“Miss?” The chaise driver gripped her elbow, as if he feared she might tumble onto the gravel when they jolted forward. “Are ye feelin’ poorly again?”
“I am … fine.” She forced the words from her lips, reminding herself that Jamie and Rose had already left the parish. Giving them custody of this child would not be so easily accomplished. Nor would Leana allow it. Not for one moment.
She sat up straighter as they climbed the last hill before turning east, her hands folded in her lap—stiff, numb, determined. Newabbey parish came into view, with the austere tower of Drumcultran standing sentry. Across the valley rose Lowtis Hill. Two miles beyond it, home.
Leana clasped her hands tighter, pleading for strength. He giveth power to the faint. Too soon they rounded Lowtis Hill and turned onto the road that led past her gate. Maxwell Park. Lochbank Farm. Glensone. Troston Hill.
“Auchengray,” Mr. Belford announced, turning up the lane leading to the mains. She held her breath as the whitewashed farmhouse rose before her. Unchanged. Unwelcoming. Even on a bright day, the dark row of windows peered at her like eyes. Please God, let me find Neda. Or Duncan. Not Father, not first.
The steading was deserted—unusual in the middle of the afternoon, but fortunate. She could pay the man his fare and send him on his way, then face the household without the embarrassment of an onlooker.
“You have been most kind, Mr. Belford.”
“ ’Tis me pleasure,” he said dryly, sliding her silver inside his purse. “I’m certain yer family wull be glad tae see ye.” He unloaded her small traveling case and writing desk and deposited them on the grass. With a tip of his cap, he was back in the chaise. “A guid day tae ye, mem.”
She watched him ride off while she kept her back to the house, afraid to think of who might see her first.
“It canna be.” An older man’s voice carried across the lawn. “Is that Miss McBride?”
Leana spun round. “Willie!”
The servant tottered toward her as fast as his bent legs could carry him. “Och!” His wrinkled smile was welcome enough. “We ne’er thocht tae see ye again, Miss.”
She held out her hands to clasp his, not minding for a moment the leathery feel of them. “I am sorry ’twas not you who brought me home, Willie.”
He ducked his head. “It doesna matter how ye got here, only that ye did.”
“Is Neda in the kitchen?”
“She is.” When she released him, Willie shyly stepped back. “And wait ’til yer sister sees ye.”
Leana’s heart stopped. “My … sister? Surely Rose isn’t here?”
“She is indeed. They’re all here.”
“All?” Her mouth fell open. “But … Glentrool …”
“Leavin’ in August, they are. Guid thing ye came noo.”
Leana began to walk forward. “Aye,” she breathed. “It is good.” She was already past him, her traveling case forgotten. Her gaze was trained on the front door.
If Rose was here, then Jamie was here. Oh, my dear Jamie! And if Rose and Jamie were still at Auchengray…
Leana was running now. Pins fell from her hair as she grabbed her skirts, desperate to make her way across the lawn. The others must wait. She had to see him, must see him, had to hold him in her arms.
At once. Now.
“Ian!” She cried his name on a sob, flinging open the door.
A blur of stone steps awaited her, leading to the nursery, leading to her son. She stumbled up the stair. Crying, laughing, delirious with joy. “Ian, my Ian!” She whirled about on the landing, gasping for breath, hanging on to the banister for dear life.
“Leana?”
It was Rose. Standing near the top of the stair. Guarding the nursery door.
Fourteen
Do not come among women abruptly …
they do not love to be surprised.
ADAM PETRIE
Rose stared at the woman on the landing as if she were a stranger. Indeed, she was a stranger. The wheat-colored hair beneath her hat was in disarray, her pale face was flushed, and she was behaving rather hysterically. Like a madwoman.
“My sweet sister!” Leana flew up the stair, arms outstretched, and enveloped her in a crushing embrace. “I cannot believe it.” Leana’s cheek, wet with tears, pressed against her own, dry but hot. “Rose, ’tis a miracle! You’re here; you’re still here.”
Leana. Come back from Twyneholm, like one come back from the dead.
