Thorn in My Heart (42 page)

What he saw in her eyes made his chest grow tight:
love.
Pure, selfless, unbounded love. The very thing he'd longed to see in Rose's eyes shone in her sister's, clear as moonlight.

“Jamie.” She said his name softly, reverendy. Like a prayer.

“Leana, I—”

“Enough o’ that.” Rab appeared again, her wool cape in his hands, a determined look in his eyes. “Come along, ye two, or ye'll set the gossips’ tongues waggin for mony a Hogmanay to come.” Rab dropped the cape over Leana's shoulders and steered her down the street shouting, “Make way for the bride! The bride goes first!”

Jamie found himself caught up in the flood of parishioners, pulled
forward by hands eager to see him take his rightful place behind the bride. The two maidens who served as his escorts, Eliza and Annabel, hooked their arms through his and delivered him to the front of the procession, one step behind Leana, who turned and watched him approach, her face luminous.

“I thought I'd lost you, Jamie.”

He shook his head, still a bit unsteady from the whisky, the kiss, and the look in her
eyes.
“I'm not so easily lost as that.”

“Good.” She regarded him for a moment, as though waiting to see what else he might say, then smiled and turned back to mount her horse for the procession to Auchengray. Rab Murray stood on one side of her and another young shepherd, Davie Tait, on the other, both grinning like naughty schoolboys. Jamie remembered that Rose had chosen the young shepherds to serve as her protectors en route to the kirk, a practice from the days when warring clans would kidnap a bride and ride off with her.

Leana laughed at their attentive stances. “Gendemen, you've nothing to fear. Nary a soul will be dragging me away to another parish.”

Rab Murray gave her an appraising glance. “From where I'm standin', ye'd be a bonny prize for any man to steal. Hold, lass, while the guns are fired. Can't have yer mount tossin ye on the dirt in yer pretty dress.”

Jamie had to agree, it was a pretty dress. And she had a regal seat on the horse—her back straight, yet her shoulders relaxed, and her head pointed forward. Had they ever ridden together?
Foolish question, Jamie.
Naturally they hadn't. He'd gone riding with Rose.

The piper dispensed with his opening fanfare and proceeded to the wedding jig, “Wooed an’ Married an’ All,” which the assembled party sang whether they knew the words or not. Endless verses followed, with a chorus between them. Only the last verse caught his attention and only because Leana was singing the words with joyful abandon:

“Sing another round, Mistress McKie!” the crowd shouted, stumbling and staggering as they made their way along the dark road to Auchengray with few lamps to guide them and naught but whisky to keep them warm.

Leana answered primly, “Call me Miss McBride, if you please, and I'll gladly sing it again.” Which she did, in a voice like laughter itself. Jamie joined in the chorus, thinking she might sing one more verse, but the piper launched into a reel, which none could sing for all the exuberant dancing. Someone had slipped a flask of whisky into his pocket, and he took advantage of it now, letting the heat of it seep into his limbs.

They neared the last hill when a murmur ran through the crowd. “The water! The water!” Tradition required that the bridal party cross moving water twice on the route home from the kirk. In front of him, Duncan guided Leana down to the burn that ran close by the road and forded the icy stream once, then back again, before her mount had time to protest. Jamie and the others came splashing behind her, whether on horseback or on foot, making a wet mess of things.

Through it all, Leana was a brighdy lit taper, casting her glow on the neighbors and friends she'd known all her twenty years. She was meant to have this day. After her ill-fated suit with Fergus McDougal, Leana might never have a true wedding day of her own. A tragedy, when she was a good woman in every sense of the word. No wonder Rose loved her.

Rose.
His heart thudded to a stop. Rose would never have a wedding day of her own either.
This
was her day, nearly spent. Had they made a terrible mistake going on without her? Would she ever forgive them?
No, Jamie. Will she ever forgive
you?

Leana, who knew Rose better than anyone, might have some idea of how such a delicate thing should be handled. As they turned the corner onto Auchengray's drive, Jamie drew up next to her and leaned over. “We must talk, Leana. About your sister. About…what to tell her…when she arrives.”

Her brows lifted in mock amazement. “You mean youve not thought that through?”

“Not…exacdy.”

“This was your idea, Jamie.”

