Thorn in My Heart

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  He groaned and muttered a sad reminder. “A man without silver goes fast through the market.”

  “And did your mind ride off without you?”

  He turned and discovered Rose standing in front of him, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “Beg pardon, lass. I was distracted by—”

  “The horses, as anyone with eyes can see.” She patted his cheek— affectionately, he thought—then turned to slide her hand in the crook of his elbow as they resumed walking. “Is it poor Walloch you're thinking of?”

  He stopped again and gazed down at her, grateful she understood. “Aye, it is. His coat was black. Dark and gleaming as your hair—”

  “Like that one?” She pointed toward a riderless horse some distance ahead.

  Jamie followed her gaze, then nodded. “Aye, very much like…in truth, quite exacdy…” He measured the mount with his eyes, noted the long mane and tail, the peculiar gait. “Forgive me, lass, but I…I need to be sure.” He pulled her along, his heart beating like a drum. The nearer they came, the more Jamie was convinced the horse was Walloch. Hadn't he mounted the beast every day for half a dozen years?

  When he caught a brief glimpse of the man leading the horse, his blood froze.

  A broad back. And bright red hair. Evan.

  Thirty-Six

  There is no mistake; there has been no mistake;

  and there shall be no mistake.

  ARTHUR WELLESLEY, DUKE OF WELLINGTON

  Surely it isn't Walloch!” Rose struggled to keep up with Jamie as he lengthened his stride in pursuit of his horse. His stolen horse. The very idea! Her pulse quickened along with her pace. “Might you be mistaken?”

  “No mistake, Rose,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Its Walloch.” Jamie plunged them both into the teeming horde on High Street. He dodged barefoot servants and gendemen in silk hats, ox-drawn carts full of whisky barrels, and Gypsies with heather creek strapped on their backs, ignoring them all in his singular pursuit of the gelding not far ahead. “Faster, lass!”

  She clung to his hand as they veered south on the High Street, narrowing the distance between them and the animal in question. A per-fecdy ordinary black horse, from her viewpoint, with a too long tail. He was an impressive size though. Broad enough to conceal the man holding the reins. She caught a glimpse of bright red hair before a throng of high-spirited peasants blocked her view. The Midsteeple of Dumfries, though, was easily seen looming before them. A tall, square building that served as the burghs courthouse, it was topped with a pointed cupola and wrapped in a wrought-iron rail.

  Rose quickly scanned the crowd at the base of the Midsteeple, looking for her father, knowing he would be watching for her. Intent on her search, she hardly noticed the man careening toward her with an armful of kindling until he barreled into her, knocking her forward. “Oh!” She stumbled across the flagstones, grasping wildly for Jamie's coat to keep from falling and being trampled. “Jamie, wait!”

  He turned to catch her and pulled her to her feet, his strong hands gripping her arms.

  Less than a stones throw away, the black horse came to a halt. “Come, lass,” Jamie muttered. “I think I know this blackguard who stole my gelding.”

  The stranger holding Walloch's reins turned toward them, his face a dark scowl. Rose noticed only that he had broad shoulders, thick arms, and bright red hair. But Jamie's face blanched for a moment before his color returned and he managed to speak.

  “That horse, sir, is stolen property.”

  The mans jaw hardened. “It was not stolen by me. I bought it with good silver. An hour ago from a man down on the Whitesands.”

  “So you say.” Jamie's eyes narrowed. Somewhere in those green depths he was weighing whether or not to believe the man.

  Rose didn't know what to believe. She only knew that Jamie frightened her almost as much as the stranger did.

  Jamie slowly released his grip on her hand. “Go find your father, Rose. And Duncan.”

  “Will you be—”

  “Right here,” he assured her. “Go.”

  She staggered through the crowd, blinking back tears, gasping each time she saw a man with a dark gray coat like her father's or a woolen bonnet like the one Duncan wore. A glance back at the two men gave her no comfort. Though they hadn't resorted to blows yet, their necks were thrust out, and the black horse strained at his halter. She aimed her sights toward the Midsteeple area and at last spied the men lingering by the outer steps to the second floor. “Father! Duncan!”

