“God has been most gracious to me, Jamie.” She slowly sat up, then eased her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped on her shoes. “His loving-kindness is far greater than anything I might offer.”
“So the Buik says.” He laced her shoes, then helped her stand, making certain she was steady on her feet before letting go. “ ’Tis not the first time you’ve fainted in my arms. I remember one Sabbath in particular.”
“When you carried me from the kirk to the manse? Not an easy journey. I was very much with child.” As I am now. Her breath caught as she realized how close she’d come to spilling out her news. Even now the words waited on her lips, ready to be spoken. Needing to be spoken. ’Tis why I’ve come home, Jamie. He deserved to know, didn’t he?
Aye, but not yet. The next few weeks would be worrisome enough. Leana smoothed her skirts, noting the shape of her waist. Only a slight rounding there. Surely she could keep her secret until Lammas. If she altered her gowns and minded her fork, she might reach the end of her fifth month before burdening anyone with such news.
There was a child they needed to discuss, however.
“Jamie, I have something to ask of you.” When he turned his full gaze on her, she almost lost her nerve, so intense was his look. “Rose informed me that once you settle in Glentrool, she plans to claim Ian as her true son, born of her womb.” Seeing his brow darken, she bit her lip. “Perhaps that is what you intend as well.”
“Rose had no business suggesting such a thing,” he said evenly. “Ian will always be your son. Nothing can change that, certainly not a whim of your sister’s. I will speak with her tonight.”
Heat climbed up her neck, as she imagined the conversation. “Jamie, I should not have said—”
“Nae, ’tis right that you did.” He glanced down at his collarless shirt and worn breeches. “Pardon me while I dress for supper. Even without your father at table, I cannot appear in shepherd’s garb.”
Leana touched the neckline of her plain green gown. “Until my old gowns are aired and pressed, I fear the dress I’ve arrived in will have to do for dinner.”
His gaze traveled the length of her. “You look bonny, Leana. As always.”
Flustered, she sank into a curtsy, thinking to put their relationship on the proper footing. “I will make myself useful in the kitchen then, dear cousin.”
Jamie placed his hand under her chin, slowly lifting her face until they were poised a handbreadth apart. “Cousin?” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Nae, lass. It can never be that way with us.”
By sheer will she stepped away from him. “Nor can it be any other way but this.” She curtsied again, her legs trembling, then grabbed her skirts and fled the room.
Moments later Leana burst into the kitchen. “Neda!” she cried, then fell back a step, trying to regain her composure. Though how could she with Jamie so near? She gestured toward the dressing table with a limp hand. “Is there … some task I might do … before supper?”
Neda greeted her warmly, as if her face were not flushed nor her breathing uneven. “I’ve nae need o’ yer labor, lass, but I’d walcome yer company.”
Only then did Leana see Rose seated in the corner spooning Ian’s fish supper into his eager mouth. In her haste she had forgotten that her sister would be in the kitchen as well. Rose, with her back toward Leana, did not look in her direction, nor did Ian’s expression change when he caught sight of his mother.
Feeling faint, Leana started toward the door. “Perhaps later …”
“You’ll join us at table, won’t you?” Rose lifted her voice to be heard above the kitchen din, inclining her head only slightly.
“Aye,” was all she managed before quitting the room.
Leana wandered down the back hall, feeling like a stranger in her own home. Should she simply wait in the dining room for the McKies to join her? She had never supped with them as husband and wife. Now she would share their table thrice daily. How, Lord? How will I bear it?
When Leana found herself in the dining room, she sank into her old chair and imagined Jamie and Rose seated across from her. Whatever would they discuss over supper? Not Ian. Not Glentrool. Too many words had been exchanged that afternoon, words that could not easily be put aside for a plate of soup.
Why are you here, Leana? She had arrived with a ready answer; now she had none.
You love completely, Leana. Indeed, she loved them both and Ian even more.
Wait upon the Lord, Leana. Her own words, whispered in her heart. In so desperate a situation, he was her only hope.