“We cannot … leave for … Glentrool yet,” Rose said, fighting to catch her breath. And trying to gather her wits, which had scattered like Eliza’s garden seeds. “Not until … Lammas.”
“That’s what Willie said.” Leana released her at last and took a deep enough breath for both of them, then exhaled on a lyrical sigh. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to be home. We have much to talk about, Rose. So much. Tonight, after supper. Oh, dear …” Leana touched her hand to her heart, a familiar gesture. “I haven’t even spoken to Father yet.”
Rose had never seen her sister this animated. “Leana, are you quite all right? You seem …”
“Aflocht!” Leana finished for her, laughing again. “Neda’s word to describe you when you were a wee lass and got in a flutter about something.” She plucked her bonnet from her head, releasing what remained of her braided coiffure, and fanned her poppy-colored face. “I could blame the heat or the long ride in the chaise or my tight stays. But it’s finding you here that has me in a dither.” She patted her cheeks dry. “I feared I might ne’er see you again, dearie.”
“And I, you,” Rose said, still reeling. Where was Jamie? Did he know she was home?
Leana tossed her hat onto the broad window sill and stepped toward the closed nursery door. “May I … may I see Ian?”
Rose stiffened. “He’s sleeping.”
“I’ll not wake him,” Leana promised, easing past her.
Rose stayed close on her heels. “I put him down for his nap before you arrived.” Her tone was wary, protective. Ian is mine now.
“But I must see him.” Leana turned and touched her hand, as if seeking her permission. “You understand, Rose. I know you do.”
Fear drew a tight cord round her throat. She understood only too well: Leana would steal Ian’s heart and never let go.
The nursery door creaked open. Her sister’s footsteps were silent against the wooden floor, an experienced mother approaching her son’s crib. Rose followed her, already feeling like an intruder. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, warming the small room. The hurlie bed with its blue and white embroidered coverlet was pushed aside, no longer in use, along with the tiny cradle Ian had slept in the first few months.
Now he lay in the larger crib Willie had fashioned for him, truly asleep, his limbs splayed across the cotton sheet. His sweet mouth, shaped like Jamie’s, hung slightly open. His eyes were shut tight.
Leana sighed as if she’d been holding her breath since Twyneholm. “My darling boy.” She slowly knelt beside the crib, tucking her skirts beneath her like a nest. Her voice was soft as air. “Look how you’ve grown.” She reached toward him, visibly trembling as she examined his tiny fingers, his smooth hair, his round cheek.
Ian stirred, but only a little, at his mother’s touch.
Rose sank to the floor next to her sister, a dozen conflicting emotions tying her in knots. “Please don’t wake him,” she pleaded, then felt foolish for saying so. “If he misses his afternoon nap, he’s irritable all evening.”
Her sister nodded but did not take her eyes off Ian. “You were the same way, Rose. When you were Ian’s age, Neda and I tiptoed through the house from three ’til five o’ the clock and insisted everyone else do the same.” After her exuberant arrival, Leana seemed to be winding down, easing back into motherhood. “I’ll not wake the lad,” she murmured, “for I know he needs his sleep.”
The longer she studied her son, the quieter Leana grew. She planted a kiss on her fingertip, then barely touched it to his nose.
Kissed it again, then brushed it against his lips. She traced the delicate curve of his ear and the line of his chin, caressing him with her gaze, her cheek pressed against the edge of the crib. “Ian, I’ve missed you so.” Her voice was low, thick, as if she’d just swallowed honey. “Can you ever forgive me?”
The lad’s steady breathing was the only sound in the nursery.
Tears began rolling down Leana’s cheeks. Her features did not crumple, nor did she make a sound, as if she were unaware of the tears flowing beyond her chin and marking her green gown with dark circles. Then she began to sing so faintly that not all the words had notes.
Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Doubly dear. Rose looked away, undone by the tenderness in Leana’s voice and the undeniable love on her face. However much she adored Ian, her sister loved him exceedingly more. How could she not? She had carried the boy beneath her heart and nourished him at her breast. Leana belonged to Ian completely, and he to her. No bond was more sacred, no love more secure.
