Inside the keep, a tranquil peace filled the grand place. It sat as still as a frozen stream in winter time. Dark, calm, and seemingly at sleep. The only identifiable sound below stairs was the soft crackle of a low-burning fire.
A few torches, burning softly, cast the stairway in soft shades of gold and saffron. Otherwise, the space was dark.
The lone figure, cloaked in wool, a cowl covering its head, crept up the stairs. Soft footfalls against the stone steps barely discernible in the sleepy, calm keep. It moved effortlessly and was unaware of other cloaked figures hiding in the darkness. One stone stair step at a time, it moved unchallenged but not unseen.
The corridors above were darker. No torches lighting the way. But the ghostly figure knew this keep well. Every nook, every cranny, almost as well as the back of its own hand.
Noiselessly, the door to the laird’s chambers was pushed open, a hairsbreadth at a time. Peering inside, it could see the object of all its hate, lying in the laird’s bed. Leona.
A single lit candle sat on a small table in a corner of the room. It flickered and danced slowly, along with the low-burning flames in the hearth.
Heedful of the danger it was taking, it stepped cautiously inside. A quick glance about the room said it was alone once again.
A sense of calm fell over the figure as it stepped soundlessly toward the bed. I have tried to kill ye twice before, Leona, but I failed. I shall no’ fail again.
Long, slender fingers reached out from under the cloak. Moving slowly so as not to wake its prey, it reached for a pillow. ’Twas no’ the way I wanted to kill ye. But ye will be dead all the same.
Holding the pillow with both hands, it slowly lowered it over Leona’s face.
Alec had let it be known that he would be in the barracks with his men that night, working on a plan to find the person responsible for putting Leona in the well. Intentionally, they had spread the word far and wide, that Leona had not wakened yet, her prognosis grim. Adding to the rumor, ’twas told Leona had hit her head during her fall to the bottom of that well. No one knew if she would live through the night, let alone wake from that deep sleep and name her attacker.
He had watched from the dark shadowy spaces of the gathering room, as the cloaked figure ascended the stairs. With nerves of steel and a fierce determination to seek justice, he waited until the figure was out of sight before making his move.
Well trained as both a thief and a warrior, Alec moved stealthily, noiselessly up the stairs. He watched from the shadows once again, as the figure stepped into his bedchamber.
Inside the doorway, he stood and watched as that cloaked figure lifted a pillow and placed it over Leona’s head. He was on it in a few quick strides, lifting it up and away from his wife. Immediately, his men swarmed the room.
“Och! Alec! I be so glad ye’re here! I came to check on Leona, and saw someone had placed a pillow over her head!”
With his jaw clenched, Alec dragged the figure below stairs, against noisy claims of innocence. “I was tryin’ to help her, Alec!”
He shoved her into a chair by the fire. Kyth and Gylys stood behind her and held her in place with their hands on her shoulders.
“Alec, ye must believe me!”
“Effie, stop!” he yelled. His booming voice bounced off the walls. “I ken ’twas ye!”
“Nay, Alec, I swear it! Leona be me friend!” She feigned ignorance, feigned true concern. Her brown eyes filled with tears as she pleaded with him to believe her.
But Alec knew better. Leona, though quite ill, was awake long enough to tell him ’twas Effie who was poisoning Dougall. ’Twas also Effie who had thrown her into the well.
“Silence!” he shouted as he took a step away. Shaking his head in disgust, and aye, disbelief. He paced in front of her for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, as he tried to quash the near-ferrel need to strangle her with his bare hands.
When he was able to look at her again, he studied her closely. She was still lying, with her eyes, the false tears, and pained expression.
Leona had been unable to tell him much of anything, other than identifying Effie as her attacker. She told me she was poisonin’ Dougall with a tisane. She killed her own da as well.
Those facts were soon confirmed by Mairi, just a few short hours ago. “When I first saw Dougall, I thought ’twas something he’d eaten. I never said he had the wastin’ disease.”
Lies upon lies. Rumors, secrets and more lies. All from the lips of a woman he had known the whole of his life. “Why, Effie?” he asked. “Why did ye do it?”
