Whence Came a Prince

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Lachlan’s expression darkened. He did not like being seen through. “I need you to ride Walloch home from the kirk Friday. Morna and I shall press on to Moffat in the Douglas carriage. The Hastingses will escort Rose home in the chaise.”

  “Fine,” Jamie said, already dreading the affair. Perhaps Leana was the fortunate one, spending a quiet morning alone with Ian.

  Lachlan took a turn round the barn interior, inspecting his holdings. “Where is Duncan? I’ve not seen the man all day.”

  “Visiting his daughter at Kingsgrange. He went byway of Dalbeaty.”

  “Really?” Lachlan abruptly stopped, and a faint shadow moved across his features. “When is he expected home?”

  Jamie peered out of doors, judging the hour to be no later than six. “I’d look for him by the gloaming.” Feeling a need to defend his friend, Jamie added, “This is his monthly Wednesday off.”

  “Do you think I’m not aware of that?” Lachlan abruptly turned and marched toward the house while Jamie considered aiming his pistol at the man’s back. No gentleman pointed a gun at someone in jest, not even an unloaded one. But Jamie was tempted; aye, he was that.

  He returned to his task as his thoughts drifted back to Leana. Now that he’d grown accustomed to the idea of her carrying his child, he took pleasure in it. What man would not welcome another son or daughter? Yet it grieved him too, for he would leave behind not only Leana but also his child.

  Rose’s response was unpredictable. Would she be happy for her sister? Indeed, it might ease her guilt about departing with Ian. Or would his wife feel threatened by the news? Rose might fear he’d decide to remain at Auchengray, though Jamie could never do so. Leana understood that better than anyone.

  When she told him—and it would be soon, for Leana could not hide her secret behind her apron much longer—he would assure her the child’s needs would be well met. And yours, dear woman. He would not abandon Leana or his child to Lachlan’s dubious provision.

  A half hour passed while he cleaned his firearm. A futile effort, really, since he didn’t intend to load it. Who would risk firing a defective weapon? The pistol was simply for show. He’d seek out a gunsmith in Monnigaff and have it repaired. In the meantime, his dirk would suffice for any minor threats and his sword for more serious ones. Evan was far superior with a bow and quicker with a dirk, but Jamie had honed his swordplay skills in Edinburgh. If his brother truly intended to kill him, he’d have to get past the point of his blade first.

  Jamie unsheathed his sword with a ringing swish, reveling in the solid feel of it in his hand. He moved away from the bench to claim an unoccupied corner of the barn, then positioned his feet for a proper salute, saying aloud the commands his fencing instructor had drilled into his head. “Stand on your guard in tierce. Make three beats of the foot.” As he went through the familiar steps of the five positions, he couldn’t help smiling, even though Monsieur Fréron would not have approved. “Extend your right arm in a line with your eye, James,” he said, mimicking the sword master’s affected speech, “and fix the point of your sword in a line with your adversary. Oui.”

  “Bien.” Rose stepped into the barn, laughing as she did, her sweet face aligned with the tip of his sword. “Well done, Monsieur McKie.”

  He lowered his weapon at once, still maintaining form. “Begging your pardon, madame.”

  She remained a safe distance away, but he could still see the twinkle in her eye. “Show me what you were doing.”

  Jamie dispensed with his smile at once and moved through the salute with more care, keeping in mind his master’s requirements: a genteel deportment and a graceful air. When he finished, Rose showed her delight, clapping as if she were at an entertainment. He swept an imaginary hat off his head and bowed low before her. “James Lachlan McKie of Glentrool at your service, madame.”

  Rose held out her hand, beckoning him forward. “Kindly sheath your weapon, sir, and come dress for supper.” She offered him a coy wink. “That smile of yours is dangerous enough.”

  Lachlan McBride was a trickster and a knave, but he had fathered the most charming daughters.

  The last hour before darkness was Jamie’s favorite, particularly in the summer. He stood on the lawn, watching the sunset paint the sky in colors only the Almighty could name. After singing all evening, the birds had grown quieter, making way for the tawny owls to take their turn.

  Rose had retired early, complaining of stomach pains yet assuring him it was nothing a good night’s sleep could not cure. He’d tried to read, but the fine weather beckoned, and so he’d closed his book and ventured out to the edge of the lawn.

