Thorn in My Heart (60 page)

She read until her eyes could not bear the strain, then crawled into bed at nine o'clock, trying not to think of what Jamie and Rose would
be saying to one another at that moment. Whispering about her perhaps. Shaking their heads with pity.
Poor, plain, pregnant Leana.
Aye, she might be plain, but she was rich with blessings nonetheless. Her health, her home, the baby in her womb, the love of friends, the love of God. It was enough, truly it was. Perhaps when she tucked her babe in Jamie's arms, his feelings would change. “Please, God,” she murmured, drifting off to sleep with a prayer on her lips.

The sound of the door unlatching woke her abrupdy. A sharp click.
Jamie.
She opened the bed curtains to find him hurriedly undressing, discarding his fine clothes in a heap on the floor. Without a glance in her direction, he closed the window curtains tight and extinguished the remaining candle, blanketing their bedroom in utter darkness.

“Jamie,” she whispered when he climbed into bed, adding his shirt to the pile on the floor, “whatever are you doing?”

“Remembering.”

Jamie abrupdy pulled her toward him and kissed her with abandon. He tasted like rich food and dry wine and potent whisky. And longing. “Hush now, lass. I want everything to be right. To be just like our wedding night.” He kissed her again, harder this time, the sharp stubble of his beard burning her cheek, his hands rougher still.

A shiver ran through her. Of anticipation or fear, she wasn't sure which. “Why, Jamie?”

He did not answer her with words, yet soon proved he meant what he'd said. She ignored the taste of whisky on his lips and wept with joy, so grateful to be joined with the bridegroom she remembered—loving, attentive, generous Jamie. He had missed her, then, at Maxwell Park. Regretted leaving her, regretted hurting her. She could think of no better apology than this one. A night like their wedding night, only better. Because he knew the name of the woman he held in his arms.
Leana.
And because she knew he was her husband, the father of her child, the only man she would ever love.
Jamie.

In the wee hours of the morn, in the curtained shadows, in his moment of passion, he called out her name: “Rose!”

Leana rolled away from him, nearly sick.

“Och!
Leana…” He groaned, reaching his hand out to her. “I'm…sorry. I did not mean…” But he did mean it. He meant to call out the name of the woman he loved.

In the wretched darkness all came to light. Her words to him were cold, dead. “I see the way of it, Jamie. If the room is black as pitch, you can pretend I am Rose.”
And I can pretend you bve me.

Could I love less,
I should be happier now.

P
HILIP
J
AMES
B
AILEY

P
lease, God, let me love him no longer.

Leana stared out their bedroom window into the dark July night. It was her only hope, the only way to end her pain. If she did not give Jamie her heart, he could not break it over and over.
Please, God, let me hve him no hnger.

To even think the words, let alone pray them, frightened her. Loving Jamie was so much a part of her that if she released him and her love for him as well, she might be left with nothing.
Nae.
Leana gazed down at the thin nightgown stretched taut against her round middle and was comforted. She would be left with something glorious: their son. She'd chosen names, hoping they might please Jamie and draw him closer, if not to her, at least to the child she would bear him.

“What of Robert?” she'd offered him one bright May afternoon when she visited her husband in the pasture, looking after the new lambs. “If we name him after a Scottish king, perhaps our son will be famous someday.” Jamie had responded with a vague nod, too busy with the lambs to look up as she spoke.

On a rainy morning in June she'd found him in good spirits at the breakfast table and so tried again. “A son named Simon would let our neighbors know that God listened to our prayers. How does that strike you, Jamie?” It had not struck him at all it seemed, for he shrugged and, seeing Rose's irritation, changed the subject.

Last week she'd ventured a third possibility, sure he would respond to a fine name like Lewis. “Such a name would suit a famous warrior who might defend Glentrool from all invaders,” she'd said, smiling as
she did. But perhaps he thought she meant Evan would be the invader, because Jamie did not smile back nor agree with her choice.

That night, on the eve of Lammas, Leana had chosen a fourth name for their child, a name she would tell no one but God, who always listened.

