He knew the man’s offer was not in jest and he was half-tempted to give the order. “Go with me and gather the bloody horses I asked for. I shall find out what the hell the men are up to that keeps them from their work.”
As they headed back to the keep, Derrick grunted his agreement. “Knowin’ Gylys and Kyth as I do, the two of them are most likely sittin’ at yer wife’s table, gobblin’ down that stew she makes. ’Tis all they talk about, yer wife’s cookin’.”
He looked positively perturbed, if not wholly wounded. “I make a good stew as well. But did ye ever once hear them say as such? Ye’d think she be the only woman on the planet ever to cook anythin’. Well they can bloody well rot as far as I be concerned.”
Amused by Derrick’s tirade, Dougall patted him on the back. “Do no’ worry it over much, Derrick. Ye will find ye a lass someday. One who will appreciate yer cookin’.”
Alec, Dougall, and Derrick split ways after passing through the second gate. Derrick went off to do what Gylys, Kyth, and Willis were to supposed to have done more than an hour ago. Alec went in search of the defectors. Somehow, he couldn’t help but believe Derrick was correct and his wife was to blame. The men were likely all sitting down at Alec’s table, eating his food, and enjoying the company of his wife. The ungrateful curs.
Mad as hell, he stomped up the steps, flung open the heavy doors and went inside. “They’ll be cleanin’ chamber pots for the next six months,” he mumbled under his breath.
The sound of voices, men’s voices, filtered from the gathering room into the foyer. I knew it! He screamed silently. The lazy bastards are enjoyin’ a fine lunch while the rest of us are workin’…
His angry musings were brought to an abrupt halt when he stepped from the shadows and into the room.
There, on the far side of the gathering room, was Gylys. On a ladder, with a wet rag in one hand, a drying cloth hanging from his sword belt. Chatting happily away as he cleaned the mantle. “I used to help me mum clean when I was a lad,” he said. “But if ye e’er repeat that, I’ll deny it while I gut the lot of ye. Save fer ye, mistress.”
In the center of the room, were Kyth and Willis, next to a chandelier that had been brought to the floor. They seemed to be as happy as Gylys as they cleaned the iron with rags. “Do no’ fash yerself over it, mistress. We be glad to help ye.”
Two other men were sweeping the floor. Another was hanging a tapestry on the wall.
To his right, was his wee wife. Sitting on a chair, directing the men. Nay, not the men. His men.
“The candles be in a crate in the hallway. If ye could put those in before ye raise the chandelier, I would be verra grateful.”
“Aye, mistress,” Kyth answered with a bright smile.
Alec could not have been more stunned. Or more angry.
He thundered into the room and stood before his wife. “Me men are warriors. Me men are farmers. They are no’ bloody maids!”
His booming voice all but shook the rafters. Everyone in the room halted what they were doing. Hands were suspended in midair, eyes were wide with fear and shock.
Leona sat frozen, staring up at her husband, her eyes as wide as trenchers, and her mouth had fallen open.
“What in the bloody hell is goin’ on?” he demanded through gritted teeth as he towered over her. ’Twas then he noticed a trickle of blood on her forehead. “And why the bloody hell are ye bleedin’?”
Gylys gave her no time to answer. “Now Alec, as God is me witness, I tried to keep her from harm, I swear it. I caught her, but no’ before she hit her head on the table goin’ down.”
Alec spun to face his wife’s champion. “Goin’ down?”
Gylys climbed down from the ladder, wiped his hands on the dry rag in his belt before tossing the wet into a bucket on the table. “I swear to ye, I’d rather be gutted than any harm come to yer wife. I do no’ think I was ever more terrified in me life. And I never moved so fast in all me life. But I was no’ fast enough.”
Alec let out a breath of frustration. The man was blathering on, and it didn’t make a damned bit of sense. “Just tell me what happened.”
Gylys glanced at Leona before turning his attention back to his laird and chief. “Well, I was just comin’ into the keep, to give her the message, like ye asked. She was up on the ladder, cleanin’ the mantle.” He gave a quick nod toward the other hearth. “Well, she leaned over a bit too far, ye ken. When I saw she was goin’ to fall, I all but flew across the room to catch her. I did, I did catch her, but she still hit her head on the table as we were fallin’ to the floor.”
