Thorn in My Heart

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Reaching the third story where the house servants slept beneath the eaves, Leana hurried down the long, narrow hall that led to Duncans quarters. He and Neda shared two private rooms—one for working, one for sleeping—each with its own door. She knocked on the one for his study and listened for his greeting.

  “Enter,” he groaned, then flung open the door. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his face haggard. “Ye ve come none too soon, lass. I canna make a bit o’ sense of yer faithers scribbling.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” she said, patting his arm. “Have Willie or one of the others bring us a pot of tea and a plate of gingerbread. Empty stomachs and full ledgers are poor companions.” He disappeared down the hall to find a willing pair of hands, while she dragged the overseers small desk closer to the window. Twilight had already fallen. The hills would be shrouded in black within the hour. She lit two more candles, brightening the room considerably, though she knew Duncan would fuss at her spendrif ways.

  The minute he returned he extinguished one with a pinch of his fingers. “The other will do, lass. Now to the business at hand.” They bent their heads over the ledger, which bulged with receipts. His blunt, ruddy finger followed her tapered, pale one up and down the columns of numbers. Soon they were both shaking their heads at the illegible entries Mr. McBride had insisted on making himself.

  “That's a four,” she murmured, taking a sip of tea so hot it nearly singed her mouth. “Mmm. And that's a three, but it could be an eight.”

  Duncan dropped his head in his hands. “Aye, or a two or a nine.”

  “Nae, I'm sure it's a three.”

  “What a curious conversation I've stumbled upon.” Jamie stood in the open doorway, his sullied shirt torn and his breeches reeking of sheep. “My uncle said I would find you here.”

  Leana wet her lips, still stinging from the tea. “Find whom?”

  His eyes bored into hers. “You.”

  The slender thread of hope around her heart drew tighter. He'd come looking for her—her, not her sister.

  Duncans shaggy head shook like one of his collies. “Ye canna have her, lad. She's mine, at least until Martinmas.”

  “What is it the shepherds say? ‘Nine free nichts ‘til Martinmas, and soon they'll wear awa.’ ”

  “Yer addition is faulty, lad. ‘Tis not nine days left, but eight. Seven, when ye lift yer head off the pillow on the morn's morn.” Duncan regarded him with a curious eye. “ Whatsomever do ye need with Miss Leana?”

  Jamie held up a letter. “I was hoping she might explain this. In private, if you'll allow us a few minutes, Duncan.”

  “Aye, take yer time. I've meikle to do sorting through this sorry collection of receipts.” The overseer gathered a stack of papers and retreated to his bedroom. Leana watched him disappear, taking the cordial atmosphere in the room with him.

  She turned to her cousin, who regarded her with something like suspicion. “How…how can I explain something I've not seen before, Jamie?”

  “See it now then.” He handed her the letter, a single page on heavy paper. It was from his mother, her words sweeping across the page in dramatic swirls of ink, not unlike Rose's handwriting. The usual maternal comments and cautions were included, but the last paragraph gave her pause.

  Jamie, I understand your difficulty in choosing which one of your cousins to marry. I am certain they are both good and worthy young women, but perhaps the older one is the better choice, as you say. Trust my brother Lachlans wisdom and direction in this matter.

  Leana handed back the letter without a word. Dare she hope? Was it possible Jamie truly thought her the better choice? “Jamie, I…don't understand.”

  “Nor do I.” His tone was not unkind, but it was firm. “I dictated a letter, which Rose dutifully wrote for me and sent on its way a fortnight ago. I must confess, though I mentioned both of you and described your many fine qualities, Leana, I made my preference…ah, that is to say.

  The thread of hope broke in two. “You told her that you favored Rose.”

  “Aye.” His sigh was tinged with regret. “I did, lass. However, it appears my mother received rather a different message than the one I wrote. A message I thought you might explain.”

  “Were you thinking I sent her a separate letter of my own?”

  “Leana, I don't know what to think.” He brushed back an unruly lock of hair from his brow. “I thought I'd stated my words quite clearly to Rose.”

  “I'm sure you did, Cousin.” It was obvious her sister had written whatever she pleased, certain Jamie would trust her. Naughty Rose. Though she couldn't bear to tatde on her sibling, Leana gently guided Jamie toward the truth. “Did you read the letter before it was sealed?”

