Jamie shot to his feet. “Heirs?”
“But, Father … what of Jamie?” She pressed her hand to her throat. “What of our children?”
Reverend Muirhead cleared his throat rather loudly. “Perhaps my wife and I might step into the next room—”
“That will not be necessary, sir.” Jamie shoved back his chair, fighting the urge to dash it against the floor or heave it across the table at his uncle. “ ’Tis clear whom Mr. McBride has chosen to bless. And whom he has not.”
Lachlan glared at him. “Sit down, Nephew.”
Morna’s frightened gaze darted from one face to the other. “Please do.”
Instead, Jamie bowed to each end of the long table. “Reverend. Mistress Muirhead. Please excuse me for disrupting your fine meal.” He rested his hand on Rose’s shoulder. Much as he hated leaving her, he had to ride to Edingham now. Had to know if Lachlan had robbed him not only of his inheritance but also of his lambs.
Jamie refused to look at his uncle. “As it appears I am no longer worthy of this family, I will take my leave. Duncan?”
“Aye, lad.” The overseer was already on his feet. “What may I do for ye?”
“You will do nothing for him,” Lachlan protested, “for you are in my employ, not his.”
Duncan and Jamie both ignored him. “See that my wife has an uneventful journey home. This day has been most difficult for her.” Jamie felt Rose tremble beneath his touch. Was she weeping as well? God help him, he would kill the man! He bent and clasped her hand, kissing the back of it firmly enough so she might be certain of his love and assured of his protection. “Duncan and Neda will take good care of you, lass. I fear I must away.”
“Jamie …” Her voice broke.
“Forgive me, love. I will not be long.” He kissed her hand again, then quit the room. He did not look back as he marched through the single door of the manse or bother to latch it behind him. The others would follow sooner than he wished.
Four horses remained tied to the hitching post outside the kirk: three chestnut French Trotters belonging to the brothers and Walloch. Jamie mounted the black gelding with a speed fueled by rage, then pointed his mount toward Edingham and hung on. “Like the wind, Walloch. We’ve no time to waste.”
He’d needed an excuse to leave early. Lachlan had given him one. The churl.
Signs for the Redcastle estate came and went as Jamie bent closer to his mount. He was soon riding parallel with the river, barely glancing at the flat-topped mote standing guard over the Urr from its west bank. Hills and rolling farmlands went by in a green blur. Northbound travelers were shown naught but a brief touch to the brim of his hat and a cloud of dust kicked up by Walloch’s hooves.
No horse, no chaise, no carriage could hope to overtake him now.
Jamie was a quarter of an hour from the kirk when he turned north toward Dumfries, his gaze fixed on the farms to his left. The Douglas property was by far the largest; he would not miss it, not even coming from a different direction.
There. A carved wooden sign by the gate. Edingham. The ruins of the old castle stood not far to the east. But it was the lambs he wanted to find. In the field tae the west o’ the mains. Jamie brought Walloch to a stop at the gate, shading his eyes as he stared at the gable-roofed house on the spur of the hill. He could not count the sheep from here, nor identify them, but he could see them: blackface lambs.
His chest tightened. Were they his? The lambs he thought had fallen beneath the flesher’s blade weeks ago? Jamie aimed Walloch through the open gate, moving at an easier pace. He did not want to upset the black cattle that grazed in the nearby pastures or draw too much attention to himself. Reaching the western fields would mean passing farm laborers and house servants alike. Surely someone would stop him and demand to know his business.
Jamie sat up straighter, buttoning his coat and knocking the dust off his new hat. He was dressed like a gentleman, was he not? Some at Edingham might even recognize him from previous visits as the laird’s nephew. He would approach the mains as though he were here on behalf of his uncle, sent to inspect the lambs. Nae, on behalf of his cousin; he’d come at Malcolm’s bidding. Let them dispute that.
He nodded at the few hinds who doffed their caps at him from a distance and returned a greeting to one laborer close enough to hear him. The tidy steading, with its cobblestone yard, doocot and granary, barns and byres, was situated to the east of the house; most of the workers would be there. When no one appeared at the corniced entrance door inquiring after him, he headed straight for the lambs.
