Leona stood up and offered him a warm smile. “All be well. We are only doin’ a bit of laundry.”
He looked positively elated to hear it. “Thank, God! I hate doin’ me own laundry.”
Patrice giggled. “We’re only usin’ it fer the laird’s and mistresses’ laundry. We be no’ openin’ it to all.”
Deflated, he kicked a pebble with his toe. “Well, damn,” he muttered.
An idea popped into Leona’s head, an idea that would hopefully allow her to help her husband rebuild the clan’s coffer. She might even earn enough to purchase the plaid broach she wanted to give him. “Allen, is it?”
“Aye, mistress. Allen Bowie, son of Edgar and Kate.”
Leona offered him her best curtsey. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Allen.”
“Likewise,” he mumbled, apparently still distressed over the lack of laundry services.
“Allen, how much would ye be willin’ to pay to have someone do yer laundry?”
He raised a brow, but didn’t think long on the matter. “A siller, mistress.”
Alec’s gift was going to cost her far more than a siller, but it was a good start.
“’Tis a deal, then,” she said as she extended her hand.
“What be a deal, mistress?” he asked, completely confused.
“I would be verra happy to do yer laundry fer a siller. A siller a load.”
It took a moment before understanding set in and his eyes lit up. “Ye’d do that fer me, mistress?”
“Of course I would. Fer a siller a load, if ye’re agreeable.”
“I am, mistress, I am.”
And with that, Leona MacDowall-Bowie’s laundry service began.
Leona’s first week at her new home proved to be as busy as it was challenging. Though the majority of the rooms were empty, it was a daunting task, but one she was fully determined to see to fruition.
Her relationship with Alec had improved after their argument in front of the children and anyone else who might have witnessed it. Something in Alec had seemed to change. He seemed happier, if such a thing were even possible. Though she dared not question it or ask him about it. She was doing her best to keep things on an even keel. Why bring up a thing if it might upset the ship, so to speak.
At night, in their chamber, he would make long, slow, and passionate love to her. So much so, that she was finding it more difficult to slip out of bed before dawn. Mayhap that was his intent, to wear her out in order to keep from waking alone. Another question she dared not put voice to.
Whenever they were alone, he was always charming and kind. But when they were near anyone within hearing distance or vision, he would become almost as cold as stone toward her. She could only assume he was putting on an air of indifference so as not to look weak in front of his people. ’Twas the only thing that made a bit of sense to her.
She was working hard to gain her husband’s approval. Approval that she at times doubted would ever come.
She had taken two empty chambers down the opposite corridor from where she and Alec slept, and made them into nice, useable bedchambers. Should they ever have company — even though that was as likely as a pig flying — she would be prepared for such an event.
The days were long and laborious. What with all the cleaning, cooking, laundry, and everything else that went into running her household.
But no matter how busy her days were, she always took the time to take a meal to Melvin.
He was such a sweet, if not mischievous auld man. His greeting was always the same whenever she arrived. “Och! There be the prettiest lass in all these lands!”
She knew he was simply being kind, but still, his compliments always seemed to lift her spirits — even if they didn’t need lifting.
Her blisters had formed blisters and were now turning into hard callouses, but Alec didn’t seem to mind. The dark circles under her eyes did not keep him from loving her soundly each night.
Or soundly in the morn. For the past several days, she had awakened to find him watching her. He’d not say a word. Instead, he would simply give her that devious smile she was growing so fond of, then proceed to love her until she was breathless.
As much as she would enjoy falling asleep again after, she was unable to. Her mind simply would not shut off. It would inevitably remind her of all the tasks she needed to accomplish.
Besides, the early morning hours were the only time she had to bathe. While she was glad Alec appreciated the hot baths she prepared for him each evening, she was growing quite tired of hauling all those endless buckets of water above stairs.
She did it because she cared for him a great deal. She did it because she loved the smile that came to his face. She did it because she wanted him to care for her as much as she cared for him.
