Thorn in My Heart

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “Not a suitor,” Leana finally admitted with a lengthy sigh. “Merely an interested party.”

  “Ah.” Rose grinned in anticipation. Nicholas Copland probably. Hadn't he cast an admiring glance at Leana on the Sabbath last? A studious sort, good with words. She watched Leanas face, hoping she was right. “Does this interested party of yours have a name?”

  Another wave of thunder rumbled through the room as Leanas gaze met hers. “Fergus McDougal.”

  “ What?That horrid old farmer from Kirkbean?” 1 he very one.

  Rose shot to her feet. “Under no circumstances are you to marry that man!”

  “If they come to some agreement, I'll have no choice.” Leana rose and stood next to her, folding her arms tighdy against her gown as though suddenly chilled. “I dare not go against Fathers wishes on so serious a matter.”

  “Och! Never mind about Father. What are your wishes, Leana?”

  “Daft as it sounds, I've always dreamed of marrying a man who loves me.” She wandered toward the darkened windows, staring out at the stormy night sky. “A man who would choose me above all others and love me for who I am.” Leana released a lengthy sigh, then turned toward Rose. “Aye, but this courting has nothing to do with love.”

  “And everything to do with money.” Rose clenched her fists as bitter, angry tears tightened her throat. “Fergus McDougal, of all people! How dare Father even consider such a match?”

  “Because he wants something from the man. Grazing land, silver coin, dairy cows—only heaven knows.” Leana sighed heavily, clearly resigned to her fate. “You know what Father says: ‘The older daughter must marry first.’”

  “Where is that written, I'd like to know.”

  Leana pressed a finger to her lips and guided Rose away from the door. “Hush, dearie, or you'll wake him.” She leaned closer and added, “I'd rather not confess how I learned about McDougal's offer.”

  “Confess it to me at least.” She couldn't resist scolding her. “And shame on you for keeping such ugsome news to yourself all day.” While her sister described the conversation she'd overheard outside the spence, Rose fought to keep her temper in check. Fergus McDougal! What was their father thinking? When her own wedding day came—and that would be many years hence, for she had no intentions of throwing her youth away on marriage and motherhood—Rose meant to marry the wealthiest, bonniest lad in Galloway, whether her father approved of the man or not.

  “Nothing is decided yet,” Leana concluded, her features lined with concern. “Do mention me in your prayers, Rose.”

  “You know I will.” Overcome, Rose threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. Her only sibling, her dearest friend. She pressed her warm cheek against Leana's cooler one. “No one matters more to me than you do, dear sister.”

  Six

  Envy is born in a man from the start.

  HERODOTUS

  Your brother means to kill you, Jamie.” His mother clutched his forearm, pulling him closer. “Ivy overheard him threatening to do so this very night. Just do what I say—”

  “Haven't I done that one time too many?” Jamie yanked his sleeve free and turned to face the hearth. The scent of roasted meat dripping with spicy herbs still lingered about the kitchen, filling his nostrils with the stench of his deceit.

  “Come now, lad.” His mothers voice took on a cajoling tone. “There's a remedy for everything, even those things that don't turn out the way we'd planned.”

  “It was your plan, Mother, not mine.” By sheer luck he'd slipped away only moments before Evan had marched into the kitchen with his own plans in mind. Plans to serve an evening meal of venison to their father. Plans to hear a blessing spoken over his head. Plans to subdue his younger brother for good. Plans which, Jamie knew, had gone terribly awry.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened after I left?”

  His mother gestured wildly as she spoke, clearly agitated. “I told Evan and Judith the discarded dishes were yours, that you'd eaten alone and left. They roasted the roebuck together, and I…well, I helped them. To make sure the meat was seasoned properly. And to give you time to…to…”

  He grimaced. “Escape.”

  “Aye. After Judith went upstairs to bed, Evan served your father himself. I listened at the door, of course—”

  “Of course.”

  “And as soon as Evan spoke, your father demanded to know who he was. When Evan told him…” She gulped, her eyes wet with tears. “Oh, Jamie. Your father was so angry his voice shook.”

  Jamie's stomach turned to stone. “What of Evan?”

