“I want nothin’ from ye,” she spat out.
Leona was surprised at her harsh tone and words. Before she could offer a reply, Maisie went on. “’Tis yer fault me Fergus is dead!”
“Maisie, that be no’ true,” Patrice exclaimed.
“It is! Had Alec no’ married her, we would no’ be layin’ down our weapons! ’Tis all her fault. She turned his head, she did! Look what peace has gotten us!”
Leona’s stomach churned. Though she knew in her heart she was no more responsible for the deaths of Fergus and Derrick than Maisie was, it still stung to think anyone could blame her.
“Maisie, ye ken that be no’ true,” Patrice told her in a soothing voice. She draped an arm around her shoulder. “Alec has long wanted peace fer our clan. Yer Fergus wanted it too. Long before any of us even knew of Leona.”
Maisie wiped her tears on the shoulder of her dress. “I shall never ken peace. No’ now. No’ without me Fergus. Peace!” she all but spat the word out. “Peace was no’ worth me husband’s life.”
She turned away from the women and went back into her cottage, shutting the door softly behind her.
Oh, how Leona wanted to weep! To cry and beg for the woman’s forgiveness, even though she knew she was not at fault.
“She be hurtin’,” Patrice said as she pulled Leona away from the door. “She needs someone to blame.”
“Then she should be blamin’ the men who killed Fergus, and no’ our mistress,” Adhaira said as they returned to the narrow path.
“Will they ever accept me?” Leona asked to no one in particular.
“Aye, they will. Eventually,” Patrice said.
“I have accepted ye, mistress,” Adhaira said. “So has Melvin. Och! He adores ye! As do all the men folk.”
But I can no’ sit with the men folk and talk of womanly things, she mused.
“And I have accepted ye as well,” Patrice offered with a warm smile. “The rest will come a long, with time. Ye’ll see.”
Leona was not nearly as hopeful or as confident as her friends.
By the time they reached Dougall’s cottage, Leona felt light-headed, her stomach still churning. Patrice took note of her pale face and the sheen of perspiration that had broken out across her brow.
“Leona, why do ye no’ let Adhaira and I take these baskets to Derrick’s women? Ye look like ye’re about to faint.”
She wondered briefly if either of her friends would think her a coward if she agreed. “In truth, I am no’ feelin’ well.”
“Ye rest here a bit, with Effie and Dougall. We shall return fer ye in a little while,” Patrice said as she gave her a gentle hug. “In truth, I fear I can no’ look at him just yet. Knowin’ what I ken.”
If Patrice could openly admit to being somewhat of a coward then Leona saw no harm in doing the same. “Verra well,” she said. “Please, tell Derrick’s family how sorry I am for their loss.”
Patrice agreed to extend her condolences. They left Leona on Dougall and Effie’s doorstep as they set off to visit with Derrick’s family.
Leona rapped at the door and waited. No sounds came from within so she knocked again, a little louder. She heard a muffled voice coming from within. Worried Effie might be needing help, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The furs had been drawn away from the windows, letting in a cool breeze. No candles were lit, so it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the semi-dark space.
“Leona?” came Dougall’s voice from the bed.
Leona stepped forward so she might see him better. He looked as weak as he sounded. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. His lips looked painfully dry. He lay against a few pillows, covered with only a light sheet. “Dougall,” she said as she drew nearer. “Where is Effie?” She pulled up a stool and sat beside him.
He coughed slightly, holding his stomach. “It feels like me guts are afire!” he groused, wincing with pain.
“I be so sorry, Dougall,” she told him as she felt his forehead with the back of her hand. No fever, which was probably a good sign. She spotted a basin with wet clothes on the small stand by the bed. She dipped a cloth in, wrung it out and placed it on his forehead. “I would ask how ye fare, but I think ‘twould be a most ridiculous question.”
He gave a slight chuckle and nodded his head. “I feel as though I have been trampled by a team of horses. Carryin’ a wagon filled with lead.”
