If his intent had been only to terrify her, he had succeeded. And would he not have returned at some point to let her out? If terror was his only thought, he’d have returned by now.
Nay, he wanted more. He wanted her to suffer and to see her die. If she hadn’t known for a fact that her father was still on Mackintosh and McLaren lands, she would have thought him her captor and executioner.
She hadn’t been here long enough to make an enemy as ruthless, as hateful as Ingerame. Or at least, she hadn’t believed she had.
Who, who among these people despised her enough to want to see her dead? No matter which way her mind went, she came up with no good answer.
It mattered not, she supposed. For in the end, she would be dead before anyone discovered where she was. No one, not even her husband, would think to look for her here.
As she lay in the dark, with her head resting on her hands, she thought of Alec. Her silent tears fell down her cheeks and onto the cold stone floor. Fervently she believed he was at this very moment looking for her. But chances were, he was looking outside the keep and not within. His first thought would have been that she was lost, wondering about in the woods. Aye, he was probably angry for making her take time out of his busy day to go looking for her. But was he worried? Was he consumed with fear and dread?
A tiny part of her hoped that he would pine for her loss the same way Brogan Mackintosh still mourned over the loss of his wife. She no longer cared that it was selfish of her to want such a thing. She was going to die here, probably not for days, but die she would. And when she left God’s earth, she wanted to believe someone would miss her. And she wanted that someone to be Alec.
Alec had spread his men far and wide, both within the keep and beyond it. As the sky grew inky black, so did his mood. Darker and more dangerous, the longer they searched for his wife.
Dougall and Kyth had stopped trying to offer any words of encouragement as they helped their chief search for Leona. ’Twould do no good. Dougall knew Alec would not rest until he found her. He could only pray they found her alive. For if someone had harmed her — as he was strongly beginning to suspect — there would be no end to the vengeance Alec would seek. Heaven help them then.
“We’ve searched every floor, the attics, and the dungeons,” Dougall said as they were heading below stairs. He waited for a response, but none came. Alec was on a mission. Focused and intent on finding his wife.
Dougall could only imagine the distress and torment his friend and cousin was going through. If their roles were reversed and ’twas his Effie missing, he reckoned he’d tear this keep apart, brick by brick until he found her.
Entering the gathering room, they were met by Willem Bowie. He looked as though he had been drinking, which was not a surprise to anyone. His hair all a mess, his eyes bloodshot and ruddy, he stood next to the table.
“M’laird,” Willem greeted Alec. “Be it true? Yer wife be missin’?”
Alec took note of the man’s worried expression, the manner in which he twisted his cap in his hand. He also could not help but notice the odor of whisky upon his breath. “Aye, she be missin’,” Alec answered dismissively as he walked past. Dougall and Kyth were following close behind.
“M’laird,” Willem called out to Alec’s back. Alec paused and turned to face him. But before he could utter a word, Patrice came rushing into the room.
She was as pale as a sheet, her eyes rimmed in red. “Alec!” she cried out breathlessly as she crossed the room quickly. “Be it true?” She placed her hands on his forearms and looked into his eyes.
There was no need for him to answer. His dark brown eyes all but stormed with a blend of rage and concern.
“Please, tell me, what can I do to help?” she asked.
Dougall stepped forward. “Mayhap ye could stay with Effie,” he suggested. “She was no’ feelin’ well this day.”
Incredulous he would even suggest it, Patrice said, “Ye ken Effie has no use fer me, Dougall.”
“Ye’re her sister,” he politely reminded her. “She loves ye.”
“Love? ’Tis no’ the word I would use to describe how yer wife feels about me.”
They argued back and forth for a long moment, before Alec could take no more. Irate, he said, “If the two of ye want to discuss yer family problems, please, take it to yer own home. I have more important things to do than to listen to ye squabble!”
Duly chastised, they began to apologize and beg his forgiveness.
“M’laird,” Willem Bowie spoke up from behind Dougall and Patrice
“What is it?” Alec barked loudly.
Undeterred by his laird’s booming voice, Willem stepped forward. “Did ye check the north tower yet?”
Alec eyed him suspiciously for a brief time. “The north tower?”
“Aye,” Willem said with a nod of his head. “She has been goin’ there off and on fer the past week or two. I helped her just the other day, to carry a table down.”
Confused, Alec stepped forward and glared down at the man. “What on earth are ye goin’ on about?”
Willem righted his shoulders and lifted his chin. “The mistress,” he said. “She has been goin’ to the north tower to bring things out of storage, tables and such. Mayhap she went there today?”
In truth, Alec hadn’t given a thought to looking there, for he could see no purpose in his wife entering it. “And ye’re just now comin’ to me with this information?” Alec all but growled at Willem.
The man paled visibly. “I have only just returned from Kinbrea,” he replied in shame. “I did no’ ken she was missin’.”
There was no time for Alec to apologize for all but biting the man’s head off. Spinning on his feet, he headed toward the north tower. “Dougall! Kyth!” he called out over his shoulder. “With me!”