  “He…” She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “He cried out, loud as the deid bell at a funeral. Begged your father to bless him, too. Not once, but three times.” Her shoulders drooped, and her chin fell to her chest. “It was an awful thing to hear, Jamie.”

  “Father blamed me, not you, didn't he?” Jamie watched her head nod ever so slighdy. “And Evan the same?” A second nod. “Did Father give him any sort of blessing?”

  As she lifted her head to answer him, the outer kitchen door banged open, and a rain-soaked wind blew into the room. Jamie turned around slowly, knowing what he would find: a lone figure wrapped in a sodden plaid, glaring at him with hate-filled eyes.

  “These were in the stables.” Evan flung a familiar pair of goatskin gloves, which slapped against Jamie's legs and fell to the floor. “Care to explain yourself, Brother?”

  Rowena answered instead, her voice trembling. “Bide a wee while, lad. Hand me your—”

  “Haven't you taken enough out of my hands this day, Mother?” Evan's words, sharp as their father's broadsword, cut through the air, clearly wounding her.

  Jamie's back stiffened. Their mother had played a part in the deception, but Jamie wouldn't see her punished for it. Not when he'd willingly knelt by their father for the family blessing, as sacred a thing as any signed parchment. Not when he'd kissed the laird's cheek. Like the kiss of Judas.

  Certain of his duty, Jamie took one step toward his brother. “If you've words to say, Evan McKie, say them to me.”

  “Aye, I will. More words than you'll be wanting to hear.” His brother's eyes matched the granite of Cairnsmore. Cold, hard, brooding. “You've planned this for ten years, haven't you, Brother?”

  “Ten…? What are you getting at?” Jamie didn't dare take his eyes off Evan, yet he longed to see what story his mother's face might tell. Had the woman planned this cantrip all along? Had he agreed without knowing it?

  Evan spat on the floor like the coarsest of men. “Ten years ago you made me pay for a dish of barley broth with my birthright, remember?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You were practicing even then for the day you'd make it stick.”

  “Come now, Evan.” Jamie shrugged nonchalandy, hoping to appease him. “We were naught but lads—”

  “Aye,” Evan growled. “And now we're men and hardly brothers.”

  “Evan, I—”

  “Father blessed me, too, you know.” He brushed back a handful of red hair matted down by the rain, revealing a fierce scowl. “He promised I would live by the blade of my sword. And answer to you.” He snorted as he said it, curling his lips in disgust. “As to the second, I will never bow to my thieving younger brother. And as to the first, my dirk is sufficient for you.” Evan threw off his plaid and hurled himself across the room, his short dagger unsheathed and shining with a murderous gleam.

  Jamie!

  Their mothers scream was drowned out by their own war cries. Jamie lunged at Evan, and both brothers landed hard on the unforgiving floor. Back and forth they rolled, hurling insults as brutal as their blows. Evan overpowered him, pressing the flat of his blade against Jamie's chin, proving he meant business. Jamie bucked and shoved, trying to escape the weight of his sibling, who was stouter by a stone and stronger by far. The flagstones chilled his neck, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

  Evan stared down at him, eyes wild, his breathing heavy and thick with whisky. “I mean to kill
you, Jamie!”

  Jamie wiped a trickle of blood from his chin. “I don't doubt you, Brother.” Heaving Evan aside, he rose to his knees, then tore into him with his bare hands while their mother, hysterical by now, begged them to stop.

  “Lads, no more! Evan, you're hurting him!”

  Ignoring her, they staggered to their feet, then plowed into the table, sending the cooks best pottery crashing to the floor in a noisy, shattered heap. Fists flew, brutally connecting with flesh and bone. Curses echoed through the once-quiet house. When the blade of Evan's dirk caught the firelight, Jamie lunged forward to knock it free, cutting his hand but sparing himself a deadlier blow. The dagger clattered across the floor and landed at the feet of a newcomer to the terrible scene.

  Father.

  Jamie saw him first and tried to blurt out his name between blows. Evan, oblivious, hammered away at Jamie with a meaty fist until he finally glanced up and froze.