Aye, some might think her a fool for working so hard to gain the affections of a man who simply could not find the strength to give her more than a quick compliment on the meals she prepared. But what should she expect from a Bowie?
Practically asleep on her feet, with Patches right beside, her, she was kneading bread when a knock came at the door. She knew who ’twas, or at least what it was about, before she answered.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she told Patches to remain where he was. “Do no’ be growlin’ ye beasty,” she told him sternly. “Whose turn do ye suppose it be to tell me there will be no milk this morn?” she asked the dog before opening the door.
’Twas a man she had only caught a glimpse of once or twice before when she’d been out of doors. He appeared to be around forty, with thinning, dirty hair, yellow eyes, and tattered clothes. He positively reeked of stale ale and sweat.
“Good morn, mistress,” he said as he fidgeted with the dingy cap he held in his hands.
“Good morn,” she replied. “Are ye here to tell me there will be no milk this day?” Accustomed now to the daily visits of one person or another who would inform her there would be no milk.
He swallowed hard before answering. “Aye, mistress,” he said rather nervously.
“Ye can go back to Charles Bowie and tell them no’ to bother anymore. I plan on buyin’ me own cow.” She was not necessarily angry with this poor soul, but with Charles Bowie and the fact he was not brave enough to face her in person. It should not be this difficult to get a bit of milk. Irritated with the situation as a whole, she was about the shut the door when he stopped her.
“Mistress?” he said, swallowing hard once again. “Would ye be havin’ a chore I could do in exchange fer a bit o’ bread?”
Whether ’twas his worn clothes, haggard appearance, or his countenance, she could not rightly say. But there was something about the man that indicated a tremendous amount of sadness. Feeling guilty for being so discourteous a moment ago, she said, “Of course!” as she pulled him into the kitchen.
Patches lifted his head and protested the intrusion with a low growl.
“Wheest!” Leona scolded him. Wagging her finger at the mutt, she said, “Ye do no’ growl at our guests.”
He whimpered once, then lay his head down to return to his nap.
To her guest she said, “Do no’ worry over Patches. I’ll make certain he leaves ye be.”
Hunger apparently won over fear of the dog. Cautiously, he stepped inside and waited next to the door with his eyes glued to the big dog.
“What be yer name?” she asked politely.
“Willem Bowie, mistress,” he answered.
“And what do ye do here, Willem?”
Behind his dull eyes, she caught a flutter of shame. “Odd jobs here and there,” he replied.
Leona could not help but wonder if he worked only long enough to earn enough coin for drink, but kept her suspicions to herself. “I could use a few buckets of water,” Leona told him. “And I will be givin’ ye more than a bit of bread fer yer hard work.”
“Thank ye, kindly, mistress,” he said. Apprehensively, he donned his cap and took the buckets Leona offered him.
It
did not take him long to return. “What else could I help ye with, mistress?” he asked from a spot near the door.
She studied him closely for a long moment, with her index finger tapping at her upper lip. Letting out a heavy sigh, she asked, “When was the last time ye had a good, hot meal? Or a bath?”
His face burned red with humiliation. “I get along well enough, mistress.” He was clearly insulted by her questions.
“Oh, I am most certain that ye do, Willem. But ye see, I be in need of some help.”
He eyed her suspiciously for a long moment. “What kind of help?”
“How are ye at choppin’ wood?” she asked.
“I ken how to swing an axe, mistress,” he said, once again insulted by the question.
Offering him her most sincere smile, she said, “Good, because I fear I used the last of me wood this morn. Now, I can no’ pay ye in coin, but I can pay ye with hot meals and a hot bath, if ye’d be agreeable.”
He thought on it for a brief moment before answering. “Aye. I reckon we could come to such an agreement.”
“Good!” she exclaimed happily. “I would also like ye to see about gettin’ me a cow.”
Perplexed, he asked, “A cow, mistress? But I thought ye said ye were already gettin’ a cow?
