The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens

by Suzan Tisdale

“Flatter ye? Ye think I am tryin’ to flatter ye?” She asked, aghast at the notion. “Ye’re daft!”

  They were inches apart now, with Alec atop his steed and Leona on her knees, fighting mad.

  “Daft?” he asked, as if he were giving a measure of thought to it. “I suppose I am.”

  She paused in mid insult, wholly surprised that he had agreed.

  “I am daft. Hopelessly and forever daft. And it be all yer fault.”

  “My fault?” she asked.

  “Aye, lass. I blame ye.”

  “Blame me fer what?”

  “Fer comin’ into me life and turnin’ it upside down and sideways. Fer showin’ me what a good and happy home can be. Fer makin’ me see what a man can have in his life.”

  Uncertainty and doubt reigned.

  “Ye see, I came to a profound realization lately,” he told her.

  “Ye have?” she asked, by now, thoroughly confused.

  “Aye. It seems I can no’ live without ye.”

  She blinked twice and swallowed hard. “Ye can no’?”

  He gave a slow shake of his head before flashing that smile she found so endearing. “I can no’,” he said. “Fer I love ye far too much to ever let ye go.”

  Her heart all but leapt from her chest. “Ye do?” she asked, uncertain she had heard him correctly.

  Alec pulled Ares closer, grabbed her about the waist and pulled her up to his lap. “Aye, I do. With every beat of me heart, I love ye more.”

  Tears fell and she cared not who saw them. She had no doubt that he meant the words he spoke so sweetly to her. “I love ye, too, Alec,” she said as she laid her head against his chest.

  Alec turned his horse around and headed toward their keep. Nay, their home.

  “I be thinkin’, mayhap we should draw up a new contract,” Leona told her husband.

  “And what will this new contract entail?” he dared ask.

  “The same as the original, but with a few additions,” she said as she rested her head against his chest again. “I should like to add that we will always be honest with one another. And when we are filled with grief and sorrow, no matter the cause, we will talk to each other, openly and without worry. No more turnin’ away from one another, aye?”

  He could live with that.

  “I will also add that ye’re never again to use yer sleeves to wipe yer mouth at me table. ’Tis disgustin’.”

  That, he could also live with.

  “And whenever we are together and ye need to leave the room or the keep, ye shall bid me a polite goodbye with a kiss. No more just walkin’ away.”

  Alec chuckled softly. “That should no’ be a problem,” he said before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  “No matter who might be around us, ye shall kiss me and bid me a good day. I mean it.”

  “I will,” he agreed once again.

  “And for all the rest of our days, ye shall love me, and tell me so at least once a day. No matter if me hair turns gray and I get wrinkled.”

  “Lass, ’twill be me great honor and privilege to grow auld with ye. And aye, I shall tell ye every day how much I love ye.” But he would tell her at least a dozen times.

  Alec kept the horse at a slow pace, so as not to bother Leona’s broken arm. Carefully, he wrapped his plaid around her, and hugged her gently.

  “I love ye, Leona,” he whispered as he lay his head against hers.

  “And I love ye, Alec Bowie.”

  Epilogue

  “Well, it be about time,” Rose declared as she climbed down from the cart. She smiled, a bright smile as she watched her friend ride away.

  Ian had pulled his horse alongside the cart. He’d seen and heard every word spoken between Leona and Alec. He cast a curious glance at his wife before pulling her up to ride with him. “What are ye goin’ on about?” he asked. “Ye told me Alec Bowie was no better than a flea infested cur.”

  “Oh, that still holds true,” she told him. “But he be Leona’s flea infested cur. She loves him. And I knew he loved her.

  “Ye never cease to amaze me,” Ian said. “Ye knew he would come fer her?”

  Rose smiled up at her husband. “Of course. He loves her. Though, I dare say I thought he’d no’ let her more than a few hundred feet from the walls. Fer a little while, I thought we’d actually have to take her to St. Agnes’s.”

  Ian gave the command to a handful of his men, to take the cart and Leona’s belongings back to the Bowie keep.

  “Pray tell me, how did ye ken he loved her?”

