Thorn in My Heart (21 page)

“Not nonsense, sir.” Jamie was amazed at his own conviction. “She believed it to be a word from the Almighty. And so do I.”

His uncle's jaw stilled. “Go on.”

Jamie fashioned his life story like a master weaver, careful to select
the right colors to catch Lachlans eye and divert his attention from less seemly threads. It was the truth, every word of it—
his
truth, the way he saw things. He described the father who chose Evan as his favorite, the mother who chose Jamie. The bowl of barley broth sold for a birthright. Evan, the lone hunter. Jamie, the overseer of lands and flocks.

That last bit of news made his uncle sit up straighter. “You say you re an expert at husbandry, at managing your flocks to best advantage?”

“Aye, both my parents would agree that I am. My father sent me to university to be educated for the kirk.” Jamie paused, not certain how his admission might be received. Other than the slight lift of an eyebrow, his uncle showed neither pleasure nor dismay, so Jamie continued, relieved. “Instead, I studied all that I could about agriculture, then came home to learn the practical side of things under our head shepherd's tutelage.”

“Henry Stewart?”

“Aye, Stew,” Jamie said, not ashamed of the fondness that crept into his voice at the mention of his old friend. “He taught me more about breeding, lambing, and shearing than I could learn from a lifetime of reading. Did Mother mention him in her letters?”

“Aye, she did.” Lachlan glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece, clearly growing impatient. “You ve told me many a colorful story, young James, but you've yet to explain why you've come to Auchengray.”

Jamie steeled himself. “Here's the way of it, Uncle. The last week of September my father announced to Evan that the time had come to bestow the family blessing. You…you do understand how the McKies handle such things?”

“Of course,” Lachlan murmured, brushing the question away as if it were unworthy of him. “You were saying?”

Jamie spilled out the truth like fennel seed, sensing Lachlans fertile mind sifting through the details. “Father called for his favorite meal to be served by his favorite son—”

“Your brother.”

“Aye.” Jamie swallowed. The truth of his father's preference still stuck in his throat like a fish bone. “Before Evan's venison could hang
to a high flavor, my mother prepared two goats, and I served my father first.”

“Rowena offered him
goat
meat for venison?” His uncle laughed. “My older sister always was a clever lass. Then what happened?”

Jamie stumbled over his words, trying to soften the sharp edges of his appalling betrayal and failing miserably. “Father…thought I was Evan. And so he…blessed me.”

Lachlan rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Did he honesdy mistake you for Evan?”

“So it appears, sir.” The unanswered question. He would never truly know.

“I thought your brother was more solid in his build and shorter. Not to mention that bright red hair my sister was always bemoaning. Why couldn't Alec McKie tell the difference between his own two sons?”

“Because my father is nearly blind.” Jamie sighed. “Or because he couldn't bear to see the truth.”

Lachlan nodded slowly, biting his lip as though contemplating something. “You've still not told me what brings you here, Jamie. After Alec gave you his blessing, why didn't you remain at Glentrool to tally your heirship and make your brother miserable?”

“Evan threatened to kill me.”

Lachlan wrinkled his brow. “Is he so much stronger that you would fear him? That you would flee his presence rather than face his wrath?”

Until that moment Jamie hadn't realized how cowardly it sounded. “Aye…he is stronger, Uncle. Cruel. Prone to violence.”

“I see.” Lachlan saw only too well, Jamie realized. “You would rather reason your way through life than wield a pistol. Or clothe your intentions in a borrowed plaid instead of boldly claiming what is righdy yours.”

Jamie shifted in his chair, avoiding his uncle's hard stare by gazing at the intricate needlework pattern on the bedcovers. He wondered absendy which of his cousins might have stitched it with such care.

“I did as I was told,” Jamie finally said, hating the defeat in his voice. “My mother and father deemed it best I leave Glentrool for a season.”

Lachlan snorted. “I suppose Alec McKie invoked die name of the Most High and declared it God's sovereign will that you should run for your life, eh?”

“He blessed me, aye. But so did Almighty God.” With some reluctance, Jamie described his heavenly vision at the cairn, doing his best not to sound like a madman. He mentioned neither the berries nor the Gypsy, relating only what he saw and heard in the dark of night.

