Thorn in My Heart (19 page)

The servant girls were lifting the last of the dinner plates when the front door nearly burst off its hinges and a flushed and flustered Rose appeared at the dining room door.

“Father! We have a visitor.” Roses anxious gaze moved back and forth between those gathered around the table and their unseen guest beyond the front door.

“Who is it, dearie?” Leana asked, grateful for any diversion.

Roses reply came out on a squeak. “Our cousin James from Glentrool!”

Jamie McKie.
Leana searched her mind for some memory of him. A bothersome lad of twelve tugging at her braids, whining for his supper, and bragging about Glentrool as though it were the only place worth calling home.

Lachlan shot to his feet, tossing his napkin aside. “Rowenas son? Is my sister with him?”

“Nae, Father, but Zhere.” Rose was all but hopping from one foot to another, bidding them join her. “Do come and greet him.” She lowered her voice, though the note of excitement remained. “You must forgive his attire, Father. Jamie met with several mishaps on his journey.”

Lachlan dismissed Rose with a curt nod, sending her flying back out the door, then turned to their dinner guest. “Pardon me, Mr. McDougal, while I attend to my nephew.” His gaze shifted to Leana, narrowing slighdy. “Stay where you are, Leana. See that you engage our visitor with your wittiest discourse.” Her father disappeared, leaving her at a loss for words.

“Mr. McDougal, Im not…”

“No need to be witty for my sake, Miss McBride,” the laird of Nethercarse assured her, sipping the last of his claret. “I have no need of a clever woman. Merely a compliant one.”

Compliant.
Aye, she'd spent a lifetime learning to be submissive. Rose had never spent one day of her life doing so. Which was why her sister was happily outside, making their cousin welcome, while
she
was stuck in the dining room with Fergus McDougal, making herself miserable.

Enough, Leana.
Self-pity made a poor dessert.

She clasped her hands in her lap and forced herself to smile. “Mr. McDougal, tell me about your children.”

“Och!” He waved his fork, splattering gravy on the fresh linen tablecloth. “Three more
ill-deedie
children could not be found in Galloway.”

“I am sure they're not so bad as—”

“Nae, they're worse!” He abrupdy waved at Annabel, hovering in the corner, and pointed at his empty glass. “My oldest son, Dougie, is seven years of age and the instigator of most of the mischief around Nethercarse. His brother, Harry, is five and does whatever Dougie tells him to do. A verra dangerous business. And Martha, the three-year-old, cries for her mother all the livelong day.”

“Poor child,” Leana murmured, compassion for the girl crowding out her concerns for herself. “I know what it's like to grow up without a mother.”

Fergus swallowed a mouthful of claret and wet his lips, staining them a bit. “So you do, lass. Which is why I thought you might be of use to me…ah, to my children.”

“Of
use,”
she repeated softly.

“Aye. Useful. To me. To my household.” His brow darkened, and a frown creased his thick face. “It isn't love you're wanting, is it, Miss McBride?” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “There are certain… ah,
needs
a man brings to a marriage, and I expect those to be met. As to love…well, I thought surely a woman of your age…with your….ah, particular…”

Leana stood. She could not bear to hear another word. “I understand.
Completely. Mr. McDougal, might I kindly have your permission to greet my cousin?”

He looked perturbed. “Go, if you must, and tell your father I gave my leave.” He glanced at the dessert Annabel had set before him moments ago, and his frown faded. “I can amuse myself for quite some time with this tempting burnt cream.”

Leana curtsied and glided out the door, biting her lip to hold her tears at bay. What did her sister call him? A “horrid old farmer.”
Aye, Rose, he is.
She hurried toward the conversation coming from the front garden. Two familiar voices and a third, not quite so deep as her fathers but warmer and laced with good humor, floated in her direction. She ducked around an overgrown hazel, then slowed to a stop, amazed at what she saw.

Lachlan McBride, usually sparing with his affection, held a tall, shabbily dressed gendeman in a loose embrace. “My own flesh and blood!” her father said with obvious fondness, tousling the younger mans already tangled hair. “My sisters son, my own nephew,” he added, pressing him to his chest.

“Father, let him breathe!” Rose cried.

Leana caught her breath as well, the ordeal at the dinner table already forgotten.
James Lachlan McBride.
Her cousin. No longer a rough-and-tumble lad, he was a grown man, taller than her father.

