Thorn in My Heart (33 page)

Rose had never seen her father spend money so effordessly, with
nary a wrinkle on his brow. He'd bought Jamie his own horse, of all things. Whatever had gotten into him?

Lachlan held out his arms. “Come, family. We've servants to hire and others to bid farewell. Good day to you, sir.”

Jamie shook his head, the color in his face starting to fade. “Uncle Lachlan, I hardly know what to say.”

“My nephew speechless?” Lachlan placed a hand on each of their elbows. “No more likely than my Rose to be caught without a word on her lips.”

“ButWalloch—”

“Was a bargain, Jamie. Auchengray can always use another horse.” Lachlan glanced at the animal, his gaze no longer meeting Jamie's. “Feel free to ride him home if you like. Though the animal belongs to me now, of course.”

Rose saw Jamie stiffen ever so slighdy before he answered. “Of course.”

Lachlan squeezed their elbows, then released them. “Duncan, we'll leave you to your duties. See that you fee only those willing to work for their wages.” The overseer tipped his cap, then disappeared into the crowd while Lachlan rubbed his hands together. “What do you say, children? Shall we find some dinner?”

He craned up and down the High Street, its
closes
and vennels harboring half a dozen public establishments, their doors propped open to invite paying customers. “This way,” he finally said and aimed them toward the Globe. “Mistress Hyslop will have just the thing, I'll wager. A bite to hold us until Neda's haggis.”

Rose held her skirts above the filthy street, hurrying to keep in step, bewildered by her father's jovial demeanor. Something about it made her uneasy. And the silver he'd spent so easily.
Och!
That was not the Lachlan McBride she had known since the first day she opened her eyes. Whatever devious sort of stew he was brewing, she prayed she would not be forced to dine upon it.

When they reached their destination, Jamie entrusted Walloch to the stable lad on the premises, then returned to her side. “I paid him
most of the coin in my purse for Walloch's safekeeping.” He smiled down at her. “I don't want our time together to be disrupted.”

Before she could ask Jamie what he meant, or why it mattered, Lachlan guided them through the Globes open door. A steep, narrow stair rose before them. Two sizable rooms to the left were spilling over with patrons and ale. To the right she noticed a cozy alcove with two tables and a noisy gathering room beyond it with a roaring hearth.

Lachlan addressed the proprietor with some familiarity since the man hailed from Newabbey parish. “Mr. Hyslop, we have need of your snuggery.” He pointed to the two vacant tables in the alcove. “Feed and water us if you will, sir, for we've had a de'il of a morning.” They were prompdy seated and served steaming bowls of Scotch broth, a McBride favorite. “Not horn spoons, ye ken, but silver.” Her father winked, proud of finding them a proper meal on a busy day in Dumfries. Rose couldn't remember when she'd seen the man so amenable. She could hardly taste the broth in her bowl for worrying what his behavior might mean.

The men ate and drank their fill, then Lachlan called on a waiter to clear the table. “Kindly provide as much privacy as these walls will allow, man.” In short order they were closed in with both doors to the adjoining rooms shut tight.

Rose touched her linen napkin to her lips, then exchanged glances with Jamie. Had he noticed the change in her father? Lachlan was ebullient, almost giddy. It made her nervous to watch him, fussing with his cravat, yanking on his cuffs, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. “Father, have you news for us? You seem—”

“Grateful,” he interjected. “Grateful is what I am. I have a nephew who understands the meaning of hard work and displays a keen eye for breeding ewes.” Lachlan folded his hands in his lap, regarding them both with a smile of satisfaction. “You've done a great service to Auchengray this past month, Jamie.”

Jamie acknowledged him with a nod, though his
eyes
looked wary. “A month exacdy, come the morn's morn.”

“Been counting the days, have you, until you're free of your obligation to me?”

“Nae, Uncle.” Jamie dropped his hands into his lap as well, though Rose noticed him folding and unfolding them. “I have wondered, though, what my efforts might be worth to you.”

“Aye, well, no point to hard labor without earning an honest wage. How is it you'd like to be paid, Jamie?” Lachlans eyes twinkled.
Twinkkd!
Rose had never seen the likes of it.

Jamie cleared his throat, and his hands stilled. “If you recall, the past month was meant to give me time to…ah, woo a certain daughter of yours.” Beneath the table his knee lightly pressed against hers, startling her.

