Leona gave a dismissive shrug. “Can a man no’ change?”
“Of course he can,” Patrice said. “But usually he only changes when there be a woman worth changin’ fer.”
Leona turned back to the dress. He does no’ love me, she reminded herself. He only cares.
“Come help me figure out what to do with this dress,” she said, speaking over her shoulder.
“I recommend the rag bin,” Patrice said jokingly.
Leona found no humor in it. “I be sorry if my husband has no coin,” she ground out. “Mayhap he would have had yer Rutger no’ run this clan to ruin.”
Immediately, she regretted uttering those words. Tears filled her eyes when she looked up at Patrice, who’s own eyes had filled.
“Och! Patrice! Please fergive me!”
“Ye speak only the truth,” Patrice said. Her voice was filled with sorrow. “’Tis I who am sorry. I should no’ have made fun of yer dress.”
“Nay, ’tis I who am sorry,” Leona argued as she wiped away an errant tear. “I ken ’twas no’ yer fault what Rutger did.”
“Do no’ be so certain,” Patrice said.
“What do ye mean?” Leona asked, mystified.
Patrice shook her head and pulled a bit of linen from the sleeve of her dress. “Please, I wish no’ to speak of Rutger any more this night.”
Deciding it was best to let the matter drop, at least for now, Leona nodded in agreement.
“Now, let us see what we can do to fix this dress,” Patrice said as she sniffed and picked up the gown.
“Have ye gone mad?” Leona asked her husband incredulously.
“Why do ye assume so?” he asked.
They were standing at the wool merchant’s stall in Kinbrea. They’d arrived not long ago. Leona had assumed they’d be purchasing supplies for the keep. But she had been wrong. However, he was fast proving her earlier assessment that he’d lost his mind.
She leaned in so that she could speak without the wool merchant hearing. “We do no’ have coin for such luxuries.”
Alec leaned in and whispered in her ear “I can no’ buy ye yards and yards of silks, but I can get ye a few lengths of nice wool.” He stood back and smiled. Turning to the wool merchant, he picked up a bit of wool and said, “She would like enough of this to make a dress.”
Leona put a hand on his. “What are ye doin’?”
“If ye will no pick out the fabric, I will.”
She heard Kyth and Gylys chuckling from behind them. Whether their laughter was born of Leona’s distress or their laird’s delight, she couldn’t say. Either way, she found it annoying.
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he meant what he said. Letting out a breath, she said, “Nay, no’ that one.” ’Twas mayhap the most hideous yellow she’d ever laid eyes on.
“But I like ye in yellow,” Alec argued.
“No’ this yellow,” she said. She lifted the corner of a bundle of soft, yet bright yellow fabric. Just a few shades brighter than the dress Rose had made her for her wedding day. “And I’d like a bit of the dark blue there.”
The wool merchant gave a polite nod before removing the bundles.
“Are ye satisfied?” she asked her husband.
“Nay,” he answered with a shake of his head. “We’d also like a bit of the burgundy.”
As much as she would have liked to argue, the burgundy was too beautiful to decline. The wooler smiled at Alec. “She’ll be quite bonny in that burgundy.”
Gylys and Kyth apparently agreed. “Aye, but our mistress be bonny no matter the color of dress she wears,” Kyth said proudly.
Alec simply nodded.
Leona’s cheeks flushed.
“I can see,” the wooler smiled. “Yer mistress would be bonny wearin’ nothin’ but flowers in her hair,” he jested.
All three Bowie men immediately unsheathed their swords and held them to the wooler’s neck. Appalled, they were, that the man would say such a thing.
“Ye keep yer filthy thoughts to yerself, ye bloody cur!” Kyth ground out.
“’Tis me wife ye’re speakin’ of,” Alec seethed.
“Would ye like to keep that filthy tongue of yers?” Gylys asked as he moved the tip of his sword to the man’s mouth.
Leona, completely stunned by their actions, raised a hand. “Alec! I am certain he meant nothin’ untoward or unseemly!”
The wooler, whose eyes were as wide as wagon wheels, swallowed hard several times. “Aye, m’laird, I meant nothin’ unseemly! Please, fergive me!”
