Aye, she would miss her sister’s company. Dreadfully so.
The sound of Ian whimpering floated down the stair. “Awake from his nap already,” Rose said with a weary sigh. “There’s no need for you to come.”
Leana was already on her feet. “ ’Tis my last month with Ian. As long as you do not object …”
“You know I don’t. Let us see what our laddie needs.”
Ian was standing in his crib, clearly proud of pulling himself to his feet. At the sight of Leana and Rose, he waved his arms in the air and promptly landed on his bottom, making Rose laugh. “Neda says in another month, when he has his balance, Ian will get about by holding on to chairs and such.”
Leana lifted him out of the crib, then settled him on her hip. “Is that what you’ll be doing, dear boy? Shuffling your way round your new house?”
“ ’Tis a very old house,” Rose explained, gathering the soiled linens from his crib. “With a round turret, tall chimneys, a spiral staircase, and enormous rooms.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, Rose wished she could take them back. “I’m sorry, Leana.” She bent over the laundry basket, hiding her shame. “ ’Twas … thoughtless of me.”
“Thoughtless to be excited about your future home?” Leana gently laid a hand on Rose’s back. “I am happy for Ian to be raised at Glentrool. ’Tis where he was meant to live.”
So were you. Rose straightened, avoiding her sister’s gaze. Oddly, the more understanding Leana was, the worse Rose felt about it all. “If you’ll change his clothes, I’ll see to fresh bedding. We’ll have a bit of time to play before his supper.”
Both women went about their work and soon had the nursery set to rights, except for the toys strewn across the floor on purpose. Rose was only too happy to sit among them, leaving the chair for her sister, who seemed older than usual today. Would she look the same five years from now, overheated in the summer months, with swollen ankles and parched lips?
Rose sat Ian across from her and rolled his doeskin ball toward him, pleased to see him push it back. “Showing off for your mother, are you?” After a few exchanges he tired of the game and reached for his wooden blocks.
“Bless Duncan for carving those,” Leana murmured, stretching out her legs.
One foot touched the edge of Ian’s old cradle, which he’d outgrown in the spring. A family heirloom, the oak cradle lined with linen had rocked their mother, then Leana, then Rose, and then Ian. Rose gazed at it wistfully. Might she take it with her to Glentrool for her newborn’s arrival? ’Twas certain Leana would have no use for it.
When Leana’s foot absently began rocking the cradle, Rose giggled. “Be careful,” she teased her sister. “You know what it signifies when a young mother rocks an empty cradle, don’t you? It means she is expecting again.”
Leana stopped at once. “Indeed it does.” She tucked her feet beneath her chair, then turned over the cloth draped round her neck. “Might you ask Eliza to bring us something cool to drink?”
Anxious to ease her sister’s obvious discomfort, Rose hurried to do her bidding. Eliza followed her back up the stair with a tray of horn cups filled with water still cold from the well, flavored with lime and sweetened with sugar. “The lad’s is half-fu’,” Eliza warned, “and still he’ll likely spill it. ’Tis why I brought a towel.”
Leana downed her cupful in a single long drink and pressed the cup to her cheek when she finished. Ian drank some, spilled some, and wore some, while Rose sat on the floor and dabbed him with the towel as needed, taking sips between accidents. The simple cups, made from ox horn, were hardly suitable for company but ideal with a child in the room.
“Leana …” Rose looked up at her sister, putting her cup aside. “Father’s banns will be read again at Urr parish in the morn’s morn.” The crying of the marriage banns three Sabbaths in a row was required before a wedding could be performed. “We’ve only a short time left to secure a present. Since it’s Father’s sixtieth birthday and his wedding day, is there something you and I could give him?”
The two sisters discussed the possibilities—a clock, a pair of pewter plates, a china punch bowl—all of them far too expensive. They were lamenting Rose’s meager savings and Leana’s empty purse when Jamie appeared in the doorway.
