Thorn in My Heart (31 page)

“Leana, do you see the time?” She turned to find her father pointing at the clock on the mantel, his own face dark as midnight. “Enough of your needle and thread. Duncan expected your help with his ledgers at three o'clock. That hour is long past.”

She thrust Jamie's half-finished shirt into her sewing basket and placed it a safe distance from the glowing hearth, then slipped her spectacles into the hanging pocket beneath her skirt. “Forgive me, Father. I'll fly up the stair to his quarters at once.”

“Stay a moment, Daughter.” His features were as somber as his tone. “Though it cost me more silver than I could afford, the matter with Mr. McDougal is resolved. The taint of it, unfortunately, remains. We must arrange for another suitor before…ah, before another season passes. Is your heart still set on your cousin Jamie?”

She blanched. Had her methods been so
kenspeckle?
“Wh-why do you ask, when you know it is Rose he favors?”

“What a lad says and what he knows to be true are oft at odds.” He lifted his gaze to the broad oak beam above his head. “Your sister is a rosebud, tighdy wrapped. But you are a fragrant bloom, ready to be snipped from the stem.” His gaze dropped to meet hers. “Jamie must start a family. And you, lass, are ready to be a mother.”

The frankness of his speech stunned her. “I…am?”

“Aye, and Jamie knows it well. Rose may catch his eye, but you, Leana, will catch the man.”

She shook her head, bewildered by his confidence. “How can you be certain?”

Her father, who seldom smiled, now wore a sly grin. “Fathers ken more than their daughters credit them. And on the subject of credits and debits, you've kept poor Duncan waiting long enough.” He stepped aside and nodded toward the doorway. “Martinmas approaches, with rents to be collected and bills to be paid. See that his ledgers are in order. Your eyes may be weak, but they recognize a tidy row of numbers well enough.”

Leana started for the hall, then could not stop herself “What of Jamie?”

“I'll do what I can to persuade him, lass.” The grin disappeared. “But you must do your part to draw his attention away from your sister. You are older and wiser, Leana. Do what you will, and do it quickly.”

She hastened up the stair, wondering what else she might do to please her cousin. Of late she had taken more time than usual brushing and braiding her hair. She cleaned her teeth with apple skins to sweeten her breath and kept a lemon in her room to scrub her hands free of vegetable stains. Still Jamie's eyes lingered on the fairer Rose.

Leana had helped Neda bake his favorite potato scones and saw that he was served a jugged hare for dinner Thursday last. Though he praised her cooking, he did not speak of her pleasing manner. Yet Rose beguiled him daily.

One rainy afternoon Duncan had filled Leana's head with the particulars of shepherding so she might impress Jamie with her knowledge of
his favorite subject. Roses easy handling of the ewes impressed their cousin more.

If she thought her sister loved Jamie—loved him as she loved him—Leana would end her efforts at once. “I am too young for love,” Rose had reminded her Friday last. “And much too young to marry. Jamie is yours, dear sister.” If only that were true!

Reaching the third story where the house servants slept beneath the eaves, Leana hurried down the long, narrow hall that led to Duncans quarters. He and Neda shared two private rooms—one for working, one for sleeping—each with its own door. She knocked on the one for his study and listened for his greeting.

“Enter,” he groaned, then flung open the door. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his face haggard. “Ye ve come none too soon, lass. I canna make a bit o’ sense of yer faithers scribbling.”

“Let me see what I can do,” she said, patting his arm. “Have Willie or one of the others bring us a pot of tea and a plate of gingerbread. Empty stomachs and full ledgers are poor companions.” He disappeared down the hall to find a willing pair of hands, while she dragged the overseers small desk closer to the window. Twilight had already fallen. The hills would be shrouded in black within the hour. She lit two more candles, brightening the room considerably, though she knew Duncan would fuss at her spendrif ways.

The minute he returned he extinguished one with a pinch of his fingers. “The other will do, lass. Now to the business at hand.” They bent their heads over the ledger, which bulged with receipts. His blunt, ruddy finger followed her tapered, pale one up and down the columns of numbers. Soon they were both shaking their heads at the illegible entries Mr. McBride had insisted on making himself.

“That's a four,” she murmured, taking a sip of tea so hot it nearly singed her mouth. “Mmm. And that's a three, but it could be an eight.”

