Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens (21 page)

* * *

A
stonished gasps filled
the small cottage. Feeling proud that she had set young Ian Mackintosh in his place, Angrabraid returned to Rose’s side. Slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed again. “Aye, lass, ye be in yer fourth month already. Come May, ye’re goin’ to be a mum. A right good one at that,” she reassured her with a warm smile. “Yer husband, however,” she tossed her words over her shoulder with as much disdain as she could muster, “as to what kind of father he’ll be, ’twill be up to the Gods, new and auld. He’ll need to practice a wee bit more kindness and patience.”

“Four months?” Rose asked, uncertainty tumbling in her belly.

“Aye, lass,” she said. “Now, because ye both be half scared out of yer minds, I am goin’ to order ye to stay abed fer the next two months. Ye’re no’ to so much as lift a finger to peel a leek, do ye hear me?”

Still too stunned to string a coherent thought together, Rose nodded numbly.

Angrabraid patted her hand before taking away the cloth. “I shall leave some herbs that should help settle yer stomach. Ye might feel better in a few weeks, and then ye might no’. Me sister, och! She was still losin’ her stomach fer two weeks after she had her third babe. ’Twas a boy, ye ken. Boy babes are always far more trouble than the lasses.”

She stood once again, turning her attention back to Ian. “She is to stay abed, do ye hear?”

Stunned into muteness, Ian gave a curt nod.

“She’s no’ to do a thing, do ye hear? There’ll be no cookin’, no cleanin’, and especially no ruttin’ around like a bull in need, do ye hear?”

His face burned crimson. Joinin’ with his wife was not a topic he wished to discuss with anyone, least of all this auld woman.

“Ye have me word,” he promised. “I’ll tie her to the bed if I must.”

If Rose hadn’t been so god-awful queasy and tired, the thought of being tied to the bed might have sounded enticing. Instead, Ian’s comment angered her. “I am no’ a bairn,” she bit out. “Ye needn’t treat me as such.”

Ignoring her protest, Brogan stepped forward with a wide, beaming smile. “’Tis good news!” he declared happily. “I will enjoy bein’ an uncle again.”

Ian went to his wife and knelt down on one knee. Without taking his eyes from hers, he spoke to Brogan. “Mayhap it be best if we do no’ say anythin’ just yet, brother.”

Angrabraid huffed as she stuffed the last of her things into her pack. “Och! The two of ye! I tell ye there be nothin’ to worry over.”

Anger flashed in Ian’s eyes. If looks were weapons, the auld healer would have been pinned to the wall with a thousand daggers. “No’ worry?” he growled. “She has already lost three babes. And just look at her,” he demanded as he turned sorrowful eyes to his wife. “I have never seen anyone as sick as she unless they were dyin’.”

Whether it was her age or the ache in her bones, the auld woman threw her hands up in defeat. “’Tis as if I be talkin’ to a donkey,” she said with more than a hint of disgust in her voice. After a long moment, her face softened, as did her tone. “Just as each woman be different, so be the way she carries each babe. Some are no’ sick at all, some are only sick the first weeks, whilst others are sick all the while. And it varies from babe to babe.” She began to wonder if her argument wasn’t falling on deaf ears. “Did ye ever think that
yer
seed be stronger than her last husband’s?”

Ian blinked once, then twice as he turned to look at Angrabraid.

A knowing smile came to her eyes, giving a twinkle to her aged eyes. “I see neither of ye did.”

In truth, Ian hadn’t given a moment’s thought to such a prospect. He’d been too focused on
not
getting Rose with child to worry over what might happen if, by God’s grace, she did conceive. Turning back to his wife, the heavy sadness remained in her eyes. He doubted anyone could say anything to brighten her spirit or ease her worry.

“Leave us,” Ian said.

Silence stretched over the small hut. “I will escort ye back to yer hut,” Brogan offered.

“At least one of ye Mackintosh brothers possesses more manners than a goat,” Angrabraid said. Her voice sounded sweet, belying the fierce and oft hard-nosed woman Ian thought her to be.

