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.
* * *
Ian 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.
* * *
Alone 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.
The Ninth of June, 1356
My dearest sister,
As ye ken, I be no’ verra good at readin’ or writin’. But with Elsbeth’s and Frederick’s help, I hope to improve.
Our lives are n’t the same without ye here, me sweet friend. You’ve only left this mornin’ and everythin’ seems different. I have no one in whom to confide or voice me worries, save for Elsbeth. While she is a fine woman, she is not ye.
Frederick says I canno’ send a letter to you every day for ’twill cost us a fortune with the messengers. But he did no’ say I could no’ write to ye every day. I imagine the messenger will have dozens of letters to give ye when he leaves next month.
This will be the first night in an age where ye and I did not sit by the fire after the evenin’ meal. We have rarely ever been apart, ye and I, fer more than a few days at a time. I doubt I shall ever get used to ye bei’g so far away.
This is no’ how either of us imagined our lives to be, but I be no’ complainin’. If I had never met Frederick or yer Ian, I imagine I would have died long before now. So ’tis bittersweet feelin’s I have as we both take far different paths than either of us ever intended.
I have nothin’ else to say right now other than there is now a rather large empty hole in me heart. Ye are missed.
Aggie
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.
The Twelfth of June, 1356
Rose,
So many things have changed since ye left us only a few short days ago. Ada has gotten her first tooth! She neither fussed nor cried and we only discovered the tooth when she bit down on poor Rebecca. ’Twas very embarrassin’! But I admit I was glad ’twas Rebeca’s breast she bit and no’ mine!
Ailrig is doing well. He certainly has taken to the role of older brother quite well. He watches over Ada as if she were his verra own. Sometimes he speaks to her when he does not ken I am there. He swears to watch over and protect her, to be her champion all the days of his life. But then I also heard him say the verra same thing to a pretty little lass of nine just this morn. While the Mackintosh men are the finest example of honorable and good men any lad could ever have, I fear their other qualities are also rubbin’ off on me son.
Frederick is doing well. He is constantly makin’ plans for our leavin’ next spring. I admit he is far more excited about goin’ to Am boireannach dubh-ghlas than I. If I could have but one wish, it would be to stay here for the rest of me life and have ye and Ian return to us. But I fear I love me husband more than I love the next beat of me heart. Therefore, I will go wherever he wishes. I know also, in me heart, that God has a plan fer us, bigger than any we could imagine.
Douglas, his wife and children have welcomed all of us into their family. I was no’ sure what to think of his wife at first, because she was almost as mute as I used to be. But the more time we spend together, the more she opens up and the more I like her. She kens all about the love me mum and Douglas once shared. She admits to bein’ quite jealous of it in the beginnin’, but, as she put it, ‘Douglas loved her out of the dark place of jealousy and into the light of love and life.’ I can understand well what she means by that, fer that is how I feel about Frederick.
As for Douglas, he seems a good and honorable man. Nothing at all like Mermadak. Douglas is kind, generous, and often reminds me of John. They are a bit like day old meat pies: a bit hard on the outside but soft and warm on the inside.
I still canno’ call him father or da, at least no’ when I speak to him. It simply seems far too odd. Frederick declares that in time I will call him da with great affection, just as Ailrig did him. We shall see.
I must go now, to collect herbs from me garden. I shall write to ye again soon.
With love and devotion,
Aggie
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.
* * *
Ian 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.
“Let us fe
ast this night,” Ian declared as he looked over the numerous deer, pheasants, and even a few geese. “Let us celebrate this good bounty.”
Rose and the womenfolk agreed a feast was in order. “And tomorrow, can we take a day of rest?” she asked her husband.
“Aye!” he agreed cheerfully. “Tonight we feast, and on the morrow, we shall rest.”
And feast they did, like kings. Roast pheasant, goose and venison were plentiful. Breads, cheeses, fresh fruits, and roasted vegetables. Sweetmeats and sweet cakes, and enough ale to drown a whale.
Stories were told, songs of glory were sung, and more ale, wine and whisky consumed. Rose was feeling quite happy and gay, having consumed her fair share of wine. Ian was looking at her with drunk eyes full of desire for most of the night. More than once, he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly, more passionately and shamelessly than was proper.
