Alec, though still quite weak from his injury, insisted on attending. ’Twas important he show his people that he was well and would continue to get well. Derrick had been a good friend to him over the years. And Fergus had been one of his earliest supporters for peace.
They woke to heavy rain that morn, so ’twas decided the funeral be held in the gathering room of the keep. The bodies, draped in linen, as was their custom, lay side by side on tables brought in specifically for that purpose.
With Leona at his side and Kyth and Gylys behind them, they left the bedchamber and went below stairs. The gathering room was unable to hold all those people who had come to pay their last respects. The foyer and hallways were packed as well, and more people spilled out the doors, rain-be-damned.
Maisie sat on a chair next to her husband’s body, as she held their youngest babe in her arms. Their other two children, just weans really, clung to her legs. A few of the womenfolk stood next to her, one with a hand on her shoulder, offering their support. In that small group stood Effie, holding Archibald. Next to her was Dougall and their sons. Leona thought Dougall looked pale, a bit gaunt. Perhaps he was simply tired from the events of the past few days.
The Bowies, for the most part, were God-fearing folk. However, there was not a priest in all of Scotia brave enough to tend to this flock. Neither did they posses a kirk or chapel in which to pray. When it came to weddings or funerals, ’twas left to the chief of the clan to act as officiant.
A small dais had been brought in for Alec to stand on to address the people. With his shoulders back, his head high, he took to it. Never once did he wince or otherwise show how much pain he was in, either physically or emotionally. Leona, Kyth and Gylys stood next to the dais as their own display of support for their chief.
The crowd hushed as Alec began to speak.
“As many of ye ken, Derrick, Fergus, and I were attacked recently, by a band of thievin’ whore-sons. Without warnin’, they ambushed us on our own lands.”
Angry murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Leona was surprised to hear her husband speak in such a manner at such a solemn occasion.
“The bastards who attacked us are also dead, our men saw to it.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd. The people waved their fists in the air, nodded and cheered their approval, glad that revenge had been sought on behalf of these two fine men.
Alec raised his hand to call for quiet. Slowly, the cheers faded and people stood in wrapt attention, eagerly waiting to hear what else their laird might have to say.
“This be no’ the first time such a thing has happened to us. And ’twill probably no’ be the last. But we are Bowies. We will defend our lands, our people, to the verra end if we must.”
Another cheer broke out over the room. To Leona’s way of thinking, this was less a funeral and more a call to war. Still, she remained silent, watching and listening.
“We come here today, to say goodbye to two of the finest men I have ever kent in me life,” Alec spoke out over the din of the crowd. They fell silent once again.
“The rest of the world thinks we be nothin’ more than a bunch of thieves and murderers.” He paused briefly as he looked out at his people. “At one time, that was true.”
The crowd laughed and looked proud.
“I imagine this room be filled with more thieves and reivers than all the gaols in Scotia!”
More laughter, more proud looks from the throngs of people.
“But the outside world does no’ ken the true Bowies. Aye, we might be a lot filled with questionable characters, but we are a proud and decent people,” Alec said, his face filled with pride.
“To the outside world, Fergus Bowie was a cow reiver. ’Tis true, he was. One of the best. But what they do no’ ken, was that he was also a fine musician, a man who was good with animals, and a man who loved his wife, Maisie, and their children with all that he was. He was a good man. A man you could count on in time of need. He’d no’ turn his back on ye. Unless, of course, ye were a sassenach.”
Chuckles and laughter filtered through the crowd.
“And Derrick Bowie, now there was a man’s man. If ever ye were in battle, ye wanted a man like Derrick at yer side. Mostly, because he was so bloody big, ye could use him as a shield!”
Raucous laughter spread throughout the room. Alec smiled warmly at his people. “Now, the outside world, they thought he was nothin’ more than a brawler, a man who would break yer neck for lookin’ at him the wrong way,” he smiled and leaned over the podium as if he were sharing a secret. “That only happened twice and both times, ’twas a sassenach who had insulted him.”
He waited a long moment for the laughter to subside. “To the outside world, Derrick was a defiler of women; he stole countless women from their husbands and fathered countless children with them. That is almost true.”
Heads nodded all around them, for they knew the truth of the matter.
“What they do no’ ken is the entire truth of it. ’Twas three women, and they be here today,” Alec looked at the three women who sat near Derrick’s body. They were surrounded with numerous children of varying ages. From babes to boys old enough to shave, and girls old enough to marry.
“What they do no’ ken is that Derrick saved each of those women from husbands who were crueler, more vile, and meaner than the whole of us combined.”
Leona watched the women closely. One of them bore a jagged scar across her face. It started at her forehead, down the side of her cheek, back up, across her nose to the opposite side of her face. Tears of grief streamed down her cheeks and off her chin. Her sorrow was as real as the sun coming up each morn.
“What some call stealin’, we call rescuin’. Derrick saved each of them and their children from beatin’s. From rape. From bein’ sold from one man to the next. From hell on earth. That was the kind of man Derrick was. He could no’ allow them to suffer, so he brought them here. To live amongst us, to protect them.”