  They turned, taking awhile to find her with their eyes and even longer to make their way across the sea of people.

  “Hurry!” She waved impatiendy at them. “Come, Jamie needs you!”

  The moment she could snag the men's sleeves, she tugged hard, pulling them back the way she'd come, breathlessly trying to explain what she could. “Jamie's found his horse.”

  “The stolen one?”

  “Aye, Father. A gelding named Walloch.”

  “Walbch?” Duncan chuckled. “Ye mean to tell me the horse dances?”

  “Och! Duncan, we've no time for foolishness. Pick up your feet.”

  The three of them fought their way across the High Street, keeping the horse in view even when the brothers couldn't be seen among the masses. “Jamie!” she called, certain he could hear her, relieved when he poked his head above the crowd and signaled to them.

  Moments later the Auchengray party reached Jamie's side. His face still had the look of a dark storm cloud, but his voice was surprisingly even.

  “Uncle, come see what we've found in the streets of Dumfries.”

  “Was this the horse stolen from you on the Edinburgh road?” Lachlan angled his head to look over the gelding. “A worthy animal.” Lachlan gathered the reins in his hands, then pressed them into Jamie's palm. “How thoughtful of this gendeman to return your mount to you.”

  “Return him?” The veins in the man's neck turned an ugly purple. “I bought aie horse, sir, at Whitesands. With my own coin.”

  Lachlan appraised him, much as he had the horse. “Did you really, good fellow? And if I asked the horse seller at Whitesands, he would tell me the same?”

  “He would, sir.” The man glared at Jamie. “Though this man charged me with thievery before he looked me in the eye.”

  Jamie's face grew red. “I thought you were…someone else.”

  “But still a thief,” the man growled.

  Jamie dipped his chin. “If I wronged you, sir, I do apologize.”

  “There you have it,” Lachlan said loudly, as if to bring things to a close. “How much did you pay for the gelding?” The red-haired man begrudgingly told him. “Then it seems I'm going to purchase a butchered ox for Martinmas and a saddle horse as well.” Lachlan smiled and held out his hand, palm up. “Duncan, my purse.” Without ceremony her father dropped the stated amount into the man's waiting hand, down to the last shilling.

  Rose had never seen her father spend money so effordessly, with nary a wrinkle on his brow. He'd bought Jamie his own horse, of all things. Whatever had gotten into him?

  Lachlan held out his arms. “Come, family. We've servants to hire and others to bid farewell. Good day to you, sir.”

  Jamie shook his head, the color in his face starting to fade. “Uncle Lachlan, I hardly know what to say.”

  “My nephew speechless?” Lachlan placed a hand on each of their elbows. “No more likely than my Rose to be caught without a word on her lips.”

  “ButWalloch—”

  “Was a bargain, Jamie. Auchengray can always use another horse.” Lachlan glanced at the animal, his gaze no longer meeting Jamie's. “Feel free to ride him home if you like. Though the animal belongs to me now, of course.”

  Rose saw Jamie stiffen ever so slighdy before he answered. “Of course.”

  Lachlan squeezed their elbows, then released them. “Duncan, we'll leave you to your duties. See that you fee only those willing to work for their wages.” The overseer tipped his cap, then disappeared in
to the crowd while Lachlan rubbed his hands together. “What do you say, children? Shall we find some dinner?”

  He craned up and down the High Street, its closes and vennels harboring half a dozen public establishments, their doors propped open to invite paying customers. “This way,” he finally said and aimed them toward the Globe. “Mistress Hyslop will have just the thing, I'll wager. A bite to hold us until Neda's haggis.”

  Rose held her skirts above the filthy street, hurrying to keep in step, bewildered by her father's jovial demeanor. Something about it made her uneasy. And the silver he'd spent so easily. Och! That was not the Lachlan McBride she had known since the first day she opened her eyes. Whatever devious sort of stew he was brewing, she prayed she would not be forced to dine upon it.

  When they reached their destination, Jamie entrusted Walloch to the stable lad on the premises, then returned to her side. “I paid him most of the coin in my purse for Walloch's safekeeping.” He smiled down at her. “I don't want our time together to be disrupted.”

