“Jamie, what is it?”
Where to start? At the beginning.
“Leana, there was a time … when you …” When you loved me. That was true, but that was not what needed to be said.
He started again. “There was a time when we loved each other. As a man loves a woman. As a husband cherishes his wife. I cannot … I dare not …”
“I understand, Jamie.” Tears lined her eyes, not quite spilling over.
What did she understand? He’d not finished. Nae, he’d not truly begun. “Leana, I believe that …”
“Perhaps someday…,” she said faintly.
Someday? There was no promise in that. “Listen to me, Leana …”
Without warning, the library door banged open, and Alec McKie stepped out, speaking in a voice louder than Jamie ever remembered. “Hearken unto thy father that begat thee!” Alec banged his walking stick on the floor for punctuation, then rapped twice on the open library door. “I would meet you in here at once, James. Supper can wait.”
Bewildered, Jamie turned to Leana, who’d already backed away from him.
“We will speak another time,” she said softly, then hastened up the stair.
“Nae, Leana,” he called after her. “We will speak tonight.”
Alec poked his side with his stick. “At once, lad, before I lose my temper.”
Jamie did as he was told, though his own temper was brewing. He and Leana were far from finished. And what had vexed his father so? He found out before the door was slammed shut.
“Do you not know the Scriptures, James McKie?”
Now he was angry. “You ken well that I do, Father, because you taught them to me.”
Alec had the family Bible open on his desk and pointed to it, his finger shaking, but his voice like steel. “ ‘Rejoice with the wife of thy youth.’ That is what it says, Jamie. ‘Be thou ravished always with her love.’ ”
“Father!” he chastened him, his eyes cutting to the door. “Keep your voice down.”
“I have kept my voice down in this house long enough!” His father was coming unhinged. “You may be laird, but you are still my son.”
“Aye, but—”
“And as my son, you will heed my words: Leana is the wife God has chosen for you. Be done with your mourning, and marry the woman.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. “Take Leana as my wife?” Had Alec read his mind? “Father, as it happens—”
“You are one of the heritors of the parish, Jamie. Surely you can persuade that young minister in Monnigaff to marry the two of you.”
“Sir, I’d already intended—”
“And I intend to speak my piece!” Alec shook his walking stick at the ceiling. “My eyesight is failing, lad, yet I can see the woman loves you. Do you not hear it in her voice when she speaks your name?”
Aye, Father, I do. Jamie dared not smile, the man was on such a rampage. “That’s precisely why—”
“Och!” His father fumed about the room, banging his stick on any obliging surface. “This child of yours that’s due in December. Would you have him born outside the bonds of wedlock? Marked as a bystart by folk in the glen? Lad or lass, ’twould be a meikle burden to carry all one’s life.”
“It certainly would.” His father had just given him the perfect argument for marrying Leana sooner rather than later. A brilliant man, Alec McKie.
“Do what you must, Jamie. Beg the woman’s forgiveness, beg the kirk session’s mercy, but see that my grandchild has a legitimate name.” Alec suddenly collapsed forward, as if he’d spent energy he did not have.
Jamie caught his father in his arms and helped him to a chair. “Are you all right, sir?”
“I will be when you’ve done your duty by the lass.” Alec clutched Jamie’s shirt, pulling him closer, his voice reduced to a rough whisper. “You married Leana once, Son. Marry her again.”
Eighty-Six
A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
JOHN KEATS
Leana waited for Jamie in the second-floor sitting room. But she could not sit, so tightly wound were her nerves. And she could not stand, for her knees refused to hold her. And she could not gaze out the window, for nightfall had shrouded the glen in darkness. And she could not concentrate for all the voices in her head.
There was a time when we loved each other. Jamie’s words in the hall, spoken with conviction. His touch on her hand. His eyes shining with intensity.
Rejoice with the wife of thy youth. Alec McKie shouting in righteous anger behind a closed library door as she fled up the stair.
Hearken, O daughter. Incline thine ear. A different voice, heard only by her heart. She would heed his words above all.