Duncan dropped his head in his hands. “Aye, or a two or a nine.”

“Nae, I'm sure it's a three.”

“What a curious conversation I've stumbled upon.” Jamie stood in the open doorway, his sullied shirt torn and his breeches reeking of sheep. “My uncle said I would find you here.”

Leana wet her lips, still stinging from the tea. “Find whom?”

His eyes bored into hers. “You.”

The slender thread of hope around her heart drew tighter. He'd come looking for her—
her
, not her sister.

Duncans shaggy head shook like one of his collies. “Ye canna have her, lad. She's mine, at least until Martinmas.”

“What is it the shepherds say? ‘Nine free nichts ‘til Martinmas, and soon they'll wear awa.’ ”

“Yer addition is faulty, lad. ‘Tis not nine days left, but eight. Seven, when ye lift yer head off the pillow on the morn's morn.” Duncan regarded him with a curious eye. “
Whatsomever
do ye need with Miss Leana?”

Jamie held up a letter. “I was hoping she might explain this. In private, if you'll allow us a few minutes, Duncan.”

“Aye, take yer time. I've meikle to do sorting through this sorry collection of receipts.” The overseer gathered a stack of papers and retreated to his bedroom. Leana watched him disappear, taking the cordial atmosphere in the room with him.

She turned to her cousin, who regarded her with something like suspicion. “How…how can I explain something I've not seen before, Jamie?”

“See it now then.” He handed her the letter, a single page on heavy paper. It was from his mother, her words sweeping across the page in dramatic swirls of ink, not unlike Rose's handwriting. The usual maternal comments and cautions were included, but the last paragraph gave her pause.

Leana handed back the letter without a word. Dare she hope? Was it possible Jamie truly thought her the better choice? “Jamie, I…don't understand.”

“Nor do I.” His tone was not unkind, but it was firm. “I dictated a
letter, which Rose dutifully wrote for me and sent on its way a fortnight ago. I must confess, though I mentioned both of you and described your many fine qualities, Leana, I made my preference…ah, that is to say.

The thread of hope broke in two. “You told her that you favored Rose.”

“Aye.” His sigh was tinged with regret. “I did, lass. However, it appears my mother received rather a different message than the one I wrote. A message I thought you might explain.”

“Were you thinking I sent her a separate letter of my own?”

“Leana, I don't know what to think.” He brushed back an unruly lock of hair from his brow. “I thought I'd stated my words quite clearly to Rose.”

“I'm sure you did, Cousin.” It was obvious her sister had written whatever she pleased, certain Jamie would trust her.
Naughty Rose.
Though she couldn't bear to tatde on her sibling, Leana gently guided Jamie toward the truth. “Did you read the letter before it was sealed?”

“Ah…no.” His brow drew into a knot. “I didn't think it necessary.” He turned toward the door, shaking his head. “What possessed the girl to do such a thing?”

“She's young, Cousin. Impulsive. But then you know that and think it charming, I'm sure.”

“Charming,” he repeated, not meeting her gaze. “I've offended you, Leana, and pray you'll forgive me.” He bowed and was gone.

Not offended. Cousin. Crushed.
She heard his footsteps fade down the stair, her stubborn heart in close pursuit. Aunt Rowena seemed willing to claim her, and Lachlan McBride was more than willing to give her away. Only Jamie remained to be convinced.

Eight days to Martinmas. Eight days to change Jamie's mind.

Oh, fathers gone to market-town, he was up before the day,
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay.

R
ICHARD
W
ATSON
G
ILDER

J
amie, do you mind?” Rose tugged on her skirts. Her cousin had managed to trap the fabric beneath him as they sat side by side on the two-wheeled chaise. “A bit more room, if you please.”

“A wee bit.” He moved just far enough to free her dress, secredy glad to have his beloved Rose so near. “We've miles to go, lass, and none of them smooth riding.” He shook the reins, urging the plodding horse to lift its feet. “Have you no more smeddum than that?” Jamie demanded. The creature ignored him and continued at the same sluggish pace, his gray coat blending with the slate gray sky. The morning was dry, and that was blessing enough. Dumfries was ten miles by way of Newabbey but only nine if they'd gone west past Maxwell Park. Rose would not hear of taking the shorter, broader route. “Heaven forbid I should see Lord or Lady Maxwell after my father's rude refusal of their generosity.” Jamie said nothing. Though he would never confess it to Rose, he was grateful that his uncle had intervened.