“What, pray tell, did ye mean, old man?” Alec asked. The malice in his tone was undeniable.
“I only meant that yer wife be so bonny, so beautiful, nothin’ she wore could match or enhance the splendor of her face, m’laird!”
The poor man was visibly shaken by the turn of events.
Alec smiled at him. “I think I would be more inclined to accept yer apology if ye were to throw in a bit of that purple silk,” he said, inclining his head toward the piles of silk on the table behind the wooler.
The wooler nodded his head so rapidly that the thinning gray hair on his head shook along with it. “Aye, m’laird, ‘twould be me great privilege to do so!”
“Ye will do no such thing!” Leona said defiantly. With her index finger, she lifted her husband’s sword out of the way and stepped between the two men.
“Leona, move away,” Alec ordered. “The wooler and I are negotiatin’.”
“’Tis no’ a negotiation,” Leona pointed out. “’Tis extortion!”
“But he insulted ye, mistress,” Kyth pointed out.
“Nay, he most certainly did no’. He was merely offerin’ me a compliment, to which the three of ye took offense.”
“Be that no’ the same thing?” Gylys asked with a confused brow.
Leona rolled her eyes. “Nay, ’tis no’ the same thing.” She took a deep breath. “Alec, if ye force this kind man into givin’ ye the silk fer free, ’tis the same as stealing. And I will make a dress fer me milk cow out of it, before I make one for meself! I will no’ wear stolen goods.”
“M’laird,” the old man said, his voice shaking with fear. “Mayhap I could offer it to you at a discount?”
Alec quirked a brow, looked at his wife before turning his attention back to the old man. “A huge discount.”
Leona supposed it was the best she could hope for. She apologized to the wooler repeatedly. The poor man’s hands shook as he cut an extra long length of the purple silk.
Once they’d completed their transaction, Alec took the fabric and placed it under his arm and led her away. Kyth and Gylys, of course, were right behind them.
Since the attack, Alec had doubled the patrols at their borders. He’d also increased the number of men who traveled with them. Some thirty Bowie men were spread out amongst the crowd of villagers and merchants, each keeping a close and watchful eye on their laird and mistress.
“If I offer to buy ye a meat pie, do ye promise no’ to give it away?” He was, of course, referring to their first visit to Kinbrea when Leona had given their meal to a poor woman and her babes.
“Nay, I will make no such promise,” she told him.
He had to appreciate her honesty.
The fabric was the kindest gesture anyone had ever bestowed upon her. Though the entire ordeal had left her reeling and light-headed. ’Twas rather difficult not to cry tears of happiness or distress. Would her husband and his clan ever change?
Mayhap they had. Leona had to believe that if such an occurrence happened six months ago, the Bowie men would have gutted the poor merchant.
Shivering slightly in the cool morning breeze, she pulled her cloak a bit tighter.
“Ye’re chilled,” Alec said as they walked along.
“Aye, it is a bit chilly this day.”
“Mayhap we should leave,” he suggested.
Leona was not ready to leave just yet. “Nay, I would like to eat a bit of somethin’ first.” Lately, ever si
nce the attack on her husband, food had not been settling well in her stomach. She supposed ’twas nothing more than worry and the distress of that awful day and the nightmares that had been disturbing her sleep ever since.
Alec conceded to her wishes. With a hand resting on the small of her back, he guided her through the throngs of people in search of meat pies. This time, he would purchase an extra, in the event his wife felt compelled to feed more of the downtrodden.
The meat pie did not taste half as good as those they had eaten the first time Alec brought her here. She managed only a few small bites before handing it off to her husband.
“I thought ye were hungry?” he asked as he took the offered pie.
“I was. But it be no’ verra good. It tastes off.”
Alec disagreed but said nothing. At least she hadn’t given it to a complete stranger.
As they walked past the jeweler’s stall, Leona looked over her shoulder and gave a nod to Gylys and Kyth. This morn, before they’d left the keep, she had given Kyth the coin necessary to finish paying for the plaid brooch she had ordered as a gift for Alec. ’Twas to commemorate the day of his birth, which was in October. Kyth smiled and gave her a wink as he fell away from their small group. A different warrior stepped in to take his place.
