He had let his clan down. Had convinced them that farming was their only path to a brighter future. He could not have been more wrong.
And Leona. Knowing her as he did, she would put on a happy face and try to make him feel better about it. She would convince him that there was hope, no matter how bleak the present situation might be.
Angry with himself, angry with those arrogant clan chiefs who had refused to see him, and angry at the world, he thundered into the keep.
Leona was waiting for him in the foyer. She looked radiant. Resplendent. Beautiful. But not quite radiant or sweet enough to calm his tortured soul.
“Alec!” she exclaimed as she raced to greet him with open arms.
How on earth was he going to tell her the truth? He’d led his clan down a path of ruin. No better than his brother, or those chief’s before him.
“Leona,” he said coldly. “I be tired and weary.” Half-heartedly, he returned her warm embrace. He felt completely unworthy of her love or devotion.
She stepped back, her brow twisted into a line of confusion. Aye, he caught the glimmer of hurt flash behind her odd eyes. ’Twould be nothing compared to how hurt she was going to be when she learned of his utter and total defeat.
“A bath awaits ye in our bedchamber,” she said, as she painted a happy expression on her face.
He offered her a curt nod before hurrying above stairs.
Do no’ take it to heart, Leona tried convincing herself. He is tired and weary from his travels, nothing more.
Holding her tears at bay, she decided it might be best to leave him alone for at least a little while. She would give him time to bathe and rest, without her hovering over him like flies over honey. Besides, she had a feast to help prepare.
She had been planning tonight’s meal for days. As soon as she had received word that Alec was returning, she set her plans in motion. Many people had been invited to attend the feast, as a surprise for her husband. Then afterwards, when they were alone, she would share her good news with him.
Though his response to her embrace and joy stung like a slap in the face, she knew that once she told him about their babe, his attitude would improve by leaps and bounds. Or at least that was her fervent prayer as she left the foyer and went to the kitchens.
’Twas undeniable: he did not deserve to have a wife such as Leona. Why could he have not told her that he had missed her desperately? Why couldn’t he compliment her on her new dress, or how pretty her hair looked all loose and flowing down her back?
Alec stood alone in their bedchamber, staring at the hot water rising from the tub. Clean clothes were laid out neatly for him on the bed. Clean boots sat on the floor next to those. She’d even thought to have a fresh plaid waiting.
A tray of dried meats, cheeses, breads and fruit sat on the table by the fire. Along with it, a flagon of fine whisky. He poured a large dram into the mug and tossed it back as easily as if it were water. It didn’t burn, for he’d been drinking for the last few days.
She had done all of this for him. Undeserving, foolish lout that he was.
As much as he wanted to go below stairs and apologize as well as thank her for her thoughtfulness, he couldn’t. Coward. She deserved more, she deserved better.
He stripped out of his muck-covered clothes and slid into the hot bath. The warm water was soothing, helping to ease his tense muscles. But it did little to clear his mind.
After scrubbing from head to toe, he stepped out of the bath, wrapped a cloth around his waist before pouring himself another dram of whisky. This one he drank slowly as he sat by the warm hearth and stared into the flickering flames.
’Twas probably not wise to drink alone, especially when one’s personal opinion of oneself was at an all time low. But Alec cared not for anything wise. He was awash in self-loathing.
In the hour that passed by, he had finished the whisky. Every last drop of it, all the while his self-appreciation dwindling until he felt as worthy as a slug. Lowlier than a worm.
How much more time passed before a knock came at his door, he couldn’t say. He was too far into his cups. He growled at whomever it was to enter.
’Twas Traigh, one of the men he’d left behind to guard his wife.
“What?” Alec ground out harshly.
Traigh blinked once before answering. “Yer wife would like ye to ken that she waits below stairs. ’Tis time fer the evenin’ meal.”
Alec grunted as he stared blurry-eyed at the young man. “Tell her I shall be along shortly.”
Traigh gave a curt nod before quitting the room.
Alec dressed, pulled on his boots and sword belt with as much enthusiasm as a man going to the gallows. God, I do no’ want to face her. No’ yet.
