Thorn in My Heart (18 page)

They disappeared like pipits on the wing. Rose did not even notice
which direction they went, so shaken was she by this shameless gentleman with the too-familiar smile. Almost like her fathers, though that was hardly possible.

“So, lass.” He moved toward her. She sensed the warmth of him even from a few steps away. “Tell me, are you Leana? Or are you Rose?”

Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise mans son doth know.

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

I
‘m Rose.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”

Jamie fought a smile. “Aye, we have.”

Twelve years earlier a pink-cheeked cherub had climbed into his lap, tugging at his locks. “Cousin Jamie,” the black-haired child had said, eyes twinkling. “I'm Rose!” That same lass stood before him now, grown into womanhood, a creature as lovely as her name.
Rose.

“Who
are
you?” she demanded petulantly.

“You weren't expecting me?”

“Nae!” She colored, though not with embarrassment. Irritation maybe. “Kindly introduce yourself, sir.”

The letter hadn't arrived after all. She didn't know who he was or why he'd come. He closed his eyes for a moment, marshaling his courage, then took a steadying breath. “I'm your cousin.”

“My
cousin?”
Her brows lifted into two graceful arches. “But my cousins are two fine gendemen in Glentrool. And you…” The truth slowly dawned in her eyes. “Surely you're not…” Mouth agape, Rose studied his hair, then his face, then the whole of him before letting out a faint gasp. “Are you…my own cousin? James Lachlan McKie?”

“Aye, dear Rose.” He held out his arms. “I am.”

“Jamie!” She squealed and leaped into his embrace, three years old again. “It's you, it's you!” Pressing her warm cheek against his damp, bearded face, she sighed in his ear. “Cousin Jamie, come all the way from Glentrool.”

Jamie swallowed hard and blinked harder. He'd done it. Without compass or coin he'd traveled the length of Galloway and found his family. On foot. Alone.
Do you see, Father?

Rose suddenly pulled away from him, her skin more pink than ever. “Forgive me, Cousin. I shouldn't… Well, we haven't…” She demurely folded her hands behind her back and turned to watch a moorhen gliding along the loch surface, her black braid brushing her fingertips.

“Nothing to apologize for, Miss McBride.” He spoke in his most mannerly tone, as though they were at a society gathering dressed in their best attire and not two
tattie-bogles
standing in the middle of a country road, one of them covered with bits of wool, the other dripping with water from the loch. “If I had a hat, I would gladly sweep it to the ground. Unfortunately I have no hat.”

“So I see.” Rose shifted her gaze toward him again, amusement sketched across her features. “Nor do you have a horse.” She glanced down, her dimples deepening. “Nor boots.”

“Cousin, the list of goods that are no longer in my possession grows by the hour.”

She laughed, tipping her head back as she did. “Poor Jamie.” Her sweet laughter filled the air like lilting notes from a wooden flute. “Father will be pleased to see you, whatever your sad state.”

“I hope that's true.” He would need a ready explanation of some sort, enough to open the doors of Auchengray. Why hadn't he planned what he might say to Lachlan long before now? Jamie brushed his hands over his sullied coat, disgusted with his appearance. “As you can see, I'm hardly fit to sleep indoors, let alone dine at my uncle's table.”

“Wheesht!” Rose turned and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Such foolish talk, Cousin. You've had a hard journey is all.” She tugged him forward. “We'll hasten home to a tasty dinner of oyster pie. Our housekeeper Neda is quite the cook.” She chatted away in a cheerful babble, her conversation filled with people he didn't know and places he hadn't been. “Your cousin Leana and Mr. Fergus McDougal of Nethercarse will be there. Won't Leana be shocked to see
you?”

He was content to let her talk, slowing his steps while he considered what he might tell Lachlan. True, his father had sent him off to seek a wife, but how would Jamie account for his hasty departure? His brother threatening to kill him was sufficient reason, but Lachlan would want to know what had fueled Evan's anger. Alec's decision to name his younger
son heir to Glentrool explained much, but how had such a turnabout occurred? Every detail raised fresh questions that begged for answers.

Jamie discarded one fabrication after another, arriving at an unpleasant conclusion: He would tell his uncle the truth about what had happened at Glentrool. The Almighty had promised to bless him; let him bless an honest confession then.