Finally alone, he pressed a tender kiss to his wife’s fingers. “I be so sorry, Rose,” he said. “Mayhap it be God’s will.”

Rose scoffed. “Since when did
ye
become a God-fearin’ believer in the all-mighty?”

A warm smile came to his face. “A heartbeat after I learned ye were carryin’.”

* * *

T
hey spent
the remainder of the morning talking about all the ‘what if’s’ they could imagine.

“What if I lose this babe?” Rose asked, more than once.

To which Ian responded, “What if ye do no’?”

“But what if I do?”

“Think of it, Rose,” he said as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d wager that if the babe be a girl, she’ll be just as bonny as ye. I will have to have ten men guardin’ her at all times. Mayhap I should add extra floors to the tower and keep her locked away?”

His jest could not break through her heartache. “Rose, what if Angrabraid be right? And me seed be stronger that Almer’s? Could ye think of it fer just a moment?”

This was not her first time with child. Rose knew the dangers of getting her hopes up, only to have them torn asunder, shredded and tossed into the wind like tiny bits of dust. As she looked into her husband’s eyes, she saw only hope. No worry, no trepidation. Silently, she cursed Angrabraid for telling him and for giving him false hope. ’Twas a cruel thing for anyone to do. To allow a man such as Ian to hope and dream of something he would never have was heartless. Oh, how she worried over his heart when the day came that she lost this babe as she had lost the others.

Deciding it best to keep her worry and despair to herself, she forced a smile. But she refused to play the ‘what if’ game with her husband any longer. “I will try,” she told him. “I fear I be awfully tired, Ian. I would like to rest now.”

Smiling, he kissed her forehead, and the smile never left his face. “I will leave ye to rest then. I shall go and ask the womenfolk to check on ye durin’ the day when I be workin’.”

She wanted very much to scream
’Twill do no good fer me to lay abed!
But the love she felt for her husband prohibited such an outburst.

T
he next weeks
passed at a snail’s pace, with Rose abed and Ian and the clanswomen hovering over her like midges. ’Twas enough to make the strongest Highland woman insane, what with all their fussing and fretting.

As one day passed into the next, Rose’s worries lessened and before she realized it, her heart was lighter and her belly growing bigger. No longer as ill as she had been, she still had to be careful with what she ate. Sweets stayed down about as long as a Highland warrior thrown from his horse. Fish was no better. However, anything savory, such as meat pies, would oft calm her unpredictable stomach.

Their babe grew, as did her hope.

When she felt him kick for the very first time, she cried for hours after. “’Twas somethin’ I never thought I’d feel,” she confessed to Ian as he dried her tears of relief and joy. His smile was as warm and bright as the sun.

“Angrabraid was right, aye?” he asked as he held her head against his chest.

Now in her sixth month, ’twas easier for her to let go of some of her worry. There was still a chance she could lose the babe. However, she had made it farther than she had with any previous pregnancy. That alone was something to celebrate, albeit quietly.

“Aye,” she told him. “She was right.”

* * *

“
I
do no’ see it
,” Leona said with a shake of her head. “Rose be far prettier than I.”

’Twas her turn to keep Rose company this day. Ronna had joined them, bringing meat pies to the expectant mother. ’Twas she who remarked over the resemblance betwixt the two women.

“Och!” Rose exclaimed from her chair by the fire. “’Tis ye who be the pretty one.” She had finally been allowed out of bed the day before, but was still restricted to her hut, per her husband’s orders. And he still demanded she not be left alone for even the tiniest of moments.

Ronna clucked her tongue as she brought Rose a meat pie. “Ye’re both daft,” she declared. “Had I been half as pretty as either of ye in me youth, I could have married the king.”

Rose and Leona giggled. “I have kent ye me whole life, Ronna,” Rose said with a warm smile. “Ye were always beautiful.” She took the pie in both hands and inhaled deeply. Her mouth watered as her stomach growled.

“Bah!” Ronna argued, doing her best to suppress a smile. “Ye only say that because I bring ye meat pies.”

