The hope on Jamie’s face dwindled as he read the inscription. “For Leana. From your Aunt Margaret in Twyneholm.”
“Oh.” Seeing his disappointment, Leana bridled her enthusiasm. “Thank you, Willie. I’m sure one more day did not matter for this post. But if a letter comes for Mr. McKie, you’ll bring it at once, won’t you?”
“Aye, m-mem, I w-wull.” He bowed again before making a hasty exit.
Leana slipped the letter in her apron pocket, surprised at the thickness of it. Keen as she was to break the seal and read its contents, the post would have to wait. Reverend Gordon would arrive before hour’s end, and she needed to make certain Jamie and Rose were on their way. Standing with care, lest she wobble while she found her balance, Leana nodded at the sideboard. “What may I bring you? Fruit? Eggs perhaps?”
Rose gave her pretty curls a shake. “You must promise to eat something too. I refuse to gain weight unless you do the same.”
“I feel certain I will,” Leana murmured, gazing toward the window. Two weeks to Lammas.
Thirty-Six
Friends, if we be honest with ourselves,
we shall be honest with each other.
GEORGE MACDONALD
One prayer had already been answered: Jamie and Rose were away to the wedding, and the mantel clock had yet to strike ten. “Godspeed,” Leana called out as she waved farewell from the lawn.
Reverend Gordon would not be long in coming. She hastened inside the house, aware of her babe moving inside her. No sooner had she washed her hands and face and the servants scraped up the last of the breakfast crumbs, than a knock at the front door announced the minister.
She waited for him in the spence, having instructed Annabel to escort him there. Standing beside her father’s desk, willing her knees to remain steady, Leana reminded herself of all she’d endured for honesty’s sake. In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.
Strong words, confident words. Did she believe them? Could she live them?
The minister’s shoes scuffed against the stone floors as he turned toward the spence. Leana forced a smile to her lips and readied her speech.
“Reverend Gordon,” she greeted him as he strolled through the door, his black coattails flapping. “Welcome to Auchengray.” His bow was cordial, her curtsy polite. Leana directed him to her father’s chair, which the tall minister more than filled. She sat opposite him in the smaller one. “I am grateful this day suited you, for as you can see, the house is … quiet.”
“Indeed.” He looked about the spence, his curiosity evident as he scanned the titles on the library shelf book by book. His gaze roamed over the locked money box, the thick ledgers, and the whisky decanter. “All the things your father values are in this room, I see.”
Annabel entered bearing a tea tray, scarlet tendrils poking from beneath her white cap. She tended to their repast with calm efficiency. When she paused at the door and asked, “Will thar be oniething else, mem?” Leana shook her head slightly even as her heart said, Aye. Pray.
Once the door was closed and they had the room to themselves, the minister did not waste another moment. “Leana, I received a letter Friday last. ’Tis why I approached you on the Sabbath, requesting we meet.”
“A … letter?” She touched the one in her apron pocket, suddenly wishing she’d read it. Perhaps the two were connected in some way. “From whom was your post, sir?”
“John Scott in Twyneholm.” He withdrew the folded paper from his coat pocket as he spoke. “A good minister to his flock, as I’m sure you discovered in your time there.”
“A kind soul,” she agreed, even as her hands grew clammy. Reverend Scott knew too much about her. He knew everything.
Reverend Gordon unfolded the letter, then tipped his chin down, reading over the top of his spectacles. “He writes that his granddaughter was recently married wearing your claret gown.”
Leana briefly explained the necessity of selling her gown in order to hire a chaise. He listened, nodding thoughtfully, but did not comment until she finished.
“Reverend Scott described the very same scenario here, Miss McBride.” He held up the paper with its fine, even script. “However, he goes into greater detail about your … your confession. At the manse.”
Leana saw it in his eyes. He knows. And with that realization came a sense of peace far greater than her fears. When she spoke, her voice was calm and her words sure. For my mouth shall speak truth.