The look of stunned surprise faded slowly. Soon, ’twas replaced with indignant indifference. She refused to answer.
“Take her to the dungeon,” Alec ordered. “I want at least two men watching her at all times.”
As Kyth and Gylys dragged her away, she kicked and screamed. “Ye will regret this, Alec Bowie! I will make certain of it!”
He might have many regrets, and would undoubtedly accumulate more over the course of his lifetime. But capturing Effie Bowie and sentencing her to death would not be one of them.
Chapter 33
After seeing to it that Effie had been caught and locked away, Alec immediately returned to his wife. From their bedchamber, he gave the order to have Dougall and his sons brought to the keep, and given quarters across the hall, beside Slaien and Fionn. ‘Twould make it far easier for Mairi to tend to them.
He’d ordered that not a word be spoken about Effie in front of her sons. If, by some miracle, Dougall lived, ‘twould be best the news came from him. The younger boys kept asking after Effie. “Where be our mum?” Alec told them that she too, was quite ill and left it at that.
Dougall was far too ill to speak, let alone able to make any sense of the events. Later, if and when he got better, Alec would tell him. Patrice thanked him for the noble effort, and asked permission to take care of him. Alec agreed.
One of the womenfolk volunteered to act as wet nurse to Archibald. Poor Adhaira was run ragged with fetching water, bandages, and whatever else was called for. Kyth was all too willing to help her. Alec could not help but wonder if there wasn’t a romance budding betwixt the two.
Gylys was all too happy to continue helping with Fionn and Slaien.
Leona’s fevers came and went for the remainder of the night. Alec never left her side once he returned to it. Occasionally, he would doze off as he lay beside her, holding her hand, but otherwise did not speak. There were too many emotions running rampant through his heart. He would not speak them aloud until she was awake and could hear.
’Twas late the following night when Alec left the chamber. Though there was no longer a clear danger to his wife, his men still kept watch below stairs. He had to admire their dedication and loyalty.
Curiosity had taken a strong foothold in his mind. He had to know the why of it all. He passed through the gathering room where his men asked after Leona. There had been very little change since the night before. The fevers still came and went, he informed them before thanking them for their concern and diligence.
Through the gathering room, and down the corridor, he went to the dungeons. One of his men was sitting in a chair at a small table, the other in a chair leaning against the wall next to Effie’s cell.
When he’d been made chief, one of the first orders he’d given was to have all the torture devices and implements of death removed. Everything had been set afire in an open field not far from the keep.
For a brief moment - with his grief and rage so profound — he almost wished now that he hadn’t given that order.
Effie was lying on a cot, facing the wall. Alec took a slow, steadying breath before speaking to her. “Effie,” he said. “I should like to talk to ye.”
She was still and quiet for so long that he wondered if she wasn’t dead.
“And if I should no’ like to talk to ye?” she finally replied.
“I want to know the why of it, Effie.”
“What benefit i
s it to me, if I tell ye?” she countered.
If she thought to negotiate her way into a lenient sentence, she was sadly mistaken.
“Help me understand, Effie. I can no’ pass sentence on ye unless I ken the why of it.” ’Twas a full-out lie, but one he was willing to speak in order to gain answers.
A bit of time passed before she let out a heavy sigh and sat up to face him.
“Did ye know that I was once betrothed to Eduard?” she asked as she slowly got to her feet.
Nay, he had never heard that bit of news.
“I was all of seven and ten, ye ken. Och, how I loved that man!” She began to pace, slowly, back and forth, as she told her tale.
“I was to be the chief’s wife, ye ken. The chatelaine of the keep. People would adore me. They would bow at me feet. Eduard would adorn me in fine jewels, silk dresses, and treat me as if I were a queen.”
Alec hadn’t lived here at that time. He was in Italy, gaining his education. Would he not have heard some rumor upon his return?
“I got with his child,” she went on to tell him. “Wills, he be no’ Dougall’s, but Eduard’s.”
