Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens (31 page)

B
lood filled her mouth
, her skin burned from the multiple strikes against her cheek. Rutger Bowie was furious and not afraid to let her know it. Repeatedly over the past half hour, he had back-handed her, kicked her in her legs when she fell to the floor, screamed, ranted and raved. Still, she refused to tell him what she knew.

“Tell me
where she is!
” he yelled, hovering over Leona.

Gripped with fear, her cheek and eye swelling to the point she could barely see out of it, Leona shook her head. “I tell ye, I do no’ ken who ye be askin’ after,” she told him.

“Ye lie, ye stupid wench!” His voice boomed and echoed off the gathering room walls.

“Nay!” she whispered harshly. “I tell ye true. I have told ye everythin’ I ken, m’laird.”

Rutger began to pace while he thought on what this young wench had told him thus far. “So me brother picks ye up at a tavern, brings ye here and spends half the night swivin’ with ye, only to wake ye before dawn to put ye in the room where me hostage was kept?”

Leona gave a slow, exhausted shrug. I ken nothin’ about a hostage, only that he told me he’d pay me well if I stayed there.” Every muscle hurt, her face burned, her eye throbbed painfully. “Aye, m’laird. ’Tis the truth. I swear it.”

Donnel McLaren had been watching from the long table as Rutger beat and interrogated the wench. As far as he was concerned, Rutger could kill the hapless creature, for she was the only thing standing between him and what rightfully belonged to him. “Seems too much of a coincidence, if ye ask me.”

Rutger spun to look at him. “What do ye mean?” he demanded loudly.

Donnel let out a long, heavy sigh. “I mean, she looks a bit too much like Rose Mackintosh,” he said. “If I hadn’t kent Rose the whole of her life, and her family, I would swear the wench before ye is her sister.”

“I have no sisters,” Leona whispered.
At least no’ by blood.

A swift, hard boot to her thigh was Rutger’s response. His chest heaved with fury; sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes. He’d been beating the wench for nearly an hour and she’d yet to confess.

Turning his attention back to Donnel, he said, “Ye be certain Rose’s da never strayed?” He could not quite comprehend what could have caused the striking resemblance between the two women.

“Well I can no’ say that with a certainty, m’laird,” Donnel replied. “All I ken is there be no sister that I’ve heard about.”

Rutger turned back to Leona. She was curled into a protective ball, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands covering her head. He was by no means nearly as ruthless as his cousin, Eduard Bowie, had been. In truth, the man’s actions had often sickened him. But right now? He was not above beating this wench in order to learn all that she knew. A fortune was at stake.

Worn out from beating her, covered in sweat, he needed to rest and think on what his next course of action should be. He’d already sent out seventy-five of his best men to track down Rose and whoever had taken her. If his sentry was correct, Alec had been gone for four hours before it was discovered that Rose was missing, and this whore had taken her place. Loathe as he was to admit it, his brother was probably the one who had taken her.

“Take her to the dungeon!” he barked the command.

Two men appeared from the shadows to do their laird’s bidding. Without any care toward her, they pulled her up by her arms and dragged her away.

* * *

D
onnel was angrier
than he could ever remember being. If it was the last thing he did on this earth, he would have the head on a pike of whoever ’twas that betrayed them.

He and Rutger had planned for every contingency. Or so they’d thought. What they hadn’t planned on was a traitor.

’Twas all beginning to slip from his grasp once again. The treasure, his future, his plan of living out the rest of his days in comfort.

If he could not get Rose back, ‘twould all be lost.

Infuriated, he jumped to his feet, pounding his fist on the table before him. “We must attack them at once!” he shouted. “We can no’ let them get away with this!”

Rutger glowered at him. “Do ye think I do no’ realize that?” he ground out. “I want that bloody ransom as much as ye do, ye fool.”

Donnel didn’t think it very likely that anyone could want the ransom paid as much as he. “Then call yer men to arms. We must attack before the McLarens have time to call on their allies!”

Rutger sprang forward, stood only inches away from Donnel. “If ye
dare
order me about again, I will have ye hanged.”

Donnel did not so much as bat an eye at the man’s threat. He’d lived and worked for Mermadak McLaren for far too many years to be afraid of
this
man. Still, he was no fool. “Fergive me, m’laird,” he said with a nod of respect. “I fear where me treasure is involved, I lose all patience.”

“Ye best pray I do no’ lose mine,” Rutger warned before stepping away.

