Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens by Suzan Tisdale Page A
Authors: Suzan Tisdale
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closed permanently, Ian slipped his hand into hers. “Now let us go see Ingerame Macdowall.”
* * *
“ L eona !” Ingerame Macdowall shouted above the loud din of tools scraping against a newly felled tree. “Leona!”
He had been shouting for his daughter for what seemed like hours. He was busy carving out large pegs to be used later, his voice booming and echoing through the clearing. “Confound it, Leona! Where the bloody hell are ye?” Raising his head up from his project, he found himself staring directly into the eyes of Ian Mackintosh.
Charles made the introductions. “Ingerame Macdowall, this be Ian Mackintosh, our new chief and laird. And this be our mistress, Rose.”
“Ingerame,” Ian said, looking displeased with all the shouting.
“Ian,” he replied as he stood up and wiped his hands on his heavy apron. “Fergive me shoutin’,” he said. “I’ve been lookin’ fer me daughter fer hours now.”
Ian didn’t think bellowing and shouting was the same as looking, but he’d remain mute on the matter for now. “How old be yer daughter?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t a little girl lost.
“Bah! She be an auld maid, ye ken. Nearin’ two and twenty!” He shook his head as if he were ashamed of that fact. “She’ll never marry, that one. I could no’ give her away.”
Instantly, Rose found she did not like the man, for he was speaking so unkindly about his own flesh and blood. His assertion begged the question why. But before she could ask it, he was rambling on about his unmarriable daughter.
“Me wife— God rest her soul — could only give me but one child. Betimes I think I’d have preferred she had no’ given me any. Some think the lass be tetched, but I ken the truth. She be a witch as sure as I be standin’ here. But what is a father to do?”
“A father could be a bit more kind and encouragin’,” Rose told him sternly. “A father would no’ speak so unkindly of his only child.”
If she thought to put the man in his place, or hoped for any sign of shame or regret, Rose was sadly mistaken. Ingerame Macdowall did not so much as bat an eye. He was wholly unapologetic. “Ye’ll think differently once ye meet her.”
Ian was growing impatient. “Would ye like us to help ye find yer daughter so we might talk without distraction?”
Ingerame waved his hands in the air. “Nay, now is as good a time as any. Knowin’ Leona, she’d be halfway to France and no’ even realize it.” He dropped his chisel and hammer on a tree stump he used as a work-space and once again wiped his dirty hands on his apron. “We only arrived three weeks ago, but we’ve made good progress.”
Rose had no desire to remain in the man’s presence a moment longer than necessary. She took the opportunity to leave. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’d like to see to settin’ up our camp.” In truth, she hoped to find this mysterious Leona and see for herself why Ingerame thought so poorly of her.
8
R utger Bowie had never been one to hold any delusions of grandeur when it came to his clan. They were a ruthless lot of marauders, ne’er-do-wells, bandits, and thieves. He sat at the high table in the gathering room, looking out at the clan of misfits with a good measure of pride. Tonight, they feasted like kings only because four of his men had the wherewithal to raid a neighboring clan and divest said clan of a few head of their precious cattle.
Oh, they did not possess the refinement or grace of kings, as evidenced by the way they shoveled food into their greasy mouths whilst telling one bawdy tale after another. Ruthless and disgusting as they may be, they were his people.
The Bowies would never be heralded as great inventors, harbingers of peace, or in any other positive light. Nay, if they were to be remembered at all, ’twould only be in stories meant to scare small children. The proof lay in the legacies of their former chiefs.
And none were as insane or ruthless as Eduard Bowie.
That
* * *
“ L eona !” Ingerame Macdowall shouted above the loud din of tools scraping against a newly felled tree. “Leona!”
He had been shouting for his daughter for what seemed like hours. He was busy carving out large pegs to be used later, his voice booming and echoing through the clearing. “Confound it, Leona! Where the bloody hell are ye?” Raising his head up from his project, he found himself staring directly into the eyes of Ian Mackintosh.
Charles made the introductions. “Ingerame Macdowall, this be Ian Mackintosh, our new chief and laird. And this be our mistress, Rose.”
“Ingerame,” Ian said, looking displeased with all the shouting.
“Ian,” he replied as he stood up and wiped his hands on his heavy apron. “Fergive me shoutin’,” he said. “I’ve been lookin’ fer me daughter fer hours now.”
Ian didn’t think bellowing and shouting was the same as looking, but he’d remain mute on the matter for now. “How old be yer daughter?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t a little girl lost.
“Bah! She be an auld maid, ye ken. Nearin’ two and twenty!” He shook his head as if he were ashamed of that fact. “She’ll never marry, that one. I could no’ give her away.”
Instantly, Rose found she did not like the man, for he was speaking so unkindly about his own flesh and blood. His assertion begged the question why. But before she could ask it, he was rambling on about his unmarriable daughter.
“Me wife— God rest her soul — could only give me but one child. Betimes I think I’d have preferred she had no’ given me any. Some think the lass be tetched, but I ken the truth. She be a witch as sure as I be standin’ here. But what is a father to do?”
“A father could be a bit more kind and encouragin’,” Rose told him sternly. “A father would no’ speak so unkindly of his only child.”
If she thought to put the man in his place, or hoped for any sign of shame or regret, Rose was sadly mistaken. Ingerame Macdowall did not so much as bat an eye. He was wholly unapologetic. “Ye’ll think differently once ye meet her.”
Ian was growing impatient. “Would ye like us to help ye find yer daughter so we might talk without distraction?”
Ingerame waved his hands in the air. “Nay, now is as good a time as any. Knowin’ Leona, she’d be halfway to France and no’ even realize it.” He dropped his chisel and hammer on a tree stump he used as a work-space and once again wiped his dirty hands on his apron. “We only arrived three weeks ago, but we’ve made good progress.”
Rose had no desire to remain in the man’s presence a moment longer than necessary. She took the opportunity to leave. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’d like to see to settin’ up our camp.” In truth, she hoped to find this mysterious Leona and see for herself why Ingerame thought so poorly of her.
8
R utger Bowie had never been one to hold any delusions of grandeur when it came to his clan. They were a ruthless lot of marauders, ne’er-do-wells, bandits, and thieves. He sat at the high table in the gathering room, looking out at the clan of misfits with a good measure of pride. Tonight, they feasted like kings only because four of his men had the wherewithal to raid a neighboring clan and divest said clan of a few head of their precious cattle.
Oh, they did not possess the refinement or grace of kings, as evidenced by the way they shoveled food into their greasy mouths whilst telling one bawdy tale after another. Ruthless and disgusting as they may be, they were his people.
The Bowies would never be heralded as great inventors, harbingers of peace, or in any other positive light. Nay, if they were to be remembered at all, ’twould only be in stories meant to scare small children. The proof lay in the legacies of their former chiefs.
And none were as insane or ruthless as Eduard Bowie.
That
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