She was still deep in thought when Rose appeared in the doorway, her features arranged as carefully as flowers in a vase. “Ian is off exploring the garden with Eliza. Suppose we get on with supper. With Father gone, we’ve no need to make a long evening of it.” Though Rose did not look at her as she took her seat, the lass could not hide the blush on her cheeks. Perhaps Rose was not as unruffled as she’d appeared. “I’ve instructed Neda to serve our three courses in quick succession. That is … if you do not object.”
“Whatever you wish.” Leana clutched the table linen in her lap, silently pleading for the courage to speak her heart. “Rose … I know this is … You did not expect …”
Jamie strode into the room sporting clean attire and a smooth chin. “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies.”
Rose smiled up at him and patted the arm of his chair. “Please join us.” After Jamie spoke a blessing on the meal, Annabel brought in their barley broth one plate at a time while Rose inched her chair closer to his. “What say you, Jamie? After all these months, we have my sister back at our table.”
“Aye, we do.” Jamie nodded toward Leana but did not look at her nor say another word.
Rose tried again to engage him in conversation, to no avail. By the time pickled mutton was served, the tension in the room was thick enough to carve and serve for meat. Their father’s presence at table was surprisingly missed. At least Lachlan, with his sharp tongue, would have given them a common adversary.
Neda delivered the last course herself, a china bowl in each hand. Judging by the broad smile on her face, she was determined to improve matters. “Is thar a certain lass wha likes her sweets ready for me apple puddin?”
Rose brightened. “Aye.”
Leana knew she could not last through another course. “The scent of cinnamon is most tempting, Neda, yet I fear a good night’s sleep is more so. Will you excuse me, Rose? Jamie?” She did not wait for a response nor study their faces, knowing they felt as she did: awkward and uncomfortable. Sorry to find themselves in so impossible a situation. Dreading the months ahead.
I should never have come home.
The sad refrain had echoed through her heart all evening. Even now, as she lay in her box bed, Leana’s conscience prodded her. Why had she not written first? Why had Rose not written sooner? She tossed beneath the sheets, knowing sleep would not come easily, not after so harrowing a day.
At least young Annabel had performed her duties well; Leana’s bedroom smelled as sweet as any pudding. The maidservant had polished the furniture, scrubbed the floor, and changed the bedding, throwing open the window to let the cooler night air freshen the room. Leana had discovered her few treasured books stored in the cupboard and spent the balance of the evening with Richardson’s Pamela, the lively tale of a serving maid and a young man of means. Lost in the twists and turns of their affairs, she’d managed to forget the knotty nature of her own life for a bit until exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, beckoning her to bed.
But sleep would not come.
Down the stair, the mantel clock chimed the late hour as she thought of Ian alone in the nursery. Leana would have the lad to herself for as long as she might keep her eyes open.
Moments later she stood in the darkened corridor outside the nursery door. Touching her hand to her heart, as if to calm its rapid beating, she slipped into his room, letting her eyes adjust before she latched the door behind her. Unlike the other bedroo
ms, no candle remained lit here. Jamie and Rose slept in the next room; they would hear Ian if he cried out. As they might hear you, Leana.
Undaunted, she moved toward the crib, her bare feet soundless against the wooden floor, her white linen nightgown catching a strand of moonlight shining through the window. Ian’s face shone as well, turned to one side. He looked even younger in his sleep, like the child she’d said farewell to months ago.
She knelt next to his crib, longing to hold him. Might she touch his brow without waking him? She did so, holding her breath, marveling at the softness of his skin. When he did not move or make a sound, Leana continued to stroke his head, faintly skimming over his hair. She noticed his hand lay curled beside him, slightly open. If she gently slid her finger inside his curled hand, would he stir? He did not wake when her skin touched his; instead, his hand closed round her finger by instinct, holding her tight.
“Oh, Ian,” she said aloud, not meaning to. Her voice did not wake him, nor would Ian let go, no matter how hard she tugged her fingers. She smiled, even as tears pooled in her eyes. “You have caught me.”