Rose forced herself to look at them, mother and son, and thought of the child growing inside her. Could she imagine for one moment allowing another woman to raise her child as long as she still had breath? Nae, she could not.
Yet Leana had left Ian. Had left Jamie. Had left Auchengray.
For me. The realization pierced her afresh. She left for my sake. So I might learn to love Ian. So Jamie might learn to love me.
Rose stood, overwhelmed and more than a little frightened. She did love Ian. And Jamie loved her. He’d finally told her so yestreen and shown her as well. She was glad to see her sister, but Leana could not stay. She could not simply come home and … and…
“Rose, what is it?” Leana was standing now as well, her cheeks still moist. “You don’t look well, dearie.” She took Rose’s hands in hers, rubbing them. “Are you eating properly? Sleeping enough? Perhaps I might find some remedy in the stillroom. Sweet flag or chamomile?”
Rose was distressed to find her own eyes filling. “I’m … quite well.” Her sister was very wise in such things. Could Leana discern just by looking at her that she was with child? ’Twas only fair that she be told. Should she reveal the truth now or wait until Jamie was with her? Oh, but the whole household knew; she dared not wait.
Rose gripped her sister’s hands, her heart pounding. “Leana, I’m … I’m …”
“Och! I canna believe what I’m seein’ wi’ me ain eyes.” Neda Hastings stood in the doorway, a look of astonishment on her face. “Willie said ye’d come hame.”
Leana squeezed Rose’s hands, pulling them both into the hall, then released her and fell into the housekeeper’s arms with an elated cry. “Neda! How I’ve missed you.”
Rose sank into the hall chair before her knees gave way. Hurry, Jamie.
Neda, meanwhile, was scolding Leana. “Ye should have warned me ye were comin’.” Her frown was a pretense, hiding her smile. “I’ve naught planned for supper but cold broo and pickled mutton.”
“From your kitchen, soup and meat will be a feast,” Leana insisted. “Besides, I’ve not much appetite these days.” She paused as if she meant to say something else, then smiled instead. “Won’t Mr. McBride complain if there’s nothing hot on his table?”
Neda’s eyes twinkled. “Yer faither is in Dalbeaty, acourtin’ the Widow Douglas.”
“Courting?” Leana gaped at Neda, then at Rose. “My sister, whatever has come over Father?”
Rose stood and closed the nursery door, lest their chatter wake Ian. “ ’Tis true. Father has announced he will marry the Widow Douglas on the sixteenth of July.”
“Marry? Is it as serious as that?”
“They plan to exchange their vows in Urr parish.”
“Goodness! As the auld wives say, long looked for comes at last.” Leana reclaimed her discarded hat from the window sill and absently held it against her middle. “Already our family is altered.”
“You left more than two months ago,” Rose reminded her. “Much can happen in the spring when warmer weather draws us out of doors.”
“It can indeed.” Neda appraised her with a wry smile. “Have ye told Leana yer ain guid news yet, Rose?”
“My … news?” Rose tried to smile and found her mouth as dry as day-old bannocks. “You mean that my husband and I are … that we are … leaving for Glentrool on my birthday?” She nearly fainted in relief at having thought of something. “Leana has already heard of our plans. Haven’t you, dearie?”
Though Leana regarded her with genuine affection, Rose thought she spied a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “I have indeed heard that news, my sister. Twice.”
Fifteen
Woman’s grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is.
JOANNA BAILLIE
She is carrying Jamie’s child.
Leana gripped the worn brim of her hat, feeling it give beneath her fingers. Why had she not noticed sooner? The bloom on her sister’s fuller cheek, the light in her eyes, the snug fit of her gown. And her dissembling at the mention of “news.” It seemed Rose’s prayers had been answered: A babe was on the way whether the lass was prepared to confess the truth yet or not.
Neda peered out the hall window. “Willie has headed o’er the braes, seekin’ oot Jamie tae tell him ye’ve arrived unexpectedly from Twyneholm.”
“Well then.” Rose looked greatly relieved. “My husband should be along soon.”
