“I can no’ stay here, no’ like this,” she murmured. Taking a deep breath, she stood and went to the little table near the window. Pulling out parchment and quill, she wrote a letter to the one person left in this world she believed she could trust: Rose Mackintosh.
Even after Leona had disappeared around the corner, Alec stayed at the bottom of the stairs. He knew he should go after her and confess he had lied about lying. But even in his current state of inebriation, he knew he would muck it all up. The kind of apology his wife deserved needed to be done when he was sober. Not now when he reeked of whisky, when he could not stand without swaying, when his words were not slurred.
His head began to throb and exhaustion began to settle in. He needed to sleep but knew he could not go to their bedchamber. Not now, not when his wife was so upset.
Deciding the best course of action he could take tonight, was to keep away from Leona lest he say something else he would regret. Tonight, he would sleep in his study. On the morrow, when clearer heads prevailed, he would go to her and tell her the truth.
Chapter 30
Alec had spent a fitful night sleeping on the cold hard floor of his study, where he had passed out from too much drink. When he woke the next day, his brain pounded mercilessly inside his skull. His mouth was as dry as the ashes of a cold fire.
It took a moment before the fog of a whisky-induced, unsettled sleep to lift. When he remembered where he was and why he was here, his head spun. Sitting up, he rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Ye’re a complete arse,” he mumbled to the cold, stark room.
The first order of business would be to wash off the stench of last night’s drunk. He did not want to go to Leona on bended knee smelling like an alehouse. Doubtful as he was that his wife would manage a hot bath for her cur of a husband, he decided the loch was the best place to go.
Somehow, he managed to get to his feet without spilling the contents of his stomach. His head swam for a moment or two before he could manage a few slow, cautious steps.
Leaving his study, he walked down the long corridor. The keep felt and sounded eerily quiet. He entered the gathering room and paused. ’Twas empty.
The tables were still filled with the dishes from last night’s uneaten feast. The benches and chairs sat haphazardly around those tables, as if their guests had left in a great hurry. Of course they had, because Alec had seen to it.
Passing by the hearth, he saw the tapestries still lying in heaps on the floor. Tapestries his wife had hung with loving care. The same ones he had torn down like a madman.
Guilt assaulted him, increasing the churning sensation in his stomach. With a heavy, guilt-ridden heart, he left the keep.
Bathing in the frigid loch made him feel no better, but it did allow him some time to gather his thoughts, to find the right words he would need to apologize to Leona.
The mess was still present in the gathering room when he made his way back inside. Half-tempted to clean it himself, he realized he was trying to avoid the inevitable. With a heavy sigh of resignation, he went above stairs to his room.
Although ’twas his bedchamber door, he still knocked. Either out of respect for his wife or to warn her, he couldn’t say.
No answer came from within, so he knocked once more before pushing the door open.
The room was as empty as the gathering room. A quick glance around told him her trunk was missing. Had she waited until he passed out before she left? Panic settled in as he left the room in a hurry and went in search of Leona.
Below stairs, he found Adhaira just entering the gathering room. In her hands she carried a large tray, no doubt to begin cleaning up. “Where is me wife,” he asked her. His tone was firm, his words clipped.
Adhaira stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth.
“I asked ye where is me wife,” he repeated.
“In her room,” the girl replied. She sounded frightened and uneasy.
“I was just in my room, lass, and she was no’ there. Her trunk is gone.” He was doing his best not to sound as panicked as he felt.
Adhaira stammered her reply. “Nay, no’ yer room, but hers.”
Mayhap he wasn’t as sober as he thought, for the girl wasn’t making any sense. “What do ye mean, hers?”
“She came to us last night and asked us to move her out of the laird’s chambers. We moved her into an empty room down the other corridor, m’laird.”
He didn’t know if he should feel relieved that she had not left him altogether, or if he should be upset that she had procured her own sleeping chamber. “Which one?”
“The last one on the right, m’laird,” Adhaira replied.