Alec paled. She could have been killed.
Turning back to his wife, he said, “Why in God’s name were ye on a ladder?”
She swallowed twice before she could answer. With a bloody rag pressed against her scalp, she answered. “The mantle needed cleanin’.”
Tamping down the anger, pushing aside the thought of what he would do if he lost her, he crouched low to look at her injury. Gently, he pushed her hand aside for closer inspection. ’Twas an awful gash that would no doubt require stitches.
Speaking over his shoulder to Gylys, he asked, “How soon before the healer arrives?”
Gylys’ silence and the fearful expression on his wife’s face said plenty.
He knew the answer before asking the question. “Ye did no’ call fer the healer, did ye?”
Leona gave a slow shake of her head. “I will be fine, truly I will.”
Before he could give her his own assessment of the situation, a young lad appeared beside him. “Here be the salve ye asked for, mistress. And the bandages.”
Alec could only stare in confusion at the salve and bandages in the extended hand beside him.
“Thank ye, kindly, Albert,” Leona said as she carefully took the items and placed them in her lap.
“Ye can no’ fix yer head with salve and bandages.” Was his wife insane? Had she gone mad?
“Those be no’ fer her head, m’laird. Those be fer her hands,” the young man explained.
Alec stared at his wife for a long moment, waiting for an explanation. With a roll of his eyes, he handed the items back to the boy and took her hands in his. She winced slightly when he turned her palms upward.
In addition to the blisters and callouses on her fingers — things he had not noticed until this very moment — there were long, red abrasions running across her palms. Several blisters had been torn open, oozing and red. “What happened?” he demanded to know.
Again, she remained silent as he waited yet again for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he stood to his full height. “Will someone explain to me what the bloody hell happened to me wife’s hands?”
The men had gathered around him. None was quick to offer an explanation. Were they protecting his wife?
“Gylys?” Alec said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Well, Alec, now, do no’ be mad at yer wife. ’Twas nay her fault the pulley broke.”
“Whether or no’ I be mad at me wife is none of yer concern, Gylys. What should concern ye is how I might kill ye if ye do no’ start givin’ me straight answers.”
There was just enough anger in his tone to let all those standing about know he was going to have them all drawn and quartered.
“Well, ye see, after I volunteered to clean the mantles for her, she decided to clean the chandeliers. She was bringin’ the first one down when the pulley broke,” Gylys explained.
“Aye,” Kyth interjected. “And I was standin’ under it, fer I had just come in to see what was keepin’ Gylys.”
“Aye, ’tis the truth, Alec,” Gylys agreed with a nod.
“And then what happened?” Alec asked as he began rubbing his forehead. A dull throb was beginning to form behind his eyes.
“Well, she saw what was about to happen, that Kyth was about to get killed by the fallin’ chandelier, so she grabbed the rope and let out a scream. She did her best, she did, to keep it from crashin’ down on him.” Pride filled eyes a
nd another warm smile directed at Leona.
“And that is how she got the burns on her hands,” Alec surmised.
“Aye. But ye’ll be glad to ken I did catch her that time,” Gylys added.
Alec looked up at him, wholly confused.
Gylys swallowed hard. “Ye see, the chandelier weighs a hell of a lot more than yer wee wife. The weight of it was pullin’ her into the air. I reckon ’twas terrifyin’, bein’ lifted so high into the air so quickly. So she let go without givin’ it much thought.”
Leona spoke up then. “I did apologize to ye, Gylys. Several times.”
Gylys gave her a warm smile. “Aye, ye did, lass.”
“Apologized fer what?” Alec asked.
Another glance exchanged betwixt the two of them. “Fer scarin’ him half to death. And more than once in the same day.” Leona replied softly.
At then end of his own rope, Alec gave his head a shake. “And that be when ye caught her?” Please, God let this be the end of the story for I fear I can no’ take much more.