Lachlan's eyes widened. “Am I to understand you stole your brother's heirship and your father's trust, then dreamed that Almighty God blessed you for it?”

“Aye, sir.” Jamie hung his head. “Although I've come to believe that God blessed me, not because of what I did, but in spite of it.”

Lachlan regarded him at length. “You may be right, lad.” He tipped his head back, as though weighing his words. “If all you say is true, God has favored you from before you were born. Such an undeserved blessing is not to be taken lighdy.” Slowly his uncles knitted brow grew smooth. His constant frown disappeared, and when he dropped his head once more to look at Jamie, his eyes gleamed like polished chestnuts. “So you have come to Auchengray to bide a wee while your brother licks his wounds. Is that all that brings you here?”

Heat crept into Jamie's cheeks.

“Hoot!” Lachlan pounced like a cat on a mouses tail. “You have another purpose, and I ken what it might be. You plan to steal one of my daughters.”

“Not
steal
Uncle!” Jamie protested, bolting to his feet. The man was too shrewd to be borne. “Had you received the letter I sent from New Galloway, you would know that I'm here at my parents’ bidding. Not to steal or deceive in any manner, but to choose one of your daughters as my bride. With your permission, of course. I have…1 have much to offer.”

“Oh, I ken all about the riches of Glentrool. The five thousand sheep on the hills, a fine stone manor house by Galloway's bonniest loch. ‘Tis a goodly inheritance, to be sure.” He waved his hand at the chair Jamie had abandoned. “Sit back down, dear nephew. If Alec
McKie bids it done, so it will be. I can see that my daughter will be well cared for, though farther from my side than I like.” Lachlan sighed expansively. “I'd always hoped both my daughters would marry men from the neighborhood and raise my grandchildren where I might see them, have some influence on them.”

Jamie remained standing, preferring the advantage it gave him. “You'd be most welcome at Glentrool anytime.”

“I've not visited in all these forty-odd years, Jamie. Not likely I will in the future.” Lachlan looked up, a question in his eyes. Jamie guessed what it might be. “Which of my daughters do you favor, or is it too soon to tell?”

Too soon.
It was all too soon. Jamie gazed at the clock and felt his life ticking away. Should he waste another week, another month, getting to know his cousins? Or was it best to make a decision quickly, then live with the consequences?

“Come now, Jamie. A bright lad like you should know his own mind.” Lachlan's tone, sharp and accusing only minutes before, had turned to butter fresh from the churn. Such a man required careful watching. “Which daughter might it be, Nephew? Do you not have a preference?”

Jamie closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of his lists from yestreen, picturing his cousins at the table this morning, hearing their sweet voices. If he was honest with himself, he did have a preference. He smiled at the thought of her.
Aye, I do.

“Ill not tell a soul,” his uncle prompted him.

“It is not your knowing that concerns me, sir. It is
her
knowing.” He would be kind to them both and careful of their feelings. Weren't they both his cousins, however different they might be? “I prefer to woo the lass first and be sure of her heart before I ask for her hand.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Heart or hand, they're yours for the taking.”

Jamie was relieved it was so easily settled. “But they must not be told, Uncle. Must not know that I've been charged by my parents to marry one of them. A woman likes to think a man pursues her for love, not duty.”

“Aren't you the canny lad, to ken the ways of women?” Lachlans sly grin reminded him of his mother. “Come, if you already favor one of my daughters, speak her name to me. But do whisper, lest the servants catch wind of it. Might it be Leana…or Rose?”

Jamie leaned over to tell him, savoring the taste of her name in his mouth.

Lachlans eyebrows shot up. “You surprise me, lad.”

“Aye.” Jamie felt his face grow warm as a grin stretched across it. “Sometimes I surprise myself.”

You ought to make welcome the present guest,
and send forth the one who wishes to go.

H
OMER

B
est be on your way, Rose, or Susanne will wonder what's become of you.” Leana gendy pushed her sister over the threshold and into the mild October morning, squeezing her shoulders as she did. “Remember, the sun will be gone by six o'clock. Father wont have to scold you about being late for supper again, will he, Rose?”

Rose shrugged off her hands. “Nae, he will not,
Mother?
she said in a saucy voice, then hurried off to spend a Saturday with the Elliot household in Newabbey.

