Thorn in My Heart (48 page)

Leana closed her
eyes
and waited.
Let Jamie speak first.

When he didn't do so after a moment, she looked about for somewhere to sit and noticed her neady stitched bedcover had been badly stained. “Goodness,” she murmured, touching the fabric. “Something's been spilled here.”

“Whisky,” Jamie said with no emotion in his voice. “Knocked from Lachlan's hand.”

“I see.” The dark, ugly stains would not come out. “It doesn't matter.” She chose the less comfortable of the two chairs pulled close to the feeble hearth and eased into it, not able to look at him yet. “I'll embroider another.”

Jamie took the upholstered chair—her fathers favorite—and sat down heavily. “What of our marriage bed, Leana?” His tone reeked of sarcasm. “I suppose you'll embroider bedcovers for that as well?”

She looked up and met his gaze. “You forget. I already have. Some of the linens that fill Rose's bottom drawer were the fruit of my labors, remember?”

He leaned forward in his chair, his hands pressed against his knees, arms akimbo. “And what of the fruit of your womb, Leana? Yestreen at the kirk we sang about your ‘fruitful vine.’ Is that your expectation? That you will have my child and thereby claim me as your husband?”

She lowered her gaze, hurt by the edge of anger in his voice, the look of a trapped animal in his eyes. “It is not for me to decide, Jamie. The Buik tells us that children are an heritage of the Lord and that the fruit of the womb is his reward.”

“
Och!
And you deserve a
reward
for last night's performance, is that it?”

“Jamie, please.” Leana touched the back of his hand. “It was not a performance. You thought I was Rose. And I thought you loved me. We were both—”

“Deceived. By your father.” He threw his shoulders against the chair, frustration flowing off him in waves. “The man's motives and methods are canny beyond imagining. He saw a clever way to marry off an older daughter who has no prospects and to keep his lovesick nephew bound to him for seven more months, nigh to a year from when I arrived. Without wages, without any guarantee of getting what I want in the end.”

She swallowed the sickening taste in her mouth. “You mean Rose.”

“Aye. Rose. The woman I love, who will be here shordy.” He stood, straightening his clothes with brief, sharp movements, as coolly efficient as his words. “See that you are packed for our journey to Dumfries with
due haste. My bags have been waiting by the door since Wednesday morning.”

Leana stood, feeling as though she might be ill. “When…when will we leave?”

He smoothed his cravat, then folded his arms over his chest. The same chest she had used for a pillow. How was it possible? Where was the Jamie who'd loved her yestreen?

“We wont leave until Rose returns.”

“Of course.” Leana held her breath and prayed for strength, her empty stomach tied in a knot. When was the last time she ate?
The Hogmanay black bun.
Fed to her from his fingers. Touching her lips.

Leana gripped the corner of Lachlans box bed. “Which one of us will…will tell Rose?”

His gaze remained even. “You will.”

Sorrow and ill weather come unsent for.

S
COTTISH
P
ROVERB

R
ose poked Willie in die ribs. “Cannot we ride a bit faster?”

“Auld Bess has seen more than her share of winters, Miss McBride, and they've taken their toll on her legs.” To appease her, the orraman shook the reins and called out a sharp word of encouragement to the mare. Rose groaned when the horse merely tossed her mane back at him and kept plodding forward, no faster than before.

She had to know. “How much—”

“Twa miles,” Willie snapped. “Twenty minutes at most. And that's the last time I'll tell ye, lass, so busy yerself with yer knittin.”

Poor Willie.
It had been a difficult two days for him, stuck in the tiny cottage with her eccentric Aunt Meg and her two collie dogs. He'd refused to set out before daybreak, concerned at what they might find. What they found was sunshine, great shining pails full of it, poured over the Galloway landscape. On the first of January of all things!

Hogmanay—her wedding day—her Aunt Meg had fallen on the polished flagstone and twisted her ankle, poor woman. Then, when they'd packed to leave that morning, her aunt had refused to come to Auchengray after all. “I'll just be a burden, hopping about on this bad foot. Best stay home and tend to it. I'll send you off with your present, lass, and regards to your sister, Leana. Write and tell me all about the wedding.”