  Alec McKie stood over the two of them tangled in a bloody knot. His gray eyes watered more than usual while he worked his mouth, clearing his throat as he did. “Rowena.”

  His wife moved toward him, visibly shaken as she stepped over the remains of her kitchen. “Alec…oh, Alec. I can explain.”

  Jamie watched his father slowly lift one hand to silence her. When the man spoke, Jamie wished he had not.

  “You have brought shame to Glentrool this day, James McKie.”

  A dull heat coursed through Jamie's limbs as he shoved Evan aside, then used the overturned table to pull himself to his feet. Every part of him had taken a beating, not the least of which was his pride. He swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit, then forced out the words. “I'm sorry, Father.”

  “Sorry? Bah! You should be more than sorry for taking advantage of a shooglie old man.” He leaned on his cane, as though to prove his weak and tottery condition. “You know very well I can't see. And my hearing of late has me nigh to shouting at your poor, innocent mother.”

  Innocent? Jamie closed his eyes as the truth sank in: Father knew nothing of his mother's role in their deception. Meaning his father would never forgive him. Meaning Evan would indeed see him dead, and soon.

  “It's your brother who needs to hear your apology, Jamie.” Alec nodded at Evan, then turned back toward the front room, mumbling over his shoulder. “See that the two of you come to some peaceful agreement, aye?”

  Jamie hung his head. What was their father thinking? There ci never been peace between the brothers, least of all now.

  Evan stood close behind him, his sour breath hot on his neck. “I've business to attend to elsewhere. And no interest in making amends, Jamie.” His voice was a low hiss in Jamie's ear, the words meant for him alone. “Watch your back, man. I'll plant my dirk in it the minute Fathers in his grave.” Evan slung his plaid over his broad shoulders without ceremony and stormed through the doorway into the wild, rain-swept night.

  Seven

  Guilt's a terrible thing.

  BEN JONSON

  Jamie, nothing is gained by heaping guilt on yourself.”

  He shot his mother a withering look. “Who should I blame then? You? Almighty God?” Jamie wrapped his bleeding hand with a clean rag, shaking his head in frustration. “I'm guilty as sin. And a dead man as well.”

  “Keep your voice down, lad.” His mother pulled him farther away from the door to the parlor, where his father sat nursing his disappointment with a thimbleful of whisky. “I'll speak to your father. He'll come round by and by. Meanwhile, I intend to keep you safely away from Evans blade. I have a wee plan.”

  “Not another—”

  “Aye!” she hissed. “ ‘Twill secure what we both want.”

  “Och! He threw the blood-soaked cloth to the floor. “What you want, you mean.”

  “Not me, Jamie. You.”

  “Is that so?” He thrust his face in front of her and ground out the words. “How can you possibly know what I want?”

  “Wheesht!” She lifted her hand, but he was too fast for her. Grasping her wrist in midair, he held it for a moment while his pounding heart slowed and his anger cooled. He met her hard-eyed gaze, noting the grim line of her mouth, then slowly pulled her hand toward his face. Ever so gendy he pressed his cheek against her palm in silent appeal.

  It had exacdy the effect he'd hoped for. Her eyes softened, and her jutting chin relaxed. “I'm sorry, Jamie.”

  “Not as sorry as I am,” he confessed. “I know you only want what's best for me.”

  “And what's best for Glentrool,” she added, dropping her hand and taking a step backward. “Which is why you must do as I say.”

  “Which is…”

  “Flee at once to my brother, Lachlan, at Auchengray.”

  “Uncle Lachlan? I barely know the man!”

  “Even so, he's kin. Lachlan will see to your bed and supper long enough for Evan to forget what you did to him—”

  “What /did? What we did, you mean.”

  She brushed away his protest like so much dust. “We both know your brothers ill temper never lasts longer than a fortnight. I'll send word for your return the minute I'm certain you'll be welcome again at Glentrool.” Letting out a lengthy sigh, she picked up the discarded rag and studied the stains, her eyes downcast. “Tonight, seeing you and your brother tear each other apart, I thought I might lose both of you.”

