Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens by Suzan Tisdale Page B

name alone was enough to make Rutger shudder. To say Eduard ruled with an iron fist would have been a tremendous understatement of fact. ’Twas more than that he ruled heartlessly and without mercy. Eduard Bowie was the stuff nightmares were made of. The man took what he wanted when he wanted, no matter who might be the rightful owner. People in general had been terrified of the man. And his clansmen? They hated him passionately. However, they knew that a revolt of any kind would be met with brutal death. He had possessed too many loyal men who would do his bidding, no matter how disgraceful or cruel that bidding might be.
    Silently, Rutger raised his cup of usaige beatha to the woman who had taken Eduard’s life. As far as he was concerned, that wee lass had more courage in her little toe than all of Eduard’s men combined. Though it had been a horrible way for any man to die — a grappling hook to his neck— ’twas no less than the bloody son of a whore deserved.
    He’d oft thought of sending Aggie Mackintosh a letter of thanks for killing Eduard. Were it not for her, he would have lived a verra long time and Rutger would be nothing more than another member of the clan simply praying for their chief’s death.

9
    B efore the afternoon was out , tents had been erected, wagons unpacked, goods stored, and camp set up. It amazed Rose no end how everyone came together to do more than their fair share of hard work. The air around them sizzled with excitement and anticipation.
    Fires for cooking were started, tables set up for food preparation, and much ale was poured and drunk.
    From atop the hill, Ian stood in the early evening light, looking down at his new clan. An overwhelming sense of pride enveloped him as he watched his people happily working together.
    His people.
    ’Twas odd for him to think of himself as the chief of any clan. Odder still, this one in particular. He did not worry about the Mackintosh men, for they were a fierce and loyal lot, not afraid of hard work or a challenge. Nor did he worry about those Frederick had hired to build the keep, for they were being paid well for their work. Neither did he worry about his beautiful wife. Rose was strong, and betimes just as stubborn as he. There was not a doubt in his mind that she would have no trouble being the mistress of the keep.
    Nay, he worried about the McLarens and them alone.
    Never had he met a sorrier, more hapless and lazy lot of individuals. ’Twas the men’s attitudes that bothered him most. He’d seen their lethargy and idleness first hand and on countless occasions. Not one was ever bothered by sitting back and watching women — his Rose and Aggie in particular — doing the work of ten men. Where was their pride? Their honor? He would have to lose both arms and legs before he’d let a woman work as hard as those two women had in the past.
    He could name only a few of them, for he hadn’t bothered to learn their names. Even though they’d just spent the last three weeks travelling together, he was certain that once the hard work began, they’d leave without so much as a by-your-leave.
    There were, by his count, only forty-three McLarens. Of that number, more than half were women. He was certain that if they all left on the morrow, none of them would be missed. He reckoned they could be replaced with only five good men and still get the same amount of work done.
    Nightfall was fast approaching when he caught sight of his brother Brogan walking up the hill towards him. Though they were not as close as he and Frederick, they were still brothers and allies. He admired Brogan’s ability to look at a problem from more than one angle; he was also quite intelligent. Knowing he was still grieving over the loss of his wife, Ian had been careful not to talk too much about Rose. If their roles were reversed and Ian were the grieving widower, he would not want to be constantly bombarded by someone else’s happy marriage.
    “Ian,” Brogan said