Thorn in My Heart (32 page)

They rode in silence for another mile or so, until the sharp
Hk tik
of two robins caught their attention. Staking out their territories, the male and female birds scolded one another, their red breasts puffed out like angry shields as they flew about, the male claiming the female's
land, then flying away to guard his own. “By midwinter those two will pair off,” Jamie explained. “They'll share the same home come spring.”

Rose snorted. “You made up every word of that, Jamie McKie!”

“Not at all, lass. That sort of fighting and wooing is peculiar to robins.”

“Aye, and cousins.” She swatted him with her braid, this time on purpose. “Jamie, tell me truly: Why wont you marry my sister?”

“Because I don't love her, Rose.” The chaise josded over a rocky patch of road, then the springs setded into a steady rhythm again.

“Why, Jamie?”

He looked down at her with an even gaze. “You know why.”

“Because you love me. At least you say that you do.” Rose bit her lip, as though chewing on his words “How can you be so certain?”

“I was drawn to you from the first day we met. Surely you noticed.”

She shrugged. “I pretended not to.”

“Aye, you did. Even so, that attraction soon became affection.” In the distance a kirk bell rang the hour. “That affection has grown to love, now that I know you better.”

“And what do you know, Cousin, after a month at Auchengray?”

Patiendy he tallied her best qualities. “You are lively and imagina-rive, enthusiastic and spontaneous—”

“What man cares about
those son
of things?” she teased him.

“This man.” Rose seemed to require an accounting of her virtues on a weekly basis, as though she doubted their existence, perhaps because her father seldom spoke a kind word about her in her presence. Her need for praise touched him. If it earned her love, Jamie would tell her what she needed to hear a thousand times. He finished naming her admirable qualities, intentionally saving her beauty for last. “So. Will that keep a smile about your face for an hour or two, lass?”

She smiled and closed her eyes, as though she'd taken the last bite of a fine meal. “ ‘Twill last an entire day, Jamie. ”

“Are you believing it then?”

One dark eye slowly opened. “Aye, I'm beginning to.”

They rode on, their silence less strained, more companionable.
Because they sat so close in the narrow chaise, a rough section of road often threw them against each other, sending them scurrying to right themselves amid much apologizing and smoothing of feathers. It was more embarrassing than enjoyable, Jamie decided, as he gazed down the lane toward the outskirts of Dumfries. Already the foot traffic on the main road had increased. Families and their servants walked side by side, near equals for the day as debts were paid and a new term of service began.

The road turned sharply north to run parallel with the River Nith. “This is Troquire,” Rose informed him, perched on the edge of her seat, her hands gripping the leather upholstery. “Its the last parish before we cross over the bridge to Dumfries. Is Willie still behind us?”

Jamie glanced over his shoulder. “Aye.” He waved at the servant, urging him to draw closer. Willie's duty for the day was to mind the chaise and horse by the wayside while they continued on foot into the town proper. The Troquire kirk and nearby manse, with its wide, grassy glebe, seemed the most convenient spot. Jamie chose a patch of uncultivated ground, handed the reins to Willie as he stepped down, then turned to help Rose, who grasped her skirts and hopped to the ground without his assistance.

“Here at last!” Her eyes shone with a contagious excitement. “Well done, Willie. Neda tucked some hard cheese and bannocks and a slice of mutton behind the seat of the chaise for you.” She touched the servants arm. “You 11 not mind being here by yourself?”

“Hardly by meself, lass.” He nodded at the glebe, where other wheeled carts were starting to gather. “I'll have plenty o’ company. Go on with ye now, and find yer faither. He promised to be watchin for ye round the Midsteeple.” Willie fixed a stern gaze on Jamie. “Sir, I'll thank ye to keep Miss McBride close by yer side, specially in the village of Brigend. ‘Tis a lawless place, full o’
gaberlunzies
lookin to steal yer purse.” His eyes shifted toward Rose. “Or worse.”

Jamie cupped his hand around Rose's elbow. “I'll see that she's properly looked after, Willie. We'll return by three, well before the gloaming.” They headed north on the kirk street, following the flow of human
traffic. Well-built homes on substantial lands soon gave way to smaller farmhouses, then mean cottages crowded closer to the street, until the rough sounds and pungent smells of Brigend enveloped them.