  “May we join you?” Leana glided toward him with Ian in her arms, a tentative expression on her face.

  Her hair was styled in a most becoming way—Eliza’s handiwork, he supposed—and she’d added a lacy ruffle to the neckline of one of her old gowns to good effect. Despite such efforts, her condition was poorly masked; her radiant skin alone gave her away.

  She reached his side slightly out of breath. “ ’Tis such a lovely evening.”

  “So it is.” He watched her shift the child in her arms, trying to conceal the one not yet born. Come, lass. Why not tell me?

  “Look, sweet boy.” She swept one arm across the sky. “Have you e’er seen such a brilliant shade of orange?”

  Ian wiggled and bucked, apparently more interested in the bright green grass below. Leana kissed his cheek, then lowered him to the lawn. “Eliza will be fash when I bring you back to the nursery with green knees,” she cautioned him, smiling as she said it.

  The lad crawled a short distance, then stopped to yank out a blade of grass, then turned round to wave it at them, then took off again on a meandering route without straying too far from his mother’s skirts.

  Jamie transferred his gaze from the child to Leana. Perhaps he might find some way to help her confess her secret. “Children grow so quickly, don’t they?”

  “They do,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “Overnight, it seems.”

  Oh, Leana. Do you think I cannot tell? He glanced at Ian to be certain the boy was safe, then tried a different approach. “I wish … I wish there was a way we might leave Ian in your care, but the kirk will not allow it. You are such a fine mother, Leana.”

  After a long pause, she turned toward him, her mouth slightly open.

  He implored her with his eyes, giving her permission to speak. I am listening, Leana.

  “Jamie, I …”

  “Och, lad!” Duncan shouted across the lawn, running toward them. His worn clothes and lanky form gave him the appearance of a scaur-craw escaped from the fields. “I maun speak tae ye at once.” He gathered up Ian, who squealed in protest, and delivered him into Leana’s arms. “Pardon me, baith o’ ye, for I’ve just returned from Kingsgrange.” He was clearly agitated, with his cap askew and his blue eyes a bit wild looking. “Leana, will ye mind if … that is, I need tae …”

  “Of course. ’Tis just as well, for Ian’s bedtime draws near.” She nodded at them both, then headed toward the house.

  Jamie watched her leave with a sense of sadness. She seemed so close to telling him about their child. He turned back to Duncan, who also had news it seemed. “What is it, my friend? What has you so vexed?”

  Duncan pulled off his bonnet, then wiped his arm across his brow. “I canna be certain, yet I canna keep it tae meself.” He fanned himself with his cap, his expression more troubled than Jamie had ever seen it. “Comin’ hame by way o’ Dalbeaty I passed Edingham Farm. Sittin’ up on a spur like it does, ’tis hard tae miss the place.”

  “Go on.”

  “In the field tae the west o’ the mains—a field that used tae lie fallow, mind ye—I spied …” His shoulders sagged. “I spied a flock o’ lambs.”

  “Lambs?” Jamie’s heart thudded in his chest. It wasn’t possible. “Surely not…my lambs?”

  Duncan spread his hands, clearly at a loss. “I canna say, lad, for I couldna get c
lose enough tae be certain. They didna bear yer keel mark, but they were blackface. Aboot five score.”

  Jamie stared at the overseer, his mind reeling. “Are you suggesting the Douglases stole my lambs? Duncan, that makes no sense. Our families are about to be joined—”

  “Wait, lad.” Duncan held up his hand, a cautionary gesture. “I’m not suggestin’ oniething. They may not be yer lambs at a’. Mebbe they purchased a flock o’ their ain.”

  Jamie yanked at his neckcloth, suddenly feeling as if someone were choking him. Duncan was not the only one who’d seen a flock of lambs where they did not belong. Peter Drummond had told him a tale as well. Several dozen. Headed west. The road that led to Dalbeaty. ’Twas late in the evening. The first of June.

  Jamie gripped the man’s shoulders. “When did you last visit Mary at Kingsgrange? On the night you were gone, the Douglases were here for supper and then walked home.” Late. In the evening.

  “ ’Twas not me usual day off,” Duncan said. “A Tuesday, not a Wednesday …” After a moment a light came into his eyes, and his features relaxed. “Now I remember. ’Twas the start o’ the month. The first o’ June. Richt pleasant weather.”