’Twas something else he was not aware of, but made no comment on the matter. Later, he would ask Dougall for verification.
“Me dear da, he did no’ care at all for Eduard. He thought him too pompous and said he had a black heart. He talked Eduard in to settin’ me aside, Da did. I hated him fer it. But since I was with child, I needed a husband. Da somehow persuaded Dougall to marry me. At the time, I was so angry, I did no’ care. I hated Patrice as much as I hated me da. So marryin’ Dougall? ’Twas one way I could make her hurt. I was Da’s favorite until she came along and ruined everythin’.”
She paused at the wall, using her fingernail to scrape at one of the stones. Alec knew that Dougall had always held Effie’s father in high regard. He was the father Dougall never had.
“It hurt Patrice, it surely did, when ’twas announced I’d be marryin’ Dougall. ’Twas no less than what the conniving wench deserved.”
“Dougall never said a word of this to me,” Alec said.
“Of course no’!” Effie laughed. “He be too honorable, too much of a good man! He is as big a weak-minded, insipid fool as me da was!”
Her tone of voice, the malice sickened him. Still, he listened patiently, hoping she would eventually begin to make some sense.
“For years, I resigned meself to the fact that I would never be chatelaine,” Effie told him as she leaned her head against the stone wall. “For years, I pretended to be happy. Pretended to love Dougall.” She snorted derisively. “I hate him as much as I hated me da.” Turning again to pace, she said, “But what was I to do? I had no other choice. Then, one day me prayers were answered when Aggie Mackintosh killed Eduard.” She paused and looked at Alec once again. “I mourned his loss, I truly did. Even after all those years, I still loved him, even though he was black-hearted and selfish.” She smiled fondly at memories she was not about to share. She was lost in a quite reverie; ’twas the sound of a chair scraping against stone that brought her out of it.
“But then Rutger became chief and my hope was renewed.” she exclaimed. “I seduced him - yer fool of a brother. I did no’ love him. He was an eejit, ye ken. But if I wanted to be chatelaine, lettin’ him crawl on top of me was worth it.”
Although a knot had formed deep in the pit of his stomach, Alec kept a calm facade.
“I started to poison Dougall back then. Slowly, this time, so as no’ to draw too much suspicion. But then Rutger set his eye on Patrice. Bah! Why do all the men want her? When she is weak? What is wrong with strong women who can see the truth more clearly than anyone else?”
Alec would make no attempt to answer.
“When I told yer brother I was with child, that ’twas his, he denied it. Refused to claim him. But he was dead before I could do anythin’ about it. Archibald be Rutger’s.”
Somehow, that did not surprise him.
“Then came ye,” she said, taking a few steps toward him. “The great and powerful Alec Bowie!” She shook her head in disgust before spitting on the floor. “The bringer of peace! I would have married ye, Alec! I would have! But ye went off and married yer witch. Yer odd-eyed, tetched-in-the-head, witch!”
“Did ye truly think I would marry ye?” he asked, appalled at the notion.
“Ye would have,” she said. “I would have seduced ye one way or another. Everyone kens I can get with child easily. And with Dougall dead, ye’d have married me out of yer strong sense of honor and duty! But ye married Leona instead!”
His level of disgust was undeniable. “Ye’re mad!” he said. “Ye tried to kill Dougall and Leona, all so that ye might be the chatelaine?”
“Och! Alec, aye! I have killed before, ye ken. I killed me da. Everyone thought ’twas a heart ailment, because that is what they wanted to believe.”
Patrice had been half right. Her father had been poisoned, but not by Mairi’s hand.
Disgusted, he started to step away. Effie stopped him by reaching through the black, steel bars. “Alec, wait!” she cried out. “We can still be together! Leona will no’ live much longer. Ye could challenge Dougall and kill him. We could be together, Alec! We can put these crazy ideas of yers fer peace aside. We can build this clan back to what it once was! Do you no’ see?”
He yanked his arm from her grasp. “See?” he asked, appalled. “All I see is a woman so filled with greed and hate that she would kill innocent people just to get what she wants.”
