Thorn in My Heart

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “Do you, James Lachlan McKie, take this woman, Rose McBride, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Jamie glanced at Leana, if only for a moment, before his voice rang out with sincerity. “Even so, I take her before God and in the presence of his congregation.”

  The minister turned to Leana, his brow stern. “And do you, Rose McBride, take this man, James Lachlan McKie, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Never had Leana spoken with more conviction. “Even so, I take him before God and in the presence of his congregation.”

  The minister intoned, “Give diligent ear then to the Gospel that ye may understand how our Lord would have this holy contract kept and observed and how sure and fast a knot it is, which in no wise should be loosed.”

  She held her breath as he read, not pressing the ring in place until he finished. How easily the marriage knot was tied! And how difficult it would be to unravel her heart from its knotted threads.

  “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh.”

  One flesh. Her dream could not extend so far. This moment, this holy hour, would be enough. Mtist be enough, unless Jamie deemed otherwise.

  “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

  “Hear, hear,” a besotted voice added from the congregation, followed by subdued laughter.

  Ignoring the outburst, Reverend Gordon held his hand over the couple and pronounced his blessing: “The Lord sanctify and bless you; the Lord pour the riches of his grace upon you, that ye may please him and live together in holy love to your lives’ end. So be it.”

  So be it.

  Leana closed her eyes. Praying, wishing, hoping, begging she knew not what. There remained the possibility, slender though it was, that Rose had chosen to stay away. And that Jamie would choose the older instead of the younger. Willingly. Joyfully.

  The congregation sang loudly, without regard for key or pitch, the traditional wedding psalm:

  Thy wife shall be a fruitful vine By thy house sides be found Thy children like to olive plants About thy table round.

  Jamie bent down to press his mouth against the curve of her ear. “Cousin, you look more like a fragrant flower than a fruitful vine,” he whispered, pretending not to see Reverend Gordons pointed stare. “I do wish you many children, lass. May your house be filled with them someday. And lucky is the man who will sire them.”

  She hid her warm cheeks behind the lacy kell, barely listening as the minister offered a closing prayer. The play was nearly ended; the curtain soon would fall. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. They'd spoken vows to each other, vows they were bound by a holy God to keep. Did the spoken name matter when her intentions were pure?

  Not pure, Leana. Nae, not entirely so. She'd let her thoughts wander far beyond convention's gate. Forgive me, Lord.

  “Amen,” Reverend Gordon said, and it was finished.

  Awash in emotions, she held tight to Jamie's hand and followed him down the aisle, past the smiling faces and teary smiles, out the kirk door, and into the freezing night. Reverend Gordon led the way, then turned to her, his face as dour as ever. “Well done, Miss McBride. Or should I say, Mistress McKie?”

  “You should…kiss me, Reverend Gordon” she stammered.

  “Aye, right you are. That's the custom.” The minister leaned forward, pressed his dry lips against hers for only an instant, then stepped back. “The best of luck to you, Mr. McKie.” He turned to Duncan with an expectant air and was duly paid for his services from the overseer's leather pouch.

  Leana remembered her hostess duties and inquired, “Will we be seeing you at Auchengray for the bridal feast?”

  “Nae, Im afraid Mistress Gordon has already cooked up our supper, a steak and kidney pie for Hogmanay. Forgive me for missing the festivities.” His brow darkened. “See that things dont become, shall we say, unseemly, as wedding celebrations are inclined to do.”

  “Not this one, Reverend.” Jamie slipped his hand behind Leanas waist, barely touching her gown. “Not when good Leana, the kindest and best among us, is the reigning bride.” He looked over her head toward Duncan. “Come, let us shower the village children with coins, then hasten home before moonrise. ‘Tis ill weather for a jolly occasion.”

  The minister looked askance. “Aren't you going to kiss your bride? Proxy or not, its most unlucky for her next kiss not to be yours.”

  “Unlucky?” Jamie gazed down at her. “Is it really?”

  “Aye, very unlucky.” She made certain her voice did not give away her anticipation, but her thoughts brought a flush to her cheeks.