“Here’s a cozy tableau,” he said amiably, smiling at Ian in particular. “I’ve come to dress for supper. Eliza says my son has a dish of minced lamb waiting for him in the kitchen.” When Jamie stepped aside, Eliza swung through, scooped up Ian, and disappeared just as quickly. There was nowhere for Jamie to sit, so he propped his shoulder against the doorpost, wiping his damp brow with his sleeve. Even fresh from the pastures, he was a braw sight. “Did I hear wedding gifts being considered?”
Rose groaned. “We really must give Father something, but …”
“We have no money,” Leana confessed. “Though I do know what he might like: an engraved sterling quaich. For sharing a dram.”
Rose agreed at once. The shallow silver bowl, the size of a cupped palm, had a carved handle on either side. An ideal gift, though not inexpensive.
Jamie nodded slowly. “ ’Tis just the thing. And I ken a worthy silversmith in Dumfries who sells them. The letter M could be engraved in the center. Well done, Leana.”
“But not well paid for,” Rose reminded him. “I will gladly contribute all the coins in my glove drawer, but ’twill not be enough.”
Jamie touched his hand to his purse. “I’ve a bit left from my day at Keltonhill Fair.”
“I suppose I could sell something.” Leana’s gaze was unfocused, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. “Though I own so little of value. Only my writing desk.” Her voice dropped. “And I cannot part with that.”
The nursery suddenly grew quiet. Jamie touched Rose’s hair, as if sensing her discomfort. “You need not sell your desk, Leana. Let me sell some of my lambs—”
“Nae.” Leana rose, steadying herself with the edge of the crib. “You have sacrificed enough. I’m going to ask Father for the small sum Mother bequeathed to me. I should have received it more than a year ago.”
“But you might need that money for …” Rose wet her lips, still tart with lime. “For something … more important. Must you spend it on him?”
“He is my father.” Though Leana’s blue eyes were clear and her expression earnest, the corners of her mouth curved down. “I will speak to him and see what arrangement might be made. Father is seldom willing to part with his silver.”
“Aye,” Rose agreed with a petulant sigh. “Nor anything else.”
Thirty-Two
Truth, when not sought after, sometimes comes to light.
MENANDER
The last of the pudding dishes were cleared away when Lachlan folded his hands on the table as though he were about to preside over a meeting. Steam from the kitchen made the dining room even more humid. Jamie slid a finger beneath his neckcloth for a moment’s relief, noting that Leana, seated across the table from him, was faring no better. Her cheeks were pink, her forehead glistened, and her water glass remained close at hand. The first week of July was ending on the same note on which it had begun: exceedingly warm.
He’d left for Dumfries in the relative cool of the morning astride Hastings—a fine mount, he was pleased to discover. The silversmith had a sterling quaich among his wares, just as Jamie had hoped, and engraved it while Jamie busied himself elsewhere in the burgh purchasing a dirk, sword, and pistol for his journey home. He had surrendered the remaining coins in his purse to pay for the small quaich, and still the silversmith had been forced to reduce his price or lose a sale.
The drinking cup lay hidden in Rose’s glove drawer, waiting to be presented to Lachlan and Morna at the dinner celebrating their marriage nine days hence. Though it was the proper thing to do, Jamie loathed the idea of giving so liberal a gift to one so miserly. His own silver was no loss, nor were Rose’s few coins, but it grieved him to spend even a portion of Leana’s paltry inheritance. According to R
ose, she’d had to practically beg for it, and even then Lachlan had paid her in pennies and shillings, rather than pounds. The image of Leana groveling for her own money disgusted Jamie. And to think she’d turned round and spent it on the same hatesome man!
Jamie glowered at him across the table. Lachlan’s daughters were far more generous than their father deserved. The man had yet to inform the family of his proposed living arrangements after the ceremony—would Morna come to Auchengray alone or would her sons move in as well? Once Lammas arrived, space would not be an issue, but at the moment, four more people at Auchengray would make things difficult for all of them. Except for Lachlan McBride.