By the looks of him, she did not doubt his description. “Dougall, where is Effie?”
He closed his eyes and drew his arm over them. “I sent her away for a bit.”
“Away?” Leona asked incredulously.
“Aye.”
Certainly he did not mean on a permanent basis. “Why?” She ran the cloth across his neck. It pained her to see him in so much pain.
“Because I do no’ want her or me sons to sit around and watch as I die!” he ground out.
Sadness enveloped her. Were it Alec abed dying such a horrible and painful death, she would not leave his side, no matter what he might want. ’Twas her right to be there until the very end. “So, ’tis true then?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Aye, ’tis true.”
Leona thought back to how poorly he looked at the funeral. “How long have ye been ill?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Off and on fer a month or so. After the funerals, it got worse. I have been throwin’ up and shitin’ somethin’ fierce fer a few days.”
’Twas no’ fair. Dougall was one of the first Bowie men she had met. She had always thought him a good and decent man. Knowing how he felt about compliments, she resisted the urge to speak from her heart. “I have no’ yet told Alec, for I have only just learned ye were ill an hour ago. I came here first, to see for myself.”
She knew Alec adored his cousin. Dougall was more than just a cousin, however. He was Alec’s closest friend, his staunchest supporter. Lord, how she dreaded having to tell him that Dougall was dying.
He lowered his arm. “Do no’ tell him.”
“What?” she asked, surprised he would make such a request.
“I do no’ want Alec to come here and look at me with pity in his eyes. I want no one here. ’Tis why I sent Effie and the children away. Just let me die in peace.”
She grew instantly perturbed with him. “I kent ye were a mean, despicable son of a whore, Dougall Bowie. I did no’ ken ye were also selfish.”
His brow furrowed. “What are ye goin’ on about? I may be a mean, despicable son of a whore, but I am no’ selfish!”
“Think ye no’?” she challenged. “Yer wife, yer children, they love ye. They adore ye. As do Alec and I, and as far as I ken, everyone who kens ye. Ye want to die all alone? ’Tis selfish. Yer wife, yer children, they want to offer ye whatever comfort they can at this time. They want to be there to tell ye good bye.”
“Bah! That is a pile of horse shite!”
“Really?” she countered. “Think to Fergus and Derrick’s deaths. They died all alone. Think of their families. Nary a one of them had a chance to say goodbye, to tell them how much they were loved. How much they would be missed. Think ye no’ that those men would have loved to have had one final moment to look at each of them and tell them I loved ye best?”
His frown disappeared and she could see that he was giving some weight to her words. For the sake of his family, and for Alec, she prayed he would heed her good advice.
Leona made sure Dougall was as comfortable as she could make him before leaving to return to the keep. She didn’t bother to wait for Patrice and Adhaira. After sitting with Dougall, all she wanted was to get back to her own husband.
She loved Alec, there was no denying it. Soft, lonely tears fell from her cheeks as she walked back to the keep. There was next to nothing she wouldn’t give to be brave enough to give him the words of her heart.
Coward that she was, she simply couldn’t. Her worry, her true fear, was that the words would upset him so much that the comfortable, safe existen
ce they currently shared, would be no more. She worried he would pull away, would not want her anymore. Oh, she knew ’twas probably a ridiculous thing to worry over.
But Alec, Alec was cut from a different cloth. Unlike anyone she’d ever known. Aye, she had no doubt at all that he cared for her. But love? Nay, he did not love her, at least not like in the fables and tales of auld. He did not love her deeply, nor passionately, nor with all that he was, as he had spoken of Fergus’ love for his wife and family.
The conversation with Alec went about as horribly as she had expected. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head as he paced around the gathering room. “There must be some mistake.”
“I wish I could have that hope for ye, husband. But I saw him with me own eyes no’ more than a half an hour ago. I wish it were no’ so, but it is.” Her heart ached for her husband, for the sorrow and shock he was feeling at learning his closest friend, his last living direct relative, was dying.