Lachlans smile was too broad to be believed. “Which daughter might that be?”

“This daughter, sir.” Jamie looked down at her, even though she would not meet his gaze. “I have wooed your fair Rose, with her raven hair and ivory skin, though its a mite pink at the moment.”

She wet her lips, bone dry with fear, but no words would come.

“Tell me, Daughter, what you think of this braw nephew of mine?” Both men looked at her with anticipation in their
eyes.
Her fathers gray ones masked something else she couldn't decipher. Jamie's green ones shone with a boundless love she might never match, no matter how she tried.

“Come now,” her father prompted. “You've kept the man waiting long enough.”

“What do I think of him, you say?” She gulped, hoping her face would not give her away. “He is everything good and fine and strong and kind.”

Jamie bent his head over hers. “Then say you'll marry me, lass.”

Marry? Not me, Jamie. Leanal

He cupped her cheek, gazing at her with sheer adoration. “I've worked a long month for this moment. But I've waited a lifetime for you.”

“Nae, Jamie.”
Not for me.
Overwhelmed, she pushed away his hand and dropped her chin, unable to speak another word without choking on it. It was Leana who loved him. Why hadn't he listened?
Why hadn't he listened?

“Rose? What are you saying, lass?” Jamie leaned closer, his voice low and strained. “Please, Rose. Please look at me.”

She lifted her head and looked at her father instead. His face was a mask. Even before she asked, she knew the answer. “Do I have a choice?”

Jamie's eyes widened with pain. “A…choice? Would you choose another, Rose?”

“Nae, she would not.” Lachlan answered for her. “She has chosen you.

The word came out on a sob.
“Father!”

“Aye, it is well that you remember I'm your father, which means that I choose whom you will marry.” He did not raise his voice, but he did raise one hand, as though to stop any protest that might rise to her lips. “What you do not know, lass—a fact which Jamie has been loath to tell you—is that he
must
marry you. Or he must marry Leana. Those are his only two choices, by his parents’ design. And he has chosen you. Be grateful.”

“Grateful?” She could not look at the hurt in Jamie's eyes.
Not hurt. Devastation.
“Aye, Father, I am grateful to be loved by a good man. But I'm too young. I'm not…ready.”

“Och!” Lachlan growled like a collie cornering a sheep. “No woman is ready. Nor is any man. You simply make your vows and you keep them. Jamie loves you and has chosen you, so the matter is decided. What say you, Rose? You will have him?”

“Aye, Father,” she whispered, looking down at her hands clasped tighdy in her lap. “I will have Jamie, if Jamie will have me.” It was the most she could say and remain honest before God. The rest would have to follow.

“And you will learn to love him?”

“Aye,” she said faintly.
Forgive me, Leana.
“I will try.”

“Will that do, Jamie? Is her promise enough?”

“Nae.” His voice was sharp as broken glass. “But it is a beginning.”

“Guid.” Her father nodded rather abruptly. “To business then. What do you offer for your young bride, James Lachlan McKie?”

Jamie was nonplussed. “Ah…offer?”

“You ve lands and sheep coming to you, lad. Someday. But for the moment, have you silver to seal the betrothal?”

“Uncle, you know the only silver I have in my pockets is yours.”

“Hmmm.” Lachlan tapped his finger beside his brow. “And the horse you 11 ride home is mine as well. Still, better you than some other man, eh? I've a decent
tocher
set aside for my daughter, a suitable sum for one so young, and the provision of a lady's maid. Now what can you give me in return for my blessing on your marriage?”

Rose stole a glance at him, wondering what he might offer. Perhaps Jamie had nothing to give. Perhaps it would all end here and now, and she would be free.

Jamie's gaze darted about as though looking for a solution on the paneled walls. Finally his gaze settled on her. “I might…well, I could
work
for your younger daughter, sir.”

Work. At Auchengray.
At least she would still be home; she would still have Leana by her side. She clutched her skirt in her hands.
Say yes, Father.

“I'd be willing to work hard, sir, and do anything Duncan asks of me. Until…until Hogmanay? Would that suit?”