“The thought of getting me own cow just occurred to me when ye gave me Charles Bowie’s message. So can ye help me?”
He rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw and pondered the situation. “I could ask around. How much are ye willin’ to pay fer one?”
She had no good idea what a milk cow might cost, but did not divulge that bit of information. “It depends on what the askin’ price is,” she replied with a wink.
Apparently amused with his mistress, Willem chuckled softly. “Well then, I shall see what I can learn fer ye.”
With their agreement set, Leona went to the larder and pulled out the wood tub she’d been using for her own baths. “Fetch some more water, Willem,” she told him as she stepped back into the larder.
“More water? Weren’t the two I brought ye enough?” he asked curiously.
“No’ for the bath ye’re goin’ to take.”
It took some cajoling and a few threats to convince Willem Bowie that he did, in fact, need a bath. By threatening never to feed him again if he didn’t agree, Leona got him out of the kitchen. He returned in a short while with clean clothes. He wasn’t the first stubborn Highlander she’d ever dealt with. She learned much about Willem as he bathed behind the screen. For instance, he was a widower, his two children, both young men now, were married with children of their own. They lived in Kinbrea. He lived alone, in a tiny little cottage at the very edge of the glen, not far from Dougall’s home.
After he had bathed, she fed him a fine meal of rabit stew, warm bread, and sweet cakes. Clean and with a full stomach, he was ready to do whatever she wished.
“I’ll need ye to chop wood for me. I need wood for the kitchen, as well as inside the keep, and the laundry. I could use some fresh kindlin’ as well.”
When he wiped his face on his sleeve, Leona cringed inwardly. ‘Twould take a good deal of scrubbing to get the stains out of his sleeves.
“As ye wish, m’lady,” he said with a low, flourishing bow.
With Willem fed and on his way to chop wood, she decided ’twas a good time to take a meal to Melvin Bowie. She would take him the rest of the rabbit stew, some bread, butter and honey, as well as a few sweet cakes.
With her basket packed, she headed off to spend some time with the auld man.
This time, when she left the keep and crossed over the drawbridge, Alec hadn’t followed her. Apparently he had come to agree with her that she did not need an escort to visit the small village.
The day was quiet and still, with the sun bright and warm. Even the birds seemed to be at rest this day, for there was no continuous chattering or twittering coming from the trees. There were only a few children out and about. Mayhap this was the time of day they all rested.
Leona was quite surprised when she came upon Melvin at his cottage. For the first time since she met him, he wasn’t abed asleep. Nay, he was sitting just outside, on a three-legged stool, soaking up the warm summer sun. He looked far better today than he had in her short time here. He actually had some color in his cheeks and his eyes sparkled.
“Melvin,” she called out to him. “Ye look verra well this day!”
Using his walking stick, he tried to stand.
“Please, do no’ get up on my account,” she told him with a wave of her hand. “’Tis glad I am to see ye up and out of doors, and on such a fine day.”
“It is a fine day. I do no’ ken why, but I woke up this morn, full of vigor and vim,” he said with a warm smile. “And ’tis good to see ye, lass.”
She set the basket on the ground at her feet before coming to stand beside him. He had a most excellent view. Just beyond the cottages to the north, were rolling, grass-covered hills. To the east, a vast woods that seemed to go on forever. She caught sight of something in the distance in those old woods. She could just barely make it out. The roof of a tower mayhap?
“Melvin, what be that?” she asked, pointing to the structure in question.
He turned slightly but could not see what she was pointing at.
“It looks like a tower made of stone.”
“Och, that!” Melvin said. “It be the tower from the auld keep.”
“The auld keep?” she asked, her curiosity growing.
“Aye. Bring that basket inside for me and I’ll tell ye all about it.”
Leona first helped Melvin inside before setting the food out for him. With cups of cider poured, she sat across from him and listened intently.
