Thorn in My Heart (24 page)

Lachlan had no son, no male heir. McBride's first grandson would inherit everything.
My son.
Yestreen, seeing Leana holding the neighbor's wee babe, he'd realized his heir would be laird of
two
fine Galloway estates someday. Naturally, the child would need to be born first and his parents married before that. Aye, he had much to accomplish. The sooner to kirk today, the sooner to courting tomorrow.

His face scrubbed and neady shaven, his hair and attire as tidy as the manservant could make them, Jamie thundered down the stair in borrowed boots and joined his uncle aboard the josding chaise with its ancient springs. What he wouldn't give for Walloch's steady gait this gray morning. A cool stillness in the air whispered of rain. Against the dull sky, the treetops blazed red and gold, leaves poised for the next stiff breeze to send them spiraling to the ground. Newabbey was a tamer landscape than his home parish of Monnigaff, with its wild mountains
and moors, but it was pleasant to the eye and soothing to the soul. Or— he smiled at the realization—perhaps he was thinking of Rose.

His uncle broke into his thoughts as though he'd read them. “Have you advised my daughter of your interest?”

“I have not.” Jamie settled his gaze on the bend in the road, leaning into the turn as they veered sharply to the right.
Not in words.
If his intentions were not clear to Rose, it was only because she refused to notice them.

Every moment they spent together confirmed his first opinion of her, though such occasions had been too few to please him. She'd barely met his gaze across their porridge bowls that morning, but he could read her maidenly blush: It seemed she found him appealing and would not reject his proposal when the time came.

Lachlan tapped Jamie's knee with the butt of his whip. “You'd be wise to proceed slowly with my daughter. She is young and impetuous, yet innocent in the ways of men. I would have her remain so until her wedding day.” His uncles gaze narrowed. “Do we have an understanding?”

“We do, sir.”

They rode in silence, passing a cluster of Auchengray servants on foot, then overtaking Rose and Leana at the village bridge, not far from the kirk. Jamie brightened when he saw their heads—one light, one dark beneath their hat brims—bent in tandem over the stream, deep in conversation. Lachlan brought the chaise to a stop. “Why don't you accompany the lasses to the kirk, lad? I'm sure they'd welcome your company.”

Both sisters turned and blushed prettily as Jamie climbed down and brushed the dust from his breeches and boots. “I'd be honored, Uncle.” He extended both elbows, and each sister slipped a hand through— Rose on his right, Leana on his left. “Lead the way, fair cousins.” The threesome got off to a clumsy start when Jamie tripped on Leana's skirt, then accidentally jabbed Rose in the ribs when he tried to right himself. “I'm making a mess of things, I'm afraid.”

“Easily solved,” Rose said, untangling herself. “You two walk on together while I run ahead and find Susanne Elliot.” Rose took off
before either of them could protest, her black braid bouncing merrily behind her.

“Well.” Jamie stood, watching her disappear around a curve in the village street. “Im afraid you re saddled with me, Miss McBride.”

“And you with me, Cousin Jamie.”

The plaintive note in her voice touched him. Had his disappointment been so obvious? To make up for it, Jamie gave her his full attention, and she responded, tipping her face up, displaying a tentative smile. Her wide eyes, the color of a midwinter sky, revealed her feelings, perhaps more than she knew.
Poor Leana.
A good woman, but not the one he would choose.

He gestured toward the road leading to the parish kirk. “Walk with me, Cousin.” The kirk bell rang the hour as they took off, more smoothly this time, with only two strides to match. “I'm eager to see if Newabbey observes the Sabbath in the same manner as we do in Mon-nigaff.”

“The next bell announces the start of the first service,” she explained. “Then after dinner, there is an afternoon service as well.” Her skirts swayed gracefully next to his battered but well-polished boots. Too narrow for his feet, they pinched his heels as he walked. He would ride in the chaise rather than walk home to Auchengray, for certain.

When Leana didn't speak again, he hurried to fill the uneasy silence. “Tell me, what do you think of your minister? Reverend Gordon, isn't it?”

“John Gordon, aye.” Leana shrugged, her smile fading. “Father considers him the finest preacher in all the ten parishes.”

“And you find him…”

“Dour and dull, serious to a fault. He's a great slave to the paper, reading his sermon as though the ink were still fresh.” She dropped her voice, eying the villagers who were assembling in the street and moving toward the kirkyard. “Don't tell Father I said so.”

