Fair Is the Rose (5 page)

Walloch’s hooves pounded against the hardened dirt, kicking up dust behind them. The east Galloway earth cried out for rain. Farther west, in the glen of Loch Trool, such dry spells were rare. His last letter from home, a fortnight past, described bright clumps of rowan berries turned scarlet against the changing leaves. His chest tightened at the thought of it.
Home
. Whether his brother Evan would welcome him or not, Jamie intended to return to Glentrool and claim his inheritance before winter.

Not far to his right he heard the meandering waters of Newabbey Pow. The acrid smell of the snuff mill mingled with the fragrant scent from the pines that crowded the northern edge of the road. He crossed the bridge into the village, passing by Newabbey corn mill, fed by the waters of Loch Kindar flowing through a long and sinuous
lade
from the sheep
burn
. The village proper consisted mostly of single-story cottages made of whinstone or granite. On both sides of the street doors were shut tight, and chimneys exhaled peat smoke into the night sky. Even before he saw the candles in the window of the manse, Jamie fancied he could hear Ian crying for him, bleating like a newborn lamb. He leaned down to whisper in Walloch’s ear, “Hurry, man! That’s my son you’re keeping me from.”

Less than a quarter mile and he was there, met at the door by Reverend Gordon, a man of high morals and rigid opinions. “Your wife was becoming concerned, Mr. McKie. ’Tis good you’re here at last. My grandson Edward will tend to your horse.”

Jamie handed the reins to the shy lad who appeared at his grandfather’s beckoning, then pulled off his hat and followed the older man into the hall. The heat of a wood fire assailed him, as did the tantalizing aroma of cooked meat. To his left was the dining room with the long table already laid for supper; to his right, the door to the spence where Leana had labored. Did he not know every crack in those panels, every knot in that wood?

Reverend Gordon turned and caught Jamie staring. “Look familiar, lad?”

“Aye,” Jamie confessed. “I spent the better part of the Sabbath with my ear pressed against that door.”

“No need to wait in the hall this evening.” Reverend Gordon pointed toward the spence door, then walked past it, heading toward the back of the manse, talking over his shoulder as he did. “Escort your wife into the dining room at seven, if you will. I’ll see to your son’s baptism after family worship.” Though Jamie knew the lad would be formally introduced to the community on the Sabbath at his
kirkin
, there was no point delaying Ian’s baptism. Not when the babe was born under the minister’s roof.

Jamie tapped on the door, then entered at Leana’s soft greeting. The room felt warmer than the hall, though only a handful of candles lit the corners. Close by the hearth stood his wife, her pale skin lit by the glowing peat fire. She cradled Ian against her neck, nuzzling his head with her cheek, humming as she did, her expression serene.

Jamie stood in place, touched by the gentle tableau. Had his own mother held him so tenderly? One year ago, when he’d arrived at Auchengray, he had stumbled upon Leana in the same pose, holding a neighbor’s bairn. How different she looked to him now that she was his wife and the child his son. Her fair hair was gathered into a loose swirl on top of her head. Her figure, more womanly than he remembered, strained at the seams of her blue gown. Yet it was her full mouth, stretched into a smile when she turned toward him, that transformed Leana into something else altogether.

“Jamie!” she said. “You look as if you’ve seen—”

“An angel.” He moved toward her slowly, almost reverently. “I’ve seen angels, you ken. In my dream at the cairn.”

“Oh, Jamie.” She blushed as she held out Ian for him to see. “ ’Tis only your wife, grateful for clean hair and a fresh gown.”

Touching her elbow, he stepped closer and peered at the sleeping infant, marveling at the tiny fists, the strongly drawn brows. His chest swelled until it ached.
A kind wife. A fine son
. More than he’d hoped for and a great deal more than he deserved. “Ian looks content,” he said, then met her clear gaze again. “And so do you.” Jamie led her away from
the hearth, his fingers pressed against the small of her back. “Neda has been giving me favorable reports. I trust she’s telling me the truth.”

“Neda could never do otherwise,” Leana reminded him as they perched side by side on the edge of the bed. She eased Ian into the crook of her arm, brushing his tiny mouth with her fingertip. “Ian and I are well cared for here, but in truth, I’m eager for home.”

“So am I,” Jamie agreed, filled with a sudden resolve. The time had come to tell her of his plans. “Eager to go home, that is.”