  “Ah…no.” His brow drew into a knot. “I didn't think it necessary.” He turned toward the door, shaking his head. “What possessed the girl to do such a thing?”

  “She's young, Cousin. Impulsive. But then you know that and think it charming, I'm sure.”

  “Charming,” he repeated, not meeting her gaze. “I've offended you, Leana, and pray you'll forgive me.” He bowed and was gone.

  Not offended. Cousin. Crushed. She heard his footsteps fade down the stair, her stubborn heart in close pursuit. Aunt Rowena seemed willing to claim her, and Lachlan McBride was more than willing to give her away. Only Jamie remained to be convinced.

  Eight days to Martinmas. Eight days to change Jamie's mind.

  Thirty-Five

  Oh, fathers gone to market-town, he was up before the day,

  And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay.

  RICHARD WATSON GILDER

  Jamie, do you mind?” Rose tugged on her skirts. Her cousin had managed to trap the fabric beneath him as they sat side by side on the two-wheeled chaise. “A bit more room, if you please.”

  “A wee bit.” He moved just far enough to free her dress, secredy glad to have his beloved Rose so near. “We've miles to go, lass, and none of them smooth riding.” He shook the reins, urging the plodding horse to lift its feet. “Have you no more smeddum than that?” Jamie demanded. The creature ignored him and continued at the same sluggish pace, his gray coat blending with the slate gray sky. The morning was dry, and that was blessing enough. Dumfries was ten miles by way of Newabbey but only nine if they'd gone west past Maxwell Park. Rose would not hear of taking the shorter, broader route. “Heaven forbid I should see Lord or Lady Maxwell after my father's rude refusal of their generosity.” Jamie said nothing. Though he would never confess it to Rose, he was grateful that his uncle had intervened.

  Most of the Auchengray household had headed north for Dumfries that morning. Duncan and Uncle Lachlan had departed for the royal burgh well before dawn, riding on horseback. The servants followed on foot, their spirits high despite the cold November air seeping through their garments. Before leaving, Lachlan had opened his thrifite to pay them their proper wages for the six-month term past: four guineas for the plowman, two for the dairymaid, three each for the housemaids, four for the male servants. Every shilling that passed through his fingers made Lachlan McBride groan as though the coins were minted from his own hide. Leana's careful preparation of his ledgers had made her father's task an easier one, though Jamie noticed she'd not been thanked, at least not in his presence.

  “I hope Leana is feeling better,” Rose murmured. Her sister had planned to join them, riding sidesaddle atop old Bess, but took ill soon after rising.

  “Go on without me,” Leana had insisted, her face paler than ever, her lips dry and cracked. “Willie can ride behind you as an escort. Its best I stay, with so many gone to the feeing fair.” Work was not customary on Martinmas—no spinning or weaving, no miller grinding corn. Out of necessity the cows were milked and the horses fed by hands in a hurry to leave their labors behind for the day. Ill or not, Leana would no doubt be pressed into service.

  Jamie reined in the horse to allow a cartful of kintra folk bound for Dumfries to pass, then turned their chaise onto the ma
in road north. “Neda will see after your sister,” he said, wanting to put Roses mind at ease. The housekeeper was one of the few servants who remained behind to prepare the feast of the day—boiled haggis with blood pudding —so Lachlan and the others would return home to a hot supper. “How does Neda season her haggis?” he asked, knowing each household prepared the dish to its own liking. At Glentrool, Aubert favored parsley and lemon sprinkled over the chopped sheep's pluck—heart, liver, lungs, and windpipe—mixed with beef suet, onions, and oatmeal.

  “Cayenne pepper.” Rose wrinkled her nose. “Too much of it, if you ask me. But her black pudding is the best in the parish.” She sighed, then folded her arms across her waist. “Please let us speak of something else, or my stomach will groan with anticipation.”

  They chatted about the late autumn air, which was too cold to be pleasant, the sky, which was too bleak to be interesting, and the farmlands, which were markedly different on either side of the dirt road. A flat carse stretched to the east, hinting at the marshy shores of the River Nith beyond it. To the west, the land sloped upward to hills once covered with trees. Cut down for shipbuilding in centuries past and never replenished, Rose explained.