“Reverend, as you might imagine, the news of my compearance on the stool at Newabbey kirk reached Twyneholm not long after I did. When the subject was … introduced at our gathering at the manse, I thought it best to speak the truth. All of it.”
Reverend Gordon slowly folded the letter. “ ’Tis said the one that speaketh truth showeth forth righteousness. Once again, Leana, you honor your mother’s good example.” He lifted his teacup but did not drink from it. “Your … ah, present condition is another matter.”
“It is not a ‘matter,’ sir.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “It is a child.”
He drank his tea in silence, acknowledging her words with the slightest of nods.
Leana folded her hands across her lap in such a way that, rather than concealing the evidence of her motherhood, she accentuated it. “You know, of course, that this is Jamie McKie’s son or daughter. Conceived while the kirk session and all of Newabbey considered us properly married.” How good it felt to confess that aloud. Was there any freedom greater than the truth?
“Your honesty on many other occasions merits my trust on this one.” The reverend studied her over his spectacles. “Though I’m surprised you did not come to me with this news when you first arrived home.”
“I should have done just that,” she agreed. “But when I found the McKies still here and Rose expecting … I thought it best to … wait.”
He said nothing for a moment, pursing his lips. “You know, of course, that I must consult with the elders.”
She held her breath, waiting for the rest of it.
“I believe they will come to the same conclusion I have.” He put his empty teacup aside. “Though the situation is unfortunate because of your current marital state, the child’s conception was quite … ah, legitimate.”
Relief, fresh as a Solway breeze, rushed through her, nearly lifting her from her seat. “Then … I’ll not be forced to … compear …”
“Was that what you expected?” Reverend Gordon waved his hand dismissively. “The kirk is strict, as we must be, but we are not without mercy.”
She pressed her hand to her heart, overwhelmed. “But the elders … but Ian …”
“ ’Twas another situation entirely.” His brown eyes bore no condemnation. “If I may say so, this child will be born to a different mother. One whose sins have been washed clean.”
“Aye,” she breathed.
“Indeed, I believe you have been punished enough, Miss McBride. Don’t you agree?”
She gaped at him, too overwhelmed to speak. Could this possibly be the same man who had leaned over his pulpit and charged her with hochmagandy? Clearly Reverend Gordon had changed as well.
He tented his fingers, propping his elbows on the padded arms of his chair. “Now then, Miss McBride, tell me your plans for the future.”
“I will … remain at Auchengray. And raise my child.” Please God, it would be as simple as that. “In due time I will ask Mr. McKie to give the child his name.”
Reverend Gordon’s brows rose. “When will you make that request? Soon, I hope.”
“Quite soon.” How soon, Leana? In a fortnight? In a month? “I thought it best to wait until I was certain that all was … well.”
“Ah.” Reverend Gordon stood, tugging on the hem of his too-short waistcoat. “Then I’ll leave you to tell him and trust it will not be long. Every father deserves to know such things.” He frowned as he added, “Mr. McKie must be very daft indeed not to have seen the truth with his own eyes.”
“Not daft. Just �
� preoccupied.” She escorted the minister to the hall, offering a parting curtsy before Annabel presented him with his hat and saw him out the door.
The minute the latch fell in place Annabel turned round, her blue eyes filled with concern. “Mistress, is somethin’ wrong?”
Leana grasped the newel post at the bottom of the stair, feeling a bit dizzy. “Nothing is the matter. Nothing … at all.” She straightened, not letting go until she was sure her legs would support her. “I’ll be in the garden, should anyone have need of me. Tell Eliza to bring Ian to me no later than eleven, aye?”
Gathering her scattered wits about her, Leana walked through the half-empty house and out the back door, aiming for the cool shade of the yew. She sank onto the ground beneath the tree, padded with decades of needlelike leaves, and leaned back against the peeling bark. Closing her eyes, Leana took her first deep breath of the morning. He hath delivered my soul in peace.