Listen to me. “I’m listening, Jamie.” She leaned her forehead against the windowpane, her breath steaming the cold glass. Hurry.
A door opened in the entry hall one floor below her. Cordial parting words. Jamie’s footsteps on the stair. She’d never mistake them for anyone else’s. Leather striking wood. Resolute, steady beats, like a soldier marching toward a cause.
We will speak tonight.
Turning away from the window, Leana faced the stair. Now, Jamie. Please.
The moment he reached the top step Jamie started toward her, crossing the floor with measured strides. Though he was dressed like a shepherd and covered with heath, he carried himself like the laird he was. Tall and strong and full of grace. He was the same Jamie she had loved for two long years, and yet he was a great deal more.
At last he stood before her. He did not speak. Instead he took her hands in his, studying them as he did. Rubbing his thumb over the back of each hand. Caressing her fingers until she feared she might faint.
“Leana.” More breath than word. He pressed a kiss inside each wrist, finding her pulse. “Marry me, my love. Say you will.”
Jamie, my sweet Jamie! If he released her hands, she would sink to the floor. Instead, she said, “I will.”
He looked up, his green eyes shimmering in the candlelight. “You are certain?”
’Twas the easiest question she had ever answered in her life. “I am certain that I love you, Jamie.” She touched their joined hands to her waist with a shaky smile. “And I am very certain that I am meant to be the mother of your children.”
Though his mouth smiled, his eyes did not. “Many heartaches lie behind us, Leana.”
“And many joys lie ahead.” She leaned down to kiss his hands, as he had kissed hers. Tears filled her eyes. Dearest Jamie. The husband of my heart.
“There are … things that must be arranged, lass. With Reverend Moodie. For we cannot wait. Our child needs a father.” He kissed her bowed head. “And I need you, Leana.”
Oh, my dear Jamie! Leana straightened and did not bother to brush away her tears. “ ’Tis everything I could hope for, but … your father.
“He wants us to marry. As soon as possible. Alec McKie will insist it was his idea from the start. When he overheard our conversation in the hall, he misunderstood my intentions and … ah, made his wishes known.”
“And is this what you wish, Jamie?” She searched his eyes, longing to search his heart. To be sure, to be very sure. “Perhaps it is only our bairn that bids you hasten me to the altar?”
“I’ve not made myself clear, then.” He kissed her brow, then each cheek. Slowly. Tenderly. “I love you, Leana. I want you for my wife.”
She let the words sink into her heart. Words she had waited a lifetime to hear. “And I long for you to be my husband, but …” There was no avoiding what must be discussed. “We are both still in mourning.”
“We are. And I loved Rose.” His voice was heavy with regret. “I cannot pretend otherwise.” He gripped her hands tighter still. “I will always mourn Rose, always miss her, as you will. I would never do anything to dishonor her memory. Yet I truly believe she would want us to marry.”
“But she loved you so …”
“She loved you, too, Leana.” A slight catch in his voice. “You w
ere mother, sister, and friend to her. Rose would want you well loved and your children’s needs well met.”
Would her sister truly smile down on their union? Oh, my Rose. How can I be certain? To think that Jamie loved her! All that she’d dreamed of coming true. And yet…
Leana looked down at her black mourning gown, and another wave of doubt washed over her. “ ’Tis too soon, Jamie.”
Despite her qualms, Jamie would not be dissuaded. “We will tell Father tonight at supper, the moment the first course is served. And then on the Sabbath, I shall speak with the kirk. We cannot wait, lass.”
Saturday morning Leana knocked on the entrance to the Findlays’ turret office, bearing an armful of newly stitched linens. If only tenderhearted Neda Hastings were on the other side of the housekeeper’s door! Neda would help her decide what to do about marrying Jamie. And mourning Rose.
Instead, Ivy’s pinched features greeted her. “More linens, mem?”
“Aye.” Leana handed them over. Ivy kept a careful record of each item in her linen closet and did not allow things to be added to the shelves willy-nilly.