  Before she could ask Jamie what he meant, or why it mattered, Lachlan guided them through the Globes open door. A steep, narrow stair rose before them. Two sizable rooms to the left were spilling over with patrons and ale. To the right she noticed a cozy alcove with two tables and a noisy gathering room beyond it with a roaring hearth.

  Lachlan addressed the proprietor with some familiarity since the man hailed from Newabbey parish. “Mr. Hyslop, we have need of your snuggery.” He pointed to the two vacant tables in the alcove. “Feed and water us if you will, sir, for we've had a de'il of a morning.” They were prompdy seated and served steaming bowls of Scotch broth, a McBride favorite. “Not horn spoons, ye ken, but silver.” Her father winked, proud of finding them a proper meal on a busy day in Dumfries. Rose couldn't remember when she'd seen the man so amenable. She could hardly taste the broth in her bowl for worrying what his behavior might mean.

  The men ate and drank their fill, then Lachlan called on a waiter to clear the table. “Kindly provide as much privacy as these walls will allow, man.” In short order they were closed in with both doors to the adjoining rooms shut tight.

  Rose touched her linen napkin to her lips, then exchanged glances with Jamie. Had he noticed the change in her father? Lachlan was ebullient, almost giddy. It made her nervous to watch him, fussing with his cravat, yanking on his cuffs, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. “Father, have you news for us? You seem—”

  “Grateful,” he interjected. “Grateful is what I am. I have a nephew who understands the meaning of hard work and displays a keen eye for breeding ewes.” Lachlan folded his hands in his lap, regarding them both with a smile of satisfaction. “You've done a great service to Auchengray this past month, Jamie.”

  Jamie acknowledged him with a nod, though his eyes looked wary. “A month exacdy, come the morn's morn.”

  “Been counting the days, have you, until you're free of your obligation to me?”

  “Nae, Uncle.” Jamie dropped his hands into his lap as well, though Rose noticed him folding and unfolding them. “I have wondered, though, what my efforts might be worth to you.”

  “Aye, well, no point to hard labor without earning an honest wage. How is it you'd like to be paid, Jamie?” Lachlans eyes twinkled. Twinkkd! Rose had never seen the likes of it.

  Jamie cleared his throat, and his hands stilled. “If you recall, the past month was meant to give me time to…ah, woo a certain daughter of yours.” Beneath the table his knee lightly pressed against hers, startling her.

  Lachlans smile was too broad to be believed. “Which daughter might that be?”

  “This daughter, sir.” Jamie looked down at her, even though she would not meet his gaze. “I have wooed your fair Rose, with her raven hair and ivory skin, though its a mite pink at the moment.”

  She wet her lips, bone dry with fear, but no words would come.

  “Tell me, Daughter, what you think of this braw nephew of mine?” Both men looked at her with anticipation in their eyes. Her fathers gray ones masked something else she couldn't decipher. Jamie's green ones shone with a boundless love she might never match, no matter how she tried.

  “Come now,” her father prompted. “You've kept the man waiting long enough.”

  “What do I think of him, you say?” She gulped, hoping her face would not give her away. “He is everything good and fine and strong and kind.”

  Jamie bent his head over hers. “Then say you'll marry me, lass.”

  Marry? Not me, Jamie. Leanal

  He cupped her cheek, gazing at her with sheer adoration. “I've worked a long month for this moment. But I've waited a lifetime for you.”

  “Nae, Jamie.” Not for me. Overwhelmed, she pushed away his hand and dropped her chin, unable to speak another word without choking on it. It was Leana who loved him. Why hadn't he listened? Why hadn't he listened?

  “Rose? What are you saying, lass?” Jamie leaned closer, his voice low and strained. “Please, Rose. Please look at me.”

  She lifted her head and looked at her father instead. His face was a mask. Even before she asked, she knew the answer. “Do I have a choice?”

  Jamie's eyes widened with pain. “A…choice? Would you choose another, Rose?”

  “Nae, she would not.” Lachlan answered for her. “She has chosen you.

  The word came out on a sob. “Father!”