Leana’s heart, filled to overflowing moments earlier, began to empty. My husband. Rose had called him that more than once. Was she laying claim to the man or kindly sparing Leana from hearing his name? Dearest Jamie. She loved Jamie still, would always love him. But he had come to love her sister, just as her letter had requested; Rose’s glow of contentment was proof.
“I’ll be getting’ back tae me broo,” Neda said, starting for the kitchen. “Yer faither returns in the morn, but the rest o’ the household is eager tae see ye, Leana. I’ll send Eliza tae help ye freshen up a bit.”
Leana held up her crushed hat and tried to smile but could not. “I must look a fright. Hot water and a brush would be most appreciated.”
Rose inclined her head down the corridor. “Suppose you see to your toilette in Jamie’s old room.”
“ ’Twas once your room,” Leana said. “Long ago.”
And mine, with Jamie. Not so long ago.
How would she bear watching them together, knowing his child grew inside her? ’Twas hard enough the first twelvemonth of their marriage when she carried Ian and Jamie favored Rose. Leana never dreamed it would happen again. But it had.
And this time she had nowhere to run.
“Here we are.” Rose nodded at the room, taking a lighted candlestick from the hall table. The sisters walked through the door in tandem, greeted by the musty smell of linens that needed laundering. “I’ll see that Annabel cleans the room before you retire.” Rose placed the candle by the washstand, then pulled open the curtains, sending dust motes flying. Sunlight made the bedroom look even more neglected. A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. The towel by the washbowl was soiled, used and discarded some time ago. “As you can see, housework has suffered of late.” Because of you. Rose did not need to say the words for Leana to hear them.
Leana placed her hat on the bedside table and touched the box bed curtains, fond memories hidden in every fold. “It seems my departure left Auchengray short-handed.” She was sorry she’d left without telling them and equally sorry she’d returned unannounced. How had it come to this?
Rose looked round the square bedroom with its large oak clothes press and carved mantelpiece. “The Widow Douglas may prefer this room once they’re wed. The spence is father’s domain, not at all suited for a woman.”
Leana gazed toward the room where Ian slept. “I could stay in the nursery—”
“Nae!” Rose was clearly distraught. “Th-that hurlie bed is most uncomfortable. Please consider this
your room.” She moved about the room, absently touching the furnishings. “Not long after Mistress Douglas moves to Auchengray, Jamie and I will depart for Glentrool. Then she and Father may have our old room, and everyone will be happy.” She turned toward Leana and held her palms up as if the matter were resolved.
Oh, Rose. Nothing was ever so easy. Leana clasped her sister’s outstretched hands. “Dearie, I think you have something to tell me. Not about Father. ‘Yer ain guid news,’ as Neda called it. A babe perhaps?”
Rose blushed to her roots, the whites of her eyes stark against her pink skin. “Is it … that obvious?”
“Only because I know you so well, my sister. You look like you swallowed a candle.”
Rose ducked her head, shy and uncertain, like the young woman of sixteen she was. “It feels more like peat burning inside me.”
“So it does.” Leana slowly gathered her sister in her arms, hoping it might ease the tension between them. Her own revelation would have to wait. Hadn’t they competed enough? “I am happy for you, Rose. ’Twas what you wanted, a child of your own.” Leana squeezed her eyes shut, willing the pain to subside.
“Oh, Leana. I wanted you to be the first to hear, not the last.” Rose sniffed, hugging her tight. “I’m sorry you weren’t here.”
“I am too, Rose.” The girl Leana remembered from childhood returned. The charming Rose. The innocent Rose. They stood in the dim and dusty room, holding each other, almost sisters again. “When do you expect your bairn to be delivered?”
Rose leaned back, drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab her nose. “Early January, I think.” She gave a little shrug. “Perhaps this summer you might help me prepare for … what’s to come.”
“I will.” Leana would do what she could. For Rose’s sake. And for Jamie’s.
A light tap at the door announced Eliza with a steaming pitcher of water in her hands and a bright smile on her face. “Mistress, ’tis guid tae have ye hame.” She hurried across the room to deposit her heavy pitcher in the washbowl, then dropped a deep curtsy.
Whence Came a Prince Page 10