“Jamie McKie, you've not heard one word I've said.”

He stopped to smile down at his bonny cousin. Sunlight filtered through the oak-leafed canopy above, lighting her face like a candle. “Aren't you the canny one, Rose? You've caught me thinking about what I'll say to your father.”

Her animated features grew still. When she spoke, he no longer heard music in her voice. “Tell him only what will satisfy him. ‘Tis the safest way.”

“I see.” What he saw was a shadow of fear lingering over the young woman's face. “Thank you for…ah, warning me.”

She shrugged and looked straight ahead. “Auchengray is not an easy roof to live under.”

Wanting to hear her laugh again, Jamie arched his brows in mock disdain. “ ‘Tis a heidie thing for a lass to be saying about her own father.”

“Och!” She jerked her chin at him, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I'll thank you to keep my headstrong words to yourself. And your opinions as well.” She quickened her steps, pulling on his sleeve. “Come, I've something to show you, Cousin.”

He climbed over the dry stane dyke, then followed her up a steep hill, headed toward a knot of blackface sheep. “These are my father's flocks.” She swung her arm in a proud arc. “Aren't they a fine lot?”

Jamie nodded, already assessing the animals’ conformation. Straight backs. Strong chests. Solid legs, widely set. “Aye, fine indeed. Healthy coats, too.” He approached one of the older ewes and lighdy ran his fingers over the long, coarse wool. “Good texture. Have you been checking their feet?”

“What kind of shepherdess do you take me for?” She bristled, her
dark eyes snapping. “You can be sure I keep an eye on their feet and all else.”

“Its clear that you do.” Jamie could not keep the admiration from his voice or the delight from his face. “Have you many more like these?”

“Hundreds.” She planted her hands on her hips, measuring him in rather the same way he'd studied her flock. “Are you bent on progress and improvement, like my father? Always with an eye to better breeding?”

“That I am. Breeding is of utmost importance.” He matched her bold stance and regarded her with such keen interest that her cheeks turned as rosy as her name. “Tell me, lass, have you found a worthy ram?”

“Th-that's Duncans duty,” she stammered. “Duncan Hastings, our overseer. He's to bring the tups to Auchengray this afternoon.” She looked about, as though seeking a way of escape, when a wry smile suddenly lit her face, and she pointed across the pasture. “In the meantime perhaps you could turn my watering trough aright.”

The old trough was enormous, built of solid oak. It was clear she didn't think him strong enough for the task. Indeed, four men might not be able to manage it. He marched over to the massive trough, determined to prove himself. Grasping the rough edges, he ignored the splinters piercing his skin and heaved the trough with all his might. It barely moved as he strained against the weight. His face grew hot, and his knees threatened to buckle. At last, as though helped by an unseen hand, Jamie turned it upright, dropping it into place with a noisy thud as the sheep trotted over, bleating loudly.

“They 11 be needing water,” he said, plucking the worst of the splinters from his palms. “Hand me those buckets.”

She did so, her eyes wide with frank admiration. “I've not seen a gentleman do such a thing before.”

“Well, now you have.” He left her standing there and made his way back to the loch, filling both wooden buckets to the brim and lugging them up the hill. It took several trips—him hauling, her watching— before the trough was full. He refused to grumble about the weight of the buckets or complain about the hill, which grew steeper with each round. He was strong as any man and would earn her admiration by the
sweat of his brow if necessary. Hadn't he turned over a trough only the Almighty himself could have budged?

When he finished, Rose arched her back, stretching out her arms as though she had dragged all those heavy buckets of water herself. A coy smile decorated her features. “The sheep are too stupid to be grateful. But I am, ever so.”

Only then did Jamie notice what he should have seen at once: Rose McBride was the very image of her Aunt Rowena. The same womanly shape blooming from a small waist, the same dark hair and sparkling eyes, the same persuasive charm. No wonder he felt at ease with her; no wonder he thought her bonny. His father had sent him on a journey to find a wife. Who could have known he would find a young Rowena— a loosome Rose—waiting for him at journeys end?

Jamie stood before her, still breathing hard from his labors. “Are you truly grateful, lass?”