“Cousin James.”

He turned at her voice. Recognition dawned in his mossy green eyes. “Leana!” He held out a hand to her. “Come let me have a look at you.” A warm smile stretched across his bearded cheeks. “How grown you are. A woman now, not a lass.”

“So she is.” Lachlan's tone was sharp, his cordial manner gone. “A woman who was told to keep our dinner guest amused.”

Heat rose from the neck of her gown, quickly reaching her hairline. “He…gave me leave to greet my cousin.” She held out her hand, wishing it were more steady. “Welcome, James.”

“Jamie,” he amended with a playful wink directed only at her. “Still just Jamie.” He'd noticed her embarrassment—how could he not?—
and intervened with a bit of levity. The kindness in his eyes was genuine. Taking her offered hand, he bent over it, dark waves of damp hair falling forward, and planted a light kiss on her fingers, his lips barely grazing her skin. When Jamie straightened and brushed the locks from his brow, their gazes locked.

For one moment Leana thought something passed between them. A slight frisson, the slenderest thread of understanding. It warmed her soul yet cooled her skin so that she shivered in the October sunshine. No one else noticed, perhaps not even he. But she was certain of it. Somehow he had looked inside her heart and approved of what he found.

“Come, come.” Lachlan interrupted her reverie, tugging on Jamie's tattered sleeve. “We must clothe you, lad, and see that your stomach is filled.” He slung one arm across Jamie's broad shoulders and guided him toward the house, waving the other arm expansively, describing his holdings.

Left to fend for themselves, Leana and Rose followed some distance behind, exchanging glances.

“What do you think of him?” Rose whispered, her voice high as a child's.

“I think Jamie's in desperate need of a hot soak and a good night's sleep.” Leana watched Lachlan's broad gestures and overeager words. “Father, however, will insist on learning the purpose of our cousins visit first.”

“Oh,
that!”
Rose giggled. “I already know why Jamie's here.”

Leana's breathing stilled. “You do?”

How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away!
But while ye thus tease me together,
To neither a word will I say.

J
OHN
G
AY

W
ell, not exactly,” Rose quickly amended, ducking her head. “I mean, Cousin Jamie hasn't
toldme
why he's come, not in so many words.” She couldn't lie to her older sister. Not because it was unseemly, but because it was
impossible.
Leana's wide, pale eyes missed nothing.

Jamie had
not
come to Auchengray intending to kiss her. Of that Rose was very sure. It was only a friendly kiss between cousins. Over as soon as it began, though it scared her a little. Perhaps she shouldn't have permitted him to do such a thing. Not that he'd asked. Still, it was not why he'd come. Whatever the reason, it was something else altogether.

“I
think
I know why he's traveled east,” Rose said, hedging again. “That is, I have an
idea
…”

“I see.” Leana's lips were pursed, as though she was trying not to laugh. “So you met Jamie while you were out tending the sheep?”

“Aye, near Lochend.” The sisters tarried near the front door, their voices low. Rose knew they were expected inside but couldn't bear to keep her news to herself. “Rab Murray discovered him first,” she whispered, “bathing in the loch. By the time I saw him, Cousin Jamie was dressed but still dripping wet. No boots, no hat, and a poor traveler's walking stick.”

Leana smiled at the picture she painted. “What did you two chat about on the walk home? Was it—”

“Daughters!” Lachlan McBride loomed over them from the open doorway, his brow a thundercloud. “Leana, find your place in the dining
room at once. Rose, see that you spend a moment at the washstand in the spence, then haste to join us. Our invited guest has kept his own company long enough.”

Rose blushed, Leana nodded. “Aye, Father,” they said in unison. Both did as they were told and soon took their seats across from one another at the table—she in her worn drugget dress and Leana in her gray serge. Rose had insisted her sister wear the dreary gown, hoping it might discourage Fergus the Haggis from pursuing things further.
Poor Leana!

The laird of Nethercarse sat before his empty dish, a stray daub of custard on his waistcoat, a faint scowl on his face. “I met your young cousin, Miss McBride, if only for an instant. Your father wisely sent him up the stair to see to his appearance. ‘Twill take a great deal more than soap and water to make that lad presentable.”

Rose flew to Jamie's defense. “He traveled nearly fifty miles, much of it on foot.”

