Aggie studied him closely for a long while. She could detect no deception, no dishonesty. Only sincere regret and shame. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, wiped away her tears and returned to her chair.
Lies. Nothing but lies for all these many years. In her heart, she had to believe her mother did what she thought was the right thing. She could not for a moment believe that anything her mother had done had been done out of spite or malice. Desperation perhaps, but not malice.
For a moment she wondered what her life would have been like had she known the truth. Had she the opportunity, she would have run away to Douglas long ago. But then, she would not have had Ailrig — even if he were conceived by rape. She loved her son regardless of how he was conceived. Mayhap it was time to tell her sweet boy the truth. If she waited, he might feel just as betrayed as she did now.
And had she run away successfully to live with Douglas Carruthers, she would never have met Frederick nor had Ada. God had put her on this path for a reason, even if she didn’t quite understand why.
“I can no longer blame ye, Douglas. Each of us were lied to, even if those lies were made with good intentions.” She took another deep breath. “I do no’ wish to carry these feelin’s of shame or betrayal with me any more.”
3
More than a year ago Frederick Mackintosh had made a promise to Rose McLaren. “If me brother ever hurts ye or plays ye false, I’ll kill him with me bare hands.” Hence, an easy solution to mend Rose’s heart was at hand.
’Twas unfortunate that his daft and addlepated brother Ian was forcing him to keep that promise. He had reached the ends of his patience in the matter. The way his brother had treated the sweet young woman since their return to Mackintosh lands was nothing less than an abomination. ’Twas beyond time someone took the matter into hand.
The hour was quite late, long past the evening meal. Most were back in their rooms or cottages, and only a few remained in the gathering room. He soon found the object of his consternation. There, sitting alone in a dark corner, sat Ian Mackintosh. From the number of empty cups — as well as the way the fool swayed as he sat — Frederick quickly surmised his brother was so into his cups he couldn’t find his arse with both hands.
Ian Mackintosh.
Known throughout the land by women as a man as beautiful as he was a consummate lover. He’d left a trail of broken hearts across Scotland, England, France, and God only knew where else. While women adored him, their fathers, husbands, and brothers hated him with equal passion.
Frederick stood before the drunken sot, his feet braced apart, arms crossed over his massive chest, and waited for his brother to recognize his presence. Long moments passed before that happened.
Ian clutched a cup of ale with his large hands, as if he were a man lost at sea and the cup was his last vestige of hope for survival. Listing side to side, he mumbled incoherent words that only he could understand in his current state of extreme inebriation.
When Ian finally noticed his brother, he smiled up at him drunkenly. “Frederick,” he said with a slow inclination of his noggin. He took another pull at his ale then swept his arms out wide. The golden liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup but Ian took no notice. “Welcome to me island.”
Frederick had no idea what his brother meant and in truth, he did not care. Before he could tell Ian why he was there and what his intentions were, Ian spoke again.
“I fear ye do no’ belong here, brother o’ mine. This island is fer the wretched and unworthy.” His lips curved into a wry smile; he was apparently quite amused with himself. “Nay, brother! Men such as ye do no’ belong on the island of the lost!”
Frederick let out a sigh of irritation before kicking a stool out of his way. “Ian, ’tis time we had a talk.” Grabbing his brother by his tunic, he hoisted him to his feet.
Ian glowered angrily with bloodshot eyes. “What are ye doin’?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred as he struggled to free himself.
“I be keepin’ a promise.” Frederick smiled deviously before drawing back one mighty fist then slamming it into his brother’s face.
Ian fell backward against the stone wall, as dazed and confused as he was thunderstruck. White flashes of light floated in his eyes as blood trickled from his broken lip. Shaking his daze away, he looked up at his brother with nothing short of fury and hatred in his eyes. “What the bloody hell was that fer?”
As Frederick pulled him to his feet, he answered in a calm voice that belied his frustration and anger. “That was fer breakin’ Rose’s heart.”