“And your father's,” he reminded her.

“Aye, my father had a hand in it as well. As for me, I was die willing accomplice but not the mastermind.” She smiled demurely. “That task falls on your broad shoulders, dear cousin.”

Without thinking, he pressed her for an answer. “How willing? How willing were you, Leana?”

Any trace of artifice disappeared from her expression. “Very willing, Jamie.”

God, help me.
“Then were you—”

“Mr. McKie!” One of Auchengray's servants suddenly appeared at his side, wild eyed and out of breath. “Mr. McKie, I've news from Twyneholm.”

The wedding party came to a ragged halt, some stumbling ahead, others dropping behind to hear the report. The young lad crumpled his bonnet between his fingers, bobbing his head. “Me names Ranald, sir.”

“Ranald.” Jamie offered a curt nod. “Tell me what you've learned.”

“I rode hard, sir, and fast, as far south as I could go. Made it halfway to Twyneholm before I was turned back by a frichtsome snowstorm.”

Jamie's nerves snapped to attention. “A
snowstorm?”

“Aye. Carts and wagons stranded all over the road, axles broken, lame horses.
Och!
Ye've never seen sic a
fankle.
Not the sort ofthing we aften have in Galloway.”

“But no sign of Rose…ah, of Mistress McKie?”

“Nae sir. Yer lady and her aunt and Willie—none of them was anywhere to be seen.”

Jamie exhaled, grateful for some good news. They'd not been caught traveling in the storm then. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Well, accordin to the folk I met on the road, the storm started in the black o’ night, lang before the morn. Willie—he's a smart man, ye ken. He'd never do anythin daft. Willie no
dout
plans to keep the ladies there in Twyneholm ‘til the roads are passable.”

“And when might that be?”

Another male voice answered. “I'd expect your bride tomorrow,
Nephew.” Jamie turned to find Lachlan strolling up with a lady neighbor on each arm. “Probably about noon, I'd say. In time for dinner.”

Jamie rubbed his chin, hiding a smile. “The lass is headstrong enough, she might insist Willie bring her late this evening, storm or not.” He leaned down and added for Lachlan's benefit alone, “The door to my room will be unlatched, should my bride sneak into the house at a wee, dark hour.”

Lachlan chuckled at his braisant suggestion, though Jamie noticed his uncle's eyes fell on Leana as the man responded, “In that case Would be well after midnight, I venture.” Lachlan raised his voice then and lifted his hand to catch the crowds attention. “Dear guests, we've food that needs eating and a fiddler whose bow is itching to scratch. The feast awaits and then Hogmanay.”

There was a mighty rush to the barn, where the great meal was laid out on rough tables draped in fresh linens. Candles gleamed amid evergreen boughs, giving the place a festive air. The servants had outdone themselves, scrubbing and setting the place to rights. Such a throng would never fit in the house, nor did it bode well for the new couple to invite them all under their roof. For country weddings, the barn was best. With Leana properly seated at the head of the table, Jamie assumed his rightful task of waiting on her and her guests, and the courses commenced: barley broth, then beef, mutton, and goose, bread and oatcakes, and finally puddings swimming in cream. And cups of ale, from first to last, with drams of whisky for good measure.

“Had I more daughters, I'd host a penny wedding every month,” Lachlan boasted, as each guest provided a shilling for his meal, more for his drink. Jamie saw him count the coins when no one else was paying attention and then spirit them safely away in Duncans pockets. Lachlans thrifite would be overflowing long before the New Year bells had rung. Many more folk came to the bridal feast than attended the wedding, eager to partake of the bonnet lairds bounty and the fiddlers jolly tunes. Even Gypsies and other travelers were welcome to avail themselves of the feast, if they could scrape up a shilling.

By the time the moon rose low in the winter sky, the tables had
been pushed aside to make room for dancing. “Brides reel first,” the piper called. Leana stepped forward to do her duty and held out a hand for Jamie to join her, her eyes twinkling, but not from the ale. Unlike him, she hadn t drunk a sip. Her gaze glowed with something else he was only beginning to understand. It frightened him, this love of hers, yet fascinated him as well.