Alec spun on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.
He paused outside his wife’s new quarters, doing his best to settle his nerves and burgeoning anger. More angry with himself than with Leona, he took several deep breaths before he opened the door.
He found her asleep, lying in a small bed in a little ball with furs drawn up around her neck. There was no fire burning in the brazier, no sunlight streaming in through the fur-covered windows. ’Twas cold and stark, just like the keep had been before she arrived.
She must have sensed his presence, for her eyes fluttered open. A few rapid heartbeats later, she sat up in the bed. She covered herself with the furs, and looked at him as if he were the devil himself.
’Twas that look of fear, of uncertainty, that nearly sent him over the edge. “Why?” he somehow managed to ask without yelling.
“Why, what?” she murmured softly.
“Why did ye move out of our bedchamber?” he asked through gritted teeth. ’Twas difficult to keep his anger with himself at bay.
She swallowed back tears before she responded. “The truth?”
“Aye,” he said with a nod.
“I can no’ trust ye anymore, Alec.”
The words, though spoken softly and without malice, pierced his heart.
“Ye betrayed my trust by lyin’ to me.”
Aye, he had lied, but not in the way she believed he had. Angrily, he raked a hand through his still damp hair. If he had possessed an ounce of common sense, he would have explained it to her then and there. Instead, his outrage that she no longer trusted him took over. He was prepared to lift her up into his arms and carry her back to their bedchamber.
But when he stepped forward, her eyes widened with fear and she shied away, as if he were going to harm her physically. Her expression, her fear, stopped him in his tracks.
“Ye said ye would never flaunt yer mistress in front of me! Ye said ye’d allow me to go back to Rose to visit, but ye lied! What will ye do now, Alec? Beat me? Take me against my will?”
Staggered by her accusations, he took a step back. “I would never beat ye! I would never take ye against yer will!” he shouted.
“And I am to believe ye? After last night? Nay, Alec. Ye betrayed me. Ye took everything I believed in and ground it to dust.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Tears that were there because he had been such a fool.
He could rail and rage on. He could pick her up and carry her back to their room, all the while hollering like an idiot as he tried to explain his actions of the night before.
But ’twould do him no good. She was too hurt, to distressed right now to listen.
Without another word, he hung his head in shame and left his wife alone.
“Ye need to eat somethin’,” Mairi told Leona. They were in Leona’s new bedchamber one late afternoon. It had been three days since that awful night, that awful argument with Alec. He had stayed away from her, locked in his study, avoiding her at any cost.
Leona dabbed at her eyes with a bit of linen. “I ken, but I fear it all comes back up when I do.”
“That be perfectly normal,” Mairi said as she offered her a hunk of bread from the tray Adhaira had brought up earlier. “But ye must keep up yer strength fer yer babe.”
The babe she carried was the only thing that kept her from
falling completely apart. ’Twas the only thing that kept her from curling into a little ball and dying from her broken heart.
She tore off a small piece and placed it in her mouth. Bread was one of the few things that did not upset her stomach.
“Have ye tried speakin’ to Alec?” Mairi asked.
“Nay.” She truly did not wish to speak about her husband right now. “How fairs Slaien and Fionn?”
“’Tis a miracle, it is,” Mairi said with a bright smile. “Slaien has finally awoken. Her fever broke late last night. She even managed a bit of broth.”
“And Fionn?”
“He is perfectly fine. Gainin’ weight he is. Eatin’ as much as five of Alec’s warriors.”
Leona managed a wan smile. Fionn. Alec had been perfectly willing to take these two people in. And even more willing to give the boy a home in the event his mother had not survived. How could a man such as that, end up being nothing more than a liar?
“Slaien has asked to see ye,” Mairi told her. “She wants to thank ye and Alec fer what ye have done fer her and her son.”
Leona was in no state of mind to see anyone, least of all their new charges. “Mayhap on the morrow,” she said.