Once he was certain Ian wasn’t going to fall over, he hit him once again. This time his fist landed on Ian’s left eye. And again, his brother fell against the wall. This time he could not keep his feet and slid onto his arse. Before Ian could question the why of it, Frederick said, “That was fer breakin’ yer word. A Mackintosh never breaks his word.”
He hauled him to his feet yet again. Ian was barely able to stand on his own, but ’twas enough for Frederick to land a third punch. “And that was fer upsettin’ me wife!”
Ian fell to the floor, his head lolled side to side while blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
Frederick sighed disgustedly. He’d seen Ian in many a tavern brawl, far drunker than he was now, and he’d still been able to maintain his feet and fight.
Nay, the young man lying askew, bloody and defeated, was not the same proud warrior. “What the hell has happened to ye?”
* * *
Frederick pulled his brother to his feet, hoisted him over one broad shoulder, and left the gathering room. Mumbling a curse under his breath he was appalled and disgusted at how easily his brother had given up. Hell, he hadn’t fought at all. ’Twas disgraceful for a man such as Ian to behave so dishonorably, no matter his reasons.
Determined to get to the bottom of things, he carried his brother above stairs. Taking the hallway to the left, he went straightaway to Rose’s room and kicked at the door. Grudgingly, he cursed his brother as he shifted his weight. “Ye’re a bastard, ye ken that don’ ye?”
Ian replied with an incoherent grumble.
Cautiously, Rose cracked open the door. Though he could only see one vigilant eye peering through, that eye was red and puffy from crying. ’Twas fuel added to his already burning anger.
A moment passed before she realized Frederick had someone tossed over his shoulder like a sack of leeks. Her eyes widened in time with the door she pulled open. Frederick entered the room swiftly and tossed his brother into a chair near one of the tables that held her fabrics.
“What happened to him?” Rose blurted out as she rushed to kneel before the man she loved for reasons no one could fathom.
’Twas then Frederick noticed his beautiful wife sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She shot to her feet and repeated Rose’s question. In a flash, the two women were fluttering about the room, grabbing an ewer and linen cloths, hammering Frederick with too many questions to count.
“Are we under siege?” Aggie asked as she held the ewer over Ian’s lap.
“I did no’ hear the warnin’ bells,” Rose said as she dipped a linen cloth into the water and began wiping the blood from Ian’s face.
Aggie stared blankly at her husband. “Why are ye j-just standin’ there? Ye should be defendin’ the k-keep!”
Frederick held up his hands. “There be no attack against the keep.”
Rose paused her ministrations. “Then what happened? Did he take a fall?” She looked as vexed as she was concerned.
“Rose,” Ian whispered her name almost reverently. “The most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.”
With a furrowed brow she turned her attention back to Ian. His face bore an expression of devout love and adoration. “Never has a sweeter, more bonny woman ever graced God’s earth.” His voice was scratchy, his tone quite sad. As if he’d lost her to the black death and was remembering her fondly.
“He’s been drinkin’,” Aggie pointed out as if that ans
wered a multitude of questions.
Annoyed, Rose asked once again, “What happened?”
Looking up at his older brother, Ian answered. “He was keepin’ his word to ye.”
Perplexed, the two women looked to Frederick for an explanation. Hopefully one that made more sense than Ian’s.
“’Tis no less than I deserve,” Ian slurred before Frederick could respond. “A Mackintosh ne’er breaks his word, ye see.”
Neither Rose nor Aggie had any earthly idea what the drunken man meant.
“What is he goin’ on about?” Rose demanded.
Frederick ran a hand through his ginger hair before answering. “I made a promise to ye more than a year ago, that if Ian ever hurt ye or played ye false, I’d kill him with me bare hands.”
Aggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath while Rose was clearly appalled. “Ye did this to him?”
“He hurt ye and he took back his proposal. Ye’ve been cryin’ fer days now, lass,” he reminded her gently. “I was merely keepin’ me word when me brother broke his.”
