Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens (17 page)

That stung like a slap to his face. “Ye ken that is no’ true. Ye ken how much I love ye.”

Letting out a slow, sorrowful sigh, she returned to the stool. “I
ken
ye love me, Ian…” her words trailed off. There was more she wanted to say but was reluctant.

“But?”

The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was cry, but tears welled in spite of her resistance. “The only time ye show me any kind of attention is when we’re lovin’ one another. I fear I need to be more than a vessel to slake yer lust.” That fact had been bothering her far more than she cared to admit. While she did enjoy loving her husband, it had gotten to the point where that was the only time she felt she had his full attention. “A marriage needs to be more than that,” she told him. “We were supposed to be partners in all things. When ye ignore me, it hurts.”

Damn it all if she did not succeed in making him feel the one thing he refused to feel: guilt. “Rose.” He whispered her name before sinking to his knees and taking her hands in his. “Ye are never far from me thoughts. I have been workin’ to build
us
a home, lass. To build a legacy fer us, fer Ailrig’s future. I have been an arse, I suppose, in ignorin’ yer pleas fer help. But ken me heart, wife,” he said as he placed her palms against his chest where his heart was pounding mercilessly. “Ken that ye are everythin’ to me, me entire world. I can no’ bear the thought of anythin’ happenin’ to ye. When I did no’ ken where ye were this day, I nearly lost me mind with worry. Never in me life have I felt so useless or so guilty. If anythin’ had happened to ye, ‘twould have been no one’s fault but me own.”

He spoke from his heart, truthfully and most sincerely. A tear streamed down her cheek and she began to feel a bit guilty herself. His worry was partially her fault, for she had chosen a less than reliable person to give her husband such an important message. “I be sorry fer makin’ ye worry, Ian.”

He pressed his lips to the tips of her fingers and smiled. “’Tis only because I love ye more than me own life that I worry, wife. I worry ye’ll no’ be truly proud of me until the tower and keep are built.”

“Nay,” she exclaimed. “That be no’ true! I could no’ be more proud of ye, Ian Mackintosh. We have accomplished much in these past weeks. Far more than even I had anticipated. Ye have much to be proud of.”

Her kind words did nothing to soothe his guilt. “I fear I have no’ done a good job at bein’ chief. I have no one mannin’ the gates, I have only a few men on patrol, and we have no’ trained since our arrival. I have sacrificed our safety in order to build.”

Rose placed a warm palm on his cheek. “One sign of a verra good chief is that he can see the errors of his ways and fix them.”

He snorted in disbelief.

“Speakin’ as a woman who has had the verra worst of chiefs, I can tell ye that ye’ve already done more to help our clan, than any chief has done in a good, long while.”

She had him there. Compared to Mermadak, Ian was a saint and the best of all chiefs. He smiled fondly and thanked her. “I ken I be no’ the easiest man to live with, Rose. But I promise, from this day forward, to listen to yer concerns and do what I can to help ye as much as ye have helped me.”

Her heart felt near to bursting with relief as well as pride. Pushing herself to her feet, she began to unlace the bodice of her dress. “Are ye in a hurry to return to yer work?” She all but purred the question.

Heat and desire flamed in his groin as he watched her seductively unlacing her dress. “Nay,” he answered, his voice low and filled with desire.

“Good,” she said as she slipped one sleeve off her shoulder. “I want to apologize fer makin’ ye mad with worry.”

* * *

A
s far as apologies went
, Rose’s was, by far, the nicest one he’d ever received.

As he lay on their bed, with her nestled in the crook of his arm sound asleep, he had never felt more alive or more determined. His wife had been making great sacrifices of her own since the day after they married. ’Twas high time he showed her just how much those sacrifices, and she herself, meant to him.

Quietly, he eased himself from the bed and dressed. Before he left the tent, he paused to look down at his beautiful, loving wife. “Ye’re too good to me, woman,” he whispered softly. “And I do no’ deserve ye.”

He was tempted to climb back into bed and show her once again just what she meant to him. But he had important work to do. And it had nothing to do with towers or granaries or walls.