Leana smiled, shaking her head. Ever a child, her Rose. She quiedy closed the door, offering a prayer for her sisters safety as always, then glanced down at her hands.
Ochl
They were badly stained from her early-morning gardening, without a lemon in the kitchen to be spared. She hid her hands among her skirts and busded through the house, hoping Cousin Jamie was not looking for her yet. She'd promised to make him a new shirt but couldn't bear to think of fitting him while he eyed the faint brown creases along her palms and fingers.

Silly to be so vain. Especially after Jamie had shown a marked interest in her gardens. The two of them had spent Friday morning walking up and down the rows of plants while he hovered over her shoulder, offering his opinion and asking astute questions. In the afternoon he and Rose had walked the pastures together—counting sheep, Rose said—returning for supper wet from the mist and laughing at their sorry appearance. It was thoughtful of Jamie to spend time with both cousins. No word yet why he'd come to Auchengray. Father knew, but the rest of the household, for a change, did not.

She found Neda sorting out her spice chest in the stillroom. The
drawers, no bigger than Fathers hands, were stacked about the worn kitchen table. “Oh, dear, Neda. Has Annabel put currants in the cinnamon drawer again?”

The housekeeper nodded, pressing a finger to her lips, then pointing toward the adjoining scullery. The sounds of clanging pans and splashing water meant Annabel was hard at work and well within earshot. The maid had not been taught to read before coming to Auchengray, her first place of service. While storing Nedas precious spices, she often guessed at the labels, confusing clay sugar with sugar candy, isinglass with arrowroot. “Thank goodness the drawers were empty,” Neda whispered. “They needed cleaning oot anyway.”

How like Neda to find a way to be kind.

“Speaking of cleaning, have you something for these?” Leana held out her hands, frowning at her blunt nails and soiled skin.

Neda frowned as well. “Yer sister took the last lemon from the cellar this mornin to scrub her own hands. Promised she'd only use a wee slice, though where the lass hid the rest of it, I canna guess. I meant to use it on the flounder for dinner, so we're both missin that yellow fruit.” Neda wiped her hands on her apron, her lips pursed. “Eh…see if Mary doesn't keep a bit of lime powder stored in the laundry. Use it with care. Not a
drop
on yer good dress, mind ye.”

Leana scrubbed her hands with the harsh white powder, plunging them in a bucket of water as though she were bleaching linen, pleased to see the grass and soil stains disappear. When she finished, her hands were pinker than she liked and smelled frightful, but at least they were clean. She would soak them in fragrant lavender water, seek out her sewing kit, and find her cousin, in that order. Jamie might not pay attention to her hands after all, but a gendewoman should look her best, even if no one noticed.

She walked back through the kitchen, greeting Annabel in passing and touching Nedas shoulder to thank her. When Leana entered the hall, the sound of a man's footsteps traveled down the stair. Too lively to be her father, too confident to be Willie, too loud to be Duncan in his worn leather shoes.
Jamie.

He reached the bottom step as she turned the corner.

Leana quickly stepped back. “Good day to you, Cousin.” She tucked her hands behind her and bobbed politely, still uncertain whether a curtsy was called for or if Jamie should be treated like any other member of the household.

“Cousin Leana,” he said formally and reached for her hand.

She clasped her fingers tighdy behind her, surprised at how cold they suddenly felt. “If you 11 kindly wait by the hearth, my sewing kit is in my room.” Ducking past him, she managed two steps before he turned and caught her elbow, smiling as he did.

“There's no need for haste. We have all morning.” He tugged on her elbow playfully, trying to look behind her. “Are you hiding something?”

“H-hiding?” Leana could no more hide the smell of laundry lime than she could mask the heat blooming in her cheeks. “Nae. Nae.” She was a terrible liar. “Let me…ah…”

“Let me bid you a proper good morning.” Despite her protestations, Jamie drew her hand forward and lighdy kissed her fingers. “Ah.” He sniffed appreciatively. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“Aye,” she groaned. “John Wesley.”

“Nae,” he insisted. “Ivy Findlay, our housekeeper at Glentrool.” He grinned and released her hand, then glanced toward the front room. “I'll be waiting by the hearth whenever it suits you. You are more than kind to sew me a new shirt, lass. I'll forever be in your debt.”