Her father’s most valued possession.
Instead of me.
Grief tightened its fingers round her throat. “This is what you treasure.” Rose slapped the money box hard, not caring that she bruised her finger on the brass lock. “You will not miss your daughters, but you would surely miss your precious thrifite.”
Suddenly her mouth fell open, the pain in her hand forgotten.
Of course. She would take her father’s money box.
Her own inheritance. Her sister’s inheritance. Their children’s inheritance. And Jamie’s hard-earned silver. That’s what the box contained. And a witch’s knotted cord, which Rose would see destroyed.
Dared she risk such a braisant act?
For her children’s sake, for Jamie’s sake, she would.
Resolved, she pulled the box toward her, only to be dismayed by its weight. Och! She could hardly tuck such a thing beneath her arm and saunter out the door. What to carry it in, then? She left the money box where it was, eying it over her shoulder as she ventured into the back corridor, where a pile of goods waited to be stored in the wagon.
Among them sat the empty cradle. The perfect size for hiding a thrifite.
Wary, Rose lifted her head, listening. Not a voice could be heard in the house. The servants were out of doors readying the wagon, all talking at once from the sound of it. Please God, Jamie was with them. She needed only another minute.
Heart pounding, Rose dragged the old cradle into the spence with some difficulty. Would her father notice the gouges in the floor? Not likely. He would be too busy bemoaning the loss of his gold. She positioned the cradle beside the desk, intending to lower the money box inside. But she grunted when she tried to lift it, then was frightened by a sharp pain that gripped her back.
Might she simply push it in? Would it make a fearsome noise when it landed? Another brief visit to the hall produced the very thing she needed: linen towels to cushion the fall. Rose hurriedly padded the sloped interior of the cradle, wrapped the money box as best she could, and shoved it over the edge of the desk.
The box fell like a boulder, the corner of the brittle pine meeting the solid oak with a deafening crash, splintering the wood and breaking open the lock. Coins flew everywhere. Sovereigns, pennies, shillings. On the floor, on her shoes, and all over the bottom of the cradle.
“Help!” she cried without thinking.
Mortified, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Too late to ask for help. However could she explain herself? Nothing to be done but finish what she’d started. Rose gathered the scattered coins with trembling hands. Might someone come running, alerted by the noise?
If she could find all the coins, then cover the shattered thrifite with a blanket … och! Did she think she could tuck it into bed like a bairn? Help me. Please help me!
Tears stung her eyes as she dropped the stray coins into the cradle, then poked one linen towel after another round the misshapen box. It took all her strength to move it out into the hall. The coins shifted as the cradle tipped back and forth on its rockers, the cool, metallic sound divulging their presence. That would never do. There were no more towels. However would she muffle the sound?
When she came across a worn blanket, her heart leaped with joy. Thanks be to God! Nae, she dared not thank the Almighty. He could neither be blamed nor invoked for such sin. Thou shalt not steal. Honour thy father. Two commandments broken. Two, Rose!
She stood looking down at the cradle, now neatly filled with cloth goods. Hidden beneath them rested her father’s treasure.
How many commandments had he broken? Thou shalt have no other gods before me. His thrifite was his altar. Thou shalt not bear false witness. He lied whenever it suited him. Thou shalt not covet thy neighhour’s house. Had he not coveted Edingham? Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain. Every night when he opened the Buik and read words that he neither honored nor obeyed, Lachlan McBride did just that: He took God’s name in vain.
Standing in the dim corridor, Rose patted her cheeks to be certain they were dry, her conviction renewed. Such a man deserved any punishment he received.
A tuneless whistle warned her of Willie’s approach. “Thar ye are, Mistress McKie.”
She swallowed her guilt, seeing his familiar grin. Dear auld Willie.
“Ye’ll be leavin’ us after a’, mistress? And weel ye should. On Lammas, just as ye planned.” The elderly servant pointed to the cradle at her feet. “Is that tae go in the wagon?”
“Oh, Willie …” She clasped her hands to hold them steady. “ ’Tis too heavy for you.”
“I’ve mair strength than ye think, mem. Watch and see if yer auld Willie canna handle a cradle fu’ o blankets—”
“And books,” Rose said quickly. “Large ones.”