Those whom she’d feared most—her father, Reverend Gordon—knew the truth. Those whom she trusted most—Neda, Eliza—knew as well. Only the child’s father and aunt remained to be told. Soon, Jamie. She opened her eyes to gaze at the canopy of branches above her. Soon, Rose. She would write the letter before they left and post it immediately so it would be waiting for them when they arrived at Glentrool. Aye, that was best.
Resting her hands on her apron, Leana felt the bulky letter from Meg waiting in her pocket since breakfast. When she broke open the wax seal, out fell another letter, addressed in a familiar hand: her sister’s. The post that had arrived in Twyneholm too late.
Leana held one in each hand, debating which to read first. Rose’s tardy letter would reveal nothing new, so perhaps Meg’s first.
To Leana McBride
Thursday, 8 July 1790
My dearest niece,
Pardon me for being so long in forwarding this letter from your sister. I used it to mark my place in a book and forgot it was there until I opened to that page again this morning. Many apologies. Though I am sure you know by now all that her letter contains, it is only right that you should have this post in your possession.
Leana fingered Rose’s letter, smiling at the thought of her aunt being so absent-minded. Dear Meg. How I miss you. She would write her tomorrow with news of Lachlan’s wedding.
I have read your last letter many times and still cannot fathom what it must be like for you there with Jamie and Rose. My poor niece! I pray that Ian’s presence eases the heartache of watching your beloved cousin with your sister. How difficult it will be to bid your son farewell a second time.
More than difficult, Auntie. The words swam on the page. Unimaginable.
Do promise you will visit me next spring with your new friend. My neighbors have an extra bed for Willie, so you need not hire a chaise.
New friend. A guarded description of Leana’s unborn child. One never knew where a letter might land or who might read it. Meg’s cautious wording was prudent.
Leana folded the letter and rubbed her thumb over the seal. According to the almanac calendar, she was past the midpoint of her pregnancy. Halfgone, Neda called it. Past the worrisome months when the fear of miscarriage pressed on a woman’s heart like a stone. Past the exhaustion and the sickness upon waking. The halcyon months, before the weariness returned and the child took control of a mother’s body, not relenting until delivery day.
Her sister would soon be halfgone as well. Leana opened Rose’s letter with a bittersweet sense of regret. Had she received this letter in Twyneholm, she would have arrived at Auchengray after Lammas, sparing everyone much heartache, including herself.
But she was here. And so was Rose.
To Leana McBride
Tuesday, 1 June 1790
My dear sister,
I have news that cannot keep, though it would be far better to tell you in person. God has answered my prayers …
Guilt swelled inside her. Far better in person. If her sister could be so honest, why could not she? Had she been sparing Rose all this time—or protecting herself?
Leana stared at the letter, distressed by what she saw. Instead of Rose’s customary graceful hand, the lines were shaky and splattered with ink. Oh, sweet Rose. Were you crying as you wrote this? Leana wiped away her own tears, careful not to smudge the ink, as she read the stories Rose thoughtfully included about Ian. Anecdotes about new sounds, new teeth, new foods. About how he was starting to sit and learning to point.
Leana pressed her apron to her eyes. You will be a good mother. Rose. You have loved my Ian well.
My child is due in January. Not the best of months for a midwife to travel. I only wish you could be here.
Leana gripped the paper, nigh to crushing it. How I wish I could, Rose! But she could not journey to Glentrool for Rose’s confinement, so close on the heels of her own. With a heavy sigh, she folded the letter, vowing to read it again when she felt stronger. She’d risen early and eaten little; Leana was not even certain she could stand.
Or perhaps it was her tears that made her feel weak. Or her too-snug laces. Or the realization of what she must do next: not write to Jamie and Rose in a fortnight but tell them. Now.
What a coward you are, Leana. Her father was right. A coward wrote letters. A brave woman spoke the truth in person. I have chosen the way of truth.
Leana sat up, infused with a sense of purpose. Aye, she would do it. She would tell them—all of them—before day’s end. Jamie and Rose first, the moment they returned home from the wedding, and then the rest of the household after supper. It was time. Past time. Now that Reverend Gordon knew, the whole parish would follow. However much the news might crush Rose, would it not be worse for her to hear it as gossip in the kirkyard?
