Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens (28 page)

“That be a distinct possibility,” Brogan said as he stepped around a large puddle.

“It matters naught,” Ian told him as they passed one of the cooking fires. “Either way, a war will be fought.”

* * *

E
ntering the armory
, Ian scanned the room quickly. His gaze immediately fell on a group of his men, standing in a close, tight circle and looking down at something. As he moved toward them, Ian soon realized ‘twasn’t something, but someone.

A young lad of no more than four and ten stood in the center of Ian’s men. Scrawny, with shaggy light brown hair and visibly shaking legs, he looked as though he was ready to piss himself with fear. His head barely reached the shoulders of Ian’s smallest man. Ian locked eyes with one of his men, and slowly, each man took a few steps back.

With a fierce glare, Ian approached the boy. Looking him up and down, he was unimpressed. “Who are ye?” Ian growled.

“Fenner Bowie,” he stammered. “And I’ll say nothin’ else but to Ian Mackintosh himself.”

One of Ian’s men, Fergus Mackintosh, smacked the boy in the back of the head. “Show some respect, ye whelp. Ye
are
speakin’ to him.”

The boy rubbed the back of his head. “Ye be Ian Mackintosh?”

“Aye,” Ian said as he crossed his arms over his chest and grunted with disgust. “I suppose the Bowie sent a young lad to do his talkin’, thinkin’ I would no’ kill an innocent.”

“’Twas no’ the Bowie, but Alec Bowie who sent me. And aye, he said ye would no’ harm me,” he said cautiously.

Fergus smacked the boy’s head again. “Ye shall show our laird the respect he’s due, boy.”

Flinching, the boy rubbed the back of his head again as he gave Fergus a fearful glance. “M’laird,” he began once again. “I be here on Alec Bowie’s behalf.”

“And who be Alec Bowie?” Ian asked.

“Brother to the Bowie, m’laird. He be Rutger’s younger brother.”

Ian and Brogan exchanged curious glances. “And what, pray tell, does Alec Bowie want?”

The lad swallowed hard before answering. “A meetin’ with ye, m’laird.”

Quirking a brow and cocking his head to one side, Ian studied the boy closely for a long moment. “So Rutger sends his brother instead of himself? I kent the man was a coward.”

“Rutger does no’ ken we be here,” the boy said.

Ian found that information curious and questionable. If he’d learned anything at all about the Bowies, ’twas that not a one of them could be trusted.

“Alec be a good man,” the boy said. “He does no’ support his brother kidnappin’ yer wife.”

Ian all but lunged at the boy. Grabbing him by the front of his tunic, he lifted him off the ground. “Ye are never to speak of me wife again, do ye understand? Lad or no, I’ll cut yer throat and send ye back to yer laird in pieces.”

“I be sorry, m’laird,” the boy stammered. “I meant no disrespect.”

Pushing the boy away, Ian saw he landed against Fergus, who tossed him toward Martin Mackintosh, his cousin. Martin righted the boy and grunted with a fair amount of disgust.

“M’laird, Alec awaits no’ far from here. He asks to meet with ye in person, but he wants yer promise ye’ll no’ gut him. He will come here, alone and unarmed, to meet with ye.”

Fergus chuckled. “That be either verra brave or verra stupid, considerin’ he be the brother of the man who killed our laird’s wife and bairn.”

Unfortunately, some of Ian’s men still held the belief that not only was Rose dead, but her babe as well.

The boy’s face twisted in confusion. “Dead?” the boy replied. “She be no’ dead. At least she was no’ two days ago when we left.”

“I received a letter from yer laird three days ago, sayin’ me wife died in childbirth and he now holds me son hostage.” Ian told him. Although he hadn’t believed Rose was dead, his heart skipped a few beats learning he was right.

Fenner’s eyes grew wide with fear. He gulped once, then again. “I swear, m’laird, she was alive and well two days ago when we left. I swear it!”

Ian took note of the surprised expressions on his men’s faces as they worked through this bit of news. He had been right. Mayhap in the future they’d be more inclined to believe him, even if it didn’t seem reasonable.

“It takes two days to travel between our keeps,” Brogan said. “Rutger would have sent that letter out a sennight ago. If what the boy says is true, then ye were right. Rutger Bowie lied to ye.”

“Boy, ye return to this Alec fellow, and ye tell him I will meet with him. He is to come unarmed and alone. And if I learn this is but a trick, I shall kill him and anyone else who might be with him. Do ye understand?”

The lad nodded his head violently. “Aye m’laird, I do!”

* * *

I
n less than an hour
, Ian and Brogan met Alec Bowie for the first time. The man was not at all what he expected. To begin with, he was exceedingly clean. As tall as Ian and as well muscled, he did not at first glance appear to be a ruthless killer. Dark brown, nearly black hair, the top half pulled away from his face and tied back with a leather thong. The rest fell down his back, well past his shoulders. He had a strong jaw covered with a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown eyes that did not look like they belonged to a madman.

The dark green tunic he wore over brown leather trews was clean. A belt at his narrow waist, sans sword, proved he was not a glutton like his brother. He looked as though he could well hold his own in any battle.

Once the introductions were made, they sat at a table in the armory. Next to Ian sat his brother. Behind them, forming a wall of muscle and contempt, were fifteen of Ian’s best men.