He raked a hand through his hair before taking a seat. “The healer confirms it?”
Leona nodded. “Though I have not spoken to her directly, Patrice tells me Mairi was there just this morn. She believes he has the wastin’ disease. Mayhap only a few weeks left.”
“I must go to him at once,” Alec said as he stood back up.
“Would ye like me to go with ye?”
He let out a short breath. “Aye, that would be awfully kind of ye.”
Selfishly, she liked knowing he wanted her there, beside him, during this most difficult time.
Leona grabbed her shawl and together she and her husband left the keep to begin saying goodbye to his dearest friend.
Dougall tried putting on a brave face for Alec, and Alec did the same. He did not want Dougall’s last days on earth to be so solemn. “So when do ye plan on given’ up this charade and gettin’ back to yer fields?” Alec asked.
Dougall laughed. “Aye, ’tis true I be enjoyin’ the attention. Why just this afternoon yer wife bathed me. ’Twas a most delightful moment in my otherwise bleak life.”
Alec looked over his shoulder at Leona. She stood just a few steps away, her eyes wide with horror. “’Twas no’ like that, Alec, I swear it! He was so ill, and covered in sweat—”
Alec stopped her explanation with a wink and a smile.
“Och! Can ye no’ leave a dyin’ man to his fantasies?” Dougall asked, tongue in cheek.
Leona burned crimson.
“I would thank ye kindly, ye bloody bastard, if ye would keep me wife out of yer fantasies,” Alec responded with a wry smile. “Else, I will have to kill ye.”
Dougall turned serious then. “I swear, I would much rather die at yer sword than the way I am.”
Leona wanted to weep, silently praying her husband would not grant the man his wish. One never knew with these Bowies, just when to take them seriously.
“And take that pleasure from yer wife?” Alec asked. “Nay, I like Effie too much to do that.”
“Bah!” Dougall said. “Effie would no’ kill me. She loves me too much.”
Alec chuckled softly. “She would if she heard ye talkin’ about ye fantasizin’ about my wife.”
Dougall turned pale. “Ye will no’ tell her, will ye?”
Alec patted his arm. “Nay, my friend, we will take it to our own graves.”
By the time they left, more than an hour later, Dougall had agreed to allow Effie and the children to come back home.
Chapter 27
Alec was healing nicely. While Leona was convinced ’twas due to her prayers and Mairi’s powers at healing, Alec was convinced ’twas his strong Bowie blood. ’Twas only because she had nearly lost him that she did not argue.
The man was impossible to keep in bed. Unless, of course, she was with him. His injury certainly had not affected his desire for joining with her.
Thankfully, he had agreed to leave any farming and training to his men, at least for a short while. He refused, however, to give up or set aside all of his chiefly duties.
He spent a good part of his day in the gathering room, either visiting with those who had come to see how he was, or solving disputes that sometimes arose. When he had had his fill of those pursuits, he would retire to his study, where he would pour over the books and think of ways he and his clan could earn an honest living.
Leona, Patrice, and Adhaira soon had the entire keep in order. Patrice had been spending more and more time there, now that her mother’s health had improved. She and Leona became closer and Leona was beginning to think of her as her dearest friend.
Willem was a tremendous help to their pursuit at making the keep more inviting — at least when he wasn’t drinking. But with his help, the gathering room felt homier. ’Twas he who would go to the north tower to retrieve pillows, tapestries, and anything else he could carry by himself.
Alec’s contentment with resting and staying indoors lasted a full seven days. By the eighth, he was antsy and ready to get back to work. Leona, however, was not convinced ’twas such a good idea.
On a particularly chilly evening, she and Patrice were in the gathering room, mending one of the few dresses Leona owned. They were at one of the tables, with Leona’s brown dress spread out on it.
“Ye have no other fabric?” Patrice asked as she studied the dress closely.