She would tell her sister today. In person.
On her feet before she realized it, Leana untied her apron with a decisive yank, pulling it over her head like one set free from a yoke of shame. She loosened the front laces of her gown, setting her child free as well, then walked into the sunlight, leaving the shade of the yew behind. Feeling stronger with each step, she lengthened her stride, her skirts brushing along the borders of her garden, her unborn child leading the way.
“Leuk wha has come tae see ye, Ian.” Eliza sallied forth from the kitchen, her charge held high. “ ’Tis yer mither, wha luves ye. Isn’t that richt, mem?”
Leana wrapped Ian in her arms, nestling his warm body against hers. “That is the truth and nothing less.”
Thirty-Seven
And half in shade and half in sun;
The Rose sat in her bower.
BAYARD TAYLOR
Rose groaned as they bounced along on the chaises tired springs. “When we leave for Glentrool, were you thinking I would ride Hastings?”
Jamie looked at her askance. “In your condition? Certainly not. Jock Bell has agreed to loan me a wagon and two horses, which Rab and Davie will return to him. Not as comfortable as the chaise, but ’twill hold more—you and Ian, above all, but our trunks and provisions, too. And Annabel.”
Wincing as they jolted over a small rock, Rose tightened her grip on his arm. She tried to imagine what it would be like with two women in a dashelt, auld wagon, one lass holding Ian while the other held the reins. Though she could not wait to reside at Glentrool, the journey there held less appeal with each turn of the wheels.
Rose shaded her eyes, surveying the extensive valley to their left with its cultivated fields of oats, barley, and potatoes. Passing two parish farms close to the road, she noted large herds of black cattle but no sheep.
“Where are the lambs? Do the farmers not keep many sheep in this parish?”
“Nae.” His mood darkened. “They do not.”
He’d been peevish for two days, ever since Duncan returned from Kingsgrange. Whenever she’d asked him what was wrong, Jamie had insisted he had nothing to tell her. “Not until Friday.”
Well, then. She drew closer, hoping he might catch a whiff of the rose water she’d bathed with that morning.
“ ’Tis Friday, Jamie, and you know what they say.”
“Friday flit, short time sit.”
Och. Not at all what she was after. “True, Friday is not a favorable day for moving nor for fishing, but it is a canny day for marrying. More people in Scotland wed on Friday than all the rest of the days put together.” No sooner had she spoken than their own wedding days came to mind. Wednesday. Saturday. Neither of them considered lucky.
He cocked one eyebrow. “My grandfather Archibald insisted Friday was an ill choice for a wedding because that was the day Eve tempted Adam to eat the forbidden fruit.”
“Jamie! Where in the Buik does it say that happened on a Friday?”
“It doesn’t.” Almost a smile. “Though you might check your father’s almanac when we get home.”
They crossed a shallow burn, the valley to the east having given way to a sweep of verdant hills. Though the day was warm, and the sun had brightened since morn, the scent of rain still hung in the moist air. As they climbed along a sparsely wooded stretch, a figure emerged from the trees and started toward them. An older woman dressed in garish, mismatched clothing, carrying a wicker basket in her hands. Familiar, but not welcome.
Lillias Brown. The wutch of Nethermuir.
Everything inside Rose stopped. Her breath, her heart, even her thoughts. When she jerked to life again—her breath ragged, her heart beating too fast—one thought overshadowed all others. Flee.
“Don’t slow down,” she pleaded, looking only at Jamie and not at the wickit woman drawing closer to the chaise. Keep away from me. And from my family. The last words she’d spoken to Lillias on a Sabbath morning in March. Rose had not seen her since that day. She did not want to see her now.
“Whoa, Bess.” Jamie reined in the mare. Lillias had walked into the chaise’s path, giving him no choice.
Rose squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look at Lillias. But she could not stop her ears from hearing the witch’s words.
Whence Came a Prince Page 24