  “The Keswicks’ country house sits on the crest of that hill.” Rose stared wistfully up the winding drive. “A beauty, it is. Three stories tall with three handsome bay windows.”

  “You've visited the place?”

  “A McBride call on a Keswick?” She rolled her eyes. “You've much to learn of east Galloway society, Jamie. I've not been formally invited, though I must confess I strolled along the edges of the park once and admired the view.”

  Jamie kept his eye on the road. “You might enjoy the view from Glentrool as well.” He'd already made the mistake of sounding too eager with Rose and had no intentions of doing so now.

  “But isn't your estate at the bottom of a hill?”

  “The Fell of Eschoncan is no mere hill, Rose. It rises eight hundred feet behind the property.” He touched the whip to the horse's back to hide his irritation. “And though we're situated in a glen, the view is still bonny. The loch, the hills—”

  “We have Lochend and Criffell,” she countered, slapping him with her braid as she turned her head smardy to the right. “Loch and hill enough for my eyes.”

  Jamie ignored her childish rebuff, reminding himself that she was fifteen. She would grow to love Glentrool, even as he hoped she might grow to love him. Eventually. Her reticence confused him, angered him at times. “Too young,” she said. “Too soon,” she insisted. “Not ready,” she complained.

  He had not told her—might never tell her—that for him, marrying a McBride sister was not a choice but an expectation. His only choice was which sister. And that decision was made weeks ago. Time had run out for them both. Today would be the day. If Rose refused him, Lachlan would force her to marry him. A grim way to begin a life together. But it was Rose whom he loved. And Rose he would marry.

  They rode in silence for another mile or so, until the sharp Hk tik of two robins caught their attention. Staking out their territories, the male and female birds scolded one another, their red breasts puffed out like angry shields as they flew about, the male claiming the female's land, then flying away to guard his own. “By midwinter those two will pair off,” Jamie explained. “They'll share the same home come spring.”

  Rose snorted. “You made up every word of that, Jamie McKie!”

  “Not at all, lass. That sort of fighting and wooing is peculiar to robins.”

  “Aye, and cousins.” She swatted him with her braid, this time on purpose. “Jamie, tell me truly: Why wont you marry my sister?”

  “Because I don't love her, Rose.” The chaise josded over a rocky patch of road, then the springs setded into a steady rhythm again.

  “Why, Jamie?”

  He looked down at her with an even gaze. “You know why.”

  “Because you love me. At least you say that you do.” Rose bit her lip, as though chewing on his words “How can you be so certain?”

  “I was drawn to you from the first day we met. Surely you noticed.”

  She shrugged. “I pretended not to.”

  “Aye, you did. Even so, that attraction soon became affection.” In the distance a kirk bell rang the hour. “That affection has grown to love, now that I know you better.”

  “And what do you know, Cousin, after a month at Auchengray?”

  Patiendy he tallied her best qualities. “You are lively and imagina-rive, enthusiastic and spontaneous—”

  “What man cares about those son of things?” she teased him.

  “This man.” Rose seemed to require an accounting of her virtues on a weekly basis, as though she doubted their existence, perhaps because her father seldom spoke a kind word about her in her presence. Her need for praise touched him. If it earned her love, Jamie would tell her what she needed to hear a thousand times. He finished naming her admirable qualities, intentionally saving her beauty for last. “So. Will that keep a smile about your face for an hour or two, lass?”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, as though she'd taken the last bite of a fine meal. “ ‘Twill last an entire day, Jamie. ”

  “Are you believing it then?”

  One dark eye slowly opened. “Aye, I'm beginning to.”

  They rode on, their silence less strained, more companionable. Because they sat so close in the narrow chaise, a rough section of road often threw them against each other, sending them scurrying to right themselves amid much apologizing and smoothing of feathers. It was more embarrassing than enjoyable, Jamie decided, as he gazed down the lane toward the outskirts of Dumfries. Already the foot traffic on the main road had increased. Families and their servants walked side by side, near equals for the day as debts were paid and a new term of service began.