“Fear not.” He lighdy touched her arm. “Your saicret is safe with me.”

Her pointed gaze met his, a light piercing his darkness. “I'd like to think I can trust you completely, Jamie.” Her cheeks colored as she said
the words, as though they held some deeper meaning he should have grasped but didn't.

“I hope you do. Trust me, I mean.” Jamie bit his lip, trying to sort it out. Had she heard about his deception in Glentrool? Or was this something else entirely?

He only knew his cousin Leana was a puzzle—friendly one moment, shy the next, ever blushing, stealing glances at him when she thought he might not notice her. To hear the servants tell it, the woman was practically betrothed to that ill-fashioned farmer he'd met briefly on Wednesday last. ‘Twas unkind of Lachlan to approve such a poor match.

“Will your bonnet laird be sitting with us?” he asked, then wished he hadn't.

“He is not from our parish.” The corners of her mouth turned downward. “And he is not my laird.”

“Oh. I thought you—”

“Not yet,” she stammered. Under her breath she added, “Not ever, I hope.”

Another puzzle begging to be solved, though he hadn't the patience for it. He could do naught but apologize. “Leana, I fear I've offended you.

“You could never offend me.” She stopped and turned toward him, her misery all too apparent. “Please understand, I do not care for Mr. McDougal. But my father doesn't trouble himself with such
fouterie
matters.” He watched her swallow, the lump in her slender throat moving up and down. “What say you, Jamie? Is a woman's heart so trivial a thing as to be sold to the highest bidder?”

“Leana, I…don't know what to say.” Which was the truth. Growing up without sisters and with a mother who was spirited and forthright—quite the opposite of Leana McBride—he had no idea how to answer her. “Forgive me if I seem uncaring.” He briefly looked down at her, staring at the faint cleft in her chin rather than at her transparent eyes. “Your father must have his reasons for wanting you to marry Mr. McDougal.”

“Reasons? Aye, he has those.” Leana slowly turned and resumed walking, her arm loosely linked with his.

Pressing his lips together in a firm line of defense, Jamie had no choice but to follow. He would not be dragged into family squabbles. Let Uncle Lachlan do as he pleased with his older daughter, cruel as that decision might be. It was the younger one whose future concerned him.

As they approached the kirk door, Jamie leaned back to take in the red sandstone remains of an ancient abbey. No roof remained, only tall, sweeping arches that looked down on the kirk like a mother eying her child. What had the weaver called the abbey? “Sweetheart,” he murmured.

Leana spun her head in his direction, a hopeful look on her face.

“Sweetheart?” he said again, pointing to the ruined nave.

Her arched brows fell back into place. “Aye, Sweetheart Abbey the monks called it. Quite a story, that. Lady Devorgilla, the widow of John Balliol, built the abbey to honor her husband. She carried his embalmed heart in a wee casket made of ivory and silver.”

Jamie grimaced. “Whatever made her do that?”

“Love.” Leana dropped her hand. The crook of his elbow grew cool at once. “She's buried in the choir of the abbey, along with her husband's heart.” They'd reached the kirk door and were about to step inside the dim interior when a familiar voice called their names.

“Jamie! Leana!” Rose came bounding up like a collie grateful to see its master. “Susanne will join us shortly. As usual, my friend is fairly brimming with news.”

“News?” Leana gendy shook her head. “Titde-tatde, you mean.”

“Aye, but gossip you'll be interested to hear, my sister.” Rose winked at Jamie, then poked her chin beneath Leana's hat, speaking loudly enough for him to hear as well. “Nicholas Copland has quit the parish, bound for university.”

“Edinburgh?”

“Nae, farther still. Aberdeen.”

“Is that so?” Leana's tone of voice gave no hint of how she felt about the lad's sudden departure.

“A friend of the family?” Jamie inquired, eager to engage Rose in conversation.

“A friend of Leanas in particular.” Rose straightened. An enigmatic smile graced her features. “Had our father permitted it, young Mr. Copland might have become my sisters next suitor.” She sighed dramatically. “Alas, it is not to be. Perhaps another suitor will take his place.”

“Perhaps,” Jamie echoed, wanting to sound agreeable.