“Ye are still beautiful,” Rose told her. “And I would think that even if ye did no’ make such delicious meat pies.” After taking a bite, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. “The best I ever had, I swear it.”

Ronna smiled proudly. “Ye both be bonny women. Everyone says as much.”

Leona cast her a doubtful glance. “Everyone?” she challenged. Not since her mother passed fifteen years ago had anyone referred to her as
bonny.
Tetched? Bedeviled? Strange? Aye, they’d called her all those things and more. But never bonny. They might say such nice things about Rose, but in her heart, Leona knew no such words were ever spoken about her.

“Mayhap no’
everyone
,” Ronna admitted. “But even Ian and Brogan have remarked on how ye resemble one another. From behind, we can no’ tell the two of ye apart. Ye could pass fer sisters.”

“The closest thing to a sister I ever had was Aggie,” Rose said, her mood suddenly shifting from light and happy to sorrowful. “I miss her somethin’ terrible.”

Ronna looked up from the sewing she’d brought with her and offered a warm smile. “Ye’ll see her again, I be certain of it.”

“But when?” Rose said, swiping at a tear. “Next year? The year after?” Though Aggie’s letters had promised they’d be here before the end of spring, doubts lingered. What if Ada was not strong enough to make the journey? What if Aggie got with child again? There were too many things that could delay their travel.

Although Leona had never known anyone she could call her true friend until she met Rose, she could well understand her pain. Rose had shared many a story regarding all they, and Aggie in particular, endured over the years. Rising quickly, she went and wrapped an arm around her friend. “Wheest, Rose,” she whispered tenderly.

Rose took a deep, cleansing breath and patted Leona’s hand. “Thank ye, Leona. I fear me emotions sometimes run away with me.”

“Tis the babe,” Ronna said. “One minute ye be as happy as a pig in mud, the next, ye be cryin’ and betimes fer no reason at all.”

Rose swiped away an errant tear. “I fear ye’re right. ’Tis an odd thing that happens to us when we’re with child, aye?”

Ronna gave her a knowing nod. “Aye, ’tis,” she said in a low, mournful tone. She had been blessed with three children, two boys and a girl, but all had died before they reached the age of five.

“I fear I’ll never ken such a feelin’,” Leona admitted.

“Och! Do no’ be daft. Of course ye will,” Rose argued.

Leona sat on the floor in front of her friend and was quiet for a long while. “I be nearin’ three and twenty. Me days of findin’ a husband or bearin’ a child are long past.”

Rose could well understand Leona’s plight and anguish. “I used to think the same,” she told her. “But look at me now.”

“But we are different, aye? Ye be beautiful and strong. Everyone looks up to ye,” Leona said.

Rose started to object. “But—”

“But nothin’,” Leona said. “Ye be Ian’s Rose. I be Leona Two-eyes.”

Aye, Rose had heard people whisper that horrible name behind Leona’s back. ’Twas a reference to her oddly colored eyes. More than once, she had set the person to rights and threatened to put them on latrine duty for the remainder of the year should she hear them use it in reference to her friend again.

Her heart felt heavy for this young woman whom she had begun to consider a true friend.

“Do no’ fash over it, Rose,” Leona said, offering up a warm smile. “I be a free woman, ye ken. I can come and go as I please. I do no’ have to answer to anyone, save fer me da.”

Ingerame. Rose did not like that man, not one bit. Were he even the slightest bit kind to his daughter, mayhap she would have been married by now with a dozen bairns of her own.

“I like me life the way it is,” Leona said. “So do no’ worry over it or me.”

Convincing as her tone might be, Rose did not believe one word of it.

* * *

B
efore winter had set in
, the men had erected a large tent in what would, in the future, be the central courtyard. On days when they were not plagued with snow or bitter winds, they would gather there to spend the hours discussing plans for the future, tell tall tales over mugs of ale, and otherwise do their best to stay out from under the feet of their wives.

On this particularly sunny day in February, the men gathered together to once again discuss the plans for construction that would begin in the spring.