  “Because he looks at Leona the same way ye look at me.”

  “With a bewildered and dumbfounded expression because ye vex me?” he asked playfully.

  “Aye, that as well,” she replied drolly.

  They rode in silence for a long while before Rose spoke again. “Now that we have Leona married, settled, and hopelessly in love, what are we to do about Brogan?”

  “Me brother?” he asked, his voice filled with surprise and just a touch of trepidation.

  “Aye, yer brother.”

  Ian swallowed hard, trying to decide the best way to tell his wife she should not interfere where it pertained to Brogan.

  “Well?” she asked when he’d been quiet for far too long.

  “I be thinkin’!” he told her gruffly.

  “Ye be thinkin’ I should no’ interfere,” she told him.

  He let out a frustrated breath.

  “It has been four years now, since he lost his wife. Do ye no’ think it be time he took another?”

  “A wife fer Brogan?” he asked with the same level of surprise as before, but with far more than just a touch of trepidation. It bordered on horror.

  “Aye, a wife fer Brogan. I do no’ ken why ye sound so horrified by the idea. He be a good man. He should no’ spend the whole of his life alone. He needs a wife. Ian, do no’ roll yer eyes at me. I have no’ lost me mind.”

  Brogan would beg to differ.

  “Let me guess,” Ian said. “Ye already have someone in mind.”

  Rose gave a shrug. “Mayhap I have, and mayhap I have no’.”

  Ian sighed once again. “I ken what that means. It means ye already have and ye’re no’ about to tell me yet because ye think I would disagree.”

  “Mayhap,” she replied.

  “Ye’re no’ goin’ to tell me, are ye?”

  Rose shook her head slowly. “Nay, nay I will no’.”

  “Why no’?” he exclaimed.

  “Because ye will warn Brogan of me plan, and before I can do anythin’ about it, he will be back at yer father’s keep.”

  Ian knew ’twould do him no good to argue. He also knew ’twould do no good to warn Brogan. For it he knew his wife at all, she had already set her plan in motion.

  He sent a silent prayer heavenward, on behalf of his brother.

  God, help us all.

  A Sneak Peek at Brogan’s Promise

  Prologue

  No one understood the depths of her grief. Despair and sorrow clung to her heart, weighing it down to the point Mairghread was no longer certain it even beat any more. Her soul was empty. Void of any good feelings. Only the pain, the sorrow and heartache remained.

  Even now, three long years after the deaths of her husband and only child, the pain was as real and as intense as if it had only happened moments ago.

  In order to help pass the time, until she could once again be reunited with them in heaven, she drank. Aye, there were many a late night when she contemplated taking her own life only in order to escape the deep suffering in her heart. The only thing that kept her from slicing through the tender flesh of her wrists, or wrapping a rope around her neck, or throwing herself off the parapet, was knowing if she acted on those thoughts, she would never see either of them again. God would not allow her entry to heaven.

  As it stood, there was a good chance He would not allow her entry any way. Not if the rumors whispered behind her back were true. Not if what her Uncle hinted to but
never really said was actually true.

  There was a time when she would have demanded to know the whole ugly, sordid truth of what truly happened that awful night when her world fell apart. Her memories were nothing more than fragments, hazy bits and pieces so tiny she could not put them all together to form a complete memory. She herself nearly died that night. Forced now, she was, to rely on what was told to her by her uncle, and her maids. And rarely did any of their stories match up.

  So horrific was that night, so horrible was her loss, she took up the flagon not long after.

  After countless nights of drinking to the point she could not have found her own hands with the help of guide and map, drinking was as common and natural as breathing. Now, after three long years of self abuse, she doubted she could breathe or think without the aid of drink.

  She cared not anymore what people thought of her. Cared not a whit about the whispers behind her back. Cared not of anything or anyone.

  Were it not for her maid, Gertie -- who had taken care of Mairghread from the day she came into this world -- 'twas highly unlikely the young woman would still be walking amongst the living. If one could even count Mairghread amongst the living.