Write she would, the moment Rose knew when the ceremony would be performed. What a dreadful nuisance it must have been for her father, canceling the wedding on the very day it was planned! Leana probably handled every detail.
Dear Leana.
Rose had missed her terribly, almost as much as she'd missed Jamie.

She closed her
eyes
to picture him, as she had many times a day, all eight days she'd spent in Twyneholm. Jamie, with his dark brown hair in a sleek knot, and his green eyes gazing at her, and his full mouth curved into a sly smile, and his carved chin with a hint of a beard, and his long legs, so handsome in his new boots, and his strong, broad shoulders.
Oo aye!
Picturing James Lachlan McKie had become her favorite pastime. Who could have guessed that spending a week apart from a man would make her feelings grow so much deeper and multiply like wildflowers in May?

Twenty minutes.

I love you, Jamie.

She would tell him the very second she laid eyes on him, no matter who was listening, no matter how it might embarrass him.

To keep her mind off her bonny bridegroom, Rose dutifully pulled out her knitting bag, untouched since the day before, and found the heel of the stocking she'd been working on. She eased it out of the bag so it wouldn't unravel. The needles were poked into the wool, right where they belonged. She'd no sooner sorted out the skein of yarn when Willie glanced over and brought Bess to a sudden halt.

Willie's eyes were tea saucers. “When did ye start knitting that stocking, lass?”

“Monday.” She held it up, proud of how much she'd finished. Knitting was her least favorite pastime. “They're for Jamie. Aren't they a lovely shade of blue?”

“Did ye…” He gulped, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Did ye…leave the knitting needles in the stocking like that…all night?”

She gaped at him. “Willie, whatever is the matter with you? Aye, naturally I left the needles there.” She glanced outside the chaise for some explanation. “Why have we stopped?”

He sighed heavily, shaking his head like one of Aunt Meg's collies. “There's no cure for it now, lass. D'ye no ken how unchancie a thing it is to keep knitting a stocking from the old year to the new?”

She stared at the wool in her hands. “It is? Unlucky, I mean?”

He jerked the reins to start Bess on her way, though his gaze was
still fixed on Roses hands. “Wise is die woman who finishes knittin her stocking before midnight on Hogmanay and puts the needles safely awa.

“Hoot!” Rose laughed gaily, trying to conceal her uneasiness. “You are the most superstitious old Scotsman I've met in many a day, Willie.”

“Aye, lass, but I've lived long enough to ken what I'm telling ye to be true. They say on the last day of the old year, a great gust of wind blows across the face of the earth, and all the earth is changed. ‘Tis our job to keep the old ways so that change will be for the better.”

Willie sank down into his overcoat, two sizes too big for him, still shaking his head. “Seems to me a lass about to marry would need all the guid luck she can gather around her.”

“I don't need guid luck,” she told him, tossing her black hair the way Bess tossed her tangled mane. “I have Jamie.”

They rode on in silence, past Maxwell Park, then Lochend, then Glensone, each farm and cottage bringing her closer to home. She discarded her knitting, lest the needles themselves bear some unco curse, and clasped her hands in her lap, breathing in the crisp, cold air and basking in the brilliant sunshine, all too aware that such fine weather never lasted.

When they turned into the drive at Auchengray, her heart was in her throat. Would Jamie be waiting at the window, watching for her? Or come running out the door, breathing out steamy puffs of air as he hastened to help her down from the chaise? She closed her eyes for the briefest of wishes—
Let him hurry out to meet me!
—then opened them wider than ever in joyful anticipation.
Jamie!Jamie, I'm home!

There was no sign of him at the door or at the window. Willie relaxed the reins, knowing Bess would find the shortest path to the stables, and stopped in front of the house long enough to help Rose climb out. “Go on, lass. Dinna keep yer man waitin.”

She planted a kiss on Willie's leathery cheek, then fairly skipped to the front entrance. After pushing open the heavy door, she sang out her greeting, not waiting for someone to come as she pulled off her hat, scarf, and coat, laughing at how Aunt Meg had bundled her up from
head to toe. She discarded her things in a careless heap by the door and went straight to the dining room, certain the family must be finishing dinner and hadn't heard her arrival.