“Leona, I do no’ want to have to do this,” Mairi said as she stood up. With hands on her hips, and a fierce disposition, she said, “If ye do no’ snap out of this, ye’re going to end up losin’ yer mind or yer babe. Now come, up with ye!”
Leona sat, nonplussed, looking up at Mairi. “Where are we goin’?”
“Fer a wee walk. The fresh air will do ye good. Mayhap, while we be walkin’, ye’ll come to realize ye have been just a tad foolish.”
“Me?” she exclaimed. “How have I been foolish?” She stood up and face Mairi head on. “’Twas no’ I who took a lover! ’Twas no’ I who lied to Alec and broke my word!”
Mairi smiled. “’Tis good to see some fire in ye!”
Leona was not amused. “Ye called me foolish in order to see me angry?”
“Aye, I did. But I spoke only the truth. Now, let us walk and I will explain meself.”
“Now, I no’ be sayin’ what Alec did was right,” Mairi said as she draped an arm through Leona’s. “He was a bloody fool fer gettin’ drunk and sayin’ what he said.”
“He was,” Leona agreed wholeheartedly.
“But the way ye reacted to it? ’Twas no’ better than what he did.”
Leona raised a confused brow. “What do ye mean?” she asked as they walked across the drawbridge. “I do no’ think ’twas unreasonable to get angry. And how else was I to respond when I saw his mistress — who was supposed to have been me friend — sittin’ on his lap, all a giggle. And he admitted to me that he lied about the contract, Mairi. He only signed it in order for me to agree to marry him.”
“Are ye so certain of these things?” Mairi asked.
“Of course I be certain!” Leona exclaimed. She was growing weary of the conversation.
“How many times have ye caught Alec alone with Patrice?”
She searched for an answer. “In truth? Never. Not until the other night when she was on his lap.”
“I see,” Mairi said with a nod. “And did ye think to ask anyone else in attendance what had happened?”
Leona snorted. “Me eyes might be odd, but they work perfectly well.”
Mairi looked momentarily appalled with her mistress. “And ye called yerself Patrice’s friend?”
Confused, Leona said, “I was no’ the one sittin’ on her husband’s lap!”
They had just stepped onto the path that lead to the cottages. Mairi came to an abrupt stop. “Certainly, ye can no’ be as daft as that.”
“Daft? Me?” Leona struggled to find the right words.
“Aye. Ye,” Mairi said with frown. “I be here, tryin’ to get ye to see reason. And again, I ask ye, did ye ever stop to think to ask those of us who were there what had truly happened before ye walked into the room?”
No, no she hadn’t. She didn’t see a reason to make such inquiries. An uneasiness began to settle in as awareness developed. “What are ye tryin’ to tell me?” Leona asked.
“I be sayin’ that Patrice is no more Alec’s mistress than Gylys or Kyth are.”
Mairi looped her arm through Leona’s and once again, they began walking down the path.
Leona’s mind raced to make sense of what Mairi was telling her. Was it the truth? Was it possible that she had jumped to a conclusion she shouldn’t have?
Mairi went on to explain everything that had happened that night. The cold hard truth was that her husband had been the one to grab Patrice after she had tried to convince him to switch to the cider. Patrice had tried to explain how important the night was to Leona. Her friend.
Leona wanted to cry, but fought the tears back. She would have to make it up to Patrice, but how? It made her heart hurt to think how cruel she had been. She’d even called her a whore!
But why hadn’t Alec denied it? And what of what he said about their marriage contract? He had refused to allow her to leave and admitted to lying about it. Regret began to ensnare her heart. The things she had said to him! Ye betrayed me trust.
“But what of his lie? About no’ allowin’ me to leave?”
Mairi gave a slight shrug of uncertainty. “Have ye ever said somethin’ in anger that ye did no’ mean and later regretted?
Aye, she had. There was no denying it.
Leona was paying no attention to where they were going. When Mairi stopped at the door of a tiny cottage, Leona scrunched her brow. “Who lives here?”
