got?”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 19