“I be ready to accept me fate,” Ian told Rose. He took her hand in his. “I ne’er loved a woman as I have loved ye. I want ye to go on with yer life. Do no’ pine fer me or mourn me loss.”
Rose withdrew her hand from his with the level of disgust she would feel had she just fallen in a pile of warm horse dung. “Ye can no’ be serious!” she exclaimed. She didn’t know which of these two men confounded or angered her more. At the moment, they were tied for first.
“He must kill me,” Ian told her. “He must keep his word because I did no’ keep mine.”
She eyed them both speculatively for a long moment. The more she stood waiting for one of them to tell her this was nothing more than a jest, the angrier she became. Once Aggie took notice of Rose’s furious glower, the way her skin had turned red, Aggie suddenly swore she heard her babe, Ada, crying. Setting the bowl on the table, she scurried to her feet. “Ada needs me, as does Ailrig.”
Pausing at the door, Aggie looked back to her friend. “Ye may strangle Ian, but please, do no’ harm me husband. I still need him, as do me children.” She did not wait for a response before hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind her.
Once she was gone, Rose looked first to Frederick, then to Ian, and back again. “Ye have both lost yer minds.”
“Nay, no’ me mind. Just me heart. To the most beautiful women e’er to grace God’s earth.”
“Be quiet!” Rose shouted at the man she knew she loved without question. But at the moment, she was hard pressed to come up with a reason why. To Frederick she said, “Ye will no’ kill him.”
Frederick chuckled at her ferocity. “Nay, I shall no’ kill him,” he assured her before quickly adding, “Yet.”
Exasperated, she rolled her eyes at him. “Why did ye feel the need to,” she stumbled for the right words. “To beat him senseless?”
“Someone had to.”
“Frederick be the most honorable man,” Ian chimed in. He leaned forward in the chair and rested his head in his hands. “Far more honorable than I. He’d ne’er hurt the woman he loves.”
She spun to face the object of her consternation. “So ye do love me?”
His shame was too great — as was the manner in which his head was spinning — to chance lifting his head to look at her. “Of course I love ye.”
“Then why on earth did ye break yer word?”
“Because ye deserve better,” he mumbled. “Why is the room spinnin’?” he asked of no one in particular.
Rose thrust her hands onto her hips. “I deserve better than what?” she asked him. Her tone was sharp.
“Than me,” Ian answered. He sounded entirely ashamed.
Throwing her hands up in defeat, she looked at Frederick. “Go ahead. Kill him. I no longer care.”
* * *
Someone was using his head as an anvil. ’Twas the only explanation for the pounding in his skull.
Every muscle and bone in his body ached so much he was afraid to make even the slightest attempt to open his eyes. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry, as if he’d been sucking on wool. Fighting against the incessant thudding in his head, he tried to search for some memory that would explain why he felt like he’d been trampled by horses. It hurt to think, so he stopped.
He took in slow, long breaths through his nostrils as he rolled his pasty tongue against the roof of his mouth. Images — as fleeting as a rabbit and as clear as fog — flashed in his mind, but not one of them made any sense. Perhaps if he willed his heart to stop beating and prayed to God for merciful death, he might gain some clarity in heaven. Nay, he silently mused. Ye’re an eejit bound fer hell.
As he lay still, trying to make sense of his current predicament, the hammering in his skull began to slowly subside to a more bearable pace. When he attempted to lift his hands to rub his temple, only one moved. The other was weighted down by something.
Not something. Someone.
A warm body was nestled next to him. A small, curvaceous body that smelled like lilacs.
Too terrified to move, he wracked his brain for some memory that would explain not only who he was in bed with, but how it happened. After a moment, that warm body let loose with a contented sigh before slipping from the bed. He could hear her rattling about. From the sound of it, she was pouring something liquid into a cup, but why she insisted on doing it so loudly, he couldn’t fathom. Whomever it was, she possessed not an ounce of mercy or compassion for his current state.