A dull ache had begun to form at the base of Leona’s skull from lying on the cold floor. What she would not do for a cup of cider. Earlier, in her blind exploration of the room, she had found what she believed to be a crate filled with auld chamberpots, much to her bladder’s relief and gratitude.
Now she lay on the floor, still and quiet, dozing in between bouts of quiet tears. God, how she hated being in the dark! Every creak, every noise was magnified in her imagination. At one point, she felt something scurry across her slipper, a mouse no doubt, which made her scream out in fright.
There had been no sign of Leona on the first floor of the tower. They’d looked in every nook and cranny and found nothing. Alec’s heart pounded against his chest, filled with worry and anger. Anger that he could not find her, and anger that he allowed himself to fret so.
It was not supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. A worried simpleton, distressed because he could not find his wife. His gut, his heart, were knotted together in a confusing, nonsensical mess. Now was not the time to worry over his feelings for Leona. He had to find her. Please, God, let her be alive!
Taking the stairs two at a time, he all but ran to the second floor. “Leona!” he called out as the landing came into site. “Leona!”
He paused to listen, but heard no response. The light from his torch flickered, casting unearthly shadows across the walls.
The door was barred from the outside, just as it should be. His heart sank, hope dwindling. She couldn’t be behind a barred door. He was about to turn away when his inner voice pleaded with him to take a closer look.
Crouching, he held his torch low so that he could look at the floor. There, he found what looked to be fresh scratch marks in a semi-circular pattern. No doubt they’d been made recently by the old wooden door having scraped against the stones.
Look inside, his inner voice niggled again. Look inside.
There was a cold torch in the sconce already. He lit it before setting his torch on the floor by his feet. Quickly, he lifted the bar and pulled the door open. It scraped against the hard surface, the sound bouncing off the walls. Blood rushed through his veins, pulsated in his ears a
s he grabbed the torch and stepped inside.
Time seemed to slow measurably as he held the torch high, then low, searching, hoping, begging God to let him find her.
At first, he didn’t recognize the form lying on the floor. It took a moment for reality to set in.
“My God!” he cried out as he made his way around a pile of furniture. “Leona!”
She did not move. Not a twitch, not a sound. She lay there, all balled up, her head resting on her hands.
His heart seized, refused to beat. His lungs refused to take in a breath as he knelt beside her. Fear, sheer, unadulterated fear fell over him. Slowly, he reached out to touch her silky, golden hair. “Leona,” he whispered her name once more.
Certain ’twas only a pleasant dream, Leona ignored the voice calling her name. She didn’t want to wake up right now, because Alec was there, keeping her warm, scaring away the darkness.
“Leona, please wake up,” Alec was whispering to her again. In her sleepy state, she thought he sounded worried or afraid. But that could not be, for Alec Bowie was never afraid.
It took Alec shaking her before she pulled out of her deep slumber. When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the darkness. There was light! And Alec!
“Ye came fer me?” she asked, relieved and confused all at once.
He expelled a relieved breath as he pulled her into his arms. “I thought ye dead,” he admitted aloud.
She held on to him for dear life, refusing to let go. “Ye came fer me,” she cried against his chest.
“Of course I came fer ye,” he said. “Did ye think I would no’?” How on earth could she believe him so callous, so cold that he would not look for her.
“I knew ye would look fer me, but I believed ye’d no’ think to look fer me here,” she told him between sobs.
“Wheesht, now, lass,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I will always come fer ye.”
“I thought I would die here,” she told him. “I hate being alone in the dark.”
Alec did his best to soothe away her fears, to offer whatever comfort he could.
“Alec, please do no’ be mad at me,” she murmured into his chest, squeezing her arms around him more tightly.
“Mad at ye?” he asked incredulous she’d even suggest it at this moment. Aye, he’d been angry, but not with her.
“I was no’ lost, ye ken.”
He let out a breath and a chuckle. “Then why have I spent the last three hours tearin’ this keep apart looking fer ye?”
She lifted her head away from his chest to look him in the eye. “I was no’ lost. I was stuck. There be a difference,” she told him. “Were ye really lookin’ fer me fer three hours?”
“I’ve had the entire clan lookin’ fer ye,” he said.
“Ye were worried?” she asked, her voice filled with a blend of doubt and hope.
“Just a wee bit,” he said.
Kyth called to them from the doorway. “Alec? Have ye found her?”
“Aye, I have!” he called over his shoulder.
He could hear a collective sigh of relief from his men who waited beyond. “Is she well?”
“I believe so,” Alec called again. Turning his focus back to his wife, he yelled, “She be a bit cold, but she be fine.”
“Thank, God!” Gylys exclaimed unashamedly.
“Let the others ken we have found her,” Alec yelled to his men. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Leona.
Lowering his voice, he asked, “How did ye come to be locked in here?”
Something flickered in her eyes. Something that told him she was debating her reply. “Leona, I would have the truth, please.”
“I am not certain,” she told him as she turned away.
“Not certain?”
She took in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly. “Alec, someone pushed me. I did no’ see who, but I felt their hands on me back. Before I could get back up, the door was closin’. Then I heard the bar bein’ lowered.”