  “A verra pleasant night. For stealing sheep.” Jamie’s head swiveled toward the barn, where he’d stored his weapons. “Lachlan McBride will not get away with this.”

  “Wait, lad.” Duncan grabbed his arm, squeezing hard. “Dinna blame yer uncle ’til ye see the lambs yerself.” Duncan’s hold on him eased but not his fervor. “On Friday, while the Douglases are at the Urr manse for the waddin, find a reason tae leave early and come hame by way o’ Edingham. Then ye’ll ken the truth.”

  “Friday?” Jamie fumed.

  “ ’Tis not but twa days hence, Jamie. ’Twould be a sin tae accuse yer uncle or his new family unfairly, aye?”

  Duncan was right, and Jamie knew it. But he did not relish the thought of sleeping under the same roof with a man who might have stolen his lambs. On their own, the Douglas brothers lacked the nerve for such swickerie; Lachlan was brazen enough for all three of them.

  “After the wedding, then.” Jamie would put a muzzle on his temper until Friday. But not one day longer.

  Thirty-Five

  Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose

  From out night’s gray and cloudy sheath.

  SUSAN COOLIDGE

  When dawn broke on the morn of the wedding, the skies were clear but not bright, as if a thin layer of muslin were stretched above Galloway. Anything might happen on such a day. Brilliant sunshine could appear by noon, only to disappear behind heavy clouds come three o’ the clock, followed by a downpour at supper.

  “Unchancie weather for a waddin,” Neda observed, lighting another candle at the breakfast table. “Shall I bring ye some tea, lass?”

  “Please.” Leana was the only one present; the others were busy elsewhere, dressing for the eventful day ahead. Tightly laced into her old nursing gown, she had room for only one cup of tea and a slice of plum. Perhaps she might manage a second cup when Reverend Gordon came knocking. Unless he brought bad news, in which case she would have no appetite at all.

  Her father, dressed in his best gray coat and scarlet waistcoat, had already galloped off astride Walloch. Duncan and Neda would depart on foot shortly. Jamie and Rose planned to leave by chaise well before ten. They knew nothing of the reverend’s intended visit, for how would she have explained it? If the couple left on schedule, all would be well. If they were running late or if the reverend arrived early, it would make for an awkward parting. Please God, his mercy would prevail even in such trifling details.

  Neda sailed back into the room, the pleasant aroma of black tea filling the air. She served Leana, then pointed to the flickering candle by her plate. “D’ye see that speck in the flame? Folk say it means a letter will be comin’.” When Neda picked up the candlestick and lightly tapped it on the table, the speck fell away. “Thar now. ’Tis already on its way.”

  Leana smiled at the old custom, aware of how hard Neda was trying to lift her spirits. Jamie was the one waiting for a letter. He’d shared very few details with her. Only that he’d written his father and brother and prayed they might respond soon. So far, no letter had arrived from Glentrool. “I’m not expecting a post,” Leana told her, “but I am looking for Reverend Gordon at ten.”

  Neda’s face, as open as any book, had worry written on every line. “What’s the purpose o’ his visit, lass?”

  “He said that a certain matter had come to his attention.”

  Neda eyed the closed doors to the dining room, then said in a low voice, “I’m wonderin’ if ’tis the same matter that has come tae me ain attention.” The lines in her face softened. “I believe a wee bairn’s on the way.”

  Leana’s shoulders slumped. “Did Eliza say something?”

  “Eliza?” Neda chuckled. “Lass, I kenned ye were carryin’ anither babe from the day ye came hame. When ye hugged me at the top o’ the stair, that babe ye’re hidin’ met me first.”

  Leana spread her linen napkin across her lap as if another layer might mask the obvious truth. “I am sorry, Neda. I should have told you of all people.”

  “Ye have yer reasons for keepin’ it a saicret.” If Neda was hurt, her words did not show it; Leana heard only compassion. “Twa o’ yer reasons will suin appear at table wantin’ their breakfast.”

  Leana tried to sip her tea, but she could not steady the cup, her hands were shaking so badly. From relief at Neda’s knowing. From shame at Jamie’s and Rose’s not knowing. Had she erred in trying to spare them? “Neda, I’d hoped to wait until Lammas …”

  “O’ course ye did. For guid reason. Tae make life easier for them ye luve.”