As he neared the pasture, he noted the mottled markings on their faces and legs, the familiar sound of their bleating. Yet didn’t all lambs bleat so? He dismounted by a watering trough near the pasture, allowing Walloch a much-deserved drink. Only a dry stane dyke stood between him and Edingham’s flock.
Jamie easily climbed over the wall, frightening a few lambs when he landed. He stood still so they might accept his presence among them. A quick tally answered his first question. Nigh to a hundred. They were the right size and age to be his. All that remained was to find some remnant of his keel mark. He crouched beside one of the calmer lambs, keeping his voice even. “That’s a good lass. Let me have a look at your neck.”
He ran his hand over the wool, turning the animal toward the light to be sure, to be very sure. At the base of the fibers, against the pale skin, a faint red stain remained.
Tears stung his eyes. My lambs.
He had only to study those nearest him to be certain. There was the one with the hock-kneed legs. And that smaller one, with the swayed back. He’d seen them all being born. Held them in his arms while he cut their cords. Docked their tails when they were but days old. Watched them being tenderly nursed by their mothers.
His lambs.
Not Lachlan’s. And not Malcolm’s.
“How dare you.” He spat out each word, as if the men were there to hear them. Let all mine enemies be ashamed. Jamie stood, his righteous anger hardening into resolve. He would steal them back.
Taking a long, slow breath to steady his pounding heart, Jamie looked at his flock. “I have not forgotten you, little ones.” He moved slowly among them, his voice low. “You belong to me. And you belong at Glentrool.” The lambs drew closer, gathering about his legs, bleating as if they understood him.
Duncan’s words echoed inside him. Ye’re a guid shepherd, Jamie. Yer sheep ken yer voice.
Pierced to the core, Jamie bent to reach as many lambs as he could, rubbing their heads and fondling their soft ears, letting them sniff his hands and touch him with their noses. All the while, his mind was spinning. If he left Edingham without his flock, the Douglas brothers might move them. Sell them at market. Butcher them. Yet he could hardly gather up five score lambs and herd them through the farm gates without being stopped by every hind and servant of Edingham.
He’d have to come back. With Duncan.
But first he would confront Lachlan. The man who’d put this vicious plan in motion.
Jamie eased toward the dyke, taking a last look at his flock before turning his gaze on the gelding waiting for him. “We’re away, Walloch,” he called out. The horse whinnied at him, striking the ground with his foot. Jamie had no sooner mounted than another welcome sound met his ears. Two dogs. Barking.
When Jamie called their names, the collies from Auchengray came dashing round the corner of the house and tore across the lawn, their barking exuberant. Jamie praised them, leaning down to scratch their heads. “Come, lads, for we’ve five miles to cover and little time.” He could not take the lambs just yet, but he could take the dogs. As surety. As proof.
Jamie gave Walloch the signal and the horse took off for the front gate, the dogs in keen pursuit. A handful of men in the fields started running toward him, their faces full of alarm. Jamie lifted his hand in passing, then tore through the gates, bound for Haugh of Urr. The pounding of Walloch’s hooves and the barking of the dogs ruled out any practicing of speeches.
Just as well; he would know what to say when he saw his uncle.
“Liar!” Jamie shouted the word into the wind, reveling at the sound of it. “Thief!”
The mote of Urr was coming into view when he spied a small party galloping toward him at a fair pace. Three men on chestnut horses. His gut twisted into a knot. The Douglas brothers were not simply heading for home. They were heading for him.
His sword was at Auchengray, his pistol useless. But he had his dirk, and the blade was well sharpened. Jamie stopped, waiting for them, squaring his shoulders. “Down,” he commanded the dogs. They ceased their barking at once.
“McKie.” Malcolm reached him first, pulling his horse round as he eyed the collies. “I see you’ve been to Edingham.” Gavin and Ronald closed ranks on either side of him, blocking Jamie’s path.
Jamie pinned his gaze on the oldest brother. “I have indeed been to Edingham. To inspect my lambs and reclaim my dogs.”