When no breeze from the Solway came to cool her skin, she left the open window and crawled into bed, careful not to wake her husband who was snoring softly. The babe moved more vigorously at night, robbing her of sleep but giving her the pleasure of watching Jamie without hiding her feelings. She curled a lock of his dark brown hair between her fingers, enjoying the silky feel of it.
Sweet Jamie.
She had known him through four seasons and loved him in every one of them. But it was not enough to love and not be loved in return. A sense of acceptance, of finality, had fallen over her that summer, as light as the kell she wore on their wedding day.

Please, God, let me hve him no hnger.

She closed her eyes and let the weight of her simple prayer find a resting place in her heart. To be the sort of mother she longed to be for their son, she needed to be at peace with herself and with God and not struggling every hour of her life, longing for something she could never have. If her prayers were answered, she would not have Jamie, but she would have peace. She fell asleep at last, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

Leana woke the next morning to find Jamie dressed and gone to breakfast. With her ungainly figure, she preferred to dress with only Eliza to help her, but she missed having Jamie in the room. Missed his smiling voice as he regaled her with a story, missed his touch on her elbow as he guided her down the stair.

Stop it, Leana.
God could not extinguish her love for Jamie if she fanned the flame of it by thinking about him day and night. She would quench her love as surely as she snuffed out a taper that had burned too long, by pinching the lighted wick with her fingers, feeling the pain for an instant, knowing it would soon fade away.
Please, God.

Leana descended the stair, her resolve strengthening with each step,
and joined die family at die table. She glanced at Rose, who was busy buttering her bannocks, and thought how much easier it would be to ask God to take away Jamie's love for her sister. Aye, a tempting thought, that! But she could not change Jamie's heart. Nor Roses. She could only change her own.

Please, God, let me hve him no longer.

Jamie greeted her when she took her seat next to him, his gaze aimed at her forehead rather than her eyes, his smile vacant. “We're discussing our plans for the day's activities. You intended to spend most of it indoors and out of the sun, helping Neda in the kitchen, aye?”

“Aye, with so long a day ahead. And hot as well.” The sun had already been up for hours and wouldn't disappear until nine o'clock. “I've a dozen dishes to fix and a certain sweet to prepare for my sister.” Leana eyed her across the table, hoping her words sounded sincere, for they were. “Happy birthday, Rose.”

“Sixteen,” her sister announced, smiling at no one in particular, then patted the three packages next to her plate. “Might I open these now, Father?”

Lachlan grunted his assent, chewing on a rasher of bacon. He was more sullen than usual, Leana knew, because he did not fancy the first of August. The shepherds and laborers quit their work for the day to celebrate Lammas, honoring the coming harvest, which meant Lachlan was paying for labor he did not receive.

Nonetheless, both Lammas and Rose's birthday would be duly honored at Auchengray. The neighborhood had been invited and the entire household put to the tasks of cleaning shelves, mopping floors, and emptying Leana's vegetable garden of its rich harvest. Perhaps the festivities would keep her sister from dwelling on the undeniable truth: If it weren't for the babe in Leana's womb, the first of August would have been Rose's wedding day.

“Go on,” Leana urged her sister. “Father's gift first. The cream-colored paper.” Leana knew what was inside, since Lachlan had insisted she make the selection. Rose clapped when she unwrapped the tor-toiseshell combs, then tucked them in her hair, obviously pleased. “A
fine present,” Leana commended their father, relieved she'd chosen well. “Now mine.”

Her sister carelessly tore off the paper, forgetting they used the same sheets of wrapping paper time and again. “Ah.” Her face was expressionless. “A book.”

“Not borrowed from a friend,” Leana hurried to explain. “Your very own copy.”

Rose held it at arms length and read the title with little enthusiasm.
“Lectures on Female Education and Manners.
Do you mean to tell me I have no manners?”

“Not at all. I simply thought a young lady who dines at Maxwell Park and has plans to attend a private school in Dumfries in January might benefit from such a book.” Leana softened her tone. “I meant it only to encourage you.”