“Aye, I did.” Gylys beamed proudly.
Alec took a step back as well as a deep breath. When he saw the fear in his wife’s eyes, ’twas all he could do to keep from screaming, from demanding she never look at him that way again.
She could no longer hold back the tears. They streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “I be terribly sorry, Alec. I try, I truly do. But I can no’ do it all, all the time. Sometimes, I need a little help.”
His chest tightened, his gut twisted with guilt. He scooped her up into his arms and headed toward the stairs. “Call the bloody healer now, you eejits! Or I’ll have ye all hung by nightfall!”
“I can walk, Alec, truly I can,” Leona told him as he thundered up the stairs.
“With the day ye’re havin’, ye’ll break yer neck fallin’ down the stairs,” he ground out.
She winced when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hands stung, her muscles ached, but fear kept her from complaining. Lord, what is he goin’ to do?
He said not a word as he stomped down the hallway. Muttered not a sound when he kicked open the door to their bedchamber. Didn’t so much as bat an eye as he gently laid her on their bed.
Good lord, he has lost his mind! He’s goin’ to kill me.
He studied her closely for a brief moment. Lifting the hair away from her forehead so he could look once again at her wound. A large knot had formed, the skin just beginning to turn purple. ’Twas not bleeding as much now, but it would still require stitches. But what bothered him most were the dark circles under her eyes. He’d noticed them before and had told her days ago he thought she was working too hard. Now he knew, they weren’t brought on by lack of sleep. She was utterly exhausted.
“Gylys!” he shouted over his shoulder.
He hadn’t needed to, for Gylys and Kyth were standing right behind him. “Aye, Alec?” Gylys replied, startling Alec.
“Bring me hot water and cloths. And find out what is taking the healer so long!”
“Ye’ve only just sent for her, Alec,” Leona politely reminded him as soon as the two men left the room.
He responded with a furious glower.
A long moment passed before he finally spoke. “I told ye days ago ye were workin’ too hard. I told ye to stop.”
Stop? He was mad. Completely insane. “And just which of me chores would ye like me to stop doin’?” Her head throbbed, and not just from the knot gained from hitting the table. “The cookin’? The cleanin’? Or the laundry or gatherin’ eggs, or haulin’ the ten buckets of water up here each night just so ye can have a hot bath? Or should I give up the mendin’ and sewin’ or gatherin’ rushes?” She was growing angrier by the moment.
His brow furrowed in confusion and she had only given him a small list of the things she did each day.
“Ye bring up the water for me bath?” he asked, completely stunned and perplexed.
Leona rolled her eyes, wishing she was brave enough to clout him on his dense noggin’ with a chamber pot. “Who did ye think was bringin’ it? Faeries?”
He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. “But …”
Letting loose an exceedingly frustrated breath, she closed her eyes and counted to ten before going on. “Ye will no’ allow anyone to work inside the keep. Ye told me the day we arrived that none work here, do ye no’ remember?”
In truth, he didn’t remember the conversation in its entirety. Oh, he remembered being overcome with lust and desire, as was typical whenever she was near. Or whenever he thought of her. But their conversation? Nay, he could not say he remembered it.
“Why did ye no’ ask me fer help?” he murmured.
She swiped away an errant tear. Would ye have given it to me?
“And why do ye do it? The bath I mean.”
Silence filled the space between them. Hanging as dense and heavy as morning fog. Another tear trailed down her cheek. She wiped it away with her fingertips.
“Leona?” His voice was scratchy with a blend of guilt and curiosity. For the first time since marrying her, he had a need that went beyond the physical. “Please, tell me why ye do that for me.”
Wiping her cheeks again, she gave a slight shrug. “The first time, the bath was no’ for you, but for me. But ye stole it.”
More guilt washed over him. I am a fool and an eejit.
“But it made ye so happy that I could no’ tell ye the truth of it. And the next day, when ye did it again, well…”
Aggravated by his own ignorance, he ran a hand through his hair. “So ye only did it because ye were afraid to tell me the truth?”
