Thorn in My Heart (22 page)

“Have your guineas ready, sir.” She curtsied this time, as low as the steps would allow without losing her balance, then turned and fled up the stair. Whatever was she doing? Such flindrikin behavior! Fine for innocent young Rose, but for her, a woman of marriageable age, being coy with her bachelor cousin was not at all seemly.

Leana had composed herself by the time she headed back down the stair, her arms draped with fabric, her thoughts on the business at hand. She'd noticed how poorly her father's shirts fit Jamie—too tight in the neck, too short in the sleeves—so she'd cut the linen to a larger pattern. All that remained was pinning and stitching. And fitting.

Jamie stood by the hearth, waiting for her, his coat already tossed
aside onto a chair. He stretched out his arms on each side. “I am yours to command, Leana.”

She bit back a smile. It was Jamie who commanded the room with his wide stance and regal stature. His hands, graceful for a man, yet muscular, reached well past the end of his borrowed shirtsleeves, and his waistcoat fell woefully short of his waist. Though she'd sewn shirts for her father and Duncan, fitting a braw lad like Jamie was a different matter altogether.

Gathering a handful of pins from her sewing kit, she spread them across the top of the hearthside table. If she poked them between her teeth as usual, then she couldn't speak to Jamie as she worked, which would be most rude. “You must stand perfecdy still,” she cautioned. “I don't want to stab you by accident.”

His mouth twitched. “Might you do so on purpose?”

“Certainly not.” Smiling, she smoothed the linen over his shoulders and along his arms, skimming her hands along the fabric, barely touching him as she slipped pins in place to mark the seams. Despite her precautions, it was impossible not to feel the warmth of him through his clothing, not to notice the scent of heather clinging to his freshly shaved chin. Seldom had she stood this close to any man, let alone a man of twenty-four. She willed her hands not to shake and her mind not to wander.

Perhaps if she pretended he were Fergus McDougal…

Nae.
That would be no help at all; she'd run from the room.

The two men could not look more different. Jamie with his smooth brow, and Fergus with his furrowed one; Jamie with his green eyes set well apart to allow for his strong nose, and Fergus with his brown cow eyes and bulbous nose; Jamie with his half smile, as though he knew a secret worth keeping, and Fergus with his vulgar leer.

Naught in common, not one thing.

Jamie chuckled, startling her. “You've done well thus far. I've not been stuck with a pin yet.”

“Aye, but it's trying to keep from pinning your
new
shirt to the one you're wearing—that's what's truly difficult.” She slid her fingers
beneath the fabric where a cuff would soon be attached, then said without thinking, “It would be much easier if you removed your shirt.” She froze, mortified. “Not that I would ever suggest such a thing.”

Jamie started to speak, then pressed his lips together. A gendeman, through and through.

Leana could barely say the words. “I…beg your pardon.”

“An innocent remark, Leana.” His tone was kindness itself. “Think nothing of it.”

Leana forced herself to continue, silendy berating herself for being so careless. Whatever must her cousin think of her now? Swallowing her shame, she started on the side seams, which ran nearly to his knees, and pretended not to notice the doeskin breeches beneath her fingers. She worked her way along one shirt seam, pinning as she went, then bent down to add a final pin at the hem. Without looking up, she held out the fabric to show him how much remained. “Do you prefer a generous hem, Cousin, or a longer shirt?”

“Whatever pleases you.”

You please me, Cousin.
There, the truth of it.

She rose, keeping her gaze to the floor. Jamie
was
pleasing—to look at, to talk to, to spend time with. But he was not courting her; Fergus McDougal was. “Perhaps a longer hem is best,” she murmured, moving behind him where she would be less distracted. Her hands flew along the second seam until she finished, then she stepped back to judge the fit.

“Will I do, Cousin?” Jamie slowly turned around, still holding his arms away from his sides. “As a shirt model?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to say more, and gathered up the rest of the pins. “You 11 be relieved to know I wont ever put you through such misery again. I can simply pattern any new shirts after this one.”

“What a clever woman you are.”