Much to his surprise, he found his gathering room filled with guests. An additional table had been brought in to seat everyone. His men took up two full tables. At the main table sat Patrice, Willem, Gylys, auld Melvin, Mairi, and Adhaira.
“What are ye all doin’ here?” he asked as he took his seat at the head of the table.
Patrice was the first to notice his odd mood and did her best to explain. “Leona wanted to give ye a fine welcome home, m’laird.”
He grunted before reaching for his mug. ’Twas empty.
“Would ye like some ale?” Patrice asked. Without waiting for a response she stood, picked up the pitcher, and came to stand beside him. She had to hold his hand steady while she poured the ale.
“Thank ye kindly, fair maiden!” he said as he knocked back the ale. “Pour me more!”
All eyes in the room were on Alec. Aye, they’d seen him drunk before, but never to this extent.
“Mayhap a bit of cider would be best,” Patrice suggested. “Leona has put a good deal of thought into this meal.”
Alec laughed heartily. “Patrice, ye’ll make some man a fine wife someday! Now, pour me more ale.”
Not wanting to cause a disturbance, Patrice debated on what she should do. Leona had returned to the kitchen to grab a pot of Alec’s favorite jam. She leaned in closely to whisper into his ear. “Alec, please. Leona will return soon. Mayhap ye should have some cider.”
Apparently, he found her pleas for decency humorous. Throwing his head back, he laughed heartily again. “Och! Patrice! Have ye learned yer naggin skills from me wife?”
He gave her no time to answer before he pulled her into his lap. She was still holding the pitcher of ale, and the sudden action caused it to spill and splatter all over her skirts.
“What else has me wife been teachin’ ye in me absence?” Alec’s words were slurred, his eyes bloodshot from far too much drink.
Patrice giggled nervously. “Alec, I think ye should let me go.”
“Bah!” he said before laughing again.
The next voice he heard was that of his very angry wife.
Leona had not seen everything that transpired before she entered the room. But she had seen enough.
Anger and hurt filled her already weak stomach. She marched across the floor and stood but a few steps from Alec and Patrice.
“Kindly remove yer person from me husband’s lap,” she seethed, glaring at Patrice.
“Leona,” Patrice said, flushing with shame. “’Tis no’ what ye think.”
“I said, remove yer person from me husband’s lap.”
Patrice tried to wriggle free, but Alec would have none of it. Still filled with self-loathing and anger over his failure to sell their crops, he refused to let Patrice go. Staring into his wife’s eyes, he said, “She’ll no’ move until I say so. I am the laird of this keep.”
’Twas a full-on challenge. The gauntlet was thrown, the lines in the sand drawn.
Leona would not back down. She was too hurt, too angry to think logically. She leaned in a bit closer. “Ye promised me, Alec.”
“I promised ye what?” he demanded in a low tone.
She swallowed back the tears. Nay, she would not let him see her pain, not right now. “Ye promised me that i
f ever ye took a mistress ye would no’ flaunt her in front of me.”
“Och! Leona, I be no’—”
“Patrice, I suggest ye be quiet, fer I will no’ be responsible for me own actions should ye keep talkin’.” ’Twas the most powerful wound to her pride and her heart that Leona had ever felt.
“What are ye goin’ on about?” he asked, his words were slurred and filled with malice.
“’Tis as plain as the whore sittin’ on yer lap,” Leona replied.
Alec stayed Patrice’s retort by squeezing her waist. Leona’s accusations only added fuel to Alec’s burning fury. “I am the bloody laird of this keep! I am the bloody chief! I shall do what I want, when I want, and ye will no’ stop me!”
Leona slammed the pot of jam onto the table. “Then fix yer own bloody meals from now on!” She cared not now who heard them or who witnessed the display.
Alec all but tossed Patrice from his lap. Thankfully, Willem was there to catch her before she fell to the floor.