Leona looked out at the crowd. There was not a dry eye to be found. She felt it then, the pride, the love this clan had for one another. ’Twas not something they took lightly or for granted. Each of them understood what their reputation was. They took pride in it for they knew the truth. And Leona was seeing and hearing that truth for the first time. She didn’t even try to hold back her tears.
“These men,” Alec choked back a few tears of his own. “These good, decent men were loved by all. Their absence will be felt for a verra, verra long while.” He took a deep breath before going on. “I will miss them. They were me friends.”
He gave a final nod to his people before stepping down from the dais. For the first time since they had married, Alec came to her and wrapped his arms around her. ’Twas the first time he ever displayed his affection for her publicly.
Within the hour, the Clan Bowie was filing out of the gathering room and heading toward the cemetery. Alec had taken Leona’s hand in his as they led their people out of the dark room and into the dull, dreary afternoon.
Big, strong men carried the bodies of Derrick and Fergus Bowie with a blend of pride and grief. They’re families followed behind, clinging to one another as they walked across the drawbridge and headed south. The rain had let up only slightly. Gray skies and dark clouds overhead matched the somberness of the moment. Someone played a melancholy tune on a lute as the procession walked along the path.
The cemetery sat not far from the original Bowie keep, in a serene and well kept little glen. Graves of varying ages were marked with wooden crosses, all in neat rows. Leona wondered which of these people were in charge of keeping the cemetery. Whomever it was, ’twas quite evident they took their duty seriously. ’Twas free from weeds and bramble bushes or other unwanted plants. Neat, tidy, and well kept.
They went to the far side of the cemetery where holes had been dug. The bodies were lowered into the darkness. Raindrops fell like tears from heaven, splattering against the linen covered bodies as well as the living.
Next, a lad Leona thought to be about six and ten, stepped forward. She recognized him as one of those children standing with the women Derrick had rescued. Soon, a dozen children lined up beside him. The youngest, a boy who could not have been more than four years of age, was holding Derrick’s sword reverently with both hands. He had to lay it sideways in order to kiss the hilt. His little eyes were filled with tears as he passed it on to the next child.
Down the line Derrick Bowie’s sword went, from one child to the next. Each of them whispering something unintelligible before kissing the hilt. The oldest of the children finally received that heavy, oft used sword. It tore at Leona to see this lad who was trying so hard to be brave, break down. His shoulders shook as tears fell from his eyes. Gylys went to stand next to the young man to offer his support. The young man had to take several deep breaths before he could proceed with the ritual.
When he finished, he handed the sword to Alec, who repeated the phrase and gesture. Once again, he knelt and placed the sword atop Derrick’s body, just as he had done with Fergus’s.
Once the ritual was finished, Alec took Leona’s hand once more and began the slow trek back to the keep. After leaving the cemetery, Leona dared ask the burning question.
In a low, reverent tone, she whispered, “Alec, what was the phrase ye all said when kissin’ the hilt of their swords?”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before answering. “Fare thee well, my friend. Ye were loved.”
The following few days seemed to fly by. Thankfully, Alec was healing nicely and no fever set in. But much to Leona’s vexation, he refused to rest for more than two days. “I have important duties,” he told her. “I can rest when I am dead.”
“And ye will be dead sooner than ye think if ye are no’ careful!” she argued.
They reached a compromise of sorts.
He could work as long as it wasn’t physical and Leona promised not to nag him over it. She also promised not to beat him senseless should he injure his arm again.
On the fourth day of his recovery, Leona finally left his side. At her request, Adhaira had been taking meals to auld Melvin, faithfully each day. Leona wanted to thank her for her kindness as well as plan out meals for the next few days.
Leona was in the kitchen with Adhaira when Patches came scratching at the back door.
“Och! That beast has been here every day!” Adhaira cried, refusing to open the door to him.
Leona rolled her eyes heavenward. “That beast saved yer laird’s life,” she told her as she opened the door and let Patches inside. Leona crouched low and loved on the dog. “Is that no’ right, Patches? Ye are no’ the ferocious beast every one says ye be.”
When Leona looked up, Adhaira was standing behind the larder door, peering around it with one eery looking eye.
“Och! Do no’ be so silly!” Leona told her. “If ye toss him a bit of ham, he will forever be yer friend.”
“I’ll decline yer offer, mistress,” Adhaira whispered.
Leona stood up with her hands on her hips, and said, “Have we any ham? Or mutton?”
“Aye,” she whispered. As if she were afraid the dog would hear her and come charging.
“Then please bring it to me. I promise, I shall protect ye.”
The eye disappeared, replaced moments later by an outstretched hand holding a leg of mutton. Realizing Adhaira was not going to get anywhere near the dog, Leona retrieved the proffered food. “Patches, lie down.”
The dog licked his chops before dutifully taking his spot by the hearth. “Good boy,” Leona praised him. Patting him on the head, she then gave him the leg of mutton.
“Now,” she said as she wiped her hands on a drying cloth. “Lets ye and I discuss upcoming meals. Do ye ken, be there anythin’ we’re runnin’ low on?” she asked as she retrieved a bit of parchment and the ink and quill she kept stored in a box on a shelf under the counter.