As he walked away, she continued her tirade. “Alec! I can give ye more than Leona ever will! Alec! Do no’ walk away from me!”
Even if Effie were not deranged, she could never have given him what Leona had: a peaceful, loving home.
Alec stayed by Leona’s side for another two days. Still, she had yet to waken from her fever-induced sleep. Betimes, she would whimper and cry out in her sleep. Others, she lay so still and quiet he thought she had passed away.
He rarely slept, refused to eat or to leave her side. When she woke, he wanted his face to be the first thing she saw. His voice, giving her the words he wanted her to have.
’Twas late on the evening of the third day after her rescue that things took a turn for the worse. Mairi and Adhaira had come to check on her and to change her sweat-soaked sheets. ’Twas then they saw the blood. They had to call for Kyth and Gylys to physically remove him from the room.
An hour later, Mairi was telling him that Leona had lost her babe.
A babe he had no idea even existed until ’twas too late.
“She swore me to secrecy, Alec,” Mairi explained as they stood in the hallway outside his bedchamber. “She wanted to be the one to tell ye.”
Alec stood as still as stone as his eyes bored holes in the floor at his feet. Working his jaw back and forth, clenching and unclenching his teeth, he seethed with fury. “Ye should have told me,” he said, his voice low and scratchy.
“Alec, I could no’ break a confidence,” Mairi replied. “Why are ye so angry?”
He raised his head to look her in the eye and realized, she thought he was angry with her. “I be angry with Effie,” he told her. “’Tis all her fault!”
’Twas a point that Mairi could no’ argue.
“What be Effie’s fault?” ’Twas Dougall’s voice coming from behind Alec’s shoulder. For the first time in days, the man was out of bed. Alec thought he still looked like death. Patrice stepped out of the room and placed a comforting hand on Dougall’s side. “Come, Dougall, we need to talk.”
Dougall bore the most confused expression on his face. Too weak to argue, he allowed Patrice to see him back to bed.
Alec was not yet ready to have a meaningful discussion with Dougall. Nay, he placed no blame at Dougall’s feet. It all belonged to Effie.
’Twas only out of respect for her children as well as Dougall, that Alec hadn’t already ordered her hanging. But Effie was the last person he wanted to be thinking ab
out now. He had to focus on Leona.
His voice caught on the lump in his throat when he asked Mairi his next question. “Be she all right? Can she—”
Mairi knew exactly what he was going to ask. “Aye, Alec. She can have more children.”
His shoulders sagged with much relief. Not for his own needs, but for love of his wife. Above all else, she wanted to fill this cursed keep with as many children as she could manage to bear.
He raked a hand through his hair as he let loose a heavy breath, his mind reeling, his heart breaking for the loss of the babe.
“Alec,” Mairi spoke in hushed tones. “Ye have sat by yer wife fer days now. But ye do no’ speak a word to her. Why is that?”
“She can no’ hear me,” he replied.
“Of course she can hear ye. She might no’ be able to understand all of what ye’re saying, but she can hear ye. Though, she might no’ remember any of it when she wakes.”
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Do ye think she will live?” ’Twas the one question he had refused to ask until now. His worry was so intense, he did not know how much more he could bear.
Mairi was not going to lie to him. “Alec, I honestly do no’ ken. A few weeks ago, I would have sworn to ye that Slaien would no’ make it through the night. And now look at her. Sitting up in the bed, able to eat broth and bread. ’Tis a miracle if ever I saw one.”
“Do ye think God will grant us another miracle?”
Mairi shrugged a shoulder. “I do no’ ken. But I reckon ye should ask Him.”
Alec rolled his eyes heavenward. ’Twas not that he did not believe in God or the power of prayer. But certainly God would have turned his back on this motley band of thieves, traitors, and ne’er-do-wells long ago.
“Alec, I will tell ye somethin’ that I do know.”
He cast her a suspicious look before bidding her continue.
“Ye need to give Leona the words. The words to either leave God’s earth in peace, or to stay. The choice be yers.” With that, she left him to go back to Leona.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 42