  Once, before that dark, pitiful night, Mairghread Mactavish had been a beautiful, vibrant woman who put the needs of her family and people ahead of her own. Aye, she had turned more than a few heads in her youth, what with her long, thick, auburn hair and dark, emerald green eyes. Mairghread was more than just a beautiful woman, however. She was a beautiful soul. The kind of giving, loving woman that the world definitely needed more of. Or so her maid Gertie would declare to anyone who would listen.

  But now? Now, when Gertie would look upon her lady, she felt a profound sense of loss. Not just for the man and babe killed that dark day. Nay, they also lost Mairghread.

  As far as Gertie was concerned, the world lost more than two souls that ugly day. They lost her sweet lady.

  An empty a shell if ever there was one, was Mairghread Mactavish.

  And that was the saddest part of all.

  Brogan’s Promise Chapter One

  Brogan Mackintosh was a sensible, logical thinking man. Whenever possible, he tried to see the good in people and all situations. It could also be said he was as honorable as he was generous. The kind of man who would give you the tunic off his back if you needed it. There was naught he wouldn't do for the downtrodden or poor creatures of this earth.

  Never, in the whole of his adult life, did he ever regret being such a man.

  Until now.

  "Ye want me to do what?" He could not have been more surprised had the sun risen in the west that morn.

  He sat at a long trestle table in the newly finished tower -- a tower he had helped build with his own two hands. Across from him sat his sister-by-law, Rose Mackintosh, and two auld women he had met less than a quarter of an hour ago. Rose was a pretty, wee woman, whom he had always admired, adored, and respected.

  Until now.

  "Ye act as if I just asked ye to kill the King," Rose replied.

  To his way of thinking, the request was just as difficult, just as insane as killing the King. Nay, killing the King would have been easier.

  He sat in dumbfounded silence as he tried to wrap his head around her entreaty.

  "She be a fine woman, m'laird," the old woman named Gertie said. She was seventy if she was a day. A short, round woman, with light blue eyes and hair the color of the blade of his sword.

  "I do no' doubt that she is," Brogan said.

  He was cut off from saying more by the one named Tilda. The mirror image of Gertie, save for her dark blue eyes and missing upper teeth. "Ye will ne'er find a lass more beautiful." With the missing teeth, she had a very distinct lisp.

  "Aye, as beautiful as the Highlands in springtime, I says," said Gertie as she looked at her friend.

  "Aye, as beautiful as that. And kind! Och, m'laird, ye'll ne'er meet one as kind!"

  "Or as givin'," added Gertie.

  "Or as givin'," agreed Tilda, adding a nod of her silver-gray noggin.

  At a loss for words, Brogan could only stare at the three women. Not a one of them understood the severity of their request.

  Rose was studying him closely, undoubtedly looking for signs his resolve was waning. "Brogan, ye have been alone for far too long," she said. Her tone was soft and filled with warmth.

  Brogan knew her intentions were sincere, born out of a sense of familial devotion. But really! Marriage? To a woman he'd never once laid eyes on? His brother Ian was right; while Rose was a bonny and kind woman, she was, betimes, a bit tetched.

  "M'laird," Gertie said, drawing his attention away from Rose. "We ken we be askin' much of ye, me and Tilda. But we ask because we love our lady verra much."

  "Aye, we do," Tilda agreed.

  "If she be forced to marry that foul Frenchman, well, 'twill mean the end of our clan and the end of our lady," Gertie said. Her tone was forlorn, sorrowful and matched the sadness he saw in her eyes.

  "Aye," Tilda said. "He beat his last wife to death, ye ken."

  Gertie looked at her friend. "All because she gave him a daughter and no' a son."

  "He be a bloody son-of-a-whore if e'er there was one," Tilda said.

  Brogan had heard enough. "Certainly, there be someone in yer clan who would be willin' to marry yer lady."

  Gertie and Tilda exchanged conspiratorial glances with Rose before Gertie responded. "Well, ye see, there might be a man or two willin' to do such ..."

  He sensed a but coming.

  "Ye see, she needs a strong man, m'laird," Tilda offered.

  "Aye, a strong man," Gertie said.

  "Are ye sayin' the men of yer clan are weak?"