“Patrice,” Mairi informed her. “I think ye should make amends with her.”
Patrice sat next to Dougall’s bed and placed his cold hand in hers. The action brought back a flood of memories. Memories she had tried for years to set aside and ignore.
Once, long ago, they had been betrothed and did far more together than just hold hands. God, how she had loved this man! Then something had happened. Something that had very nearly destroyed her tender, young heart.
Dougall ended up breaking that heart. He married Effie. Six months later, Effie gave birth to Wills. Dougall had betrayed her by sleeping with her sister and subsequently getting her with child. Though he had adamantly denied it, the evidence was as plain as the nose on her face. No one gives birth that early to a child as big as Wills had been. Any baby born that early died within hours of birth. Nay, Dougall had lied. He had betrayed her in the worst possible way.
As had Effie.
Dougall opened his eyes slowly. Surprise settled in when he saw ’twas Patrice holding his hand. He gave a quick glance around the room. “Where be Effie?”
“I do no’ ken,” she answered. “She was gone when I got here.” It stung that his first thoughts were of his ungrateful wife. Oh, if he only knew the truth about her.
But to this day, she loved him too much to tell him just how wicked a woman she was.
“How do ye fare?” she asked him.
He smacked his dry lips together. “I be thirsty,” he answered. “Effie has a tisane fer me, on the table.”
Something began to niggle in the back of her mind. Dougall looked exactly as her father had right before he died. Cracked, bloody lips, yellow eyes, cold and clammy skin.
She went to the table and grabbed the cup. “This?” she asked him.
“Aye, that be it,” he said as he wiped his mouth with a drying cloth. “’Tis supposed to help me feel better. But at this juncture, I fear only death will bring relief.”
She gave the mug a cursory sniff, only to test for freshness. Her face twisted in a grimace at the foul stench.
“Aye, it tastes just as bad as it smells,” he told her.
Believing the healer knew more than she, Patrice went back to Dougall. She lifted his head with one hand while holding the mug to his lips with the other. He took only a few sips before pushing the mug away.
When she pulled her hand away from his head, she noticed she was holding cl
umps of his dark hair in her hand. Just like Da.
But her da had died of a heart ailment, or so she had been told. She stood there, thoroughly perplexed. Although she was no healer, she had seen enough in her life to know that each illness or disease had its own unique set of symptoms.
Could Mairi have misdiagnosed Father all those years ago? Or had she made a mistake with Dougall? Something was wrong, but she could not quite put her finger on it.
For days she had worked beside Mairi, had seen her mixing potions and concoctions together to help Slaien and Fionn. “Dougall, did Mairi tell ye what was in the tisane?
His eyes were closed, his breathing labored. He shook his head slightly. “I do no’ ken,” he replied. “Ye should ask Effie. Mairi gave it to her to give to me.”
Her heart dropped to her toes and bounced back up again. Reluctantly, she asked another question. “Dougall? When was the last time ye saw Mairi?”
Another slow, laborious shake of his head before he fell asleep.
Patrice hated the little voice that began to scream in the back of her mind. How could her father and now Dougall be dying from two entirely different diseases but suffer the same way? Nay, this made no sense!
Was Mairi poisoning Dougall?
She didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out. She took the mug of tisane and dumped it into the chamber pot. “Dougall?” She had to shake his shoulder in order to rouse him. “Dougall, please listen to me. Do no’ drink any more tisanes.”
“What?” he asked through groggy eyes.
Not wanting to upset him or otherwise cause him any more distress, she lied to him. “I think the tisane went bad. That happens sometimes, ye ken. So please, do no’ drink or eat anythin’, no’ even a sip of water, until I return. Can ye do that fer me?”
He was trying hard to focus on what she was saying. “Aye, I can,” he replied.
If she was correct, Dougall wasn’t dying of the wasting disease. He was being poisoned. And by the same person who had poisoned her father.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 39