“Be it that bad?” Leona asked as she chewed on the nail of her thumb. The dress was several years old. She had worn holes in the middle, just below the knees. Because she had none of that old fabric left, she had tried to patch it using some heavy linen she had found in the storage room above stairs. The linen was several shades lighter than the rest of the dress.
Patrice puffed her cheeks and let the air out slowly. “Mayhap we could dye the patch?”
As if she hadn’t thought of that. “I did dye it.”
“Oh,” Patrice whispered.
Leona sighed. “’Tis as bad as I thought, then.”
Patrice placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “On the morrow, I will bring ye one of me old dresses. We should be able to adjust it to suit ye.”
While Leona appreciated the offer, she refused. “Och! ’Tis no’ necessary. I shall keep this one back and only wear it when I be cleanin’.”
“Really, Leona, it be no problem at all,” Patrice argued. “Rutger gave me many a fine dress. I do no’ wear most of them.”
Leona did not think her husband would like that very much; her wearing dresses his brother had purchased for Patrice. And she could not have been more right.
Alec had entered the gathering room long moments before. The women, so lost in their own thoughts, had neither heard nor noticed his presence. He stood quietly, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Guilt filled his gut, for he realized there were still many things about his wife that he did not notice. Such as her lack of suitable or even usable dresses. Aye, he had made a promise to himself not long ago, to pay far closer attention. He made certain she was no longer working in the laundry for coin. Had blessedly been able to find someone to help her with the daily workings of the keep.
But dresses? Nay, he had not put a thought to such things.
Anger filled his gut when he heard Patrice’s offer to give his wife her old dresses, which Rutger had given her before his death.
There was no way on God’s earth he was going to allow that to happen.
Leona deserved far better.
“Leona,” he called out as he stepped forward. Startled, both women jumped and spun to face him.
“Alec!” Leona exclaimed as she held a hand to her breast. “Ye scared the wits out of me!”
He smiled warmly as he bowed slightly at the waist. “My apologies.”
She quirked a brow and cocked her head to one side. “What is wrong?”
“Wrong?” he asked.
“Ye just apologized. Ye do no’ do that unless something be horribly wrong.”
He could not help but laugh. “Nothin’ be wrong, lass. How are ye this cold night, Patrice?�
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They exchanged curious glances before Patrice answered. “I be fine. And ye?”
“I be quite well, thank ye fer askin’.”
Leona rested a hand on one hip. “An apology and a thank ye, all in the same day? Have ye hit yer head?”
Alec crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily. “Leona, did ye no’ say ye wished I used all those fancy manners ye speak so highly of?”
“That was months ago,” she politely reminded him.
He no longer wished to discuss the matter, especially not in front of Patrice. “Leona, I need to go to Kinbrea on the morrow and I would like ye to go with me.”
His wife was quiet for a long while, as she studied him with a suspicious eye. Confused by her demeanor, he said, “Well? Would ye like to go with me or no’?” He had assumed she would jump at the chance.
“Aye,” she finally answered. “I should like to go.”
“Good,” he said as he clapped his hands together. The action sent a shock of pain radiating up and down his injured arm, but he ignored it. “I shall leave ye to it then.” He gave a slight bow and returned to his study.
The two women watched as Alec left the room. Patrice shook her head in confusion. She left her equally confused friend standing next to the table while she went to the window and pulled open the fur.
“What are ye lookin’ at?” Leona asked.
“I be lookin’ to see if there be any pigs flyin’ about.”
Leona’s brow knitted. “What are ye goin’ on about?”
Patrice laughed. “With Alec bein’ so polite and mannerly, I thought mayhap the day had come where pigs fly.”
“Bah!” Leona exclaimed with a giggle. “Ye be daft!”
Patrice turned and gave Leona a cheeky smile. “Nay, I think it be yer husband who be daft. I believe he has fallen in love with ye.”
Leona rolled her eyes. “Now I ken ye be daft.”
“Am I?” she asked. “I think no’, Leona. Why else would he be so polite?”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 35