Her task accomplished, Leana was left standing in the entrance hall, feeling at loose ends. With Jamie on the hills for the day and Annabel entertaining Ian in the nursery and Eliza busy pressing another mourning dress for Leana’s Sabbath at home, there was little to do this Saturday.
Except to make the most important decision of her life.
Did she honor Rose best by disappointing Jamie and putting off their wedding, even as she gave birth to Jamie’s second child out of wedlock? Or would her love for Rose be better served by honoring Jamie’s desire to protect their child by marrying him now, even though it meant enduring the scorn of their neighbors and her own doubts?
Jamie harbored no doubts whatsoever: They would marry in November.
Leana had never seen him so tenacious. When they’d told his father their wedding plans yestreen, Alec had been elated. Naturally she had joined in the celebration. How could she not? The thought of being Jamie’s wife made her weak with joy. To be truly married, to speak their vows, to live as husband and wife, to grow their family together … oh!
But then she thought of Rose. And her joy began to fade. She felt disloyal. Selfish. Uncaring.
If she could somehow ask Rose, if she could have her sister’s blessing, Leana would renounce her fears and gladly embrace her future with Jamie. But Rose could not be consulted. Peace could not be found there.
Jamie was most persuasive. “We both loved Rose,” he’d reminded her that morning at breakfast, “and will honor her memory together.”
Was it possible? Or would guilt hound her by day and shame haunt by night?
Needing to walk, to think, to do something, Leana found her wool cloak and draped it round her shoulders. The afternoon was chilly but dry. A stroll through the garden would not risk her child’s well-being—her foremost concern the last few weeks, and Jamie’s as well.
She lifted the hood of the cloak over her hair, tucking in the stray wisps, then started to circle the various garden plots on the grassy paths that separated them. Since Robert was not working today, she had the garden to herself. Except for a few blooms here and there that needed pruning, the ornamental gardens had fallen dormant. There were vegetables still to be harvested—parsnips and colewort, cabbages and leeks. How odd to have a servant whose primary duty that was.
Her own hands had already grown soft. If she was not careful, she’d be spoiled in a year and of no use to anyone. When she’d said as much to Jamie that morning, he’d replied with a grin, “I like your soft hands,” and kissed them to prove it. Oh, he could be very convincing, the laird of Glentrool.
Yet even more than pleasing Jamie, even more than honoring her sister, Leana wanted to bless the One she loved most. I delight to do thy will, O my God.
She perched on one of the stone benches along the garden walks and gazed at the rowan tree with its scarlet leaves, the last of the berries plucked by fieldfares and blackbirds. Planted at Rowena’s request, her namesake tree was the centerpiece of the garden. The rowan would bloom afresh next May, then carpet the garden with white petals after a June plumpshower. Through the summer the berries would ripen to a rich yellow red, a vivid contrast to the green leaves. Legend said the Highland tartans were inspired by the bright berries and leaves of the rowan. And then next October, the tree would look as it did now, beautiful through all four seasons.
In the sacred rowan Leana found her answer: Just as Rowena would always be remembered at Glentrool, Rose would reside in their hearts forever, whether Leana married Jamie now or a year from now. Leana smiled up at the rowan trees graceful branches. For their child’s sake—for her own sake—she would marry him as soon as the kirk allowed.
“I thought I might find you here.” Jamie strode into the garden and joined her on the bench, his smile matching hers. “How happy you look, my love. Perhaps you’ve come to some decision about marrying me in November?” He wrapped one arm round her and pulled her close. “I warn you, I’ll not take nae for an answer.”
She nestled her head in the warm curve of his neck. “My heart and hand are yours, Jamie.”
“Bless you, Leana.” She felt him swallow, and his arm round her tightened. “And all that is mine is yours. My love, most of all.”
She sank into his embrace, breathing in the warm scent of him. Might he truly be hers before St. Andrew’s Day, the last of the month? The kirk might not decide as easily as she had. Nor as favorably. “What of Reverend Moodie?”