“Your lambs? Your dogs?” Malcolm scoffed. “Both are Auchengray property. Which means, until noon today they belonged solely to your uncle. Now those animals also belong to me. His heir.”
Jamie gripped the reins with his left hand, his right hand resting on his knee, inches from the dirk planted in his boot. “My uncle and I had an agreement. The lambs were to be mine.” He glanced toward the road to the kirk. “If you will permit me to pass, I shall speak with him at once and see this situation rectified.”
Malcolm did not move. Nor did his brothers. “Your uncle and our mother departed for Moffat in the carriage some time ago.”
“Then Duncan—”
“Is gone as well,” Malcolm said, “with your wife and housekeeper.”
Duncan. Gone. Jamie tried to swallow and realized he had no moisture left in his mouth, only dust from the road. And the faint taste of fear.
Ronald, the youngest, jabbed at him with sharp words. “You are the reason they left in haste. You ruined our mother’s bridal dinner.”
Jamie rallied at the charge. “And you, gentlemen, stole my lambs.”
“We did not steal them,” Gavin argued. “We moved them. At your uncle’s request.”
Jamie snorted. “If ’twas so noble a deed, why did you spirit them away like thieves in the night?”
“Thieves, you say?” Malcolm’s gaze was even. “ ’Tis a subject you ken a great deal about. Did you not steal your own brother’s inheritance? With a property like Glentrool, you hardly need Auchengray.” Malcolm pretended to look behind Jamie. “I notice Evan is not here to stand with you. Only one McKie.” He exchanged glances with his brothers. “And three McBrides.”
One McKie. Jamie had never felt so alone, so outnumbered, in all his life. Though his dirk was near, he could never hope to wound the three of them and simply ride away. Nor would his wife and children be kept warm and fed if he died defending his honor.
Honor? He had none. He was a liar and thief. Like his uncle.
Defeated without a fight, Jamie moved both hands to his reins, looking to the road. “We will settle this another time, gentlemen.”
“Indeed we shall.” When Malcolm laughed, so did his brothers. “Suppose you head for home in our direction. Past Edingham. I’ll not have you chasing after our mother’s carriage, lest you ruin her bridal week as well.”
Gavin eased back, giving Jamie room to aim Walloch south. “We’ll be right behind you, Cousin. If you need anything.”
Their derisive laughter hounded Jamie as he started back downhill. He would have to wait a full week to confront Lachlan. A week! Even with Duncan’s help, he could not hope to spirit away the lambs in the night as the Douglases had done. At Auchengray, the lambs had grazed in a pasture near the road, far from the mains; at Edingham, they were near the mains and far from the road. And he had nothing in writing, nothing to prove the lambs were his.
God help me, what is to be done?
Loosening his grip on the reins, Jamie gave Walloch his head, throwing dust in the Douglases’ faces as he rode hard toward home.
Forty
The face is the mirror of the mind,
and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
SAINT JEROME
Leana heard Jamie before she saw him.
Pounding up the drive leading to Auchengray’s door, he shouted the orraman’s name so loudly that the sound penetrated the walls of the house. “Willie! Willie!”
The urgency in Jamie’s voice made her heart skip. Had something happened at the wedding? Might Rose have taken ill? Leana had planned to tell Jamie and Rose about her child the moment they returned home. But if tragedy had befallen them…
Please God, not Rose. Abandoning her needlework, Leana ran through the entrance hall and out the front door, then lifted her skirts as she hurried across the lawn. Willie was already leading Walloch toward the stables, two collies at his heels, their tongues lolling. The gelding’s black coat shone with sweat. Jamie, headed in her direction, was breathing as hard as his horse.
“Whatever is the matter?” Out of habit, Leana stretched out her hand to clasp his, then withdrew it just as quickly. “Where is Rose? Is she still with the Hastingses?”
“The three of them are coming home by way of Milltown.” He opened the front door, then followed her into the house, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I took the Dalbeaty road.”
Dalbeaty? Something was wrong for Jamie to have chosen a different route home. She guided him into the parlor, sending Annabel after a pitcher of cool water. “I assume Father and Morna have left—”
“Aye.” He yanked off his hat. “Gone for a sennight.”