He paced for a few moments, his own fury rising. Though he had no sure proof of it yet, he was all but certain his brother Alec was responsible for Rose’s escape. As soon as they learned Rose was missing and that whore had been left in her place, he ordered the drawbridge raised and men sent to investigate. That was nearly two hours ago.

Just as he was prepared to send more men out to bring everyone into the keep for questioning, two of his men came rushing into the gathering room.

“M’laird!” Adam Bowie shouted. He was a younger lad, tall and skinny in build. “I spoke with the men mannin’ the walls and gates.”

“And?” Rutger asked through gritted teeth.

The young man was reluctant to share what he’d learned. He swallowed hard before answering. “The only one in or out of the keep since last night was yer brother. He left at just before dawn with a whore.”

’Twas exactly what he’d suspected. Alec had betrayed him. Of that, there was no longer any doubt. Were his brother any other man, Rutger would have believed he had taken the woman to ransom her himself. But his brother was not cut from the same cloth as himself. Nay, somewhere, somehow the bloody bastard had inherited a streak of honor, a lust for peace. There were times, just as now, where he would have sworn they were not related, that mayhap their pious mother had strayed from her marital bed.

“Raise the drawbridge,” he said in a manner so calm it made even Donnel afraid. “Gather every available man. No one leaves or enters this keep without me order. Let our men ken we leave at dawn.”

The young man appeared confused. “Shall I tell them where we be goin’ and what to prepare fer, m’laird?”

Pinning the young man in place with a terrifying glower, Rutger answered. “We shall be raidin’ the McLaren keep. Tell them to bloody ready themselves fer war!”

* * *

F
rom the shadows
of the hallway, Dougall Bowie heard his laird’s orders. Heard the call to war that sent a shiver down his spine.

As quickly as he could, he left the hallway and the keep. When he was stopped at the drawbridge, the young man in charge at first refused to lower it.

“Yer laird has just called fer war against the McLarens, ye whelp! I need to get to me wife and bairns. Ye lower this drawbridge or I’ll bloody well gut ye where ye stand.”

The young man hesitated only briefly, for he knew Dougall Bowie had a reputation for never backing down from a fight and for almost always keeping his word. Not wanting to test the man, he ordered the drawbridge lowered so Dougall could get to his family.

Before he’d even reached the edge of the bridge, the order to raise it was given. Jumping a few feet, he landed safely on the other side and raced down the path and to his cottage. He had to get his wife and bairns to safety before the McLarens attacked. Last night, Alec had come to him after the lass with the odd eyes had fallen asleep. He had filled him in on his plan as well as his worry the McLarens would attack once they had Rose back. Regardless of who now attacked first, be it Bowie or McLaren, war was inevitable.

And the poor young woman Rutger had beaten the bloody hell out of? If the McLarens attacked first, then the young woman was sure to die. Rutger would make certain of it.

Just before he opened the door to his cottage, the battle horn sounded from the wall. Were the circumstance different, he would gladly have rushed to that call. But he was older now, wiser, and with far more at stake. Peace was within their grasp, even if his foolish laird could not or would not see it.

* * *

A
s much as
he would have liked taking his time to get Rose back to her husband — for her own comfort — Alec could not take the risk. Who knew how much time they had before ’twas discovered she was missing? Nay, ’twas best to ride hard and fast, away from his brother’s keep and toward the spot where he’d left the McLaren and his own men.

Not once did Rose complain of the hard riding. For a change, she was quiet and composed while she perched in front of him.

Over hills and through glens, he raced as fast as his mount could go. He had to get Rose to her husband, away from the danger behind them. And the sooner he could return her, the sooner he could go back and fetch Leona.

Hours passed and they stopped only twice and but briefly. By the time he crossed out of Bowie lands and onto McLaren, his heart was pounding in his chest, sweat covered his brow, and his worry and concern for Leona grew.

’Twas late afternoon before he caught a glimpse of the spot where he’d left Ian and the others. As they drew nearer, his heart seized at the sight before him. Hundreds upon hundreds of men and horses filled the open field. Banners waved in the afternoon breeze. Banners of war.

* * *

A
s soon as
Ian received word from the sentry that someone was approaching, he mounted his horse and headed toward the riders. When he caught sight of his wife’s golden blonde hair waving in the wind, his heart nearly leapt from his chest.

Overwhelmed with joy and relief, he kicked his horse into a full gallop and raced toward her. His heart skipped so many beats he worried it would stop before he had a chance to hold her.