  “Aye, it is well that you remember I'm your father, which means that I choose whom you will marry.” He did not raise his voice, but he did raise one hand, as though to stop any protest that might rise to her lips. “What you do not know, lass—a fact which Jamie has been loath to tell you—is that he must marry you. Or he must marry Leana. Those are his only two choices, by his parents’ design. And he has chosen you. Be grateful.”

  “Grateful?” She could not look at the hurt in Jamie's eyes. Not hurt. Devastation. “Aye, Father, I am grateful to be loved by a good man. But I'm too young. I'm not…ready.”

  “Och!” Lachlan growled like a collie cornering a sheep. “No woman is ready. Nor is any man. You simply make your vows and you keep them. Jamie loves you and has chosen you, so the matter is decided. What say you, Rose? You will have him?”

  “Aye, Father,” she whispered, looking down at her hands clasped tighdy in her lap. “I will have Jamie, if Jamie will have me.” It was the most she could say and remain honest before God. The rest would have to follow.

  “And you will learn to love him?”

  “Aye,” she said faintly. Forgive me, Leana. “I will try.”

  “Will that do, Jamie? Is her promise enough?”

  “Nae.” His voice was sharp as broken glass. “But it is a beginning.”

  “Guid.” Her father nodded rather abruptly. “To business then. What do you offer for your young bride, James Lachlan McKie?”

  Jamie was nonplussed. “Ah…offer?”

  “You ve lands and sheep coming to you, lad. Someday. But for the moment, have you silver to seal the betrothal?”

  “Uncle, you know the only silver I have in my pockets is yours.”

  “Hmmm.” Lachlan tapped his finger beside his brow. “And the horse you 11 ride home is mine as well. Still, better you than some other man, eh? I've a decent tocher set aside for my daughter, a suitable sum for one so young, and the provision of a lady's maid. Now what can you give me in return for my blessing on your marriage?”

  Rose stole a glance at him, wondering what he might offer. Perhaps Jamie had nothing to give. Perhaps it would all end here and now, and she would be free.

  Jamie's gaze darted about as though looking for a solution on the paneled walls. Finally his gaze settled on her. “I might…well, I could work for your younger daughter, sir.”

  Work. At Auchengray. At least she would still be home; she would still have Leana by her side. She clutched her skirt in her hands. Say yes, Father.

  “I'd be willing to work hard, sir, and do anything Duncan asks of me. Until…until Hogmanay? Woul
d that suit?”

  Lachlan bobbed his head slowly, counting on his fingers. “Seven weeks then. In truth, seven months would be better.” Her father's laugh, seldom heard at Auchengray, echoed about the snuggery walls. “Seven years would be better still.”

  “Until Hogmanay,” Jamie said firmly. “Might I marry Rose then?”

  “You might.”

  Thirty-Seven

  But I love you, sir;

  And when a woman says she loves a man,

  The man must hear her, though he love her not.

  ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

  Leana lifted three slender brown bottles of syrup from her wooden medicine box in search of something that might bring her relief. Rose hips. Aye, that could ease the congestion in her chest. Elderflower. Her sore throat might be grateful for its soothing touch. Heartsease. Rest would come more easily if her cough abated. She held the bottles closer to the flickering taper on her bedside table, musing over her choices, until she finally uncorked each one in turn and measured out generous teaspoons of the honey-drenched syrups, swallowing all three with a prayer.

  She hadn't been truly sick for several seasons, and it frightened her. Common colds had an unpleasant habit of developing into pneumonia, which had claimed her childhood friend, Janet Crosbie, last November. Leana had tended to Janet, as had old Mistress Bell and the parish minister, desperately turning the pages of Pnmitive Physic, or an Easy and Natural Method of Cunng Most Diseases, all for naught. Janets body was carried to the kirkyard soon after Martinmas. It made Newabbey folks nervous to watch a healthy lass of eighteen succumb so quickly. The neighborhood had kept a constant vigil for pneumonias deadly symptoms ever since.

  As a precaution Neda had spent the day filling Leana with hot tea, all the while giving orders to Annabel, who'd stayed behind to help with the Martinmas feast. Leana had remained abed with the family Bible by her side to comfort her all through the long and lonely day. Now that the gloaming had nearly faded to black, the household would soon return from Dumfries, and Jamie with them.