Long after the midnight hour, she leaned in to whisper an offer he found he could not refuse. “Take me to our bed now, Ian, fer I fear I can no’ go much longer without havin’ yer naked skin against mine.”
* * *
Wattle and daub huts had sprung up all around the keep. They were by no means spectacular in appearance or amenities, but no one cared much. With solid walls and thatched roofs above and around them, ’twas a merciful blessing to be out of all the mud and muck and rain.
Men, women, and even children worked side by side to help build the homes. ’Twas hard work, but no one complained. While the women wove branches together for the wattle, the children worked on making the daub in pits of mud and limestone. The men framed out each hut, carefully assembling the walls, fireplaces, and roofs.
’Twas during the construction of these homes that Ian came to know Charles McFarland and Rodrick the Bold. He pulled the two men away from their duties as sentries to help with the construction.
While Charles was amenable to the change, Rodrick was less so. “I be a warrior,” he told Ian, “no’ a laborer.”
“But both are equally important here, Rodrick,” Ian explained. They were in the forest gathering more slender branches for the wattle.
“Bah!” Rodrick groused. “Ye may think that now, but ye’ll be singin’ a far different tune when the Bowies attack.”
Ian wound a length of twine around a large bundle of branches. “Ye speak as if ye ken an attack is inevitable.”
“Where the Bowies be concerned, an attack is always inevitable.”
Ian gave his complaint careful consideration. During his time at the auld McLaren keep, the Bowies had only attacked once, and that was at the behest of Mermadak. “Mayhap they be no’ aware we are even here,” Ian offered.
Rodrick’s expression said enough. He thought his current laird insane or the most unintelligent man he’d ever encountered. “The Bowies ken,” he argued. “Trust me. They ken well we are here.”
“And how can ye be so certain?” Ian asked as he tied off the last length of twine. Aye, he was very interested in finding out what this man did or or didn’t know.
“’Tis me job to ken these things,” Rodrick told him. “I ken I be neither a Mackintosh nor a McLaren. I may have come here with Ingerame …” his words trailed off as his cheeks turned bright red.
“And?” Ian asked as he hoisted the bundle up and placed it on the back of a wagon.
Reluctantly, Rodrick explained himself. “Fer reasons I canno’ begin to comprehend, I like ye, Mackintosh. I like the other people here as well. I am a warrior and I feel it be me duty to help protect the lot of ye.”
Ian appreciated his honesty and how hard it had been for him to speak the truth. “Verra well,” he said as he began to bundle more branches together. “Go seek out Brogan and tell him I said we are to use ye on patrols.” Truth be told, Ian would rather have the man on patrol than grumbling beside him all the day long.
The man sighed in relief and then did something remarkable. He smiled.
Ian found it unsettling. He was used to the man’s glower.
Without so much as a thank you, Rodrick spun around and left.
13
Rutger Bowie was faced with a dilemma. The coffers were growing empty and the larder bare. The coin he had inherited after his cousin Eduard was killed had not lasted nearly as long as he would have hoped. His brother, Collum, had warned him months ago they’d not be able to continue with the nightly feasts or the endless number of women he’d taken to his bed, without a means to replenish the reserves.
Oh, how he hated his younger brother’s sensibilities.
Just when he had begun to believe they might have to do something sensible, such as learn to become farmers or whisky makers or some other too-boring-to-think-about way of making a living, a man appeared at their gates.
A McLaren man.
A man with a story that at first seemed so utterly outrageous as to border on the insane. But there was something about the man, in the way he told the story with such hatred and vehemence toward Aggie and Frederick Mackintosh, that it left him to wonder. According to this fellow, Mermadak McLaren had swindled dozens upon dozens of his fellow Scotsmen, as well as Englishmen and Frenchmen. Over the years, he had somehow managed to accumulate a vast fortune. If what the McLaren man said was true, it amounted to at least fifty-thousand groats.
Fifty-thousand groats.
He and his clan could live like kings for generations on that kind of coin.
