Fair Is the Rose (4 page)

The afternoon sun cut a wide swath across the gardens and fields of Auchengray, burnishing the October landscape to a golden sheen. He should have been in the sheepfolds with Duncan, preparing the ewes for their fall breeding. Or off visiting Leana and Ian at the manse in Newabbey. Instead Rose had pleaded with him to help her harvest apples, and he’d agreed, determined to bring their sparring to an end.

You ask too much of me, Jamie
.

And you, Rose, of me
.

“Hold this, will you?” Rose thrust a woven willow basket into his arms and began plucking yellow pippins from the nearest branch, dropping them into the basket, bruising the fruit as she went. Her gingham gown was cinched tight at the waist, displaying her figure to best advantage, and she’d woven her silken hair into a thick braid that danced about her waist. Young Rose knew how to capture and keep a man’s attention.

“As I was saying, Jamie, you may think it
right
to give your heart to Leana, but I do not think it
fair
. Have I not forgiven you for what happened on Hogmanay? For marrying my sister instead of me?”

A common refrain. “Aye, you have, Rose. But you’ve not forgiven Leana.”

“What sister could overlook such sinful behavior?” She flapped her hand, dismissing any response. “Never mind all that. ’Tis the present that concerns me, Jamie. And the future.”

Keeping his irritation in check, he put the basket down with a thud. “My present and future both rest with Leana and Ian. As to your own future, what of your plans to attend boarding school in Dumfries? Has your father not arranged things? And paid your tuition in advance?”

“So what if he has?” Rose threw down the apples in her hands, tossing her long braid like a whip. “I’ll not have my father ruling my life.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Not like he rules yours.”

At the cruel reminder Jamie clenched his hands into fists, longing to hit something. Lachlan McBride’s stern features seemed a worthy target. Or the bearded face of Evan McKie, his own twin brother, whose murderous threats had sent Jamie fleeing to Auchengray. Aye, he could plant a fist on either of their stubborn jaws and feel justified.

Rose, peering intently at him now, clearly sensed she’d spoken amiss. The pointed look in her eyes softened, and her words turned sweeter. “Poor Jamie. ’Twas thoughtless of me to mention how Father has taken advantage of you.” She brushed the dirt from her hands and stepped closer, nudging apples from her path with her toe until there was naught between them but a slight autumn breeze. “Will you forgive me? Please?”

The lass presented a bonny enough picture at arm’s length. But standing so close, with wisps of her dark hair tickling his chin and the warmth of her body heating his own, Rose was irresistible. Mustering all his strength, Jamie took a step backward and swallowed his regret before she could hear it in his voice. “Of course you are forgiven, Cousin. I fear my conduct of late has confused you.”

“
Confused
me?” She gaped at him. “
Crushed
me is nearer the mark.”

“I am sorry, Rose.” He would keep saying those words until she believed him. “Truly sorry for …”

“For loving me, Jamie?” She stepped closer, beseeching him with her eyes. “Are you sorry for that?”

“Oh, Rose. You ken better.” A heady scent of heather wafted from the folds of her gown, stirring memories he was trying hard to forget. Was there something he might say to appease her? He stared at the canopy of golden leaves above him. “Perhaps … perhaps if Leana had not survived the birthing …” Even saying such a thing made his face grow hot with shame. “Perhaps then … our future together might have been different, Rose.”

“
Might
have?”

“Would have,” he hastened to amend, his guilt increasing. “After a year of mourning, you and I would have married, certainly. As it is, I must do the honorable and right thing.”

“ ’Tis right, aye. But ’Tis not fair.” She started to pout, then bit her lip instead. “And all these months I thought you loved me.”

Och!
Did the lass never tire of hearing it? “I
did
love you, Rose. From Martinmas to Hogmanay and every day since, I said those words and meant them.”

Hope rose in her face like the sun. “Do you love me still?”

He looked away, barely noticing the blackbirds picking at the discarded apples strewn at their feet. How could he respond and not hurt her? To reveal the truth—yes, despite all, he still cared for her—would confound Rose further. To insist otherwise—no, he loved her sister instead—was less than honest at the moment and would cut his dear Rose to the quick.

One choice remained. “I cannot love you, Rose.”

“Jamie, please—”

“I cannot,” he said again, as much to convince himself. “Leana has honored our marriage vows from the first. ’Tis time I did the same.”

Rose looked up at him, her face awash with tears. “Then what’s to become of me, Jamie?”