“Good morn to ye, husband.”
Nay, he could not have heard her correctly. That is no’ Rose and she did no’ just call me husband!
He felt a knee sink into the bed, then a warm hand lifting his head. “Aggie brought this to ye earlier,” she explained. “’Twill help ye feel better.”
He was suddenly struck with such fear and trepidation, he could not respond. She poured the liquid into his mouth. It tasted awful, but at least it helped to soothe his parched mouth and tongue.
Rose giggled sweetly. “Will ye look at us? Married less than a day and already I be nursin’ ye back to health.”
Husband? Married? Nay!
He must have spoken his thoughts aloud, for she giggled again. “Aye, ye are me husband and I be yer wife,” she told him. “Do ye no’ remember?”
Oh, would that he could! He prayed fervently for some tiny sliver of a memory that would prove she was jesting, but his mind was as blank and dark as a cave at midnight. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to find the courage to open his eyes. Convinced that when he did, Rose would be laughing at him and would admit the truth: that she was simply jesting as some demented way of getting even with him for going back on his word.
But when he opened his eyes, he did not find any such expression to either ally his fears or prove he was correct.
Nay, there was no jest, no humor in her eyes. Instead, those big blue eyes of hers were filled with adoration and happiness.
Fear overtook him. He sat up so quickly that his head spun and he nearly retched. He did not let that stop him from scurrying from his bed. “This be a mistake,” he declared. He was having a rather difficult time forming any kind of coherent thought, let alone the ability to put voice to what he was feeling.
The adoration he’d seen only a moment ago, turned instantly to hurt. “A mistake?” she asked.
Giving his head a rapid nod — a movement he instantly regretted — he said, “Aye! A mistake!”
She stared at him in dismay. “’Twas yer own idea, Ian. Do ye no’ remember?”
He thrust his hands onto his hips only to realize he was standing before her completely naked. Immediately he began searching for his clothes. “Nay, I most certainly do no’ remember!”
“I do no’ ken why ye’re shoutin’ at me,” Rose said. “’Twas ye that insisted — nay, demanded — we be married. Ye said ye regretted yer decision to break our troth and could no’ live the rest of yer life without me.
”
He gave up searching for his trews. He needed to get out of his chamber as quickly as possible. He found his plaid lying on the floor on the other side of his bed. “I was drunk,” he told her. “I was in no condition to marry anyone!”
She quirked one delicate eyebrow. “Ye regret marryin’ me then?”
Were he not so flummoxed, so stupefied, and so hung over, he might have been able to have a more intelligent conversation on the matter. “Aye, I regret it!”
Without his boots or so much as a by-your-leave or a backward glance, he quit the room in such a hurry, one would have thought his arse had just caught fire.
* * *
Silently fuming, she watched him leave. For a long moment, she sat on the edge of the bed, holding on to tears she was determined not to shed. One moment she felt as though her heart had been cleaved in twain; the next, she was mad enough to tear the door from its hinges. Ian had been confusing and confounding her for weeks now. And for the life of her she could not figure out why. Last night, he had sworn on his mother’s grave that he cared not if she ever bore him a child, he loved her either way. If that was not what was holding him back, then what was?
At the very least she felt he owed her an explanation. Something more than ye deserve better than me.
They had shared so many things, when they’d been at the McLaren keep. After Mermadak had set the keep ablaze, she had willingly stayed behind with Ian, to help tend to those who had been too injured from the fire, or too sick to travel to Mackintosh lands. Together, they had worked hard to feed those people, kept them warm through that brutal winter by living in the old granary.
But the moment they had set foot on Mackintosh land weeks ago, everything between them began to change. Gone was the camaraderie, the stolen kisses, the playful jesting and friendship they had forged. Ian no longer sought her out to share their meals together or inquired how she fared.
Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 3