“Aye,” a male voice on the other side of the door answered, “so I have.”
Leana tried again to pull free of Ian’s grasp as the door opened and Jamie’s shadow fell across the room. She could not see his face, only his outline lit by the hall candle.
“I heard you slip past our bedroom.” His low voice bore no note of censure. “ ’Twas easy to guess where you were headed.” Leaving the door ajar, he entered the room and knelt beside her, gazing at the sleeping child with obvious affection. Jamie’s smooth hair hung loose, brushing against his nightshirt as he bent over the crib. After a quiet moment he confessed, “You have given me a fine son, Leana.”
“He is God’s gift. To both of us.” She heard the slight tremor in her voice. Jamie was too close, the warmth of him too apparent. Yet if she moved, she risked waking Ian. Rubbing her thumb across the back of his tiny hand, she hoped Ian might relax his grip. But he did not. “It seems I am here to stay.”
“So you are.” Jamie must have sensed her discomfort, for he stood and backed away from her. “Sleep well, Leana.” And he was gone.
As if on cue, Ian opened his hand in his sleep, setting her free. She rose at once, shaking from head to toe. From relief, from desire, from a sinking realization of what the next two months would require of her. You look bonny, Leana. She could not dwell on such thoughts.
Back in her box bed once more, Leana smoothed her hand across the sheets, back and forth, as if the motion itself might lull her to sleep. But there was no hope of that. She had sewn these sheets herself and tucked them inside Rose’s cherished dresser drawer—the one every bride filled with new linens before her wedding day—never imagining the sheets would cover her own bridal bed instead.
Leana closed her eyes, unable to hold the memories at bay any longer. That December wedding night long ago had been cold, bitterly so. Cozy behind the curtains of this very box bed, the bride and groom had not even noticed the temperature: Jamie warmed by whisky, Leana warmed by Jamie. Vivid recollections sprang to life, heating her skin, robbing her of any chance of sleep.
Jamie, my sweet Jamie. She gripped the bedsheets. I love you still.
She sat up, sick with longing for a man she could not have. “Beloved one,” she cried softly, her voice hollow in the empty box bed, “my heart does have limits.”
In Twyneholm she’d had the freedom to love Jamie from afar. But here beneath her father’s roof, that freedom was gone. She could not—must not—love Jamie as she once did. Not as a woman loved a man. Somehow she would learn to care for him as one did a cousin, a brother-in-law, a close friend.
Jamie’s voice taunted her. It can never be that way with us.
“It must be, my love.” She fell back on the heather mattress, fresh tears filling her eyes. “It must be.”
Eighteen
Yet, taught by time, my heart has learned to glow
For other’s good, and melt at other’s woe.
HOMER
Tell me true, Leana.” Neda set a bowl of porridge at her place. A generous dollop of butter melted on top of the oats, and fresh cream circled the edges of the pottery bowl. “Does the place leuk different tae ye since ye’ve been gone a spell?”
“Aye, it does.” Leana ran her thumb along the rose pattern on her spoon, wishing she’d slept better. Father was expected home soon; she would need all her strength to face him. “ ’Tis as though I’m visiting a neighbor’s house. Familiar, yet changed. Not quite home anymore.”
“But you will remain here.” Rose sat across the way, her breakfast untouched. The two sisters had the table to themselves that morning; Jamie was already on the hills, fending off the pouring rain. Without him there, the tension in the air had almost dissipated. For the moment at least. “Auchengray will be your home now,” Rose said firmly. “For good.”
If Father allows me to stay.
Leana slipped a spoonful of steaming oats into her mouth and nearly burned her tongue. Eyes watering, she swallowed with some difficulty. “Aunt Meg likes her porridge lukewarm,” she explained, putting down her spoon. “Perhaps I’ll wait a bit.” She eyed Rose’s plate. “What of your breakfast, dearie?”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “Not today. Probably not tomorrow morning either.”