Alec was towering over Leona, but she did not cower, did not back down. Why that infuriated him, he was too drunk to figure out. Leona did something unexpected then. She took a few steps forward, leaned her head back and looked him directly in the eye. He found her behavior distinctly unnerving, but was not about to admit it.
“Ye’ve lost yer mind, woman! Orderin’ a man about in his own keep!”
“Might I remind ye that this is my home as well?” she asked him through gritted teeth.
“Bah!” he exclaimed as he threw his hands in the air and stepped away. “Ye and yer bloody home!” His head was beginning to pound. “’Tis a keep, nay a wee cottage. I keep tellin’ ye such, but ye will no’ listen!”
Leona glowered at him, waiting patiently for him to end his tirade so that she might have a word or two of her own.
The tapestries by the hearth caught his attention. He thundered angrily across the floor and yanked one of them from the wall. Leona was appalled at his behavior.
“Ye think I have no’ noticed all the brick-a-brack, wife? Think ye I have no’ noticed what ye’ve done to this keep? Turnin’ it into yer version of a warm and happy home. Bah!”
“Think ye a few tapestries or curtains make a warm and happy home?” she yelled back at him.
“Bloody hell! Ye make no sense, woman!” He tossed the tapestry to the floor and went to the next and tore it down. “I never wanted this! I never wanted any of this! If I could have one wish, ‘twould be fer everythin’ to go back to the way it was before ye ever arrived!”
His words hurt more than fists or belts or even a sword to her heart ever could. Mustering all the dignity she could imagine, she grabbed a fist full of skirt. “Verra well, Alec Bowie,” she began. Her tone was even, yet firm. “Yer wish is my command.” She offered him her most elegant curtsy before quitting the gathering room and heading for the stairs.
Her guests had witnessed the entire spectacle through stunned and perplexed eyes. They sat now in stone silence, uncertain what they should do or say. Alec, who was swaying to and fro, looked out at the silent onlookers. “Bah!” he yelled as he waved his arms. “Leave us!”
They scurried like leaves in an autumn wind.
Gylys and Kyth had followed their mistress above stairs. Not because they worried for her safety, but because they were appalled by their laird’s behavior and wanted to make certain she was all right.
Leona threw open the door to her room and immediately headed for her trunk. She tossed open the lid and began shoving her belongings into it.
“What are ye doin’, mistress?” Gylys asked with a good measure of uncertainty.
“Granting me husband’s wish,” she said. Her voice cracked, but she fought hard to keep those injured tears away.
The two men stood at the doorway, neither knowing what they should do. Or if anything they could say would help soothe her injured feelings. “Mistress,” Kyth said as he took a step inside. “Alec did no’ mean what he said. He be drunk.”
Leona grunted as she grabbed her cloak from the peg. “I care no’ what his reasons,” she told them. “I can no’ help but feel he meant all that he said. Now please, take me trunk below stairs. And get me a horse. I wish to away this place tonight.”
Now, both Kyth and Gylys knew unequivocally that there was no way in hell Alec was going to allow her to leave. Drunk or sober. “’Tis no’ less than what he deserves,” Kyth muttered to Gylys.
Gylys was of the same mindset. While Kyth hefted the heavy trunk, Gylys led the way out of the bedchamber and down the stairs.
Alec knew he had hurt his wife. Deeply and most profoundly. But what could he do about it now? He raked a hand through his hair and headed toward the stairs. Mayhap a good night’s sleep would do them both good. In the morn, when he was sober, when his head was clearer, he would apologize and beg her forgiveness.
He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when she began her descent. Even in his current state of inebriation, he knew she was as enraged as she was hurt. But what confused him was that she was wearing her cloak. And what the bloody hell was Kyth doing carrying her trunk?
He blocked her path by spreading his arms out. “What do ye think ye be doin’?” he asked.
She quirked a brow. “Givin’ ye yer wish, m’laird. I will be leavin’ now.”
“The bloody hell ye will!” he said through gritted teeth. “Kyth! Take that trunk back above stairs.” Kyth shook his head and turned to do his laird’s bidding.