“Home?” Leana looked at him, her confusion evident. “But you only just arrived.”

“Not home to Auchengray.” His tone was low but firm. “Home to Glentrool.”

Five

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest.

H
ENRY
W
ADSWORTH
L
ONGFELLOW

H
ome to Glentrool
. The notion steeped inside Leana like tea brewing in a pot. A new life without her father’s undue influence. A grandmother for Ian. And Jamie all to herself.
Och
! Was it possible?

“As soon as both of you are strong enough—perhaps before Martinmas, long before Yule—I’ll hire a post chaise to take us west across Galloway, along the Solway coast to Creetown and Monnigaff, then north to the glen of Loch Trool.”

Leana smiled at the picture his words drew. “Then you’ve told Father your plans?”

“Nae, I have not.” He glanced away for a moment. “But I will soon enough.”

Her father’s voice prodded at her conscience.
There’ll be no running off to Glentrool with my grandson
. To share that news with Jamie now would spoil their evening together; to wait until another day meant striking a flint to her father’s temper and to her husband’s as well.

“Jamie …” She pulled the babe closer, as if he might provide the strength she needed. “I’m afraid Father expects us to remain at Auchengray.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

“For good.”

Jamie bolted to his feet and faced the door as though he could not bear to look at her. “Did you agree to this?”

She rose as well, running a nervous hand over Ian’s silken hair. “I would never agree to anything on your behalf, Jamie.”

Her husband spun round, frustration coming off him in waves. “But you agreed to tell me.”

“Aye,” she whispered, her eyes beginning to fill. “To my shame, I did.”

“How like Lachlan, to put so burdensome a task on someone else’s shoulders.” He shook his head, clearly disgusted, as he paced the floor. “ ’Tis no fault of yours, Leana. You’ve done naught but your duty, as I must do by my own father. Alec McKie will not take kindly to the heir of Glentrool being raised three days’ journey from our lands.”

“You’ll talk to Father then?”

“Nae, I’ll simply
tell
the man,” he fumed. “There’ll be no discussion on the subject.” When Jamie turned to look at her, his expression softened. “Come, lass. As Duncan would say, dinna
fash
yerself. You’ll come home to Auchengray on the Sabbath, as planned, then home to Glentrool before Yule. For good.” He rested one hand on hers, the other on Ian’s head, binding them together as he had on the birthing night. “ ’twill be just the three of us, Leana.”

Relief swept over her like a
freshening
wind off the Solway. “You ken what the
Buik
says: ‘A threefold cord is not quickly broken.’ ”

“Aye.” The hint of a shadow crossed Jamie’s features, then was gone. “Aye, the three of us,” he repeated, offering a faint smile at last. “Reverend Gordon tells me our son will be baptized this night.”

“So he will. One of the housemaids promised to watch over him while we break bread with the Gordons. Ian has already enjoyed his supper.” She eased the babe onto her shoulder and rubbed his back in small circles as she moved toward the hearth, listening for the last bit of air to escape from his stomach. “Willie brought our old cradle yesterday. Might you help me get him settled? It’s difficult for me to bend down just now.”

Jamie hastened to assist her, though his eyes widened as she pressed the bundled infant into his arms. “You can manage,” she assured him. Seeing how carefully he knelt beside the cradle, Leana resisted the urge to correct him—
Keep his blanket wrapped tight! Mind his wee head!—
though she offered a silent prayer of thanks when Ian was in his bed. The cradle made of oak had once held her mother, then her, and then Rose. Now, lined with plain linen and decorated with a sprig of dill for protection, the sturdy wooden cradle welcomed the newest offspring of the McBrides.

“I’ve handled many a newborn lamb,” Jamie confessed, rising to stand by her side. “Still, I’ve never held anything so dear to me.”

“I feel just the same.” Leana slid her hand in the crook of his arm, taking pleasure in the solid warmth of him. “You’ll make a fine father, Mr. McKie.”

“And you, a finer mother.” His broad hand, grown callused from his ceaseless labors, covered hers. When he inclined his head, she accepted the silent invitation, leaning into him, closing her eyes as she sank against his shoulder. Exhaustion seeped through her bones like treacle.

The loud knock at the door startled them both. “Mistress McKie?” A young woman’s voice. “Time for supper.”