Lachlan bobbed his head slowly, counting on his fingers. “Seven weeks then. In truth, seven months would be better.” Her father's laugh, seldom heard at Auchengray, echoed about the snuggery walls. “Seven years would be better still.”

“Until Hogmanay,” Jamie said firmly. “Might I marry Rose then?”

“You might.”

But I love you, sir;
And when a woman says she loves a man,
The man must hear her, though he love her not.

E
LIZABETH
B
ARRETT
B
ROWNING

L
eana lifted three slender brown bottles of syrup from her wooden medicine box in search of something that might bring her relief.
Rose hips.
Aye, that could ease the congestion in her chest.
Elderflower.
Her sore throat might be grateful for its soothing touch.
Heartsease.
Rest would come more easily if her cough abated. She held the bottles closer to the flickering taper on her bedside table, musing over her choices, until she finally uncorked each one in turn and measured out generous teaspoons of the honey-drenched syrups, swallowing all three with a prayer.

She hadn't been truly sick for several seasons, and it frightened her. Common colds had an unpleasant habit of developing into pneumonia, which had claimed her childhood friend, Janet Crosbie, last November. Leana had tended to Janet, as had old Mistress Bell and the parish minister, desperately turning the pages of
Pnmitive Physic, or an Easy and Natural Method of Cunng Most Diseases
, all for naught. Janets body was carried to the kirkyard soon after Martinmas. It made Newabbey folks nervous to watch a healthy lass of eighteen succumb so quickly. The neighborhood had kept a constant vigil for pneumonias deadly symptoms ever since.

As a precaution Neda had spent the day filling Leana with hot tea, all the while giving orders to Annabel, who'd stayed behind to help with the Martinmas feast. Leana had remained abed with the family Bible by her side to comfort her all through the long and lonely day. Now that the gloaming had nearly faded to black, the household would soon return from Dumfries, and Jamie with them.

Dear Jamie.

Leana pressed the cork stoppers back in place, then returned the three bottles to her medicine box, wishing another syrup among them might relieve the pain that ailed her most. “No herb will cure love,” she reminded herself with a weary sigh that set her to coughing once more. The deep, painful coughs bent her in two. It was several minutes before her chest setded and her breathing became more even. Still holding the box in her lap, she dropped back onto her pillows, exhausted. No autumn in memory had ever worn her down like this one.

The parish gossips, scattering lies like falling leaves, had busied themselves spreading the news of Fergus McDougal's refusal to marry her. Remnants of their stories were whispered in her ear each Sabbath by well-meaning friends. None of the far-fetched tales resembled the truth. Some said she'd slipped a sprig of blackthorn in Mr. McDougal's pocket, hoping he'd prick his finger on its wicked spines. Another insisted Leana had refused to bear him children, since he already had an unruly brood of his own. The most common fabrication was that something untoward had happened in the orchard with her cousin and she was no longer worthy of the bonnet laird or anyone who called himself a gendeman.

Though such blether did not hurt her feelings, it had mortally wounded her marriage prospects. Since All Souls Day, her father had discreedy inquired of several more eligible gendemen in the parish and had been soundly turned down. Jamie was her only chance and her heart's desire. He'd promised to remain at Auchengray until Martinmas, and that dreaded day was here. Had he made his final choice of a wife? Would her hopes, which had waxed and waned since the moment he'd arrived, come to naught?

Spurred on by mounting desperation, she'd spent the last week doubling her efforts to catch Jamie's eye. Elaborate meals, flattering dresses, meaningfiil glances, ballads sung round the hearth—none of them seemed to draw his attention away from Rose for longer than a minute. “How kind of you, Leana,” he would murmur, then go on as before. Was he daft not to see what she was trying to say? Was she more so, wearing her heart boldly on her sleeve?

From outside the window came the merry clatter of horse and carriage.
Jamie!

Leana lifted her head from the pillow, feeling her spirits lift as well. Her handsome cousin had arrived, and her father and sister with him. They would be looking in on her any moment. She must appear well, or she'd scare them senseless. Her medicine box, which Duncan had fashioned from hazel branches, needed to be hidden, lest they fear the worst. She gripped the hazel handle, then nearly let it slip from her hands when an old wives’ tale came to mind: hazel wood was unlucky. When a woman wished to put aside her beloved, a twig of hazel made her heardess wishes known without a word.