Pushed? “Someone pushed ye, then locked ye in?” ’Twas difficult to wrap his mind around what she was telling him. Who? Who would do such a thing?
“Aye, they did.” She sounded tired as well as wounded.
Fury swelled in his gut, making his hands shake, his voice tremble. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I fear I do no’ ken,” she said.
Swiftly, and with little effort, he scooped her up and stood to his full height. “Come, let us away this room and get ye to our bedchamber.”
“Wait!” she cried out to him. “Please, set me down.”
With a raised brow, he asked, “Why? Ye have been through quite a torment, lass.”
“Alec, if the person who locked me in here is out there, watchin’, I do no’ want them to think I was so terrified that now I can no’ walk.”
Though he could see the wisdom in her line of thinking, he was not ready yet to let her go.
“I do no’ want them to think they won, Alec. Please?”
Reluctantly, he set her on her feet. His pride in her increasing a hundred fold when she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She was going to leave this room on her own two feet, with her head held high. Leona was not about to let the bastard who had locked her in here win. Aye, she was a strong-willed lass.
And she was going to need to be if his instincts were correct.
Someone wanted to kill his wife.
Chapter 19
Alec was not about to let anything else happen to Leona. As soon as he saw her safely to their bedchamber, he stepped into the hallway to discuss the matter privately with Dougall.
“Are ye certain?” Dougall asked after Alec explained what he knew about Leona being locked in the tower.
“Aye, she seems to be. And I do no’ doubt her recollection,” Alec said. “The door is far too heavy for it to have been closed by the wind.”
Dougall rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Aye. But Alec, who would do such a thing? The lass be far too decent and kind. She has no’ been here long enough to make an enemy, even if she were able.”
Alec had to agree with his assessment. “But I have.”
Dougall studied his cousin for a moment. “Ye think ’twas meant to hurt ye?”
“Aye, I do.” Though he despised having to admit to it, it would have been his undoing had anything happened to Leona. Thankfully, he did not have to say the words aloud in order for Dougall to understand.
“Any suspicions on who it might be?”
While he was nowhere near as ruthless as his predecessors, he was not so naive as to believe he had no enemies. “There are those among us who did not wish to take the path to peace,” Alec reminded him.
“True,” Dougall replied. “But I can think of no one angry enough or vengeful enough to bring harm to Leona or to ye.”
“So ye’ve heard no rumblin’s amongst the people?” Alec asked him.
“No more than usual.”
Alec let out a frustrated breath. “Mayhap they are careful with what they say around ye? Ye are, after all, me cousin and friend.”
“That is also true,” Dougall replied. “So what are we to do?”
“I want Kyth and Gylys to watch over me wife at all times,” he said.
“That should no’ be a problem. They be quite fond of Leona. Especially her cookin’.”
Alec chuckled. “They have yet to miss a meal she has prepared.”
“I shall speak to them at once,” Dougall said. “And after, I need to return to me own wife. She was no’ well today.”
Alec slapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go, be with yer wife. And tell Gylys and Kyth to remain sober, fer they shall start their watch first thing in the morn.”
“Now that they will object to.”
“I do no’ need to be watched over like a bairn.”
Alec was just as determined to see her watched over as she was to prohibit it. “As me wife, as chatelaine and mistress of the keep, ye
are important to our clan.”
’Twas late morning as she stood in her kitchen preparing the morning meal. She had slept in, exhausted from the ordeal from the day before, which had put her in a sour mood to begin with. Whenever she thought of her time in the locked room, her anger would bubble and rise.
But this? This was too much. “I can no’ think with Kyth and Gylys standin’ over me all the time,” she groused. She tossed eggs into a pot of cold water and hung them over the fire to boil.
Alec stood with his feet apart, arms crossed over his chest. “Ye proved yer ability to take care of yerself yesterday.”
Leona glowered at him. “’Twas no’ me fault and ye ken that! But now, now that I know someone wishes to do me harm, I can take more precautions.”
“As will I,” he told her, his tone firm and unrelenting. “Ye will be watched over. When I can no’ be with ye, Kyth and Gylys will be. I will no’ argue the matter further.”
She cursed under her breath as she yanked open the door to the larder. “What about when I need to bathe? Shall they watch over me then?” she called out over her shoulder as she stepped into the larder.
’Tis ridiculous, she thought to herself as she grabbed a loaf of bread and a length of sausage.
As she turned to leave the tiny room, she bumped into her husband. “Bloody hell, Alec!” she cursed at him. “Stop doin’ that!”
He smiled down at her. “Stop doin’ what?”
“Sneakin’ up on me like ye do!” She tried to go around him, but he was blocking her path.
“If I can sneak up on ye when ye ken I already be in the same room, then anyone else could do the same.”
She would hang before she admitted he was right. “Please move, else ’twill be the noonin’ meal before we eat.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he smiled down at her as he took a lock of hair and twined it around his finger. “As fer the bathin’,” he drawled out his words seductively, “I shall be the only one to watch over ye then. I might even offer to help.”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 22