Alec read the last missive sent from his brother. With a disgusted shake of his head, he lay the parchment down. With a heavy sigh, he looked across the table at Ian. “I can assure ye that this is all lies. Rose is verra much alive and still carryin’ yer child.”

Ian studied him closely, looking for any tell-tell signs of deceit or treachery. Thus far, he hadn’t found any. But ’twas still too early to make a judgment.

“I left behind one of me most trusted men, Dougal Bowie, to watch over yer wife. He will protect her as if he were protectin’ one of his own. This I swear to ye.”

“Ye can swear and vouch fer yer man all ye want,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “I ken no’ him nor ye. All I ken is that ’tis
yer
brother who has kidnapped me wife, killed over a dozen innocent people, and laid siege to our keep. Why the bloody hell should I trust
ye
?”

Alec rested his hands on top of the table. “A wise man would no’,” he replied. “I ken I would no’ trust ye were our roles reversed.”

Ian raised a brow but remained quiet. He would listen to what this man had to say, but that didn’t mean he’d believe a word of it.

“More than a year ago, Aggie McLaren killed our former laird, me cousin, Eduard Bowie.”

The men standing behind Ian chuckled with amusement.

“I ken. I was there and saw it happen. ’Twas a grapplin’ hook to his neck, I believe,” Ian said with a bemused smile.

“Aye, ’twas. And if ever I get the chance to meet her in person, I shall thank her.”

All eyes were on him then.

“Eduard was beyond ruthless,” Alec began. “He was beyond savage, beyond nightmares. No one mourned his loss.”

“No one?” Ian asked doubtfully.

“Nay, his people celebrated his death.” He let the words sink in for a moment before continuing. “I was no’ there. I had no’ been home in a good number of years, but I had heard of Eduard’s disgustin’ ways through letters from me father and brother. I was in France when I received word of Eduard’s death and me brother’s claim to the title of chief. I came home at once.”

“And ye say none grieve the loss of Eduard Bowie?” Ian asked again, only for clarification.

“Not one.”

“Pray tell me, Alec. Will any mourn the loss of yer brother when I kill him?” Ian asked in a low, firm tone.

If he thought to garner any kind of reaction from Alec, he was wrong. “The only one who will mourn me brother’s death is me. And ’tis only fer the fact that he is me brother.”

They eyed each other suspiciously for a long moment. Ian knew were anything to happen to any of his brothers, he would not only mourn their loss he would seek justice if required. But then again, the Mackintoshes were as opposite the Bowies as dust was to water.

“My brother was no’ always such a greedy bastard,” Alec said. “There was a time when he was a good man. In his short time as laird, he’s become a greedy fool. I pray daily that he comes to his senses and sees reason.”

“Be that why ye’re here?” Brogan asked. “To pray fer mercy fer yer brother?”

Alec gave a slight shrug before answering. “I doubt ‘twould do any good.”

Leona had entered the armory with a tray of bread, cheese, and meat. Quietly, she placed the tray on the table and stepped away. Alec’s eyes grew wide when he noticed her. An action that did not go unnoticed by either Ian or Brogan.

“Do ye ken her?” Ian asked when she was out of earshot.

“Nay,” Alec said. “Be she Rose’s sister?”

Ian and Brogan chuckled slightly. “Nay,” Ian answered.

When Leona appeared again, this time with a tray of mugs filled with ale, Alec could not help but stare at her. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Feeling all the eyes in the room were upon her, she looked up from the tray and into Alec Bowie’s eyes. “Be there somethin’ else ye want, m’laird?” she asked.

“I be sorry fer starin’, lass,” Alec said. He watched as her face turned a deep shade of red. “But yer resemblance to yer mistress is quite remarkable.”

She started to say something, but apparently thought better of it. Quietly, she left the table and the men to their discussion.

“So why are ye here?” Brogan asked as he cut a hunk of cheese and popped it into his mouth.

“I want peace amongst our clans. I want the warrin’ to stop.”

Both Ian and Brogan found his claim surprising. “I have never kent a Bowie to want anythin’ save those things that belong to someone else. Whether it be their cattle, sheep, coin or women.” Brogan said.

“Aye, we do have a reputation fer thievin’ and reivin’,” Alec agreed.

“But ye want to change that?” Ian asked.

Taking a mug from the tray, Alec gave a curt nod. “Aye, I do.”

“I take it yer brother does no’ hold the same line of thinkin’?” Ian asked.

“Ye take it rightly, m’laird,” Alec said with a slight chuckle.

Ian took a cup of ale and sipped it slowly. “And how, pray tell, do ye plan on gainin’ peace fer yer clan?”

Looking him straight in the eye, Alec said, “By helpin’ ye get yer wife back without ye havin’ to pay the ransom.”

* * *

H
is outward calm
appearance belied the fact Ian was stunned. Could he really believe Alec Bowie? Did the man sincerely wish for peace? Did he honestly want to help him get Rose back?

“How do ye propose to do that?” Ian asked.

“With as little bloodshed as possible,” Alec replied.

Ian was not sure what to make of this man. “Whilst I can applaud yer wish fer peace and wantin’ to resolve our current conflict with as little blood as possible, I do no’ see how it can be done.”