  When Jamie turned and drew her near, the warmth of him traveled from her kell to her toes. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs across her cheeks. “May I kiss you, Leana?”

  She let him see her heart in her eyes and whispered the truth. “I wish you would.”

  “Then I will.” His mouth moved toward hers.

  Forty-Seven

  Drink, my jolly lads, drink with discerning;

  Wedlocks a lane where there is no turning.

  DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK

  She tasted like butterscotch. Warm, sugary, fresh from the pot. Leana was truly kissing him. Not an actress playing a part. A bride kissing her bridegroom. Responding instinctively, Jamie leaned closer, tilting her head back, molding his lips to fit hers, tasting her again. Sweet.

  “Enough, lad, or you'll be drunk.” Rab Murray, the young shepherd, tugged on Jamie's shoulder, easing the two of them apart as their wedding guests spilled out of the kirk and gathered round to watch.

  Jamie released his hold on Leana, already ashamed of himself. Whatever was he thinking? “Forgive me,” he whispered, low enough that only she would hear it. He stepped back slowly, making certain Leana would not faint, for she looked very much as if she might. She swayed a bit, her face still turned upward, then her eyes opened—reluctandy, Jamie thought—and gazed steadily at him. If she heard the ribald laughter, she did not acknowledge it or look away, not for a moment.

  What he saw in her eyes made his chest grow tight: love. Pure, selfless, unbounded love. The very thing he'd longed to see in Rose's eyes shone in her sister's, clear as moonlight.

  “Jamie.” She said his name softly, reverendy. Like a prayer.

  “Leana, I—”

  “Enough o’ that.” Rab appeared again, her wool cape in his hands, a determined look in his eyes. “Come along, ye two, or ye'll set the gossips’ tongues waggin for mony a Hogmanay to come.” Rab dropped the cape over Leana's shoulders and steered her down the street shouting, “Make way for the bride! The bride goes first!”

  Jamie found himself caught up in the flood of parishioners, pulled forward by hands eager to see him take his rightful place behind the bride. The two maidens who served as his escorts, Eliza and Annabel, hooked their arms through his and delivered him to the front of the procession, one step behind Leana, who turned and watched him approach, her face luminous.

  “I thought I'd lost you, Jamie.”

  He shook his head, still a bit unsteady from the whisky, the kiss, and the look in her eyes. “I'm not so easily lost as that.”

  “Good.” She regarded him for a moment, as though waiting to see what else he might say, then smiled and turned back to mount her horse for the procession to Auchengray. Rab Murray stood on one side of her and another young shepherd, Davie Tait, on the other, both grinning like naughty schoolboys. Jamie remembered that Rose had chosen the young shepherds to serve as her protectors en route to the kirk, a practice from the days when warring clans would kidnap a bride and ride off with her.

  Leana laughed at their attentive stances. “Gendemen, you've nothing to fear. Nary a soul will be dragging me away to another parish.”

  Rab Murray gave her an appraising glance. “From where I'm standin', ye'd be a bonny prize for any man to steal. Hold, lass, while the guns are fired. Can't have yer
mount tossin ye on the dirt in yer pretty dress.”

  Jamie had to agree, it was a pretty dress. And she had a regal seat on the horse—her back straight, yet her shoulders relaxed, and her head pointed forward. Had they ever ridden together? Foolish question, Jamie. Naturally they hadn't. He'd gone riding with Rose.

  The piper dispensed with his opening fanfare and proceeded to the wedding jig, “Wooed an’ Married an’ All,” which the assembled party sang whether they knew the words or not. Endless verses followed, with a chorus between them. Only the last verse caught his attention and only because Leana was singing the words with joyful abandon:

  Out spoke the brides sister

  As she came in from the byre;

  O, if I were but married

  It's all that I desire.

  “Sing another round, Mistress McKie!” the crowd shouted, stumbling and staggering as they made their way along the dark road to Auchengray with few lamps to guide them and naught but whisky to keep them warm.