Willie grabbed the cradle, groaning as he lifted it. “Feels mair like bricks.” He stumbled forward but did not lose his grip, pointing her cradle toward the front door.
Rose followed close behind, hoping to distract him. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice the faint clink of coins striking wood. “ ’Tis ill luck, I’m told, to flit with an empty cradle.”
“Verra unchancie, that.” Willie grunted, shifting his load. If he heard the telltale jingle, he did not comment on it. The man was losing his hearing.
Rose walked between him and the other servants, who were gathered some distance across the lawn. The gray skies had darkened substantially, and the air smelled like damp linens. “Willie,” she began, leaning close to his ear to be sure he heard her, “I’ve a favor to ask. For Mr. McBride’s sake. Once we depart this morning, might you lock the front door behind us? And leave it locked? No one should open it but my father when he arrives home on Tuesday. For luck, you know.”
“Aye, mem.” Willie hefted the cradle into the wagon. “Ye can be sure yer faither wull be the first ane through that door.”
Fifty-Two
And hearts resolved and hands prepared
The blessings they enjoy to guard.
TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT
Aren’t you a lucky lad, enjoying your dinner beneath the yew tree?” Leana dabbed the last of the minced lamb from Ian’s chin. With all the commotion in the house, she’d chosen a quiet spot out of doors to feed her son. “Your last meal at Auchengray,” she told him wistfully, heading toward the front of the house.
Eliza saw her coming and stepped forward to claim Ian. “I’ll hold the boy I’m sure ye’ve meikle tae do afore we leave.”
House servants and day laborers alike were gathered on Auchengray’s lawn, stacking goods yet to be loaded. Leana could only imagine what the two maidservants newly fee’d from Edingham must think of the family’s hasty departure.
Near the house stood the rustic conveyance that would transport them to Glentrool. Despite its unpainted wooden sides and rough appearance, it was larger than Leana had expected. Not a two-wheeled cart drawn by oxen, but a four-wheeled wagon pulled by a pair of Mr. Bell’s light draft horses. As she drew near, Willie pushed the family cradle farther into the wagon, his face as red as a fresh-picked radish. Rose hovered beside him. Her cheeks were flushed too.
Leana greeted them with an apology. “Pardon me for shirking my duties.”
Rose wet her lips. “We’ve managed, haven’t we, Willie?”
“ ’Tis guid I’ve not anither cradle tae lift.” Amid his wrinkles, a smile appeared. “Have ye somethin’ licht for me tae carry, mem?”
“A cool cup of water,” Leana told him. As Willie ambled off, she touched Rose’s forehead, anxious to see if she was as overheated as she appeared. “Are you well, my sister? For I confess, you do not look it.”
Rose shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “ ’Tis a warm day, and I’ve … moved more items than I should have.”
“Then you’ve moved your last.” Leana circled an arm round her shoulders and escorted her toward the others. “Jamie can tell us when we’re planning to leave.”
Dressed in his dark brown riding habit, he cut an impr
essive figure. It seemed Hugh wanted to send him on his way looking the part of a prosperous laird, and so Jamie did, from his sturdy boots, newly polished, to the sleek knot in his hair. Hastings stood nearby, whinnying as though impatient to be gone. His master held the same opinion, it appeared, consulting the skies, then scowling at the two trunks yet to be loaded.
The servants stepped back as Leana delivered Rose to Jamie’s side. “Will it be much longer? Our Rose is wilting, I’m afraid.”
As he looked down at his wife, his features softened. “The wagon will be ready any moment. Neda is finishing up in the kitchen.”
“We’ll not perish for lack of food,” Leana assured him. She’d seen Neda at work earlier, filling large wicker baskets with smoked herring, pickled beef, mutton ham, and hard cheese. The rich treacle scones would be enjoyed long before they grew stale, and the gingersnaps would keep Ian and his father happy.
Neda soon appeared, baskets in hand, with Willie not far behind her, bearing two cups of water. Rose gulped them both down without ceremony, then leaned forward to whisper something in Willie’s ear.
“Aye, Mistress McKie. I’ll not fail ye.”