Most of the Auchengray household had headed north for Dumfries that morning. Duncan and Uncle Lachlan had departed for the royal burgh well before dawn, riding on horseback. The servants followed on foot, their spirits high despite the cold November air seeping through their garments. Before leaving, Lachlan had opened his thrifite to pay them their proper wages for the six-month term past: four guineas for the plowman, two for the dairymaid, three each for the housemaids, four for the male servants. Every shilling that passed through his fingers made Lachlan McBride groan as though the coins were minted from his own hide. Leana's careful preparation of his ledgers had made her
father's task an easier one, though Jamie noticed she'd not been thanked, at least not in his presence.

“I hope Leana is feeling better,” Rose murmured. Her sister had planned to join them, riding sidesaddle atop old Bess, but took ill soon after rising.

“Go on without me,” Leana had insisted, her face paler than ever, her lips dry and cracked. “Willie can ride behind you as an escort. Its best I stay, with so many gone to the feeing fair.” Work was not customary on Martinmas—no spinning or weaving, no miller grinding corn. Out of necessity the cows were milked and the horses fed by hands in a hurry to leave their labors behind for the day. Ill or not, Leana would no doubt be pressed into service.

Jamie reined in the horse to allow a cartful of kintra folk bound for Dumfries to pass, then turned their chaise onto the main road north. “Neda will see after your sister,” he said, wanting to put Roses mind at ease. The housekeeper was one of the few servants who remained behind to prepare the feast of the day—boiled haggis with blood pudding —so Lachlan and the others would return home to a hot supper. “How does Neda season her haggis?” he asked, knowing each household prepared the dish to its own liking. At Glentrool, Aubert favored parsley and lemon sprinkled over the chopped sheep's pluck—heart, liver, lungs, and windpipe—mixed with beef suet, onions, and oatmeal.

“Cayenne pepper.” Rose wrinkled her nose. “Too much of it, if you ask me. But her black pudding is the best in the parish.” She sighed, then folded her arms across her waist. “Please let us speak of something else, or my stomach will groan with anticipation.”

They chatted about the late autumn air, which was too cold to be pleasant, the sky, which was too bleak to be interesting, and the farmlands, which were markedly different on either side of the dirt road. A flat
carse
stretched to the east, hinting at the marshy shores of the River Nith beyond it. To the west, the land sloped upward to hills once covered with trees. Cut down for shipbuilding in centuries past and never replenished, Rose explained.

“The Keswicks’ country house sits on the crest of that hill.” Rose
stared wistfully up the winding drive. “A beauty, it is. Three stories tall with three handsome bay windows.”

“You've visited the place?”

“A McBride call on a Keswick?” She rolled her eyes. “You've much to learn of east Galloway society, Jamie. I've not been formally invited, though I must confess I strolled along the edges of the park once and admired the view.”

Jamie kept his eye on the road. “You might enjoy the view from Glentrool as well.” He'd already made the mistake of sounding too eager with Rose and had no intentions of doing so now.

“But isn't your estate at the bottom of a hill?”

“The Fell of Eschoncan is no mere hill, Rose. It rises eight hundred feet behind the property.” He touched the whip to the horse's back to hide his irritation. “And though we're situated in a glen, the view is still bonny. The loch, the hills—”

“We have Lochend and Criffell,” she countered, slapping him with her braid as she turned her head smardy to the right. “Loch and hill enough for my eyes.”

Jamie ignored her childish rebuff, reminding himself that she was fifteen. She would grow to love Glentrool, even as he hoped she might grow to love him. Eventually. Her reticence confused him, angered him at times. “Too young,” she said. “Too soon,” she insisted. “Not ready,” she complained.

He had not told her—might never tell her—that for him, marrying a McBride sister was not a choice but an expectation. His only choice was which sister. And that decision was made weeks ago. Time had run out for them both. Today would be the day. If Rose refused him, Lachlan would force her to marry him. A grim way to begin a life together. But it was Rose whom he loved. And Rose he would marry.