  The road turned sharply north to run parallel with the River Nith. “This is Troquire,” Rose informed him, perched on the edge of her seat, her hands gripping the leather upholstery. “Its the last parish before we cross over the bridge to Dumfries. Is Willie still behind us?”

  Jamie glanced over his shoulder. “Aye.” He waved at the servant, urging him to draw closer. Willie's duty for the day was to mind the chaise and horse by the wayside while they continued on foot into the town proper. The Troquire kirk and nearby manse, with its wide, grassy glebe, seemed the most convenient spot. Jamie chose a patch of uncultivated ground, handed the reins to Willie as he stepped down, then turned to help Rose, who grasped her skirts and hopped to the ground without his assistance.

  “Here at last!” Her eyes shone with a contagious excitement. “Well done, Willie. Neda tucked some hard cheese and bannocks and a slice of mutton behind the seat of the chaise for you.” She touched the servants arm. “You 11 not mind being here by yourself?”

  “Hardly by meself, lass.” He nodded at the glebe, where other wheeled carts were starting to gather. “I'll have plenty o’ company. Go on with ye now, and find yer faither. He promised to be watchin for ye round the Midsteeple.” Willie fixed a stern gaze on Jamie. “Sir, I'll thank ye to keep Miss McBride close by yer side, specially in the village of Brigend. ‘Tis a lawless place, full o’ gaberlunzies lookin to steal yer purse.” His eyes shifted toward Rose. “Or worse.”

  Jamie cupped his hand around Rose's elbow. “I'll see that she's properly looked after, Willie. We'll return by three, well before the gloaming.” They headed north on the kirk street, following the flow of human traffic. Well-built homes on substantial lands soon gave way to smaller farmhouses, then mean cottages crowded closer to the street, until the rough sounds and pungent smells of Brigend enveloped them.

  Jamie's grip on Roses elbow tightened when they were nearly knocked off their feet by peasant children scurrying past with sticks in hand, swatting at a ball. Merchants spilled into the street with their wares—bakers and tailors, coopers and smiths, clog makers and rope makers—while less industrious men lurked in doorways, eying the crowd for easy marks. J
amie did not intend to be one of them. Lachlan had provided a dirk for his boot and a paltry amount of coin, well hidden beneath his waistcoat. Rose had no reticule to tempt the riffraff, only her bonny self, which was temptation enough. Jamie lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, challenging any passerby who stared too intendy at Rose, threatening them with a piercing gaze of his own.

  She patted his arm and pointed to a flesher arranging slabs of meat. “Duncan will stop there on the way home and collect our mart?

  Jamie nodded; his mother would be purchasing the same today in Monnigaff. An ox, butchered and salted on Martinmas, kept a family fed all through the harsh winter. The mob swelled as the street beneath them converged with the main road into Dumfries, carrying them past the old Brig House Inn and across the red freestone span with its graceful arches. “Devorgilla's Bridge,” Rose said, raising her voice above the din.

  “The same woman buried at Sweetheart Abbey?”

  She glanced up at him with a look of surprise. “Listen to you, Jamie McKie! Already knowing our local history.”

  He smiled, glad he'd pleased her, then surveyed the royal burgh situated at the other end of the bridge. To their right stretched the White-sands of Dumfries, where hundreds of black catde and horses were to be sold.

  Rose waved a hand in the same direction. “The ground is dry today, but when the river is in spate, the water floods the Whitesands and travels up past the Coach and Horses Inn halfway to the High Street. I can't imagine how the townsfolk can bear having water up to their windows.”

  Jamie glanced up the narrow alley, then turned for a final look at the many horses already assembled for market day. A promising collection of bays, chestnuts, and piebalds whinnied and stamped the ground, steaming the frigid air around them. All at once the guilt of losing Wal-loch to a band of brigands on the Edinburgh road rose in his throat like bile. He would not likely ride so fine a horse again. Nonetheless, perhaps another would do for the time being. A gendeman needed his own mount. It was a matter of pride and of practicality. Jamie touched his waistcoat, feeling the lump of coins beneath it. Not nearly enough for a horse. Nor could he bring himself to borrow such a sum from Lachlan.