Unbothered by his harsh tone, she said, “Kyth? Do no’ dare to take it back.”
Alec’s eyes grew wide, astonished his wife would defy him or that she would give his warrior an order. He was even more astonished when Kyth paused and turned back toward Leona.
“Kyth? Have ye a death wish?” Alec asked. “Take it back. Now.”
“Do no’ dare, Kyth,” Leona countered.
Alec grew livid. “Ye are no’ goin’ anywhere,” he told her.
“I am,” she politely informed him. “I am goin’ home.”
She was, of course, referring to Macktinosh lands. Home to Ian and Rose. Home to a place where she would not have to be ashamed to hold her head high.
“Nay, I think no’,” Alec said. He crossed his arms over his wide chest, his feet planted firmly apart.
“Need I remind ye, Laird Bowie, that ye signed an agreement the day we were married. In it, ye agreed to allow me to go back to my family at least twice a year. I wish to go now.”
Alec grunted, then growled. “They be no’ yer family. And ye’re no’ goin’.” He glared at Gylys. “And why the bloody hell are ye no’ takin’ her trunk back to our bedchamber?”
Gylys smiled wryly. “I be waitin’ to see who wins.”
Alec’s eyes all but sprang from their sockets. “Are ye daft? Take it back. Now!”
Gylys gave up. With a shrug of his shoulders and a disappointed shake of his head, he turned around and headed back up the stairs. Kyth remained on the landing to observe.
Leona realized that her husband was not going to allow her to leave. Too hurt and humiliated to care what he wanted, she lowered her voice. “But Alec, ye promised. Ye signed the contract.”
He said the first thing that came to his mind. “I lied.”
He lied? Nay, he could not have lied.
Leona studied him closely, waiting for a sign that he was not serious. He was glowering at her with bloodshot eyes as he worked his jaw back and forth. “Ye jest,” she stuttered.
“’Twas the only way to get ye to marry me!” His voice boomed and echoed off the empty walls.
The pain was too great. He had only signed her contract in order to get her to marry him. This was worse than discovering Patrice was his mistress. Far worse. That he had no intentions of keeping to the contract felt like a kick in the stomach. She would have preferred a beating over this.
Leona would rather die than let him see her cry, to allow him to know she was affected by this new revelation. She was
done. Without uttering another word, she turned away from Alec and went back to her room.
Gylys and Mairi were in the hallway, just outside Slaien and Fionn’s room. Leona ignored both of them, stepped into her own quarters and softly shut the door behind her.
In a daze, she sat by the hearth and stared into the flames. He lied to me. Like a tiny stream winding down her cheeks, the tears fell.
All this time I thought he truly cared. But he didn’t. At least no’ about me.
Working out the reasons for such a betrayal was easy. Peace. Peace for his clan had been his sole motivation for marrying her. But she had known that from the beginning.
But after? When she thought they were growing close, when she believed with all her heart he truly cared for her? Nay, ’twas nothing more than her vivid imagination wanting something she could never have. He needed to keep her happy in order to keep Ian Macktinosh from burning down this keep. These past few months had nothing to do with Leona the woman, but everything to do with his clan.
And Patrice? ’Twas one betrayal atop another. How could she not have seen it before? Effie had warned her more than once, that Patrice could not be trusted. ‘She’ll pretend to be yer friend, all the while she be plottin’ how she can put the knife in yer back,’ Effie had said numerous times. What she had previously thought was nothing more than a rift betwixt sisters, turned out to be true. Patrice could not be trusted.
He will never love ye, no’ as a woman, no’ for the person ye are. No matter how clean ye maintain his keep. No matter how many meals ye prepare. No matter how good and decent ye are. And no matter how many bairns ye give him. Alec will never love ye.
Thinking of the babe within, she placed her palms on her stomach. With her world shattering around her, the babe was the only thing she had to hold on to. A chill settled over her shoulders as she wept for the life she had imagined with Alec. ’Twould never happen now. That sweet life filled with love and laughter and tender moments with family and friends that she had somehow allowed her heart to imagine could happen.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 38