“ ’Tis time we discussed my wedding plans for Saturday next.” Lachlan regarded them as one might subjects, his brows raised with an air of disdain. “The forenoon ceremony at the Urr kirk will be brief, followed by a bridal dinner at the manse at Mistress Muirhead’s invitation. Four members of this household are to attend the festivities. Jamie and Rose to represent the family. And Neda and Duncan on behalf of the staff.”
Leana hid behind her water glass but could not mask the hurt in her eyes. Rose sat in stunned silence.
Jamie’s neck, already warm, heated further. “Do you mean to exclude Leana, your own daughter, from your wedding?”
Lachlan unfolded his hands, laying them palms up, as if helpless to change the situation. “Morna … ah, Mistress Douglas has asked that Leana not be present. Nor Ian, of course.”
Jamie pushed back his chair, prepared to throttle the man if necessary. “I suppose all three of her sons will attend.”
“Naturally.”
“Then both your daughters should be welcome.”
“But they are not.”
When Lachlan stood, Jamie did as well, his fists clenched by his side. “I cannot allow such—”
“Allow?” Lachlan stepped round the table, within striking distance. “The only allowances in this household are mine to make. Not yours.”
“Father—”
“Silence, Rose.” He did not look at her as he spoke. “Take your sister and leave my table. ’Twould seem your husband is determined to infuriate me.”
Jamie heard Rose and Leana quit the room in a huff, but he did not take his eyes off his adversary. “What of the blessing I supposedly brought to Auchengray? What of that, Uncle?”
Lachlan’s shrug was exaggerated to the point of insult. “You spoke the words yourself, young James. ‘The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away.’ ”
“We are not speaking of my flocks now.” Jamie dared to step closer. “We are speaking of your daughter. Just as my lambs were stolen from me, so has Leana’s dignity been stolen from her. At the hands of a thief. You, Uncle.”
Lachlan’s color returned, and his eyes took on a steely glint. “Why would you concern yourself with a woman who is no longer your wife?”
“Because she is the mother of my son.” His voice was even. His temper was not. “Because I still care about her … well-being.”
Lachlan’s laugh was low, vulgar. “Because you still desire her?”
“Nae!” Jamie grabbed the man’s neckcloth and pushed him against the wall. “Do not say such things.” Jamie ground out the words, twisting the cloth tighter as he bore down on him, nigh to choking him. “She is your daughter, sir. She is your daughter!”
Lachlan struggled beneath him and finally managed to wrest himself free, but only because, out of shame, Jamie had loosened his grip. His uncle staggered sideways, beyond Jamie’s reach, loosening his neckcloth and gasping for air. Though he produced no weapon, his gray eyes turned to daggers, and his words, when they came, were sharper still. “How dare you treat me so ill, Nephew.” Lachlan straightened, yanking his coat in place. “I ken verra well that Leana is my daughter. I ken more than that but am bound to silence.”
Caught off guard, Jamie fell back a step. Whatever knowledge Lachlan held in confidence seemed to imbue him with a sense of power. Did she intend to leave Auchengray again? Had her father found some ne’er-do-well to marry her? Whatever the situation, Jamie would not embarrass Leana by asking her.
Nor would he apologize to Lachlan. “I spent the morning on an errand and so must see to my neglected duties in the steading.” Jamie turned and marched out of the room without giving his uncle a chance to respond. Rose would have to present her father with the heavy sterling cup; left to his own devices, Jamie would crown the man with it.
As he expected, Rose was anxiously waiting in their room. “My sister is resting in the nursery,” she informed him, keeping her voice down. “We hated to abandon you, Jamie, but—”
“ ’Tis good that you left.” Now that his temper had begun to cool, Jamie felt nothing but guilt. What nephew attacked his own uncle, however much the man deserved it? In less than a month they would leave Auchengray for good. Surely he could put up with Lachlan’s despicable ways a bit longer.
“How is your sister?” Jamie glanced toward the nursery, imagining her stretched across the hurlie bed. Weeping, if he knew Leana. And he knew her very well. Too well.