Rose put the book aside without further comment, then eyed Jamie's small present with obvious glee. “
This
does not look like something dull and practical. Shall we find out?” She did away with the paper, nearly shredding it in her haste, then sighed with delight at the new handkerchief trimmed in lace. “I would never so much as
sneeze m
such a delicate thing! Jamie, wherever did you find it?”

He grinned. “Mr. Fergusson's last…ah, shipment. From Brussels.”

Rose fluttered it across the table. “Isn't it lovely?”

Leana conceded that it was, then finished her breakfast, longing to seek the sanctuary of the kitchen. On her twenty-first birthday in March, Jamie had given her a handkerchief as well. Without lace. By the time she'd reached the kitchen, her hurt feelings were brushed aside, and her brow was smooth once more. When she no longer loved him, he would not wound her so.

Neda, chopping carrots with a practiced hand, made her welcome. “Ye look peaceful today, lass.”

“Aye.” Leana tied a fresh apron around her neck, arranging it over her round stomach with a sigh of contentment. “I've made up my mind about something.”

Nedas eyes filled with concern. “Have ye talked with God about this decision of yours?”

Leana offered her the gentlest of smiles. “He's the only one who knows.”

“I dinna like the sound o’ this.” Neda wiped her hands on her apron, hastening around the table to grasp her hands. “Surely ye re not thinkin’ aboot leavin Auchengray?”

“Oh, Neda.” Leana drew her close and lighdy pressed their cheeks together. “Not anytime soon.” She released her, giving her hands a parting squeeze. “We'll stay here until the babe is born. The rest is up to amie.

Neda made a face, pursing her lips as though she'd bit into something sour. “I'm not sure the lad is capable of makin the wisest of decisions on that score.”

“But he
is
my husband and the father of my child,” Leana reminded her. “Didn't a certain housekeeper teach me to submit to my husband, as unto the Lord?”

“Och!” Neda flapped her hand and resumed her chopping. “So I did, and so ye should. Tell me aboot this decision then.”

Now that she'd broached the subject, Leana found it hard to put into words. “I'm…that is, I'm praying about…something.” She turned away, her cheeks hot. Neda would think her heartless. But it had to be said. With one eye on the kitchen door, Leana murmured, “I'm praying God will take away my love for Jamie.”

Neda's eyes grew round as tea saucers. “What are ye thinkin, lass? We pray tae love others mair, not less.”

Leana's spirits sank. “My heart has been broken and mended so many times, Neda. I fear it will never be whole again. What if I don't have enough love for our babe?”

Neda laughed softly, taking her sharp knife to a mound of potatoes. “Ye've no need to worry. Ane glimpse o’ that wee son, and yer heart will break and mend a hundred times. As tae Jamie McKie, the lad sorely needs yer love. D'ye ken the truth o’ that?”

Leana's busy hands stilled. “But he doesn't
want my
love.”

“What we want and what we need are aften not the same. Yer sister loves his braw form and face, but ye love the man himself, with all his flaws.”

“I
did
love him,” Leana corrected her, not even convincing herself. “Would the Almighty expect me to love another who does not love me:

Neda peered at her beneath a stray wisp of hair. “Are ye sure ye want an answer?”

Leana shook her head, sorry she'd ever mentioned her prayer.
Please, God, let me hve him no longer.
He might choose not to answer, but she would not stop asking.

But still I think it can't be long
before I find release.

A
LFRED,
L
ORD
T
ENNYSON

L
ook who's come for Lammas!” Susanne Elliot stood perched on the threshold of the kitchen, her auburn hair pinned up with a sprig of wild thyme, as befitted the day. “My brother Neil is trying to impress Rose on her birthday. Be glad you're missing his sorry attempts at flattery.” She looked about the room with its abundance of produce. “Might I be helpfi here?”

“You're our guest,” Leana protested, putting aside her well-scrubbed radishes to reach for a basket of broad beans that needed cutting.

Susanne laughed. “I'm also the daughter of a grocer and under our housekeeper's feet at every turn. ‘Tis my duty to make myself useful in a kitchen.” She'd already helped herself to an apron and found a bare spot on the chopping table. “Anyway, I cannot resist the aroma of baking bread.”