“Good.” Looking more refreshed, Rose lifted her skirts, her eye on the front door. “I’ll only be a moment, Jamie, and then, please God, we may take our leave.” She hastened toward the house, her braid swinging behind her, Willie close on her heels.
If Jamie found their behavior curious, he did not say so.
Instead, he strode toward the wagon to oversee the last of the packing, motioning for the rest of them to follow. With Lachlan and Duncan gone, Jamie wore the mantle of leadership with ease, issuing orders without barking them and directing the servants with a sure hand. A small trunk was fitted into each corner of the wagon for balance, and folded blankets served to pad the wagon bed. Strapped to the back was Ian’s crib, ready to be put into service each night.
Eliza strolled up with the child in her arms. “Ye’re the only traveler wha’ll be sleepin’ in his ain bed,” she told him. When Leana held out her hands, Ian reached for her at once, his face bright as a candle.
Rose came round the side of the house, grinning to herself and patting her pocket. Annabel joined them, her red hair neatly tamed beneath her cap, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Will we be startin’ suin, mem? ’Tis a weatherful sky.”
Jamie chuckled. “Your bonnets should spare you the worst of the rain.” He held out his hand. “Maidservants first. Your carriage awaits.”
Even with the lowpin-on stane and Davie Tait’s assistance, climbing into the wagon proved a most ungraceful affair. Annabel’s shoe slipped off the mounting stone, then Eliza misjudged the height of the side and caught her skirt, landing in a heap. Neda, who’d watched the proceedings with a furrowed brow, climbed in with great care, guided by both shepherds.
“I’m goin’ wi’ ye as far as Kingsgrange,” she explained. “I ken ye’ll help me not arrive wi’ onie broken bones.”
Watching the kind woman take her place in the wagon, Leana breathed a prayer of thanks that their parting would be delayed a bit longer. Of all the farewells this day, her final moments with Neda would be the most difficult.
Seventeen years ago when Agness McBride had slipped from this world to the next, it was Neda Hastings who’d held Leana’s hand through the long and terrible ordeal of losing her mother. Neda’s hands had also prepared her meals and pressed her gowns and combed her hair and taught her to cook and sew and spin. Less than a year ago when Ian McKie was born, it was Neda’s hand that had clasped hers once again, providing strength and courage through a long day of labor.
Dear Neda. Leana might not miss her father. But she would greatly miss Neda Hastings.
Only the two sisters had yet to board the wagon. Jamie slipped his arm round Rose’s waist. “If you lads won’t mind, I’ll see my wife safely boarded.” With that he swept Rose off her feet and handed her over to the astonished maids, who reached up to steady their mistress.
She blushed to her roots. “Goodness, Jamie!” The others laughed, for Rose was clearly pleased by her husband’s attention.
Then Jamie turned toward Leana and slowly extended his hands.
Leana held her breath. Nae, Jamie.
He smiled and said, “Ian next.”
“Oh.” Her heart started beating again. After bussing the boy’s cheek, Leana handed him over to his father. “Who is going to his new home? Might it be you, Ian McKie?” She watched as Jamie leaned over the wagon side and delivered Ian into Rose’s waiting lap.
“And now you, Leana,” Jamie said, lifting her off the ground before she had time to protest and depositing her into the wagon with ease. “We’ll not have expectant mothers risking their bairns’ lives on this expedition.” He looked round. “Anyone else, or are five women and a young lad quite enough?”
Rose bent forward, inclining her ear to Ian’s babbling. “Your son says, ‘Nae mair lassies.’ ” She looked like a child herself, delighted to be embarking on an adventure.
Not all were blithe to see them leave. Willie, Hugh, and the remaining servants stood in a ragged line, bonnets in hand. Their faces were long, and the sadness in their eyes unmistakable. “God be wi’ ye,” Willie called out, his voice weak.
Leana reached out to shake their hands one by one as the wagon lurched forward. “The LORD bless thee, and keep thee.” She did not try to hide her tears.
“Farewell!” Rose waved Ian’s little fingers with her own.
With Jamie leading on his mount, and Rab and Davie handling the wagon reins, they started down the drive at last, bound for the winding road west.