Jamie walked to the center of the barn, aware of the silent anticipation that hovered around them. It'd been easier to play their roles at the kirk. Here, in Auchengrays barn, pretense was put aside. Bonnet lairds and beggars sat at the same table. Gendemen and peasants ate from the same dish. For one night all souls were equal in this place. He was not the great McKie of Glentrool, but only Jamie, warmed by whisky, about to dance with his proxy bride.

She'd carefully stored the white kell in the house earlier, leaving her hair unbound, gleaming like spun gold in the candlelight. Her eyes were gray-blue pools, and her mouth curved into a smile. Leana was not as bonny as her sister, but she was as bonny as he'd ever seen her. He slipped one hand behind her waist and loosely clasped her hand with the other. Leana felt natural in his arms and vibrandy alive. “Will you dance with me, lass?”

“Aye, Jamie.” She lifted her free hand and placed it lighdy on his shoulder. “I will.” She called out a tune, and the fiddler complied, striking his bow as the piper pressed his bellows. On the first note they swept to the right, moving clockwise, not
widdershins
, holding ill luck at bay once more.

Within seconds Jamie realized he was the lucky one. Leana was the perfect dance partner, sailing gracefully across the dirt floor as though it were polished oak in a Brussels salon. Round they went, joined in the second reel by Eliza with Rab and Annabel with Davie, all four blushing as they swirled past them. By the third tune, the barn floor was crowded with couples, forming long lines as they prepared to greet their partners and join in the reel. As the bride, Leana had the right to dance with anyone she pleased, yet Jamie was the only partner she chose, dance after dance, strathspey to jig.

The hour was late when someone hollered, “Its nearly Hogmanay!” and another year knocked on their door. The youngest among the revelers called out, “We are but bairns come to play! Rise up and gie us our Hogmanay!” Neda appeared as though by magic, bearing trays of black bun. The yeasty Hogmanay favorite was flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and caraway, mixed with currants, orange peel, and almonds soaked in French brandy. Handfuls were gathered up and passed about the dance floor, tucked into hungry mouths, and washed down with ale.

Breathless from dancing, Jamie and Leana found a bench where they might rest their sore feet, repeatedly trampled upon. He nicked a bit of black bun off Nedas tray as it passed by and waved it under Leana's nose. “A taste for you, my proxy bride?” She nodded and popped open her mouth expectandy, catching Jamie by surprise. He hadn't meant to feed her. His hands were less than steady from too many cups of ale as he broke off a piece and pressed it between her lips.

After quickly swallowing, she pinched a taste for him as well and placed it in his mouth. He swallowed with some difficulty, so tight was his throat. She fed him a second bite, whispering as she did, “I must go, Jamie. When the kirk bell rings at midnight, I need to be inside the house.”

Jamie nodded, understanding. It was unlucky for her to remain outside. Once Hogmanay began, their guests would depart Auchengray to roam the neighborhood and celebrate “first-footing,” calling at any house where a light still burned. In their pockets waited pieces of coal to wish the hosts a warm house through the year and black bun to fill their stomachs. In their hands would be
hetpmts
of ale mixed with spirits, eggs, cream, sugar, and nutmeg. A cup of cheer would be shared, then it was off to the next house and on until dawn.

“The first foot across each threshold should be a man,” Leana reminded him, standing to leave. “A dark-haired man, like you.”

He stood as well, taking her hands in his, willing her to stay a moment longer. “But a bachelor is best. As you well know, I'm no longer single.”

“Yet I am still a maiden and a fair-haired one at that, which makes me unlucky indeed.” She shook her hair like a filly with a newly brushed mane. “No one would care to have me knock on their door tonight.”

I would.
Fearing she might hear his traitorous thought and bolt away he gripped her hands. “Leana…Leana, thank you. For everything.” What else could he say? A dozen things, all of them without honor. “I will see you in the morning then.”

“You will.”

When he finally let go of her hands, she touched his cheek, then slipped off the silver wedding band and pressed it into his hand. “Good night.” Her eyes wet with tears, she turned and disappeared into the throng, quickly lost from sight.

Leuna.

“Son?” Lachlan came up behind him and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “You look like a man who might benefit from a dram of Hogmanay cheer.” His uncle—his father-in-law now—pressed him back onto the bench and dropped down beside him. “I have just the thing for a lonely bridegroom.”