  He took the bloody cloth from her hands with a gende tug. “You worry too much. It's not Evan who concerns me. It's Father.” He met her gaze, measuring her mood. “Will you make things right between us?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a light shrug. “He's always known you were meant to inherit the land, Jamie. Haven't I told him so a thousand times? Now's the time to remind him.” She turned and knocked softly on the door as she pushed it open, clearly certain that her husband would not refuse her company. “Alec?” Rowena left the door open and swept into the room where the laird of Glentrool sat, his head hanging low over his empty glass, waiting for someone to tell him it had all been a ghasdy nightmare.

  “Alec, we must talk.” She eased gracefully into a chair and scooted it closer to his, reaching out to brush her tapered fingers across his arthritic ones. The hour was late, the fire in the grate reduced to a dull glow from the dying embers. “This…this creature that Evan took for his wife is driving me mad with her demands and complaints.”

  Jamie watched from the doorway, incredulous. Why was she discussing Judith, of all people? Weren't the disastrous events of the day sufficient without bringing up old news?

  Across the room his father merely nodded in agreement. “What would you have me do, Rowena? She's from die soudi, aye, and a sharp-tongued, contentious young woman. But she's still our daughter-in-law.”

  “You're right, of course.” His mother's smooth words gave away nothing. “Not much to be done there. All the more reason we must be very certain Jamie doesn't make the same mistake.”

  “Jamie,” his father grumbled, shaking his head. “Always young Jamie. You think of no one else in this household, do you, woman?”

  At the mention of his name, Jamie's pulse quickened. His father had yet to notice him hovering in the wings, so poor was the man's eyesight. Would his mother wave him into the room? Include him in the conversation? Jamie quiedy took a step closer, his ears straining to catch every word.

  “I'm thinking only of you, Alec,” she crooned, patting his hand. “Of your future grandsons and the future of Glentrool. You know as well as I do that Almighty God himself promised this land to your children's children. Jamie's children, Alec. Not Evan's. Don't you see?”

  “Nae, I can't see!” he answered gruffly, the corners of his mouth turned down. “My eyes failed me miserably today, which is how Jamie managed to steal an old man's pride and an older brother's blessing with a single plate of food.”

  “Several plates/’ she teased him, “judging by how litde came back to the kitchen.” She fiddled with a frayed edge of his plaid, no doubt choosing her next words for best effect.
Despite the tension in the room, Jamie couldn't help but marvel at his mother's ability to turn things in her favor. A worthy advocate, Rowena McKie. And a formidable foe, as his father surely knew.

  “Alec, your blessing was not stolen.” Her tone remained warm but firm. “It was rightfully claimed, no matter what Evan says. Leave such choices to the Almighty, dear husband, and we'll do what we can to help Jamie prepare for the future. I think it best he leave Glentrool at once. See a bit of Galloway before he setdes down. Find a bride worthy to bear you a grandson.”

  Jamie nearly swallowed his tongue. A bride? She hadn't said a word about marriage. When had that become part of their plan?

  His fathers brow creased with concern. “I have no taste for matchmaking, if that's what you re thinking.”

  “How well I know your dread of courting!” A sly smile decorated her features. “Didn't your father send a manservant to explore east Galloway and seek a wife on your behalf?”

  “Aye, and a fine one he found,” he admitted. “Though I wish I'd been the one to first clap eyes on you that day by the loch near Auchengray”

  “You saw me soon enough, riding into Glentrool in search of my new husband.”

  He nodded slowly. “A bonny queen of Scodand you were, astride your chestnut mare. I'd gone out that evening to pit the brain asteep, as my mother would say.”

  “My dear Alec.” She smoothed a hand across his weathered cheek. “Meditating on the hills like a halte man.”

  Alec chuckled, a gurgling sort of laugh. “Not holy at all, merely trying to put my thoughts aright. Then who should appear in the gloaming but my betrothed and her maids, descending from heiven like angels amid the heather.”

  Jamie's cheeks heated at their sentimental murmurings. He'd heard the story of his parents’ unusual courtship many times. But not like this. Not in a poet's words from an old man's lips. He edged toward the kitchen, longing to escape, when his mother looked up and caught his eye, motioning him to wait.