The sisters exchanged a glance he couldn't hope to decipher, then Rose turned and motioned to a ruddy-faced lass. “Susanne! Come and meet my cousin from Glentrool.”

The girl scurried over, frank curiosity in her small features. With her dark, round eyes, pointy nose, and auburn hair severely knotted at the nape of her neck, she so nearly resembled a red squirrel that Jamie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Rose made the proper introductions while Jamie bowed and Susanne dipped a shy curtsy. “Sus…ah, Miss Elliot is one of my dearest friends,” Rose explained, squeezing the girls elbow. “Her father is Mr. Colin Elliot, the grocer. He goes to market in Dumfries every Friday to buy provisions for his store here in the village. Mr. Elliot carts home the very freshest meats—”

“And the juiciest gossip!” Susanne interjected, blushing and giggling like a silly country maid. Jamie watched her bring both gloved hands to her mouth as if to hide her crooked teeth. Had she held an acorn in her grasp, the picture would have been complete. “Most times Father takes me with him,” Miss Elliot confided. “I know all the streets by name.”

Jamie, suddenly ashamed of his cruel assessment of the girl, pretended to be impressed. “Quite an accomplishment, that.” From the corner of his eye he noted two more young women drawing near, ears cocked like sheep alert to a strangers voice in the pasture.

“It seems more of your neighbors wish to speak to you, Rose.”

“You know better than that, Jamie lad. They want to meet
you.
And so they shall.” Rose motioned the girls closer. One was as tall as a Maypole, with a figure to match; the other was a bonny, black-haired girl even younger than Rose. Introductions were made amid much
giggling on Roses part. A charming quality, though he hoped she might temper it a bit in the days ahead. A young bride was one thing; a child bride made him uncomfortable.

When the bell tolled the half-hour, their girlish laughter ceased as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. Rose held up a cautionary finger. “You've looked your fill, ladies. Our cousin has
not
come to Newabbey parish seeking a bride. Have you, Jamie?”

He stared at her. What did she mean, baiting him like that? Her dimpled smile told him nothing. Leana was smiling as well. For that matter, they were
all
smiling. He had no choice but to smile back broadly, as though he understood some secret jest and could barely contain his laughter. “As you say, Rose.”

Leana came to his rescue, guiding him through the narrow doorway of the kirk, her hand barely touching his arm, her voice low. “This way, Cousin. Our family pew awaits.”

He who lives on hope has a slender diet.

S
COTTISH
P
ROVERB

L
eana stared at her bowl of breakfast porridge, wondering where she might find the appetite to eat a single spoonful.

Yestreen at kirk had been utterly embarrassing from the moment they filed into the family pew. Father had been waiting for them and entered first, followed by Rose. When Leana prepared to take her usual place next to her sister, Jamie had stepped around her, making a frightful commotion and disrupting the precentors gathering psalm.
Och!
The raised eyebrows, the furtive whispers. The congregation had barely composed themselves enough to rise for prayer before Reverend Gordon climbed into the pulpit and bowed to the Stewarts seated in the north loft.

Leana had not known how or what to pray, so torn were her emotions. All through the service Jamie stood, then sat, then stood again, too close for comfort, his arm brushing against her shoulder. The warmth of him was like the foot stove in Auchengrays spence, heating everything around it, especially her. She dared not catch his eye, knowing she'd made a fool of herself that morning. Her improper comments about a woman's heart, about being sold at auction—what must her cousin think of her, blethering on as she did? It seemed he did not think of her at all, so little did he notice her throughout the long service.

She, on the other hand, could not help but see what close attention Jamie gave the reading of the Scriptures. He'd blanched when Reverend Gordon read from Proverbs, “Deceive not with thy lips.” Oddly, during the next verse, her father leaned forward and stared at Jamie with a look of sudden inspiration as the minister read, “I will render to the man according to his work.” Both men seemed most engaged by Reverend Gordons morning sermon, dry as it was.

After the first service, they'd had their dinner in the pew. Neda had packed cold chicken and hard cheese, most of which Jamie ate before he realized how many mouths were meant to be fed from one small basket. Two of the Elliot boys recited Scripture verses and answered questions from the Shorter Catechism. Then came the afternoon service, which began at two and ended at four and included another sternly worded sermon. After so much sitting, Leana and her sister were grateful for a leisurely walk home while Jamie and their father rode ahead in the chaise.