Leana ventured the smallest of smiles. “Now its your turn to be clever and lift that new shirt over your head without sticking yourself.” He did so with remarkable ease, handing it over with a gallant sweep. “Well done.” She nodded at his discarded coat. “Do dress yourself, Cousin, for I have reason to expect visitors shortly.”

“Someone to see you?” He slipped on the coat, which was also too small. If Jamie was planning to stay at Auchengray for very long, something would need to be done about his wardrobe.

“Indeed not. To see
you?
She watched him button his blue coat. ‘Twas a fine color with his brown hair. “Duncan crossed paths with one of the shepherds from Troston Hill yestreen and shared the news of Auchengray's visitor. Your arrival will soon be the favorite topic of conversation in the parish.”

“I see.” His gaze narrowed. “Will they want to know why I've comer

She chose her words carefully. “Is it so odd a question?”

“Nae. ‘Tis the most natural question in the world. I'll tell anyone who asks that I've come to meet my Newabbey cousins before they marry and
flit”
He inclined his head. “Is either of you in danger of doing so…anytime soon?”

“I'm afraid—
ouch!”
Surprised by a sharp knock at the door, Leana instinctively pulled the unfinished shirt tight against her and stuck herself in several places. She ran her hands over her skin, feeling foolish. “Do forgive me.”

Jamie looked genuinely distressed. “Cousin, there is nothing to apologize for.” He gendy touched her neck, then showed her the spot of scarlet on his fingertip.

“Och!” She held out the shirt, horrified. “Bloodstains are the very worst to get out.”

Another sharp knock sounded at the door, which Jamie ignored. “Never mind the shirt, lass. Are you in pain?”

Neda hurried by, eying Leana as she passed.

“Truly, I'll be fine, Jamie.” She patted her neck, checking for other wounds. “If you might have a handkerchief.

He produced a worn square of cotton and pressed it against her neck. “I'm sorry, Leana.”

A woman's merry laugh floated across the room. “I'm not sorry in the least, for I would not have missed seeing this for all the world.”

Jamie abrupdy stepped back, and Leana turned toward the door,
relieved to see her dearest friend. “What is it you think you've seen, Jessie Newall?”

The red-haired young woman strolled into the room, a round-cheeked babe on her hip, a toothy smile on her face. “I've seen a bonny sight: Leana McBride talking to a man her own age.”

“Ah.” Leana smiled. “That.” She nodded at her cousin, who bowed from his waist as she introduced her neighbors. “Mistress Jessie Newall of Troston Hill and Miss Annie, kindly meet my cousin, James McKie of Glentrool.” Pleasantries were exchanged, though Jamie did not kiss Jessies hand in greeting, Leana noted with the tiniest bit of satisfaction. “Jessie and her husband, Alan, have the farm on top of Troston Hill.”

“Herds or crops?” Jamie asked politely, at which both women laughed and the baby squealed.

“Och, Mr. McKie, if you could see the property!” Jessie shook her head. “Naught but rocks and gorse and the roughest farmland in Galloway. We've a good pasture for blackface sheep, and I've a garden or two, but you'll not find us pushing a plow at harvest time.”

Leana remembered her manners. “Cousin Jamie, might you kindly ask Neda to bring us some tea?” He nodded and was gone, looking a bit relieved, she thought. Perhaps he did not care for children.

“Tea would be lovely.” Jessie sighed and put her babe down on the slate floor with care. “Annie gets heavier by the day but refuses to start walking.”

Leana dropped to her knees in front of the child, smoothing a hand over Annie's curly head of hair, as red as her mother's. “When Annie is ready, nothing will stop her. Isn't that so, dearie?” Annie waved her arms and blurted out a long, nonsensical sentence, which Leana understood perfectly. “And I'm happy to see you again as well, wee girl. May I hold you for a bittie?”

Jessie shook her head. “You'll be sorry, for she'll ne'er let go. Be calling you Mither before you know it.”