Ahead, the street split off in two directions. Alec took the one that led to the sea. The scent of ocean spray tickled at Leona’s nose. The air grew considerably cooler along the path. The wind whipped at her skirts, chilling her further. But she cared not, for she was going to see the ocean once again.
The winding, rocky path spilled onto the beach. Waves crashed against the sand and rocks, spraying salty seawater all about.
“’Tis the most spectacular thing I have ever seen,” Leona remarked. “I swear, I should never tire of seein’ it.”
Alec smiled as he handed the fabric off to Gylys. “Where be Kyth?” he asked, finally noticing his absence.
“He had to piss,” Gylys replied.
Leona had grown accustomed to men cursing around her. It still irked her when they were so crass, but she kept her thoughts and opinions on the matter to herself. Alec took her hand in his. “Stay here,” he told his men as they walked away.
Leona caught the movement of something out of the corner of her eye. A small figure, standing on the beach. ’Twas a little boy, tiny and fragile, and he appeared to be fishing. Quickly, she scanned the area for an adult, but found no one.
“Alec?” she whispered as she let go of his hand. Instinct warned the boy was too small to fight agains the waves that crashed against the rocky beach. He was far too close and in great danger of being sucked into the frigid water.
Alec looked to see what had pulled his wife away. When he saw the little boy and the danger he was in, he acted immediately. As he rushed forward, a large wave came in, crashing over the child. He went under, flipped to his stomach and tried to crawl away.
Alec was lifting the child out of the frigid water and pulling him to safety before Leona got there. The boy coughed and sputtered, his little hands still holding onto the fishing line. “Lemme go!” he cried weakly.
“What in the name of God were ye doin’?” Alec ground out as he laid the boy down on the sandy beach.
“I have to catch a fish,” the child answered between coughs. Gylys and Traigh, upon seeing the commotion, came racing down to help.
Leona knelt beside him, looking him over for any sign of injuries. She recognized him immediately. He was the same boy she had given her meat pie to weeks ago.
“Och! Ye could have drowned,” she told him, her tone filled with concern.
“I have to catch a fish,” he cried out as he struggled to sit.
Leona glanced at her husband. Both were as concerned as they were confused. “Why?” Leona asked.
Tears streamed down his gaunt little cheeks. He began to shiver violently. Alec removed his plaid and wrapped the boy in it. “Me mum is sick. I have to catch a fish. If I can feed her, she might get better.”
Gylys removed his own plaid and gave it to Alec. “Here.” He said nothing else, but Leona could see he was quite disturbed.
“Where be yer mum?” Alec asked as he wrapped the second plaid around the boy.
“In the village,” he replied, fatigued and distressed all at once. “I have to catch a fish.”
Alec let loose a frustrated breath before lifting the child into his arms. Standing to his full height, he said, “We shall feed yer mum, lad. Just show us where she be.”
With the boy’s directions, they were soon making their way down a dark and dank alleyway. ’Twas filled with garbage, days old slop, and debris from unrecognizable objects. It smelled of urine, feces, and sickness.
Leona’s stomach roiled at the odors that assaulted her senses. Only a few feet inside and she felt lightheaded. A few more steps in and she was ready to vomit.
Alec came to an abrupt halt, sensing danger or death ahead. “Traigh, take me wife from here,” he said. “Gylys, come with me.”
Leona could make no false pretense to argue against waiting. She was grateful to be out of the dark, depressing gloom as Traigh led her back out and several steps away.
“Are ye ill, mistress?” the tall, slender man asked.
She took in deep, slow breaths in hopes of steadying her stomach, her head, as well as her nerves. “I will be fine,” she replied.
As they waited, Leona wondered what her husband was doing. Was the child’s mum dying? And what of his sibling, the sickly bairn they had met all those weeks ago? Her chest ached with worry over the little family. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to take that little boy home, along with his family. Desperately, she wanted to feed them, clothe them, and give them a life away from this horrid place. But would Alec agree? Or would he do nothing more than give them a few coins and leave them to their fates?