  Leana answered primly, “Call me Miss McBride, if you please, and I'll gladly sing it again.” Which she did, in a voice like laughter itself. Jamie joined in the chorus, thinking she might sing one more verse, but the piper launched into a reel, which none could sing for all the exuberant dancing. Someone had slipped a flask of whisky into his pocket, and he took advantage of it now, letting the heat of it seep into his limbs.

  They neared the last hill when a murmur ran through the crowd. “The water! The water!” Tradition required that the bridal party cross moving water twice on the route home from the kirk. In front of him, Duncan guided Leana down to the burn that ran close by the road and forded the icy stream once, then back again, before her mount had time to protest. Jamie and the others came splashing behind her, whether on horseback or on foot, making a wet mess of things.

  Through it all, Leana was a brighdy lit taper, casting her glow on the neighbors and friends she'd known all her twenty years. She was meant to have this day. After her ill-fated suit with Fergus McDougal, Leana might never have a true wedding day of her own. A tragedy, when she was a good woman in every sense of the word. No wonder Rose loved her.

  Rose. His heart thudded to a stop. Rose would never have a wedding day of her own either. This was her day, nearly spent. Had they made a terrible mistake going on without her? Would she ever forgive them? No, Jamie. Will she ever forgiveyou?

  Leana, who knew Rose better than anyone, might have some idea of how such a delicate thing should be handled. As they turned the corner onto Auchengray's drive, Jamie drew up next to her and leaned over. “We must talk, Leana. About your sister. About…what to tell her…when she arrives.”

  Her brows lifted in mock amazement. “You mean youve not thought that through?”

  “Not…exacdy.”

  “This was your idea, Jamie.”

  “And your father's,” he reminded her.

  “Aye, my father had a hand in it as well. As for me, I was die willing accomplice but not the mastermind.” She smiled demurely. “That task falls on your broad shoulders, dear cousin.”

  Without thinking, he pressed her for an answer. “How willing? How willing were you, Leana?”

  Any trace of artifice disappeared from her expression. “Very willing, Jamie.”

  God, help me. “Then were you—”

  “Mr. McKie!” One of Auchengray's servants suddenly appeared at his side, wild eyed and out of breath. “Mr. McKie, I've news from Twyneholm.”

  The wedding party came to a ragged halt, some stumbling ahead, others dropping behind to hear the report. The young lad crumpled his bonnet between his fingers, bobbing his head. “Me names Ranald, sir.”

  “Ranald.” Jamie offered a curt nod. “Tell me what you've learned.”

  “I rode hard, sir, and fast, as far south as I could go. Made it halfway to Twyneholm before I was turned back by a frichtsome snowstorm.”

  Jamie's nerves snapped to attention. “A snowstorm?”

  “Aye. Carts and wagons stranded all over the road, axles broken, lame horses. Och! Ye've never seen sic a fankle. Not the sort ofthing we aften have in Galloway.”

  “But no sign of Rose…ah, of Mistress McKie?”

  “Nae sir. Yer lady and her aunt and Willie—none of them was anywhere to be seen.”

  Jamie exhaled, grateful for some good news. They'd not been caught traveling in the storm then. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “Well, accordin to the folk I met on the road, the storm started in the black o’ night, lang before the morn. Willie—he's a smart man, ye ken. He'd never do anythin daft. Willie no dout plans to keep the ladies there in Twyneholm ‘til the roads are passable.”

  “And when might that be?”

  Another male voice answered. “I'd expect your bride tomorrow, Nephew.” Jamie turned to find Lachlan strolling up with a lady neighbor on each arm. “Probably about noon, I'd say. In time for dinner.”

  Jamie rubbed his chin, hiding a smile. “The lass is headstrong enough, she might insist Willie bring her late this evening, storm or not.” He leaned down and added for Lachlan's benefit alone, “The door to my room will be unlatched, should my bride sneak into the house at a wee, dark hour.”

  Lachlan chuckled at his braisant suggestion, though Jamie noticed his uncle's eyes fell on Leana as the man responded, “In that case Would be well after midnight, I venture.” Lachlan raised his voice then and lifted his hand to catch the crowds attention. “Dear guests, we've food that needs eating and a fiddler whose bow is itching to scratch. The feast awaits and then Hogmanay.”