  Both women shook their heads, aghast at the notion. "Nay, m'laird!"

  Brogan had had enough. Pushing away from the table, he glowered at Rose. "I shall have to politely decline," he said. Bowing to the three women, he bid them all a gruff fine good day, and quit the tower.

  "Och!" cried Tilda. "Our poor lady! Now, she will be forced to marry the Frenchman!"

  Gertie, the more devious minded of the two, looked at Rose.

  "Nay, all be no' lost yet," Rose said with a smile.

  "What do ye mean, m'lady?" Tilda asked.

  Gertie gave her friend a warm, yet slightly devious, smile. "We need to introduce them."

  Rose knew her husband hated leaving their keep – what there was of it. 'Twas a work in progress with only one tower completely finished. The main keep, which would house a gathering room, a study for Ian, and fifteen bedchambers, was only partially built. This fine spring day, Ian and his men were working feverishly to finish enclosing the outside of their future home. If it were finished by winter, 'twould be a miracle.

  Knowing her husband as she did – his penchant for working from dawn to dusk and his strong dislike of shopping – played to Rose's advantage this day. 'Twas less than a sennight since Brogan had politely refused to marry a woman desperately in need of a good, strong husband.

  Knowing men as she did, she had to believe that Brogan was no different than all the rest. Physical desire could be a grand motivator.

  Thus, when there was a mysterious and sudden need for flour and other sundries, which required an immediate trip to Camhanaich – a small village a few hours north and east of their lands. Ian all too happily volunteered his unwitting brother to go in his stead. Brogan had as much of a liking for shopping as his brother, which was to say, he detested it. But adoring his sister-by-law, and being the kind, generous man that he was, he agreed to act as her escort.

  They took ten Mackintosh men with them, all well-trained and armed to the teeth. After the events of more than a year ago, when Rose had been kidnapped and held for ransom by Rutger Bowie – may he continue to burn in hell – Ian spared no expense for keeping the love of his life safe.

  Brogan was completely oblivious, as most men were, and had not an inkling of what lay ahead for him.

  Th
ey left before Brogan had a chance to break his fast, for Rose insisted they must get there before all the 'good flour' was gone. Brogan's knowledge of such things was nonexistent; therefore, he was forced to believe her.

  With her son, John, a sweet boy of nearly one, in the good and capable hands of two Mackintosh women, they set off for Camhanaich just after dawn. Intentionally, she nearly talked Brogan's ears off on the two-hour journey west. 'Twas a purposeful ploy to frustrate and annoy so that by the time they reached the town, he would be all to eager to leave her to her shopping.

  Unfortunately, being the honorable man that he was, he refused to leave her side. "If anythin' happened to ye, Ian would kill me."

  Onto a different plan, she decided. She deliberately took her time, lingering at each merchant stall. Just enough to annoy her brother-by-law.

  "Brogan," she said as she was shifting through fabrics at the wooler's stall, "I may be a while. If ye would like to go on ahead, mayhap get a meat pie? I be certain I shall be safe with the rest of Ian's guards," she said with a nod in their direction.

  'Twas after noontime and Brogan had not eaten so much as a crumb of bread since last eve. Starved, tired of his sister-by-law's incessant chatting and need to look at every item at every stall – none of which had yet to contain an ounce of the desperately needed flour – he could not wait to be away from her. He gave a few quick instructions to the men before leaving Rose in their capable hands.

  Rose smiled an all-knowing smile as she watched her brother-by-law all but run away.

  Lord, how he hated large crowds.

  Were he not so hungry, Brogan would have declined Rose's suggestion that he get himself something to eat. Instead, he would have politely insisted they hurry on with purchasing the 'good flour' and get back to their keep. He knew his pleas would fall on stubborn, deaf ears.

  Making his way through the crowded street, he caught the scent of meat pies and freshly baked bread wafting in the air. His stomach growled and his mouth watered as he politely pushed his way through, motivated solely by hunger. With gratitude, he found the meat pie maker, made his purchase, and stepped away. The second pie was just as delicious as the first, both eaten in quick succession as he stood next to the stone wall of the ale house.