It was not like Jamie to be rude. Leana relieved him of his new hat lest he crush it in his hands. She placed it on the bed with the brim up so it might dry properly and not stain the coverlet, then drew him toward a grouping of chairs. “Come, Jamie. Sit for a moment and catch your breath.” She nodded at Annabel, who delivered the water, then curtsied and left.
Still standing, Jamie downed a glassful, then wiped his forehead with his sleeve and threw himself onto the nearest chair, having yet to meet her gaze or offer a word of explanation.
She poured him a fresh drink, then sat within reach of him yet not too close. “ ’Tis clear something is wrong. Will you not share it with me?”
Jamie still did not look at her, his gaze aimed at the floor. “Your father …” His words faded into a groan. “The man is deceitful beyond belief.”
Guilt stirred inside her. She, too, had been hiding something. For weeks. Was she her father’s daughter after all? “Tell me what he’s done, Jamie, for I can see how it grieves you.”
Though handsome as ever, Jamie looked tired; the skin below his eyes looked bruised, the creases at the corners of his mouth more deeply drawn. He drank the water slowly this time. Stalling perhaps. When he finished, he balanced the glass on its heel, twisting it back and forth in his hand. “You ken me too well, lass.”
She offered him a slight smile. “ ’Tis not difficult to guess what a tired, thirsty man might want on a sweltering day.”
He looked up, and the glass stilled. “I am not speaking of the water.”
Oh.
Jamie stood, perhaps needing to walk out the stiffness in his legs after the long ride, just as Walloch did. “Two days ago Duncan spied a small flock of lambs on Edingham property.”
“Not your lambs?”
“I could not be certain. Until today.” He told her the whole sorry tale as he paced before the hearth, absently smoothing his palm across his hair. “I can only hope they will not dispose of my flock while Lachlan is gone.”
“They would ne’er do so without Father’s approval,” Leana assured him.
“I fear they might.” Jamie stopped in front of her. “Lachlan has adopted the three Douglas brothers as his lawful sons. Malcolm, Gavin, and Ronald McBride are now your brothers.”
Leana’s mouth fell open. “My … brothers?” She had yet to even meet them.
“Worse than that, Leana, they are to be his heirs. Not you, nor Rose. Not Ian, nor any child either of you might bear. Not I, as his son-in-law, nor Evan, as his older nephew.” Jamie’s voice was kind, but the truth still struck a painful blow. “Your new brother Malcolm stands to inherit all of Auchengray someday.”
“Then there will be … nothing … for me.” Nor for you, little one. She folded her hands across her waist, shielding her child from the dire news. “Pardon my selfishness, Jamie. I am sorry for you and for Rose as well.”
“Nae need to worry on our behalf. We have Glentrool and its resources.” He sat down across from her with his elbows propped on his knees, his eyes filled with compassion. “You are right to be anxious about your own needs, Leana. I do not trust your father in that regard and Malcolm even less. Clearly you will need someone to provide for you.”
For a moment Jamie’s gaze dropped to her waist.
Not long, but long enough.
He knows. Without her apron, her loosened gown left little doubt of her condition. She could not delay her announcement until Rose returned. The subject would have to be broached at once. “Jamie, I have … We must … speak.”
“Indeed we must.” He drew his chair closer, then captured both of her hands in his, lifting them away from her gown, further exposing the truth. “Leana, it is obvious why you came home.”
Her head fell forward. Jamie, please. She could bear anything but his pity.
“You’ve no need to be ashamed, lass.”
The tears pooling in her eyes dropped onto her skirt. No words would come except the ones that needed to be spoken. “Forgive me.”
Jamie massaged her hands in his. “What’s to forgive? ’Tis the Lord’s blessing, this bairn.” He spoke in his shepherd’s voice: low, warm, comforting. “ ’Twould seem it gives the Almighty pleasure to see you with child.”
She summoned her courage and lifted her gaze to meet his. “Does it give … you pleasure?”
An invisible mask fell away. Suddenly he was Jamie again. Her Jamie. The man who had once defended her, cherished her, desired her. My husband. My love.
Whence Came a Prince Page 26