Refusing to leave the safety of the larder, Adhaira’s voice, though muffled, came filtering through. “Aye, there be a few things we could use.”
While Adhaira rattled off the items they were low on, Leona wrote everything down, adding a few necessary things of her own. On the morrow, she would send Gylys and Kyth to Kinbrea to procure those things on her list.
“There ye are!” ’Twas Alec’s voice speaking to her from the door.
Leona stood abruptly, surprised to find him out of bed. “What are ye doin’?” she asked, rushing to his side.
“I woke up and ye were gone,” he smiled at her. “Besides, I’ve laid abed long enough.”
“Ye will have laid abed long enough when I say ye have,” she told him as she wrapped an arm around his torso.
“I thought ye promised no’ to nag?” he said playfully.
“Ye be confusin’ me concern fer ye with naggin’. Now, back to bed with ye.”
He refused to budge. “Will ye be joinin’ me?” he asked, his tone low and warm and oh, so very inviting.
“Nay,” she told him, though she was truly tempted. “I have work to do.”
Before she had time to think, Alec had her in his arms and was kissing her. Deep, passionate, knee-knocking kisses. “Then I shall take my pleasure with ye here,” he said as he walked her backwards, kissing her all the while.
’Twas then he heard someone clearing their throat. A muffled sound, coming from the larder.
He pulled away from Leona’s lips. “We be no’ alone?”
Leona giggled sweetly and shook her head. “I fear no’, husband.”
For the first time since she had met him, Alec looked utterly embarrassed. A deep red blush crept up from his neck before spreading across his face. Even his ears turned red! Leona pulled her lips in to keep from laughing at his distress.
“Good day to ye, m’laird,” came Adhaira’s voice from behind the larder door.
He cringed, his skin turning even darker. He buried his face against Leona’s neck. “Why, pray tell is she in the larder?”
“She be hiding from Patches.” She nodded toward the hearth where his dog was happily devouring the remnants of the bone.
Patches! He had forgotten about his bandogge and that his wife had changed his name. He spun around in the direction she indicated.
“Satan!” he called out. The dog looked up once before turning his attention back to the bone.
Now, he had a choice to make. He could rail against his wife and chastise her for breaking his bandogge. Or he could simply let it go.
Before he could make his decision, Willem opened the back door and stepped inside. Patches was on his feet in an instant, standing next to Leona, growling low and gutturally, giving fair warning that he was the protector of his mistress.
“Patches!” Leona called out, resting a hand on top of the dog’s head. “Be nice!”
Alec gave a slow shake of his head, wholly confounded. Satan sat dutifully at his wife’s feet, never once taking his eyes off the invader. Mayhap the dog wasn’t broken after all.
With Alec summarily embarrassed, Leona sent him back to his room and Patches back to his keeper. After finishing the list, she decided ’twould be a good time to begin a few batches of bread. It did not take long before she and Adhaira had a dozen loaves rising.
Leona was about to take her leave to go see to her husband, when Patrice came to see her. The poor woman’s eyes were red from crying.
“Patrice, what be the matter?” Leona asked as she ushered the woman to a chair at the table.
While Patrice fought back her tears, Adhaira poured a mug of cider and offered it to her. “I have just come from Dougall and Effie’s,” she began as she dabbed her eyes with a bit of linen.
Leona’s heart seized
with dread. Her first thought was of the babe. “Is it Archibald?” she asked.
Patrice shook her head and swallowed hard. “Nay, ’tis Dougall. He became ill again. The healer thinks he has the wastin’ disease.”
Leona sank into a chair opposite her friend. “Nay,” she murmured, her heart stinging with disbelief. Adhaira made the sign of the cross before pouring Leona her own mug of ale. Leona ignored it.
“Aye, ’tis true. Effie just told me and I came here straight away.”
They sat in stunned silence for a long while. Leona’s heart broke for the poor family. Alec would take care of them, making sure they did not starve, as he was doing for Fergus’s and Derrick’s families. He would ensure they always had a home and would want for very little. Save to have their fathers back.
With Alec recuperating from his wounds, she felt ’twas up to her to visit with the families. “Adhaira,” she said, her mind still reeling from the awful news. “I need ye to prepare baskets of food. I want to take them to Maisie and the other women. While I am out, I will stop to see Effie and Dougall.”
“Would ye like me to help deliver them?” Patrice asked.
“Aye, but only if ye’re up to it. I fear we have had far too much dyin’ and mournin’ of late.”
“I will help ye too, mistress, if that be all right with ye?” Adhaira offered.
“I can use all the help I can get this day.”
Each of the women carried two baskets of food with them as they left the keep. Leona had decided to see for herself how Dougall was faring before she shared anything with her husband.
They stopped at Maisie’s home first. Patrice knocked softly at the door. Moments later, Maisie opened it. Her eyes were red with tears and she was taken aback by the presence of the three women.
“Maisie,” Patrice said in a warm voice. “We have brought ye a basket of food.”
Maisie took it without uttering a word. From inside the cottage, they could hear a babe crying. Leona stepped forward to speak to her. “Maisie, I want ye to ken that should ye need anythin’, we are all here fer ye. All ye need do is ask.”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 34