“Ye see, about a hundred years ago, our keep was nestled inside those woods ye saw. ’Twas a good keep, made mostly of wood, ye ken. Well, we were fuedin’ with the Randalls back then. Who kens why or what started the feud, ’twas so long ago.” He took a breath, then a few bites of the rabbit stew. “’Tis fine stew ye make lass, verra fine stew. Me Jannet, she was no’ much of a cook, but she kept me from starvin’ fer many a year.”
Leona thanked him for his compliment. “Why do we no longer live in the auld keep?” she asked, helping him to return to the topic she was so curious about.
He swallowed a bite of bread and took a long drink of cider before continuing with his story. “Because they burnt us out.”
“Who burnt us, I mean, the Bowies, out?”
“The bloody Randalls. The cowards waited until a time when our best warriors were out on a hunt. Then they attacked in the middle of the night, or so the story goes. ’Twas a blood bath, a dark, dark night fer the Bowies. The auld tower still stands, though God only kens why. I think because ’twas the newest structure built then, and built out of stone it was.” His tone turned sad, the smile dwindled. “They burnt nearly everything to the earth. They killed many of our people, including women and children.”
The Bowies had done the same thing to the McLarens not long ago, when they attacked in the dead of night to kidnap Rose. ‘Twas difficult to feel any amount of sympathy, save for loss of innocent children. But she kept that opinion to herself.
“The chief at the time, his name was Alexander, he lost his wife and all but one of his children. Devastated he was at their loss. We rebuilt, where the keep now stands. ’Tis why we have a moat, and nearly everything built from stone. It took some ten years to build, or so the story goes.”
She could not help but wonder if the Bowies were always so ruthless. Had they always been thieves and raiders? If so, she couldn’t rightly blame them. Such a devastation would have a tremendous impact on a person. To lose everything, to have it all destroyed. “Melvin, is that when the clan turned to, well, to a life of, well, that is to say,” she fought hard for the politest way to voice her question.
Melvin laughed then. A full, loud belly laugh. “Be that when the clan turned to reivin’?” He asked as he chuckled. “Nay lass
, we’ve always been a ruthless lot of thieves and reivers and raiders!”
After enjoying her time with Melvin, Leona left him so he could have a quiet afternoon nap. At the last minute, she decided she would first visit Effie before returning to the keep.
As she rounded the corner to Effie’s, she spotted Dougall standing behind the cottage. He had one hand on the wall and he was doubled over. Leona ran down the little lane. “Dougall?” she said his name as she cautiously approached.
Hearing her, he looked up. He was as pale as a sheet. Sweat poured off his face, dripped off the tip of his nose. His green tunic was plastered to his body. “Good lord!” she exclaimed.
“Good day to ye, mistress,” he said as he tried to stand to his full height. He winced as he rubbed his belly.
Leaving her basket on the ground, she went to him. The smell of vomit hit her nostrils as soon as she was next to him. Putting an arm around his waist, she said, “Let us get ye inside, Dougall. Ye look like death.”
He chuckled slightly, but accepted her help without complaint. “I fear I must have eaten somethin’ that did no’ agree with me.”
“From the looks of ye, I’d say it hated ye.” When he put more of his weight against her, she let out a grunt.
When they made their way to his door, he leaned against the wall for support while she opened it. Effie, who had been sitting at the table peeling vegetables, jumped to her feet when she saw Leona struggling to get Dougall inside.
“What on earth?” Effie exclaimed as she came to her husband’s side. “Dougall, what happened?”
With a groan, he fell onto their bed before Effie could pull back the furs. “I fear I do no’ feel well,” he said.
Leona gave a very un-ladylike grunt. “No’ well?” She begged to differ. As Effie filled the basin with water, Leona explained what she’d seen. “When I came down the lane, he was doubled over. And he’s been throwin’ up.”
Effie pulled a stool from near the hearth and sat down next to her husband. “Ye look like death,” she told him.
“That seems to be the growin’ opinion,” Dougall said with a grimace. “But I assure ye, I be fine. I must have eaten somethin’ that did no’ agree with me.”
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 18