Nay, he needed to find Ingerame Macdowall. ’Twas beyond time he built Rose a home. One with stone walls, a roof, and dry floors.

* * *

R
ose slept
through the evening meal and did not wake until morning. When she began to apologize for laying abed like a lazy lout, Ian silenced her with tender kisses, which led to some very tender love-making. ’Twas after the morning meal before she woke again and climbed from her warm bed.

She found Brogan and Andrew the Red waiting for her. The two men fell in step behind her as she went to find Leona. “Why are ye followin’ me again?” She tossed the question over her shoulder, certain she already knew the answer.

“Ian’s orders,” Brogan replied.

Knowing it would do no good to argue with them, she decided to ignore them completely. ’Twasn’t their fault her husband was as stubborn as an ox.

The tent Leona shared with her father was empty.

“If ye’re lookin’ fer Leona, she left after the mornin’ meal,” Brogan said. “Saw her head toward the creek.”

Forgetting that she had decided to ignore them, she thanked Brogan and headed toward the gates. Today, they were closed. Rose smiled prettily at the guard. “I should like ye to open the gate,” she told him.

The guard looked first to Brogan for approval. Ire slowly crept into her stomach, but she bit back the harsh words. Apparently, Brogan approved, for the guard opened the gate a moment later.

“I suppose me husband told ye no’ to let me out of yer sight?” she asked as she walked around a large puddle.

“Aye, he did,” Andrew chuckled. “Ye took ten years off his life yester day.”

She made a mental note to discuss Brogan and Andrew’s presence with her husband later. Knowing he meant well helped to soften her ire.

Scanning the creek in both directions, she could not see Leona anywhere. The creek snaked around the hill in both directions. A few trees were scattered here and there along the pebbly banks. “Where do ye suppose she goes each day?” She was thinking aloud, not asking anyone in particular.

“Knowin’ Leona, she’s half way to Italy by now,” Andrew said, chuckling at his own jest.

Rose spun to face him. “Ye ken her well, then?” she asked.

His smile faded rapidly. “Nay,” he answered.

“Then why would ye say such a thing?” she asked him.

He cast a glance toward Brogan, as if seeking assistance. Brogan wasn’t giving any. “I only ken what her father says,” Andrew explained. “He says she be tetched, ye ken. Wanders off fer hours, sometimes days at a time.”

Rose was growing rather impatient with Ingerame Macdowall and his opinion of his daughter. Even if she were a little forgetful, it did not give anyone the right to insult her. “And have ye ever taken the time to get to ken her? Mayhap ask her where she goes?” She shook her head in disgust when another thought entered her mind. “And why, pray tell, is Leona allowed to wander off fer hours or days at a time without escort? Why does no one care about her safety?”

In truth, neither men had a good answer. Brogan looked positively ashamed of himself, while Andrew behaved as if the thought never entered his mind.

“’Tis her father who is to blame,” Rose said. “No father should be so cruel to his only child, let alone a daughter. Have neither of ye learned anything from Aggie’s plight?”

Andrew’s eyes grew wide. “Do ye think he beats her like Mermadak did Aggie?” Though he had not witnessed the horrors Aggie had suffered, he had heard the stories.

Frustrated, Rose threw her hands in the air. “It does no’ matter if he beats her, ye eejit! Words can hurt as much as a fist. I suggest ye both remember that, and perhaps show the poor girl a bit of kindness.”

Now that they were duly chastised, Rose turned and headed back toward camp.
Stupid men.

* * *

W
orry began
to settle into Rose’s heart when the nooning meal came and went and there was still no sign of Leona. Much to her relief, Brogan had agreed to go in search of the girl. He returned two hours later, empty-handed.

As she and the women began to prepare the evening meal, her worry turned to dread. She was about to send word to Ian, who had spent the day at the quarry, to request a search party be sent out for Leona, when the absent-minded girl seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Relieved to see her, Rose dropped the large wooden spoon she had been stirring stew with onto the table and ran to Leona. Without thinking to, she wrapped her arms around the young woman and hugged her tightly. “Leona!” she exclaimed. “I have been so worried about ye!”