Leana straightened, touching a hand to her hair as she reluctantly moved away from Jamie. “Come in.” She nodded at the housemaid as she entered. “The child’s asleep and shouldn’t need me for an hour or more.” Leana paused at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder, apprehensive about leaving Ian. She’d not stepped outside the room for three days, most of which she’d spent cradling him in her arms. Could he manage without her?

The dark-haired maid curtsied, dipping her white cap in Leana’s direction. “Yer bairn will be weel looked after, Mistress McKie.”

Jamie brushed away Leana’s concerns like cobwebs as he guided her across the hall. “ ’twill be good for you to spend an hour with your husband.” His breath against her ear soothed her even more than his words. On the night of Ian’s birth Jamie had promised her that he was a changed man; the proof strolled beside her into the dining room, his arm circled round her waist.

The family stood by their chairs, waiting for the McKies to take their places at the far end of the crowded table. Clusters of candles lit the faces of more than a dozen souls who’d gathered for the meal. The Gordons, their three grown sons—brown haired, brown eyed, and solemn—along with assorted wives and children, hovered over the empty plates, anticipating the supper hour before them. “Good to have you both dining with us this evening,” Mistress Gordon murmured as Leana and Jamie eased past her.

“We’re grateful for your hospitality.” Jamie paused by his chair and bowed to their hostess. “In particular, you’ve been more than generous to offer the use of your spence for my wife and son.”

Mistress Gordon, a small woman with a pleasant, round face and hair the color of lamb’s wool, beamed at them. “A healthy child born under our roof blesses the house and all who are in it.” She motioned at her husband sitting at the head of the table, his back toward the roaring hearth. “Will you pray, Reverend, before our dinner loses its flavor?”

Leana ducked her head and smiled.
No chance of that
. Mistress Gordon’s mutton, a staple at every parish gathering, was seasoned with enough salt and nutmeg to test the hardiest of palates. After a lengthy prayer, the meal commenced in an orderly manner, served by a staff accustomed to life at the manse, where visitors were commonplace. Reverend Gordon presided over the quiet table with a grim expression, arching an eyebrow at one grandson or another wiggling in his seat. A fancy mold of marmalade pudding appeared at the last, with hot custard sauce drizzled over and round it. The children clapped with glee until their mortified parents hushed them. Leana shared the lads’ delight at the treat, winking at them as the sweet pudding was spooned into their dishes. Already she could imagine Ian sitting at table, spoon in hand, cheering for his pudding.

Ian
. She must not think of him just now, or her milk might stain her gown. Neda had warned her that tomorrow would be the worst day, that her breasts would grow swollen and painful when her milk appeared in earnest. She must meditate on something else, and quickly. Her gaze searched the room and settled on the man seated across from her at the end of the long, linen-draped table.
Jamie
. Aye, she’d gladly look at him for hours. He glanced up from his dish and smiled as a spoonful of pudding disappeared into his mouth. No words were spoken, but much was said across the table.

In a matter of days they would share the same bed at Auchengray. Jamie had not reached for her in the shadowy confines of their curtained box bed for many months, in part because of the babe, but more likely because of his feelings for her sister. Would he ever stop wishing he’d claimed Rose for his bride? Leana lowered her chin, afraid of what Jamie
might see in her eyes. Moving to Glentrool this winter would not ease the remorse of what she’d done to her sister, but it might let her breathe again. It might let her love Jamie without apology. She looked up and found Jamie’s green eyes fixed on hers, the planes of his freshly shaven face set aglow by the flickering candlelight.

She started when a servant’s hand appeared before her, whisking away the last of her supper dishes. “It was delicious,” she announced to no one in particular, though Mistress Gordon bobbed her head at the compliment.

Reverend Gordon opened the family Bible and smoothed the pages with his large hands as his deep voice boomed across the cleared table. “Come, ye children, hearken unto me: I will teach you the fear of the L
ORD.”
She knew the psalm well, and, aye, she would teach it to her children. But she would start with the first line:
I will bless the
LORD
at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth
. She had praised God when Ian was born. And she would praise him when Ian was baptized this night, when the dour minister doused his thumb in spittle and sprinkled the babe’s head thrice. Bless the Lord she would, for mightily had God blessed her undeserving womb.