“The gendeman addressed your sister, not you, Rose.” Father's reprimands were a staple at dinner. “Kindly let her respond.”

“What you say is true, Mr. McDougal.” Leana's slight smile may have fooled Fergus, but Rose could see how it grieved her sister to be polite to the man. “Our cousin Jamie had a long and arduous journey across Galloway. We're grateful he's arrived unharmed.”

“However undressed. And unexpected.” Fergus almost
lookedlikt
a haggis, so tighdy was his mouth drawn between his fat cheeks. “Not the usual manner of things at Auchengray, is it, Mr. McBride?”

“Ah…itisnot. No.”

Rose had seldom seen her father shamed to silence. She stared at her plate, served hot from the kitchen, and hoped someone would say
something.
What an
unco
day it was and only half over!

“Eat your dinner, Rose.” Her fathers words did not bite so sharply this time. “Jamie will join us before long.”

She plunged her fork into the oyster pie, suddenly famished. Had she eaten breakfast? Supper, yestreen? While the two men conversed and Leana listened, Rose made short work of her dinner. “Is there any burnt
cream left?” she whispered to Neda, who soon placed not one but two small dishes before her.

A male voice floated across the room. “My wee cousin has quite an appetite, I see.”

Rose looked up and swallowed her first spoonful of custard with some difficulty. “Cousin…Jamie?”

“Aye.” He stood in the doorway and laughed, a warm, rumbling sort of chuckle. “I'm much altered, thanks to your fathers generosity.”

Altered
fell short of the mark. His hair was pulled back into a sleek tail, no longer a dark, matted mess. In the afternoon light it shone a rich brown. His smooth chin, freed from its bearded brisde, jutted out handsomely, a subtle dare. Even wearing her fathers old suit of clothes, Jamie was a braw sight, standing to attention like a gendeman soldier waiting for his marching orders.

“Sit, Nephew.”

Jamie claimed the remaining chair next to hers, smiling at her as he sat. “Forgive me for arriving at such an awkward hour, Uncle.”

“Och!” Lachlan motioned to Neda and Eliza, who came bearing dishes heaped with food. “Nothing awkward about feeding a starving man at any hour.” Lachlan stood to his feet and inclined his head toward their well-fed guest, who heaved himself out of his chair as well. “Begging your pardon, Nephew. Mr. McDougal and I must retire to the spence for a bit of business. Your cousins will keep you suitably entertained while you dine. Wont you, ladies?”

Rose exchanged glances with her sister, who answered for them. “Aye, Father. Between the two of us, Jamie will be well cared for.”

Fergus McDougal moved toward the door, delivering a parting message over his hunched shoulder. “Make your cousin welcome, Miss McBride, but not
too
welcome, if you ken my meaning.” He turned and winked at Leana—how perfectly dreadftil!—then added, “I'll see you again next Wednesday, when our dinner will not be so
ramstam
interrupted.”

“Wednesday,” was all Leana said, her voice as cool as the water in Lochend.

Jamie seemed too busy with his meal to notice the drama unfolding around him. His table manners, though, were impeccable, like Leana's. He brought each bite of food to his mouth, instead of bending over the plate and shoveling it in like a plowman. “While I enjoy the best meal I've eaten in a week, might one of you kindly tell me the way of things at Auchengray?”

“Oh, Cousin!” Rose groaned at such a gloomy topic. “As you can see for yourself, Auchengray is the dreariest place imaginable. A bothy compared to Maxwell Park. I visited with Lady Maxwell yestreen, did I tell you? Aye? A grand house with painted paper walls and corniced ceilings and
carpets.
Imagine that! Our house is naught but three floors of cramped rooms with uneven stone floors, rough beams,”—she waved her hand overhead—“and too few candles. The chimneys wont draw properly, and the casement windows—”

“I didn't mean the house, lass.” His reproof was so gentle she almost missed it. “I meant the people. Tell me who lives here at Auchengray. Who are the servants? What sort of property does your father own, and how does he use it?”

Her shoulders sank under such weighty questions. “Ah…Leana?”

Her sister lifted her chin and smiled across the table at Jamie. Not the pretend smile she gave Mr. McDougal. This one was genuine, with teeth. “I'd be pleased to tell you about Auchengray, Cousin. Though our house is modest, the lands are well managed and prosperous.”