Leona stood frozen, either unwilling or incapable of returning Rose’s embrace. “Ye were?” she asked, sounding quite dumbfounded.

Rose stepped away, her warm smile fading. “Of course we were,” she told her. “Ye can no’ just leave without tellin’ a soul where ye’re goin’.

Tilting her head to one side, she studied Rose as if she were some foreign creature she’d never seen before.

“Leona, if ye find there be times when ye need to be alone fer a spell, I understand. But please, tell me first so I do no’ worry.”

Leona’s slow nod of affirmation came a few moments later.

“Now, come help us with the evenin’ meal, and if ye want, ye can tell me where ye’ve been and what ye’ve seen.”

Taking Leona’s hand, she led her back to the large bubbling pot. Uncomfortable silence filled the air. Realizing the young woman did not feel at ease speaking, Rose did much of the talking.

“Ye’ll have a real home soon enough,” she said as she began slicing loaves of bread. “We shall all have our own cottages before winter sets in.”

Leona remained quiet, but picked up a knife and began to help slice a loaf of still warm bread.

“Are ye no’ excited about havin’ yer own home?” Rose asked.

Leona shrugged her shoulders with indifference.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Rose knew this young woman was not as addlepated as her father wanted everyone to believe. Mayhap she only needed a friend. “Leona, I want to be yer friend. If ye ever need anyone to talk to, I want ye to ken ye can come to me.”

Snorting in a most unladylike manner, Leona said, “Do ye no’ ken that I be tetched? A witch?”

Rose laughed. “Ye be as tetched as I and just as much a witch.”

Leona cast her a suspicious look.

“I ken Ingerame be yer da, but in truth, I do no’ care fer him much,” Rose told her bluntly.

Finally, something akin to a smile began to appear on Leona’s face. She leaned in ever so slightly. “Truth be told, I do no’ care fer him much meself.”

W
ithin a week
of the women’s trip to the auld keep, many changes had taken place. Several cottages sprang up across the wide-open space next to the woods. While many of the men still worked in the quarry, Ian had pulled twenty-five of them away to work on the much needed homes. Construction also began on building platforms along the top of the wood wall for guards to man. Sentries at the gates were doubled and around the clock as well as mounted patrols were set up along the borders.

Everyone worked together and in unison to build the small cottages. Couples with children were given first priority, at Rose’s behest. “The children have suffered more than the rest of us. It be no’ healthy fer them to continue to sleep in tents.”

Ian recognized the wisdom in that; the clan must come first if he wanted them to follow him. Things between he and his wife had improved immeasurably, even though he hadn’t realized their marriage needed any improving. Still, he was grateful, for she smiled far more often, which pleased him a great deal.

By late September, families were moved into their new homes, as more were being built. Knowing that winter would be here far sooner than any one wanted, Ian ordered the construction of the armory. ’Twould not only be used to house weapons, but also the good number of unmarried men. ’Twas a long, narrow building with plenty of space for pallets and beds. His goal now was to ensure that everyone had a warm, dry place to live out the winter. God willing, it would not be anywhere near as harsh as the last.

On a rather foggy afternoon near the end of September, messengers from Ian’s father arrived. Three young men in their early twenties Rose assumed, all looking beleaguered and road weary.

Excitedly, Rose and Leona ushered the three men to sit at a long table, while a lad was sent to fetch Ian, Brogan, and Andrew the Red from the quarry.

Rose set about preparing trays filled with dried meats, fruits, cheese and bread while Leona served them ale.

“How fares everyone at home?” Rose asked, excited for any word about or from Aggie.

“All be well when we left,” the shorter of the three men replied before taking a long pull of ale.

“But the Camerons have been eerily quiet far too long fer John and Frederick’s liking,” offered the tallest of the three.

“Bah!” the shorter man scoffed. “We have no need to worry over the Camerons, I tell ye. They be no more dangerous than a flea on the backside of a mongrel dog!”

Rose didn’t care much about the Camerons, clan wars, or anything else at the moment. All she wanted to know was if Aggie fared well. She sliced apples while the men argued back and forth over whether or not the Camerons would attack, and if so, when. ’Twas enough to make her head spin.