“She was quite upset.” Rose sniffed, pulling her handkerchief from her sleeve. “I don’t think she minds missing the wedding. But father was so … heartless.”
Jamie grunted. “You’re being charitable. He was an ogre.”
“Did the two of you … fight?” She looked up at him, her sweet face lined with worry. “I heard … shouting. And scuffling …”
“I’m afraid so.” He hung his head, truly repentant. “ ’Twas my fault entirely. He said things about Leana that were … improper.”
“Oh, dear Jamie.” She cupped his cheek, her damp handkerchief threaded between her fingers. “You defended her, didn’t you? My brave husband.”
“A brave man would have challenged him to a proper duel. Instead, I nearly choked him.”
“Now I am sorry I left. I suppose we shan’t have our usual hour of family worship this evening.”
“I think not.” He shrugged off his coat, eying his discarded work shirt. “I’ve tasks to do in the steading and two more hours of daylight. Will you mind?”
“Nae, for I have tomorrow’s meals to plan with Neda. Do stop in the nursery and assure Leana that you are all right. She was quite worried.” Rose kissed his cheek. “We both were.”
She hastened down the stair while Jamie changed into clothes better suited for the byre. His muscles were still tense, his nerves on edge. The last time he’d felt his blood pounding in his head like this was when Evan and he had fought in Glentrool’s kitchen on the dark night of his deception. Evan, broader and stronger than he, would have pummeled him senseless if their father had not intervened.
You have brought shame to Glentrool this day, James McKie.
Jamie swallowed hard, remembering his father’s painful words. He could only pray that his own words, sent by letter Tuesday last, would begin repairing the rift between them. Just as Duncan advised him, Jamie held nothing back, confessing his many transgressions without stooping so low as to mention his mother’s involvement. When the time had come to pretend he was Evan, he had spun the web of deception, not his mother. The lies were his alone.
He’d also sent a separate letter to Evan, hoping it might do some good, though it seemed an impossibility. What brother could forgive such treachery? Even Duncan had conceded, “A brother offended is harder tae be won than a strong city.” After congratulating Evan on the birth of his son, Jamie had forced his pen to write the words that weighed on his soul.
I am sorry, Evan. For everything. For claiming the inheritance meant to be yours. For deceiving and dishonoring our father in the process. For a lifetime of battling you with words and weapons instead of being the brother you deserved.
Seeing the truth on paper had shaken him to the core. Deceiving. Dishonoring. It was one thing to confess such sins; writing them out was quite another.
If a seed of forgiveness may be found in your heart, Evan, I pray God will water it daily u
ntil the hour I see your face. My family and I plan to arrive in Glentrool soon after Lammas. I hope our paths might cross in peace.
Your brother always,
Jamie
He’d never in his life written such letters. It had taken him another day to work up the nerve to send them. Now they were in the hands of a courier. He could only wait for his father and brother to respond and pray they might be merciful.
For the moment there was work to finish in the steading and a wife’s request to honor. He finished dressing, then stepped into the corridor and lightly knocked on the nursery door. When there was no answer, he opened it with care, lest he wake their sleeping son.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. Ian lay in his usual pose, arms and legs spread out, staking his claim on the crib. Leana lay on her side on the small trundle bed, her eyes closed, her breathing even. Asleep as well, it seemed. She had discarded her apron and modestly unbuttoned her gown to allow a bit of air round her neck. Her hands, usually tucked beneath the pillow, rested in front of her, crossed at the wrists.
He closed the door, lest the sounds of the household disturb them. Stepping closer, then closer still, he finally knelt beside her, resisting the urge to speak her name.
She sighed but did not wake. Turning ever so slightly onto her back, she lifted her arms above her head in sleepy repose, revealing the graceful lines of her neck. Memories, unbidden, washed over him, drowning him. He ignored his guilty conscience and let his gaze follow the curves of her body.
His heart thudded to a stop.
She is with child.
Jamie sat back on his heels, dumbfounded. How could he not have noticed before?
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