Two large braziers sat in the center of the tent with tables on either side. Ian sat at a long table with Brogan, Andrew the Red, and Charles McFarland.

“We’ll need men workin’ day and night in the quarry,” Andrew said as he played with the rim of his mug. “The work would go faster if we had more horses to pull wagons.”

“Aye,” Ian agreed. “I hear the Mactavishes breed fine stock. Mayhap we could barter with them.”

“Now there is an odd lot of people,” Charles said before pulling on his mug.

“What do ye mean?” Andrew asked, studying the man closely.

Charles gave a slight shrug. “They do no’ have a chief.”

Ian and Brogan exchanged glances with one another. “No chief?” Ian asked with a good measure of disbelief.

“Aye, ’tis true,” Charles said. “I do no’ ken the whole of the story, but their chief was murdered, along with his babe, more than two years ago.”

“And no one stepped in to be chief?” Andrew asked.

Charles leaned over the table, drawing the men with him. “I hear tell that their mistress, Mairghread Mactavish, killed them. That she lost her mind one night and killed her husband and babe. Now her uncle, I can no’ remember his name, he acts as chief of sorts. All the land, those are all Mairghread’s. Her clan will no’ let her rule or act as chief, so she must find a husband. Unless she dies, then everything will go to the uncle. As I said, ’tis an odd lot of people that border us to our north.”

“Bah!” Brogan exclaimed in disbelief. “Women do no’ kill their own bairns.”

Charles leaned back in his chair and offered another indifferent shrug. “I only tell ye what I’ve heard.”

“Rumors and lies,” Ian began with a tone of warning, “have brought down more good men than truths ever have.”

“Have ye met this Mairghread?” Brogan asked Charles.

“Nay,” he admitted.

“Then ye might want to keep
what ye heard
to yerself until ye ken the whole of the story,” Brogan warned him.

Deciding ’twas best to change the topic at hand, Andrew chimed in. “I kent a Mairghread once. She was a bar wench in Inverness. A comely thing she was, too!”

Ian and Brogan had heard Andrew’s stories so often, they knew them by heart. They turned their attention away from his ribald tale and spoke to one another.

“So would ye like me to reach out to the Mactavishes about horses?” Brogan asked.

Ian gave a nod of affirmation. “Aye, I would. Take Rodrick the Bold and Andrew with ye on the morrow.”

Brogan nodded before taking a pull of his ale.

As an afterthought, Ian added. “And see what ye can learn about their lack of a chief. I would like to ken if we should think them allies or enemies.”

* * *

L
ess than a sennight later
, Brogan, Andrew and Rodrick returned with a dozen large highland ponies. The Mactavish keep was a solid two-day ride from the McLarens. Ian was surprised to see them back so soon, but mightily glad for the horses.

After putting their new purchases into the corral, the men headed into the large tent. They quenched their thirst on ale and cider and filled their bellies with a good hearty rabbit stew and bread.

Full of gratitude, Ian let them quench their thirst and fill their bellies before he asked for details of their trip.

“I got only a glimpse of Mairghread,” Rodrick told him. “A right bonny woman she is, too.”

Andrew scoffed at Rodrick’s assessment. “I thought she looked quite odd. A wee bit tetched.”

Brogan rolled his eyes at Andrew. “Ye only say that because of the rumors.”

They argued back and forth about whether or not Mairghread Mactavish was tetched or beautiful or both. Ian had heard enough. “Lads, can we get to the matter at hand?” he asked, bringing their conversation to a halt. “Should we think them allies or no’?” He directed his question at his brother.

Brogan took a drink of cider before responding. “In truth? I do no’ rightly ken if we can think them allies. But I do no’ think we need to worry they be our enemies.”

“That is as clear as mud,” Ian said.

Brogan smiled. “They be a rather small clan. And no’ well organized. It took them four hours just to decide who we should speak to in the matter of horses. Cainnech Mactavish— he be the uncle to Mairghread — had just left the day before we arrived. Apparently, he did no’ leave clear instructions as to who was in charge, or fer anything else.”