  “That’s what I thought at first.” Leana stared out the window at the apple orchards east of the house, her eye drawn to the bright red skins of summer permains. “Now I fear I’m only delaying news that will distress them even more once they reach Glentrool and learn the truth. Especially Rose, who will imagine the worst—that Jamie might send for me or return to Auchengray.”

  Neda touched her arm. “Is that what ye hope will happen, lass?”

  “My only hope is that Jamie will give our child his name.” She took a sip of tea, her mouth suddenly parched. “As to what Reverend Gordon will say this morn …”

  “He canna threaten ye wi’ the cutty stool, for ye’ve done nae wrong.” Neda stood behind her, resting her hands on her shoulders. “By the leuk o’ ye, the babe was clecked mony months syne, whan the fields were still frozen. Whan ye were Mistress McKie, richt and true.”

  Leana turned and clasped Neda’s hands. “You’ll be well on your way to the Urr kirk when Reverend Gordon arrives here. Will you pray for me?”

  “Ye ken I will,” Neda promised, squeezing back. “Ilka hour we’re gone.”

  Neda no sooner headed for the kitchen than the door to the entrance hall swung open.

  Rose entered the dining room, dressed in her best rose damask gown. Jamie, close behind her, was equally turned out. His new brown riding coat, tailored to fit, followed the broad line of his shoulders past his tapered waist, ending at his knees. The buff-colored waistcoat and light buckskin breeches offered a striking contrast beneath the dark coat. Just above the cuff of his polished boot shone the glint of a jewel-topped dirk.

  “How fine you both look,” Leana said as they took their seats. Rose was trying to conceal her pleasure at being off on an outing. Jamie’s mood was subdued, as if he had much on his mind.

  Neda reappeared, bearing two more cups of tea. After serving the couple, she stepped behind Lachlan’s empty chair, her gaze pointed at the mantel clock. “ ’Tis time Duncan and I were bound for the kirk. Ye’ll find mair bannocks on the sideboard. Hard cheese. Sliced plums. Boiled eggs. Help yerselves as ye like.” Breakfast was the one meal that even in the great houses of Scotland was often not served by the staff so the gentry might rise at their leisure and find food waiting.

  When she tur
ned to Leana, Neda’s face shone with benevolence. “I’ll be prayin’ yer day at hame brings ye naught but peace, mistress.” With that Neda left the room, the door swinging closed behind her.

  Rose’s bright expression dimmed. “Leana, how can we leave without you?”

  “I am quite content to stay home with Ian,” Leana said. “Eliza will look after him until eleven, and then he is all mine for the balance of the day. ’Tis a blessing, not a burden, to stay home.” She looked at Jamie, not quite meeting his gaze. “You’ll not forget to take Father’s gift?”

  “Already in the chaise.” Jamie’s frown was fearsome. “Pray I simply hand it to the man rather than giving in to my baser nature and bashing him on the head.”

  “Jamie!” Rose’s mouth fell open. “Today of all days see that you do not quarrel with Father.”

  Jamie started to say something, then stuffed a bannock in his mouth instead. It was hard to tell whether he was chewing the food or gnashing his teeth.

  Without preamble Willie stood in the doorway, where he waited for Leana to motion him across the threshold. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but I didna want tae miss ye, what wi’ the waddin and a’.” He patted the pocket of his vest as he hobbled toward them. “I’ve a letter tae deliver.”

  Jamie nearly choked on his bannock before reaching for his tea and downing the cupful without a pause.

  Seeing his distress, Leana asked, “To whom is it addressed, Willie?”

  “Tae be honest, mem, I didna ask. The grocer just said tae carry it hame.” Colin Elliot’s shop in the village served as a posting stop, one of the many places Willie visited on his daily round of errands. He slid one, then two crooked fingers inside his pocket in a vain effort to fish out the letter.

  Above Jamie’s neckcloth a faint line of color began to show. “Surely you haven’t been to the grocer’s and back this morn?”

  Now it was Willie’s turn to redden. “Nae, sir. I’m sorry tae say I carried the letter hame yestreen and … forgot.” After finally pulling it free, bringing a flurry of lint with it, Willie presented Jamie with the square post sealed with a dollop of wax.