“Aye! No’ that ye care, but we have worked hard all day dismantlin’ the bins from the auld granary,” Ronna added.
Ian’s eyes flew wide with shock. “Ye went all the way to the auld keep?”
Rose nodded. “It be a mile away, Ian. ’Tis no’ as if we rode all the way to Inverness.”
How far they had gone did not matter. Before he could manage to explain to her why he was so angry, his wife spoke once again, summarily dismissing him and thus ending their conversation. “Now, if ye will excuse me, I be tired and dirty.” And with that, she headed to their tent, leaving a very angry husband behind.
* * *
How dare he humiliate me in front of the clan? Rose fumed all the way back to her tent. Ian Mackintosh be a stubborn, pigheaded man and an eejit to boot! Storming inside, she sat on a stool to remove her boots. As she pulled off her second boot — silently cursing her husband to the devil — Ian entered the tent.
Weeks of pent up frustration came spouting forth and she could do nothing to stop it. “Have I once complained of anythin’?” she demanded before he could say a word. “Have I once complained of havin’ to bathe in the freezin’ cold loch? Have I once complained of ye workin’ from sun-up to long after dark?” she tossed her boot to the floor. “Me only complaint in these past weeks, nay months, is wet floors. Wet floors, Ian! And I do no’ complain because ’tis a harsh life I do no’ want to live. It be no’ healthy to be constantly damp or soaked to the bone. This one thing, one thing I have asked of ye and ye were too busy to help.”
Shooting to her feet in exasperation, she continued with her tirade. “I be no’ a fool or an impulsive woman, Ian Mackintosh. I left a home — the only home where I felt safe in a verra long while, and left me one true friend as well — to follow ye across Scotia, to build a life with ye. I have been workin’ just as hard and just as long as ye, and what thanks do I get? None! And when I ask fer a small thing, planks to keep us off the muddy ground, planks to keep our food dry, what do ye do? Ye start takin’ our wagons, and yer men set to tossin’ our precious food on the ground.”
She was hard pressed to remember a time in her life when she had been this furious with anyone, let alone the man she loved beyond all measure. “If anyone is to blame fer me bein’ so desperate as to go back to that place that holds so many ugly memories, ’tis ye, Ian Mackintosh. ’Tis ye.”
Loathe as he was to admit it, his wife had a point. But if she thought to make him feel guilty for not listening to her earlier pleas for assistance, she would have to wait a very long time for an admission of culpability. Or an apology.
The matter at hand was not wet floors or mud or his lack of understanding. Nay the point was she had left without escort and without leaving word. He could not count telling Leona Macdowall as leaving word. The woman was as addlepated as her father had said she was.
“Had ye come to me—” he began to explain before she cut him short.
“What would ye have done today that would be any different than the other times I asked?” she spat out angrily.
Though he was furious that she had taken such a dangerous risk today, his fury began to subside when he saw how hurt she was. Aye, she was angry, that much was evident in her pursed lips and the fury blazing in those lovely eyes. But for the first time, he could actually see her pain.
“I will only apologize fer raisin’ me voice in front of the clan,” he told her. “I will no’ apologize fer bein’ worried or scared half out of me mind that somethin’ bad had happened to ye.”
To Rose’s way of thinking, his half apology was a step in the right direction, but he had far to go. “Then ye do no’ see the entirety of our problem.”
Raising one brow, he bade her explain herself.
“Ian, I love ye. But these past few weeks I feel as though I am the least important person in yer world.”
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.”
* * *
As 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 be
d 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.
* * *
Rose 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.
* * *
Worry 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.”
12
Within 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 g
reat 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.”
Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 12