Finding them in their usual places, their untouched food sitting before them, she swept into the room, flashing them a brownies grin. “Is there no one in this house eager to welcome a weary traveler?”

“Rose!” Jamie stood so quickly his chair tipped back for a moment. He held out his arms, a sheen of tears in his eyes, and she threw herself into his embrace.

“Jamie, Jamie!” She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear the news she'd waited all week to tell him. “I love you, Jamie. I do, I love you.”

“And I love you, beloved.” Jamie's arms tightened around her, even as servants quiedy slipped out and the room grew strangely silent.

Her father's stern voice cut through the air. “That will be quite enough, Rose.”

She eased back, hating to lose the warmth of him, though Jamie's gaze embraced her still. “Forgive me, Father. I was…that is, I've missed Jamie.”

“You've made that abundandy clear, lass. Find your seat at the table so we may begin our dinner.”

It was only then she turned to look at Leana more closely. Her pale skin was smudged with shadows, and her eyes rimmed with pink, as though she'd been crying for hours on end. “Leana?” By the look of her face, her sister had aged a year during the last week. She hurried to Leana's side, taking the empty seat next to hers. “Dear sister, what is it? What's wrong?”

Her father answered before Leana could take a breath. “Your sister is…tired. It's good to have you home, Rose. Would that ill weather had not prevented you from arriving at this hour yestreen.”

“Aye, Father. No one is more sorry than I am.” She patted Leana's hand, resolving to keep an eye on her, and sniffed the pungent air, famished for some of Neda's steak and kidney pie. “Forgive me for throwing your plans in such an uproar. Did you not have the same ill weather here in Newabbey?”

Leana spoke, her voice timid, almost apologetic. “We…did not.”

Och!” Rose squeezed her sisters hand, noticing how limply it rested in her lap. “No wonder you're exhausted. All our guests must have arrived, not knowing what had happened. Dear me, what a bother, moving all our arrangements to another day.” She looked expectandy around the table. “What day have you chosen?”

The three of them exchanged glances, then her father spoke. “No day as yet.” He exhaled with obvious impatience. “We have already blessed the meal, child. Let us bless your safe return and enjoy our food while it is hot. In silence, if you do not mind, as we have no guests to entertain, and it has been a…difficult two days.”

Rose bowed her head slowly, watching the others, a knot of fear tightening in her chest—a knot made of wool yarn, with knitting needles sticking out of its center. Why were they all so solemn, as though they weren't pleased to have her home? It was common for them to eat without speaking during the meal, but why today of all days?

Her father prayed, filling the room with long, dour phrases that sounded very holy indeed, though the pie grew cold beneath her nose. At last he finished, and they lifted their silver, cutting and chewing with nary a word spoken for the longest dinner hour Rose could ever remember. She and Jamie exchanged glances when the others had their heads down. His love for her shone in his eyes, but there was sadness there as well.
Poor Jamie.
Her delay must have put a terrible strain on the household; their grim faces were proof of it.

Another long prayer closed the meal, and then she could bear it no more. “To your feet, Leana. Willie should have deposited my things in our room by now.” Rose stood, tugging her sister's sleeve. “We shall see what sort of wedding present Aunt Meg has sent along for Jamie and me.” She rolled her eyes, giggling all the while. “Smuggled salt, judging by the feel of it.” She glanced at Jamie, whose sorrowful gaze—there was no other word for it, the man appeared positively grief-stricken—followed her to the door. He looked as if he hadn't slept in two days.

She pranced into the hall, letting her fingers brush the walls, she was that glad to be home. Everything looked different, as it often did after
a time away. Shabbier, a bit plain compared to Aunt Meg's cheerful cottage, but still Auchengray, still home. However would she bear leaving it behind for Glentrool?

Leana turned to her at the bottom of the stair, her expression as gloomy as Jamie's. “This way, my sister. I've a rather…delicate matter we need to discuss.”

Oh! how many torments lie
in the small circle of a wedding ring.

C
OLLEY
C
IBBER

C
ome now, it can't be as bad as all that.” Rose pushed Leana ahead of her up the steps, cajoling her as they went. “I can see that Auchengray needs my speeritie ways, loud as they may be. While I've been gone, joy has positively vanished from this house.”