Leana scooped up the child and held her close, cooing in her ear and nuzzling her soft head. Her throat tightened. “I can think of nothing finer than having a child call me
Mother.”
She closed her eyes to
stem her tears and drank in Annie's sweet baby scent. Soap behind the ears. Milk in the folds of her tiny neck. “Dear Annie,” she whispered, cradling the child against her, humming a lullaby. “Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing.” The two of them stayed that way for some time until Annie stirred and Leana slowly opened her eyes.

Her cousin stood motionless in the doorway, his solemn gaze riveted to her and the babe in her arms.

Jamie.

In the hearth a corner of the peat broke free and tumbled down into the grate. “Look at that, will you!” Jessie crowed. “You ken what the old gossips say, Leana. ‘Fire bodes a marriage.’ There'll be a wedding in this house before the year is out.” Jessie turned toward the gendeman she'd just met and dipped a curtsy in his direction. “Begging your pardon, Mr. McKie. Have you given any thought to taking a wife?”

Love gilds the scene, and women guide die plot.

R
ICHARD
B
RINSLEY
S
HERIDAN

S
o
that
was why Jamie had come to Auchengray!

Rose pressed the letter to her fast-beating heart, but only for a moment. No point being dramatic when there was nary a soul to appreciate her performance. She needed to get home; she had to tell Leana.
Och!
The mere thought of it quickened her steps along the country lane, her skirts sweeping aside the brighdy colored leaves in her path. In less than an hour she would be whispering in Leana's ear, telling her sister a secret too good to keep to herself.

What a grand ending to an ordinary day. She'd spent several hours with dear Susanne, helping in her fathers grocery, taking Susannes youngest brother for a walk along the Newabbey Pow.
Elliot
, they'd named the boy—
Elliot Elliot! Rost
laughed every time she said it. Whatever were they thinking, giving their poor child a double name? Pray God, the lad would not grow up to resent it.

Later that afternoon the busy grocer had remembered a letter for her father, left in his care by the postboy from Dumfries. “But, Mr. Elliot, I have no coins to pay for it,” Rose had fretted, stealing a quick glance at the letter with the boldly scrawled address:

Lachlan McBride, Esquire Auchengray Newabbey

“Fair maidens wear nae purses,” Mr. Elliot had said, pressing the letter into her hands. His head was as round as the cabbages he sold, his body stouter than the ox that pulled his cart to Dumfries on market days, yet Newabbey thought him a most amiable grocer. “You've been a
good help today, Rose. Suppose we let your labors pay for your father's post. Now run along.”

Run she had, like the wind, all down the winding street full of gossiping villagers. It wasn't until she reached the bridge leading home that she'd stopped to examine the letter more closely. The paper was not of good quality, nor was the waxy thumbprint that sealed it. But above the seal, in the same bold hand, was the name of the one who had sent it:
James McKie of Glentrool.

Jamie's letter had arrived after all. Too late to matter to her father, too late to be of use to her cousin. Dare she break the seal and read it while she walked? Her mind was adamant: She would
not
open a letter addressed to her father. Very risky. But her heart was lenient: Her father would never know. What harm could it do? With Jamie already at Auchengray, Lachlan would no doubt toss the letter out unread. A pity to waste the cost of a post, even if it was earned by her own labors.

Rose had fingered the coarse paper as she walked, the fading sunlight casting long, slanted shadows across the dirt road. After many minutes of deliberation she'd opened the letter, sliding her thumbnail under the wax to keep it intact, taking great pains not to tear the paper. One never knew when a letter might need to be sealed shut again. She'd read the contents and reveled in her sister's good fortune.

Now, half an hour later, Rose couldn't bear it. She had to read the letter again, though she'd already committed the best parts to memory. Holding the letter before her, she smoothed out the creases and read the words once more.

Jamie, the second son, awarded his father's heirship! Curious that he'd never mentioned it.

With such a vast property to his name, no wonder he intended to marry well. “Aye, but not just any woman, Jamie.” Rose smiled at the
paper as though it might smile back at her. The next line was her favorite.

Well said, for Leana McBride was very fine indeed. Although Jamie's letter stated that
he
would choose, Rose knew better. Only one daughter had marriage in mind, and it was decidedly
not
the younger one.