Though she could not quite reach her, Leana stretched her hand across the table in sympathy. “ ’Twill not always be thus. As the Buik says, ‘For surely there is an end.’ ”
“When?” Rose pushed her bowl away with a weary sigh. Apparently even the aroma was more than she could stand. “Come dinnertime I always feel better. Then it seems I cannot stop eating.” She pinched her cheek, her expression glum. “Look how I’ve filled out. ’Tis most unbecoming.”
Jamie does not think so. Leana held her tongue, but her thoughts were not so easily restrained. He loves you, Rose. Be grateful.
“And you have lost weight,” Rose said petulantly. “Eat my dishful as well, for I’ve ne’er seen your cheeks so gaunt.”
Leana answered with a slight shrug, tasting her porridge again. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the shape of my face.”
“Wheesht!” Rose nearly spilled her tea. “Forget my own sister? In two months’ time? You can’t mean that.” Her gaze was clear, any wariness gone. “I have seen your face everywhere I looked, Leana. In the gardens and at your spinning wheel. By the hearth with your needle. Here at table with your fine manners.” She dipped her chin. “I’ve missed you, Leana.”
“Oh, my sister.” Dropping her porridge spoon, Leana stood and hastened to her side, then wrapped her arms round her shoulders. “And I have missed you. Have I not told you so?”
Rose shook her head, cutting Leana to the quick.
“I have missed you, dearie,” Leana assured her, kissing the back of Rose’s neck as she held her close. “Forgive me for not saying so yestreen.” After a long moment, Leana straightened, her hand still touching her sister’s shoulder. “I am sorry I left. And I’m sorrier still that I’ve come home at the wrong time and ruined your summer.”
“Nae.” Rose looked up, her dark eyes swimming. “I am glad to have you home.”
Leana felt something shift inside her, in that deep place where vows are made and kept. With God’s help, she would learn to be happy—genuinely happy—for her sister and for Jamie. It was the only remedy for her wounds, the only balm for a love that could not be expressed or requited. Hour by hour, day by day, she would teach her heart a new song. Rejoice with them that do rejoice. Aye, just that.
“Suppose I stay busy in the garden,” Leana offered, brushing her cheeks dry. “And if you’ll let me, I would like to help with Ian. Oh, Rose, I was a fool to think I could live without my son.”
The sincerity in Rose’s face did not fade. “I understand. I do.” She stood leaving her napkin beside her cold porridge. “I will be glad for your help, and so will Ian. I think you caught him off guard yestreen, j
ust waking from his nap. See if he doesn’t recognize you today.”
Rose pressed her lips together as though she meant to say something else and then changed her mind. “Jamie …” She paused, then started again. “Jamie spoke with me about … about Glentrool. And … Ian.” Her cheeks matched her name. “Jamie is right, of course. And so are you. Ian will always be your son. Always.”
Leana released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You only meant to protect Ian.”
“I’ll not have you thinking me generous.” Her blush deepened. “ ’Twas my reputation I was protecting.”
Touched by her honesty, Leana cupped her sister’s cheek. “But I do think you’re generous. More than you know.” She nodded toward the window. “With this heavy downpour, I’ll not be doing any gardening this morn. May I bathe Ian instead?”
“You may,” Rose said emphatically. “ ’Tis my least favorite task, for the child makes certain I am wetter than he is before we’re done.”
Leana smiled, picturing it. “I’ll wear an apron and be prepared to find one of my old gowns when I’m finished.”
“We stored them on the third floor.” Rose slipped her hand in the crook of Leana’s arm and led her toward the stair. “I’ll have Eliza bring them to your room for an airing. You can see which ones still suit you.”
“They’ll all have to suit me, for I cannot afford another.” Leana thought of the silver in her purse, then discarded any notion of spending it on something so frivolous as a new gown. Who knew when those coins might be needed? “I suspect my old dresses will require altering. A woman’s body ne’er quite recovers from giving birth.”
When Rose paused to look her up and down with a critical eye, Leana wished she’d not spoken so carelessly. Rose arched her brows. “Your waist looks ever so trim to me, Leana. And will look more so as each week passes, compared to mine.”
Whence Came a Prince Page 12