Everything inside him wanted to embrace her, comfort her, and tell her he didn’t mean a word of it. Tell her he loved her still, would always love her and no one else. It would be the easy thing to do. But not the right thing.

“Rose, there will be another man for you. A better man.”

She turned her back to him. “I could never love another.”

“Aye, you will, Rose. A man with the freedom to love you in return.” He took hold of her shoulders, if only to keep her from facing him again. “Rose, shall I talk to your father? Persuade him to find you a proper suitor?”

“Nae!” He heard the conviction in her voice. And the disappointment. “If I’m to have a husband, he will be of my choosing. Not Father’s.”

An unlikely event, though Jamie could not blame her for wanting it so. “Then I pray you’ll find a man worthy of you, Rose.”
Soon
. He stood back, releasing her. “I must go. Duncan will be waiting for me in the sheepfolds.” Without another word, he strode off toward Auchengray Hill, sensing her gaze glued to his departing back.

Jamie deliberately shifted his attention to the rough ground beneath his boots. One misstep and he would find himself sprawled atop a protruding root hidden under the leafy carpet. He walked with more confidence when the east-side orchards gave way to the gardens nestled against the hill behind the whitewashed stone farmhouse that served as the mains of Auchengray. The view was worth admiring as he passed by: a physic garden full of herbs; a rose bed pruned for autumn; tidy heaps of ash fertilizing the kitchen garden where turnips and cabbages would appear next summer. Surveying the neatly tended rows, he imagined Leana kneeling there with a basket of well-sharpened tools by her side. She often hummed as she worked, even sang to her roses. “As my mother did,” she’d once explained, though he hadn’t asked why.

Jamie shook his head as he turned and started up the hill, ashamed of how little regard he’d shown his wife. Had he ever praised Leana for her gardening abilities? Her skill with a needle? Her talents in the kitchen and stillroom?
Nae
. He’d been too distracted by her younger sister. In truth, Leana was everything Rose was not. Leana appeared pale next to her sister’s dramatic coloring. Her demeanor was quiet compared to Rose’s lively ways. Leana sewed and spun wool and read books. Rose danced and laughed and did little in the way of work. Squinting through her spectacles to stitch a hem, Leana looked older than her years. Running through the orchard with her braid flying behind her like an ebony tail, Rose looked like a bonny lass of twelve.

Yet it was patient Leana he’d married. Gentle Leana he’d taken to bed. Faithful Leana who’d borne him a son. She had given him everything; he had given her as little as possible. He had yet to tell her he loved her, nor would he do so until he meant it. Leana knew him too well and would see through any insincerity.

Could he love so meek and unassuming a woman? ’Twas his earnest prayer on the day of Ian’s birth:
Please, God, let me love her in return
. He would pray without ceasing until the time came when he could say the words aloud and mean them.

Four

So rolls the changing year, and so we change;
Motion so swift, we know not that we move.

D
INAH
M
ARIA
M
ULOCK
C
RAIK

L
aughter floated down the hillside, followed by a gruff male voice. “If it isn’t the lang lost shepherd o’ Glentrool!”

Jamie glanced up, glad to see Duncan Hastings standing at the crest of the
brae
, and continued his ascent with renewed vigor. He’d fretted over the women in his life quite enough for one afternoon. “Sorry to desert you, Duncan,” he called out. Nearing the summit, he grinned at the older man. “I ken you’re eager to see my boots covered in sheep dung.”

Duncan said nothing at first, merely bobbed his checked wool cap. He wore his bonnet planted farther back on his head so folk could see the bright blue of his eyes. Or so Duncan could see
them
, Jamie decided.

Duncan cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he leaned on his shepherd’s crook. “I spied ye talkin’ tae Rose a bit ago.” There was no censure in Duncan’s tone. “Settlin’ her down, I suppose. Smoothin’ her fleece. And lockin’ the gate behind ye, if ye ken me meaning.”

Jamie snorted. “Rose McBride is not a ewe.”

“
Mebbe
not, lad, but ye handle them
meikle
the same.”

“Aye? Then find the lass a
tup
among the gentry of Galloway.”

“If I were Rose’s father,” Duncan said, “I’d see it done this afternoon.”

“So would I.” Jamie drew an imaginary arc across the rolling landscape, encompassing a dozen fine properties. “There must be a gentleman of means in this corner of Scotland who’d claim Rose McBride for a wife. It’s time Lachlan did his duty by her.”