Jamie's grip on Roses elbow tightened when they were nearly knocked off their feet by peasant children scurrying past with sticks in hand, swatting at a ball. Merchants spilled into the street with their wares—bakers and tailors, coopers and smiths, clog makers and rope makers—while less industrious men lurked in doorways, eying the crowd for easy marks. Jamie did not intend to be one of them. Lachlan had provided a dirk for his boot and a paltry amount of coin, well hidden beneath his waistcoat. Rose had no reticule to tempt the riffraff, only her bonny self, which was temptation enough. Jamie lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, challenging any passerby who stared too intendy at Rose, threatening them with a piercing gaze of his own.

She patted his arm and pointed to a flesher arranging slabs of meat. “Duncan will stop there on the way home and collect our
mart?

Jamie nodded; his mother would be purchasing the same today in Monnigaff. An ox, butchered and salted on Martinmas, kept a family fed all through the harsh winter. The mob swelled as the street beneath them converged with the main road into Dumfries, carrying them past the old Brig House Inn and across the red freestone span with its graceful arches. “Devorgilla's Bridge,” Rose said, raising her voice above the din.

“The same woman buried at Sweetheart Abbey?”

She glanced up at him with a look of surprise. “Listen to you, Jamie McKie! Already knowing our local history.”

He smiled, glad he'd pleased her, then surveyed the royal burgh situated at the other end of the bridge. To their right stretched the White-sands of Dumfries, where hundreds of black catde and horses were to be sold.

Rose waved a hand in the same direction. “The ground is dry today, but when the river is in spate, the water floods the Whitesands and travels up past the Coach and Horses Inn halfway to the High Street. I can't imagine how the townsfolk can bear having water up to their windows.”

Jamie glanced up the narrow alley, then turned for a final look at
the many horses already assembled for market day. A promising collection of bays, chestnuts, and piebalds whinnied and stamped the ground, steaming the frigid air around them. All at once the guilt of losing Wal-loch to a band of brigands on the Edinburgh road rose in his throat like bile. He would not likely ride so fine a horse again. Nonetheless, perhaps another would do for the time being. A gendeman needed his own mount. It was a matter of pride and of practicality. Jamie touched his waistcoat, feeling the lump of coins beneath it. Not nearly enough for a horse. Nor could he bring himself to borrow such a sum from Lachlan.

He groaned and muttered a sad reminder. “A man without silver goes fast through the market.”

“And did your mind ride off without you?”

He turned and discovered Rose standing in front of him, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “Beg pardon, lass. I was distracted by—”

“The horses, as anyone with eyes can see.” She patted his cheek— affectionately, he thought—then turned to slide her hand in the crook of his elbow as they resumed walking. “Is it poor Walloch you're thinking of?”

He stopped again and gazed down at her, grateful she understood. “Aye, it is. His coat was black. Dark and gleaming as your hair—”

“Like that one?” She pointed toward a riderless horse some distance ahead.

Jamie followed her gaze, then nodded. “Aye, very much like…in truth, quite exacdy…” He measured the mount with his eyes, noted the long mane and tail, the peculiar gait. “Forgive me, lass, but I…I need to be sure.” He pulled her along, his heart beating like a drum. The nearer they came, the more Jamie was convinced the horse was Walloch. Hadn't he mounted the beast every day for half a dozen years?

When he caught a brief glimpse of the man leading the horse, his blood froze.

A broad back. And bright red hair.
Evan.

There is no mistake; there has been no mistake;
and there shall be no mistake.

A
RTHUR
W
ELLESLEY,
D
UKE OF
W
ELLINGTON

S
urely it isn't Walloch!” Rose struggled to keep up with Jamie as he lengthened his stride in pursuit of his horse. His
stolen
horse.
The very idea!
Her pulse quickened along with her pace. “Might you be mistaken?”

“No mistake, Rose,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Its Walloch.” Jamie plunged them both into the teeming horde on High Street. He dodged barefoot servants and gendemen in silk hats, ox-drawn carts full of whisky barrels, and Gypsies with heather
creek
strapped on their backs, ignoring them all in his singular pursuit of the gelding not far ahead. “Faster, lass!”