’Twas a good long while before she saw her husband step out of the darkness. He was still holding the little boy. Leona’s heart seized momentarily with an intense dread. Mayhap they were too late!
But a few moments later, Gylys appeared. In his arms was the boy’s mum. Gaunt, pale. Nothing more than skin and bones.
“Come, Leona,” Alec said with a nod of his head. “We be leaving.”
There had been no need for her to champion the family. Pride swelled, her love for her husband growing by leaps and bounds, all in a few rapid heartbeats. She could only nod her head in agreement.
Rushing ahead to walk beside her husband, she whispered, “But what of the bairn?”
When she saw the expression of sadness on Alec’s face, she knew the answer.
“The bairn passed a few weeks ago,” he replied.
They said nothing else as they made their way through the back streets, to avoid the crowds along the wharf. The only sounds were of a shivering little boy still convinced he needed to catch a fish in order to save his mother’s life.
They had ridden hard and fast back to the keep. Alec had handed the boy off to Traigh, for there simply wasn’t any room left on Ares. He and Leona had ridden to Kinbrea together that morn. They had learned along the way the names of the two people they had rescued. The lad was named Fionn, his mother, Slaien. Though they could assume by their names they were Irish, neither of them were in any condition to verify or deny it. Gylys kept Slaien wrapped in his arms and the plaids offered up by the other men in their party, for the entirety of their ride back.
Alec had sent a few men ahead of them to have Adhaira heat as much water as she could, and to prepare a room for their guests. He had also called for the healer and Patrice. Both women were waiting on the steps of the keep when they rode through the gates.
Before nightfall, Fionn and Slaien had been bathed, dressed in warm clothing, and put together into a warm, comfortable bed across the hall from Alec and Leona’s bedchamber. When they had removed all of Slaien’s tattered clothing, they were struck by the horror of her illness. Leona had never before seen anyone as thin as this
poor woman. Literally, she was nothing more than skin and bones. And when they had removed the dirty kirch covering her head, Leona gasped, astonished at what she saw.
“Good lord,” Mairi said through clenched teeth.
Slaien’s hair, what little of it remained, was matted against her scalp.
“She sold her hair,” Patrice whispered, stupified.
“Sold her hair?” Leona asked rhetorically. She had heard of women cutting their hair to sell it to wigmakers. But she had never actually witnessed such a thing before.
Mairi tended to each of her new patients for a good long while. Below stairs, next to a fire roaring in the hearth, she gave Alec and Leona her prognosis.
“The woman, Slaien, has yet to wake. Her fever be quite high, her lungs filled with fluid. If she makes it through this night, ’twill be a miracle.”
Leona could not help but weep for the poor woman and her son. Soft tears fell from her lashes as she held onto Alec’s hand. “And the boy?” she asked.
Mairi released a heavy breath. “He too, is fevered, but his lungs do no’ sound as bad as his mum’s. I have more hope for him than I do her.”
“I thank ye kindly, Mairi, for helping them,” Alec said.
“If they had been brought to me days ago, I might have been able to do more. I have applied plasters to their chests and given them a licorice root tisane. All we can do now is pray.”
Leona wiped her cheek with her fingertips. If only they had been brought her days ago… nay, weeks ago. The bairn would have lived. A woman would no’ have lost her babe.
“Patrice has offered to help me with them through the night,” Mairi said. “I must return to them now. If anythin’ changes, we will send word.”
Leona thanked her once again as she watched her ascend the stairs. What will happen to Fionn if his mother dies?
She and her husband sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. ’Twas Alec who broke the silence. “Leona,” he said, his voice soft and low, “should anything happen to the boy’s mum, I should like to give him a home here. Would ye object?”
Object? Relief flooded her senses. She leapt from her chair and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck. Alec drew her in until she was sitting on his lap. “Nay, Alec! I would never object!” Never did she think it possible to love someone so deeply, so profoundly, as she loved Alec. Pride, relief, happiness, danced around inside her stomach.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 36