Fifty-Three
Roads are wet where’er one wendeth,
And with rain the thistle bendeth,
And the brook cries like a child!
MARY HOWITT
Rainfall greeted them not half a mile from Auchengray’s drive. Big, warm drops splattered against the wood of the wagon as Rab called out to the horses, urging them toward the line of trees that banked the road.
Leana huddled beneath a blanket with her back to the driver’s seat, watching Auchengray disappear behind a gray veil of water. The rain muffled the bleating of the ewes. Odd to see the lambs gone and only their mothers remaining.
“Glensone,” Rose called out, waving as though Peter Drummond were standing at the window waiting for them to roll past.
Leana lifted her hand toward Troston Hill Farm, her heart aching. Jessie. So many farewells never spoken. She would write to their parish friends—few in number but loyal—and offer her apologies for their unexpected departure.
By the time the wagon reached the sheltering canopy of trees, Ian was miserable and whining loudly. Rose lifted him up. “Will you take him, Leana?”
“Gladly.” Ian crawled into her lap with a weary sigh, seeking the comfort of his thumb and his mother. “Not to worry, lad. The rain will leave us alone for a bit.” Leana took advantage of their leafy covering and removed her straw hat, shaking it over the side of the wagon.
Lochend soon came into view. Reeds poked above the rippling surface, and trees bowed over the shoreline, paying homage. On the western shore stood Maxwell Park, the finest manor house in the parish. In years past Lord and Lady Maxwell had singled out Rose, offering to introduce her to society at their Hogmanay Ball. Invitations to Maxwell Park had ceased when Auchengray’s marriage scandal unfolded. Society closed its doors, and neighbors became strangers.
There were some things about Newabbey parish Leana would not miss.
When their wagon emerged from the trees, the downpour had already eased considerably. “Better,” Neda declared. The dark clouds were moving east at a good clip, taking the rain with them.
Jamie appeared moments later astride Hastings, water sluicing off his tricornered hat. He surveyed the group like an army officer assessing damage. “It appears you’ve weathered our first bout of rain. Maintain a smart pace, lads.”
The narrow track of road pointed s
outhwest to Dalbeaty. Leana propped Ian up on his bare feet, holding him tight. “You’ve not viewed Lowtis Hill from this side. Look how big it is.” Ian tipped back his head, eyes widening, as if he understood her perfectly. “See the black cattle on those far hills?”
Annabel and Eliza joined in, finding new things for the boy to see, while Neda busied herself rearranging the stores in her baskets. After complaining earlier, Rose now sat quietly, mile after undulating mile, hands folded across her rounded waist.
The rain had all but stopped, and the sky had lightened in the west when the granite ruins of Edingham Castle commanded their attention. “Look, Ian.” Leana gestured at the decrepit tower house overgrown with ivy. “See that turnpike stair? Now it leads only to the sky.”
Jamie rode up, bearing a look of resolve. “Edingham Farm is across the way. As the lads and I have business here, Neda will take the wagon reins. I trust you ken the way to Kingsgrange?”
“I do.” Neda stood with the grace of a woman half her age. “Duncan and I have visited thar mony a time.” Rab and Davie climbed down to make room for her, taking their collies with them, as Neda settled onto the driver’s seat. “Yer ladies will be weel leuked after, I promise ye that.”
“I’ve nae doubt.” Jamie’s obvious fondness for Neda warmed his words. “Kingsgrange is fortunate to have chosen you as their new housekeeper. I’ve never known anyone more capable.”
“Weel …” Neda sniffed, lifting her apron to her nose. “I pray Duncan and I will find a guid hame wi’ the laird and his folk. Ye’ll not forget us, Mr. McKie?”
He reached for her hand. “Not in a lifetime.”
Bless you, Jamie. Leana looked away, giving them a moment to bid each other farewell.
“We will meet at Buittle kirk in a few hours.” Jamie swung his mount toward the farm gate. “Rab kens a farm near the kirk where we can spend the night. I’ll ride ahead and make the arrangements once we’ve taken … ah, herded the lambs from Edingham.” He turned to face Leana, studying her so closely she felt her cheeks warming. “Are you strong enough to handle the horses? In your … condition?”
Whence Came a Prince Page 33