  There was a mighty rush to the barn, where the great meal was laid out on rough tables draped in fresh linens. Candles gleamed amid evergreen boughs, giving the place a festive air. The servants had outdone themselves, scrubbing and setting the place to rights. Such a throng would never fit in the house, nor did it bode well for the new couple to invite them all under their roof. For country weddings, the barn was best. With Leana properly seated at the head of the table, Jamie assumed his rightful task of waiting on her and her guests, and the courses commenced: barley broth, then beef, mutton, and goose, bread and oatcakes, and finally puddings swimming in cream. And cups of ale, from first to last, with drams of whisky for good measure.

  “Had I more daughters, I'd host a penny wedding every month,” Lachlan boasted, as each guest provided a shilling for his meal, more for his drink. Jamie saw him count the coins when no one else was paying attention and then spirit them safely away in Duncans pockets. Lachlans thrifite would be overflowing long before the New Year bells had rung. Many more folk came to the bridal feast than attended the wedding, eager to partake of the bonnet lairds bounty and the fiddlers jolly tunes. Even Gypsies and other travelers were welcome to avail themselves of the feast, if they could scrape up a shilling.

  By the time the moon rose low in the winter sky, the tables had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. “Brides reel first,” the piper called. Leana stepped forward to do her duty and held out a hand for Jamie to join her, her eyes twinkling, but not from the ale. Unlike him, she hadn t drunk a sip. Her gaze glowed with something else he was only beginning to understand. It frightened him, this love of hers, yet fascinated him as well.

  Jamie walked to the center of the barn, aware of the silent anticipation that hovered around them. It'd been easier to play their roles at the kirk. Here, in Auchengrays barn, pretense was put aside. Bonnet lairds and beggars sat at the same table. Gendemen and peasants ate from the same dish. For one night all souls were equal in this place. He was not the great McKie of Glentrool, but only Jamie, warmed by whisky, about to dance with his proxy bride.

  She'd carefully stored the white kell in the house earlier, leaving her hair unbound, gleaming like spun gold in the candlelight. Her eyes were gray-blue pools, and her mouth curved into a smile. Leana was not as bonny as her sister, but she was as bonny as he'd ever seen her. He slipped one hand behind her waist and loosely clasped her hand with the other. Leana felt
natural in his arms and vibrandy alive. “Will you dance with me, lass?”

  “Aye, Jamie.” She lifted her free hand and placed it lighdy on his shoulder. “I will.” She called out a tune, and the fiddler complied, striking his bow as the piper pressed his bellows. On the first note they swept to the right, moving clockwise, not widdershins, holding ill luck at bay once more.

  Within seconds Jamie realized he was the lucky one. Leana was the perfect dance partner, sailing gracefully across the dirt floor as though it were polished oak in a Brussels salon. Round they went, joined in the second reel by Eliza with Rab and Annabel with Davie, all four blushing as they swirled past them. By the third tune, the barn floor was crowded with couples, forming long lines as they prepared to greet their partners and join in the reel. As the bride, Leana had the right to dance with anyone she pleased, yet Jamie was the only partner she chose, dance after dance, strathspey to jig.

  The hour was late when someone hollered, “Its nearly Hogmanay!” and another year knocked on their door. The youngest among the revelers called out, “We are but bairns come to play! Rise up and gie us our Hogmanay!” Neda appeared as though by magic, bearing trays of black bun. The yeasty Hogmanay favorite was flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and caraway, mixed with currants, orange peel, and almonds soaked in French brandy. Handfuls were gathered up and passed about the dance floor, tucked into hungry mouths, and washed down with ale.

  Breathless from dancing, Jamie and Leana found a bench where they might rest their sore feet, repeatedly trampled upon. He nicked a bit of black bun off Nedas tray as it passed by and waved it under Leana's nose. “A taste for you, my proxy bride?” She nodded and popped open her mouth expectandy, catching Jamie by surprise. He hadn't meant to feed her. His hands were less than steady from too many cups of ale as he broke off a piece and pressed it between her lips.