She gave a shake of her head. “Nay,” she answered. “I just want ye to be glad ye married me.” I want ye to be proud of me. I want ye to like me.
Sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, he asked, “Ye wanted me to be glad?”
Nodding her head rapidly, she said, “Aye. I want ye to be proud of me. I never want ye to regret marryin’ me. Ye could have had any woman ye wanted, but ye agreed to me.”
Any woman I wanted? No, that was far from the truth. He was a Bowie for the sake of Christ. Women had never exactly fallen over themselves to warm his bed or become his wife. In fact, the only woman to ever voluntarily share his bed — without need of monetary compensation — was Leona.
“I am glad I married ye,” he whispered.
His words were meant to give her some relief from her worries. He had hoped they would put an end to her misery. Instead, they seemed only to add to them, for she broke down completely then. A heaping mess of sobs. Sobs and tears that tore through his heart.
He took her into his arms, uncertain what he should do or say.
“Do ye speak the truth?” she asked, sobbing against his chest. “Ye are truly glad? Ye do no’ regret marryin’ me?”
For a brief moment, he felt like crying himself. Taking in a slow, deep breath to help quash the feelings of guilt, uncertainty, and aye, even adoration toward his wife, he said, “Nay, lass. I have no regrets.”
Were anyone to ask her why ’twas so important to have Alec’s approval, she could not have given them a reasonable explanation. Most of the time, it made little sense to her own mind the why of it. That intense need for his approval, for his happiness.
Leona would never ask him for his heart. That would be far too much to ask of any man, let alone Alec Bowie. Nay, she was not the kind of woman a man could or would happily give his heart to.
Far from graceful, elegant, witty or beautiful, with very little to offer other than her cooking and cleaning skills. Nay, she knew all these things to be true. As common as a blade of grass, she was.
Still, there was a little part of her that needed someone on this earth to think her more than simply ‘common’. Something a notch above would be nice.
Yet when she heard him say he had no regrets, that he was glad he married her, she came undone. Knowing there was a strong possibility he had said the words only as a means of
comforting her, didn’t truly matter. He had said them.
Nay, they weren’t the kinds of words a poet might come up with. Not the kind of words a man deeply and passionately in love with his wife might say, but at the moment, she didn’t care.
“Thank ye, Alec,” she cried softly against his chest. Melting against him, she felt safe and cared for in his arms. ’Twas not a deeply profound romantic love they felt for one another. ’Twas far from that. But feeling safe and cared for by another person was something she had always wished for. Nay, had prayed for on a daily basis for as long as she could remember.
“Wheest, lass, do no’ cry,” he murmured softly.
’Twas impossible at the moment to keep the tears from falling. Mayhap the tears were due to exhaustion, or the bump on her head, or the burns on her hands. Who knew?
Before he could say anything else that would bring forth more tears, Gylys came into the room. “I have the hot water, Alec. And fresh bandages.”
A part of him was relieved his friend was there. Another, larger and far more dangerous part of him wanted to drown him in the bucket he carried. Instead, he simply thanked him, and set about pouring the hot water into a basin.
“Mistress, Allen Bowie is below stairs. He wonders if his laundry be done. I told him ye were indisposed, but that I would at least ask.”
Alec was almost too afraid to ask what Gylys was talking about.
“Aye,” Leona said. “It be in the laundry, in his basket. Ye can accept his payment on my behalf.”
Alec stood in stunned disbelief. “Why in the bloody hell is my wife doin’ Allen Bowie’s laundry? And what payment?”
He took note, once again, of the exchanged glances between his wife and Gylys.
“I needed the coin, Alec, to buy a milk cow,” Leona told him as she rubbed her forehead with her fingers.
As if that explained the situation or brought any clarity to the matter.
Seeing his confusion, Leona tried to explain the matter better. “I need a milk cow, but I did no’ have the coin. One day, when I was in the laundry, Allen saw me and we got to talkin’. Well, before I knew it, I was agreein’ to doin’ his laundry fer a set price. Word spread. Now with all the coins earned from the laundry, I can buy a milk cow.”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 25