“Aye, truly.” She moved one step closer, her chin almost brushing his chest, and gazed up at him, the picture of innocence. Though her black braid was windblown and tangled, her bright eyes shone like jewels. And though her cheeks were brushed with dirt, her rosebud mouth formed a perfect bow. “Oh, Jamie,” she said, her voice soft as a sleeping baby's sigh, “I'm glad you've come.”

“So am I, Cousin.” He bent his head and lighdy kissed her, surprising them both. Tears stung the back of his throat. “So am I.”

In life there are meetings which seem
Like a fate.

E
DWARD
R
OBERT
B
ULWER,
L
ORD
L
YTTON

I
f Fergus kissed her that afternoon—if he dared even try—Leana would bolt from the man's side and run the rest of the way home.

“Mr. McDougal, you must be famished by now.” Leana slipped her hand from his arm and lengthened her stride as much as her heavy skirts would allow. “Neda will have dinner waiting. My sister, Rose, should be along shortly.” She glanced over her shoulder, grateful to see Willie keeping a close watch on them. The manservant nodded at her, his expression filled with compassion.
Dear Willie.
He disapproved of the match. Only her father saw its benefits and only because they benefited him.

“Why the haste, Miss McBride?” Fergus caught up with her effortlessly. “Dinner will wait. Although I must confess, my hunger is seldom sated.” He drew her hand back and firmly placed it on his arm. “We've climbed two wee hills, and already you're eager to return to Auchengray.” He leaned closer, ignoring Willie's throat-clearing noises behind them. “Am I to gather you do not favor my suit?”

Leana could not meet his gaze, certain the truth would be reflected in her eyes. “Not at all,” she answered, knowing her words carried two meanings and he would hear the one that suited him. By dodging deceit and keeping Fergus appeased, she hoped to avoid her father's wrath and the Almighty's displeasure as well. It was an exhausting game more suited for a juggler at court.

“It's the brightness of the sun,” she explained, tapping her wide-brimmed hat. Her long sleeves and linen gloves protected her fair skin, but her tender eyes longed for relief. “I prefer shade over sunlight, Mr. McDougal, and a cool, dark room over a brighdy lit hill.”

“Well then,” he said with a low chuckle, “I'll see to it we spend many happy hours in cool, dark rooms.”

She refused to acknowledge his comment, pressing a hand against her stomach to keep it from turning over in protest. The last half-mile passed with blessed swiftness, his attention distracted by a pair of herd dogs snarling and snapping at each other a short distance ahead. “A regular
collieshangle?
he said, quickening his pace to keep up with them. Not Auchengray dogs, she noted, grateful for small mercies.

By the time they arrived at the house, Leana was overheated and thirsty, though with no appetite for oyster pie. She excused herself in the hall, then hurried to her room to repair her appearance and have a moment to herself before the ordeal of dinner began. When she removed her hat, she discovered her hair in shambles. She combed and braided it again, pinning the braids in place with limited success, bathed her hands and face at her washstand, then slipped down the stair to the dining room, hoping no one noticed her delay.

Her fathers stern greeting proved otherwise. “Why have you kept Mr. McDougal waiting?”

“Sorry, Father.” She ducked her head and took her seat posthaste. Lachlan sat at the head of the table, with Mr. McDougal on his right, then Leana. Across the table her sisters chair was conspicuously empty. Leana carefully drained her voice of any emotion, lest she spark her fathers temper. “Rose should be here any moment, Father. Might we bide a wee while?”

“And watch Nedas savory meal grow cold? I should say not. Let us pray.”

Heads bowed, hands folded, they offered thanks to God for the meal before them and for a goodly number of other things before finally sinking their forks into the flaky crust. Well-seasoned oysters, beef, bacon, and shallots vied for her approval, but Leana could barely swallow a bite. When she saw a look of concern crease Nedas brow, she hastened to explain. “Its delicious, Neda, truly it is. No claret for me though.”

Their meal dragged on, the conversation stilted and one-sided, her
father expounding on topics only another bonnet laird could appreciate. Fergus McDougal nodded, apparendy listening, but his brown eyes focused solely on her. She felt his gaze moving over her features, almost tasting her, as though she were the main course. Maybe she was. He ate everything on his plate and asked for more, smacking his lips appreciatively, complimenting Neda each time she appeared with another dish. He would be an easy man to please at the dinner table. Leana could not bear to think of pleasing him in any other way.