She clung to his hand as they veered south on the High Street, narrowing the distance between them and the animal in question. A per-fecdy ordinary black horse, from her viewpoint, with a too long tail. He was an impressive size though. Broad enough to conceal the man holding the reins. She caught a glimpse of bright red hair before a throng of high-spirited peasants blocked her view. The Midsteeple of Dumfries, though, was easily seen looming before them. A tall, square building that served as the burghs courthouse, it was topped with a pointed cupola and wrapped in a wrought-iron rail.

Rose quickly scanned the crowd at the base of the Midsteeple, looking for her father, knowing he would be watching for her. Intent on her search, she hardly noticed the man careening toward her with an armful of kindling until he barreled into her, knocking her forward. “Oh!” She stumbled across the flagstones, grasping wildly for Jamie's coat to keep from falling and being trampled. “Jamie, wait!”

He turned to catch her and pulled her to her feet, his strong hands gripping her arms.

Less than a stones throw away, the black horse came to a halt. “Come, lass,” Jamie muttered. “I think I know this blackguard who stole my gelding.”

The stranger holding Walloch's reins turned toward them, his face a dark scowl. Rose noticed only that he had broad shoulders, thick arms, and bright red hair. But Jamie's face blanched for a moment before his color returned and he managed to speak.

“That horse, sir, is stolen property.”

The mans jaw hardened. “It was not stolen by me. I bought it with good silver. An hour ago from a man down on the Whitesands.”

“So you say.” Jamie's eyes narrowed. Somewhere in those green depths he was weighing whether or not to believe the man.

Rose didn't know what to believe. She only knew that Jamie frightened her almost as much as the stranger did.

Jamie slowly released his grip on her hand. “Go find your father, Rose. And Duncan.”

“Will you be—”

“Right here,” he assured her. “Go.”

She staggered through the crowd, blinking back tears, gasping each time she saw a man with a dark gray coat like her father's or a woolen bonnet like the one Duncan wore. A glance back at the two men gave her no comfort. Though they hadn't resorted to blows yet, their necks were thrust out, and the black horse strained at his halter. She aimed her sights toward the Midsteeple area and at last spied the men lingering by the outer steps to the second floor. “Father! Duncan!”

They turned, taking awhile to find her with their eyes and even longer to make their way across the sea of people.

“Hurry!” She waved impatiendy at them. “Come, Jamie needs you!”

The moment she could snag the men's sleeves, she tugged hard, pulling them back the way she'd come, breathlessly trying to explain what she could. “Jamie's found his horse.”

“The stolen one?”

“Aye, Father. A gelding named Walloch.”

“Walbch?”
Duncan chuckled. “Ye mean to tell me the horse dances?”

“Och!
Duncan, we've no time for foolishness. Pick up your feet.”

The three of them fought their way across the High Street, keeping the horse in view even when the brothers couldn't be seen among the masses. “Jamie!” she called, certain he could hear her, relieved when he poked his head above the crowd and signaled to them.

Moments later the Auchengray party reached Jamie's side. His face still had the look of a dark storm cloud, but his voice was surprisingly even.

“Uncle, come see what we've found in the streets of Dumfries.”

“Was this the horse stolen from you on the Edinburgh road?” Lachlan angled his head to look over the gelding. “A worthy animal.” Lachlan gathered the reins in his hands, then pressed them into Jamie's palm. “How thoughtful of this gendeman to return your mount to you.”

“Return
him?” The veins in the man's neck turned an ugly purple. “I
bought aie
horse, sir, at Whitesands. With my own coin.”

Lachlan appraised him, much as he had the horse. “Did you really, good fellow? And if I asked the horse seller at Whitesands, he would tell me the same?”

“He would, sir.” The man glared at Jamie. “Though this man charged me with thievery before he looked me in the eye.”

Jamie's face grew red. “I thought you were…someone else.”

“But still a thief,” the man growled.

Jamie dipped his chin. “If I wronged you, sir, I do apologize.”

“There you have it,” Lachlan said loudly, as if to bring things to a close. “How much did you pay for the gelding?” The red-haired man begrudgingly told him. “Then it seems I'm going to purchase a butchered ox for Martinmas and a saddle horse as well.” Lachlan smiled and held out his hand, palm up. “Duncan, my purse.” Without ceremony her father dropped the stated amount into the man's waiting hand, down to the last shilling.