After filling two more pitchers of ale, Leona left them on the table and came to stand beside Rose. “Have ye ever seen men argue as much as they?” she asked, her tone filled with disbelief.

“They be Mackintoshes,” Rose answered. “’Tis what they do. Argue, fight, and love their women, all with the same level of passion.”

Leona quirked a curious brow at her mistress before turning her attention back to the men. “I do no’ think I have ever seen Ian or Brogan argue like that before.”

“’Tis because they have more important things to do,” Rose explained. “Ye’ve seen them fret and worry over the plans fer the keep, aye?”

Leona nodded and said she had.

“Well, if they did no’ have that to keep them busy, they’d be frettin’ over somethin’ else, like those three.” She placed the sliced apples on a tray next to a round brick of cheese. “A Mackintosh will study a thing over and over again until there be nothin’ else to learn from it. Unless it be a woman.” Rose smiled fondly, thinking of how well Ian had
studied
her these past months. “He’ll never give up his exploration of
that
particular thing. A Mackintosh will never leave ye wantin’ fer more, of that, ye can be certain.”

Leona blushed from head to toe. Aye, she knew how a man and woman joined, knew what went where. But to hear her mistress speak so candidly on the subject was shocking. Stammering, she said, “I think they need more ale.” She left Rose and went to fill two more pitchers from the cask.

* * *

I
an soon returned
with Brogan and Andrew. There was much joyful backslapping and hearty embraces exchanged betwixt the six men. Rose waited anxiously, wishing they would all simply be quiet so she could ask if there was news from her friend.

The men sat and ate, talked, drank, and talked more, all the while Rose grew more and more impatient. After nearly an hour, she could bear no more. Coming to stand behind her husband, she interrupted the conversation. “Pardon me, but have ye any news fer me?”

The chatter came to an abrupt stop as all eyes turned to her. Andrew especially looked perturbed that she had disturbed them.

Ian chuckled loudly. “Lads, me wife has left her most treasured friend back on Mackintosh lands. She has been waitin’ fer some time fer word from her. Have ye any?”

The shorter of the men — Roger, whose name she gleaned from their conversation — smiled up at her. “We do!” he said as he lifted a pack from the ground and set it on the table. “I have letters fer ye, from Aggie, Elsbeth, and even Ian’s youngest sister, wee Margaret.” He dug through the pack for a time, before finally withdrawing a large bundle of letters. Leaning across the table, he handed the heavy stack to her. Gratefully, she took them from him and held them to her breast. Choking back tears, she smiled and thanked him.

Ian swung his long legs around and stood. Pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head, he said, “Rose, go. Read yer letters. The men and I can take care of ourselves.”

She didn’t even make an attempt to argue.

* * *

A
lone in her tent
, she lit a candle and sat at Ian’s makeshift desk. Carefully, she untied the twine that held the letters together. Carefully, she picked through until she separated all of Aggie’s letters from the others. Thankfully, Aggie had written the date on each one, just above the Mackintosh seal. Setting Elsbeth’s and Margaret’s aside to read later, she organized Aggie’s letters by date, and chose the first one.

Carefully, she took a small dagger from the desk and broke the first seal. Pressed into the letter was a sprig of tiny yellow flowers. Her eyes grew damp before she even began to read. She could hear her friend’s voice as she read, as clearly as if she were sitting next to her.

By the time she was finished reading the first letter, tears were sliding off her cheeks. Her heart ached with missing Aggie and the children. Using a bit of linen, she wiped away her tears and opened the next letter. Inside were more dried flowers, this time, a sprig of lavender.

By the time Rose finished reading the last letter, the sun had begun to set and her eyes were red, her skin blotchy from crying. Oh, how she wished she could go back to Mackintosh lands and see her friend again. ‘Twould be at least nine or ten months before she and Aggie met again. At that quiet moment, nine months seemed like a lifetime.

* * *

I
an
and the men took turns each week to hunt. Blessedly, they had been able to find enough fresh meat to see them through one week to the next. On this particular day, the men returned from their best hunt yet. ’Twas enough meat to see them through the next two months.