Duncan shrugged. “Ye ken verra well why the man’s in nae hurry tae find his
dochter
a husband. As lang as fair Rose abides at Auchengray, so will hard workin’ Jamie McKie. Or so yer faither-in-law thinks.”

“Let him think whatever he likes,” Jamie said with a huff, starting out for the nearest sheepfold. “The moment Leana and the babe can travel, we’re bound for Glentrool.”

A smile bloomed on Duncan’s weathered face. “Is that a fact?” He clapped Jamie on the shoulder and squeezed hard. “Weel done, lad! Have ye told yer wife this guid news?”

“Nae.” He’d not said a word to Leana. Or Rose. Nor had he written to his mother in far-off Glentrool. “I plan to tell Leana tonight when I join her at the manse for supper. For the moment you’ll keep it under your bonnet, eh?”

Duncan doffed his cap. “I’ll breathe nary a
wird
.”

“To the ewes then.” Jamie led the way, their work a welcome distraction. Two short weeks remained before the breeding season began in earnest. The tups were already pastured nearby, their strong scent wafting across the
dry stane dyke
, preparing the ewes for the mating to come. With Duncan’s blessing, Jamie had chosen the most promising rams from Jock Bell’s farm on Tuesday and herded them home to Auchengray. Now the ewes needed a prudent shepherd’s attention. Ignoring the stiff autumn winds blowing down the hillside, Jamie tossed his coat aside, intent on the task at hand. While Duncan held each ewe in turn, Jamie clipped away the wool tags round their tails and trimmed their hooves. It was slow going, holding the knife steady, keeping the ewes calm while he worked.

“Ye’re a good
herd
, lad,” Duncan said, warm regard in his voice. “Henry Stewart learned ye well.”

Jamie released a wriggling ewe from his grasp. “I haven’t Stew’s patience, Duncan, but I’m grateful for all he taught me when I was a boy. Please God, I’ll see the man before he’s finished breeding the ewes at Glentrool.”

They worked through one sheepfold, then the next, as the sun sank closer to the horizon. Satisfied with his labors, Jamie stood to stretch his legs and shake the tension from his arms. The air had grown cooler still. He was glad to slip into the coat he’d nigh forgotten.

Duncan lifted his face toward the darkening sky. “The gloaming comes, the day is spent …”

“The sun goes out of sight,” Jamie finished for him, nudging the man’s elbow. “Alexander Hume, is it?”

“Aye,” Duncan grunted. “A man o’ the kirk, Mr. Hume. From Fife or thereabout.”

Jamie knew better than to tease the overseer for reciting a line of poetry. Duncan, wise in the ways of shepherding, was also well read and canny as they came. Though a man of many talents, he was quick to credit the Almighty for all of them. Would that Duncan Hastings were his father-in-law instead of crafty Lachlan McBride.

The two men headed down the hill toward the mains, hurrying their steps as the light faded to a silvery gray. “Tell the family I’m bound to Newabbey,” Jamie called over his shoulder as they neared the back door. “I’ve hardly enough time to see to my ablutions and a change of clothes.”

“I’ll make yer apologies for ye,” Duncan promised as Jamie crossed the threshold, discarding his soiled boots by the door. Heading up the stair in his stocking feet, he called for Hugh, valet to both Jamie and his uncle when the manservant wasn’t saddled with other tasks. Appearing with comb and brush in hand, Hugh smoothed Jamie’s brown hair into a neat tail and dressed him in a clean shirt, then saw that his waistcoat and breeches were brushed. Jamie’s boots, polished to a rich luster by one of the maids, soon rested outside his bedroom door.

“Leana will thank you for this, Hugh.” Jamie yanked on his boots, frowning when the mantel clock down the stair chimed the half-hour. He’d spent more time with the ewes than he’d intended. And entirely too much time with Rose.

Hugh nodded toward the hall. “Willie saw tae yer mount, sir. He’s waitin’ at the back door.”

“God bless the man for his trouble,” Jamie called out, taking the steps two at a time. “And you as well, Hugh.” Moments later he was astride his gelding, Walloch, and thundering down the rural lane that led to Newabbey. The night wind, sharp against his face, cleared his mind of all but the hours ahead. He would see his son again.
Ian
. Leana had chosen the name weeks ago. Could he blame her for doing so when he’d seemed to care so little? He cared plenty now and would make that plain this night. Rising in his stirrups, he called his son’s name aloud,
announcing it to the countryside, shouting against the wind. “Ian James McKie!” He favored the middle name especially.