Thus, an idea began to form in his mind. A way out of his current state of poverty and distress.
14
October arrived peacefully enough, weather wise. The days were growing shorter, but oh those days were brilliantly beautiful. Bright, crisp mornings that put a spring in a man’s step. Tips of blazingly green leaves were just beginning to turn, bringing forth the promise of a dazzling autumn.
More huts were springing up, filling the future courtyard almost to the brim. It had been Eggar Wardwin who had suggested a more organized plan of lining the little huts up in straight rows so it would be easier to make one’s way from one point to another. Ian agreed. Ingerame Macdowall, however, was against it. Ian suspected ’twas only because Eggar had thought of it first.
The two men did not get along well, not well at all. Ian soon learned that Eggar was in fact, the better of the two men. Eggar did his level best to avoid Ingerame whenever he could.
On this particular bright, sunny morn, Ian found the two men standing at the base of the tower. Neither of them looked happy.
“All I be sayin’ is that ‘twould make more sense to build the foundation fer the second tower now instead of waitin’,” Eggar said, his consternation showing in his pinched face.
“And I be sayin’ ye are no’ the lead carpenter. Ye have no experience in matters such as these.”
Eggar closed his eyes and Ian wondered if he weren’t silently counting to one hundred or plotting Ingerame’s demise.
“At least I be smart enough to ken ye do no’ put the latrine next to the granary!” Eggar’s temper flared, born of frustration with Ingerame’s constant reminder of just who was in charge.
Ingerame’s face burned bright red. “That was no’ me mistake! The men did no’ build it where I told them to!”
Before they came to blows, Ian stepped in betwixt them. “Lads, it be far too beautiful a mornin’ to be fightin’. Now tell me, what be the matter.”
They both began to explain at once. Ian held up his hands to stop them. “Ingerame, ye first.”
Looking as pleased as a peacock strutting for a peahen, Ingerame pulled his shoulders back. “Eggar gave an order to the men without first speakin’ to me.”
“And what order was that?” Ian asked. He noticed a slight throb began to form in his temple. Being laird was not always easy.
“To start buildin’ the foundation fer a second tower. We never discussed a second tower, Ian. There beno plans fer a second tower.”
Eggar was unabashed as he planted his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave
Ian a look that asked, should ye tell him or shall I?
Taking a fortifying breath, Ian replied. “There are no’ only plans fer a second tower, but a third and fourth as well. I gave those plans to ye upon me arrival.”
Ingerame’s face turned an impossible shade of deep red. Anger flared in his eyes. “I can assure ye, there was nothin’ on those plans about additional towers.”
“And I can assure ye that there is,” Ian ground out.
Ingerame began to argue again, but Ian stopped him with a raised palm. “To the tent,” he ordered. Spinning on his heels, he headed toward his work tent. He had had it erected weeks ago, as a place where he could work without disturbing his wife. It sat at the far edge of the yard, in a quiet corner next to the forest.
The two men followed him inside. Ingerame was mad enough to bite his hammer in half, while Eggar looked victorious. But unlike his lead carpenter, Eggar kept his thoughts on the matter to himself.
Ian went around the table and looked down at the plans spread across it. Small rocks had been placed in each corner to keep the scroll flat.
“There,” Ian said, tapping the plans with his index finger.
Hesitantly, Ingerame stepped forward. He studied the plans closely, all the while his countenance changing. He went from being bloody angry to being furious. “I was no’ given these plans,” he said as he stepped away. “’Tis no’ me fault no one saw fit to give them to me.”
Ian stood to his full height. “Are ye callin’ me a liar?”
Ingerame balked at the accusation. “N-nay,” he stammered. “I am merely sayin’ I do no’ have these plans. I have the plans Frederick gave me in Inverness.”
Ian rolled his eyes and gave a frustrated shake of his noggin. His lead carpenter had been building off plans that were ages old. ’Twas no wonder he’d ordered the latrines built next to the granary. “Upon me arrival, I gave ye new plans.” Ian’s level of frustration was growing by leaps and bounds. “We talked about those new plans fer hours. I showed them to ye. I gave ye yer own copy.”
Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 13