Jamie planted a kiss among her circle of braids. “If he agrees to my request to marry at once, we can be certain of the Almighty’s blessing.”
Leana lifted her head to seek his gaze. “And if he doesn’t agree? If the minister will not allow it?”
Jamie’s expression was resolute. “By this time tomorrow, lass, I’ll be home. And we’ll have our answer.”
Eighty-Seven
But till my last moments my words are the same—
“There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!”
ROBERT BURNS
Leana straightened Jamie’s cravat with trembling hands. The house was already empty, despite the early hour, and the entrance hall dimly lit. “You have my testimonial letter, aye?” She’d not had a chance to show it to Reverend Moodie on her first and only Sabbath at Monnigaff kirk. Reverend Gordon’s words might prove useful now.
Jamie patted his waistcoat pocket. “ ’Tis right here, lass. I need nothing else but your prayers.”
She smoothed her fingers across his close-shaven cheek. “You shall have my prayers from the moment you ride off until you are home again.”
His gaze was troubled. “I do not ken what news I will bring home to you. Reverend Moodie may agree to marry us yet insist we wait six month’s or even a year, to allow for a proper time of mourning.”
“I can wait, Jamie.”
“I cannot. And neither can our bairn.”
She broached the unthinkable. “He may refuse to marry us at all.”
“Indeed he may.” Jamie’s mouth drew a firm line. “But I will not allow that to be the end of things, Leana. I have failed you too many times before.” He spread his gloved hand across their bairn as a pledge. “I will have you for my wife, Leana. Soon.”
She touched her hand to his heart, making her own vow. “And I will have you for my husband.” However long I must wait. Whatever heartache I must endure. “Come home to me, Jamie.”
“You ken I will.” A tender kiss to her cheek, and he turned for the door.
From the lawn came the voices of the others gathering to leave. The servants on foot had already departed for House o’ the Hill Inn, where a McKie wagon was kept for the weekly journey to kirk. There was talk of building a chapel of ease in the neighborhood, a smaller church for the folk in the northern half of the parish, but the presbytery frowned on the notion, saying it smacked of laziness.
Thomas and Ivy, Jamie and
his father would ride on horseback together as far as the inn, then Mr. McKie would be transported in the family carriage from the inn to the village. In light of Rowena’s fatal accident, even a few miles astride an old mare made Jamie nervous for his father. But Alec McKie would not hear of staying home from services in decent weather. And there was no way out of the glen except on foot or hoof.
Leana followed Jamie onto the lawn, rubbing her arms to keep warm. ’Twas the last day of October—Hallowmas Eve—yet the skies did not portend anything frichtsome. The air was crisp, the horizon clear. A drying day, Thomas called it. The sun had barely risen, and the high half-moon was pale white, almost transparent against the blue sky. Autumn’s colors had faded on the hills. Along Loch Trool, the bright green bracken had turned to yellows and browns, and a mist rising from the water softened the dark outlines of the pines.
Jamie was mounted on Hastings now, though his eyes were on her. “I hate to leave you, lass.”
“Ian and I will have our own time of worship.” She smoothed a hand over the gelding’s black mane. “And I will pray without ceasing. ’Tis an unchancie day on the calendar.”
“Not for us, Leana.” He reached down to touch her cheek, then straightened and was off with the others, his hand raised in farewell.
Hurry home, my love.
From the corner of her eye, Leana spied a tawny owl dropping silently onto its prey. A mouse, perhaps; breakfast, before the nocturnal bird flew out of sight for the day. She’d heard the owl hooting in the night, defending its territory, and thought of the old Galloway rhyme that would be spoken in eldritch circles this very night.
When the gray owlet has three times hooed,
When the grimy cat has three times mewed,
When the tod has yowled three times in the wud…
Leana had yet to notice many foxes in the wood, though she’d heard their mournful cries. Her own lad would be yowling soon, she reminded herself, hurrying back withindoors to wake Ian for his breakfast.
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