When a large woman with a scowling countenance answered their knock, Leana tried not to peer round her shoulder. “Good day to you, madam. I believe my husband and daughter are lodging here.”
“Aye.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Along wi’ yer sons.”
Confused, Leana gestured toward Ian. “This is my son, aye.”
“I mean the lads ludgin here. The twins. Are ye not their mither as weel?”
“I …” Leana’s voice faltered. “I … am.” William. Alexander. Whatever were her sons doing on Arran? And where was Davina?
“Mrs. McAllister’s me nem,” the woman said, motioning them inside. “Yer man and the lads are gone tae the castle. Yer dochter’s in her room, thar at the foot o’ the stair …”
Leana hurried past the innkeeper, her gaze fixed on Davina’s door. “In here, you say?” Two taps, the slightest of pauses, and Leana opened the door. “Dearie? ’Tis your mother. And Ian.”
Standing behind her on the threshold, he touched her elbow. “Mother, let me press on to the castle and see about Father. And the twins.”
Leana was torn, needing to be in two places at once. “Davina will want to see you,” she whispered.
“She’ll want to see you more. Lord willing, I’ll not be long.” He nudged her inside, then softly closed the door.
Leana blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room where her daughter lay sleeping. Images came into focus: spare furnishings; one candle, nearly spent; an oft-mended curtain; Davina’s fiddle on the dresser. Tiptoeing across the rough pine floor, Leana flattened her hand to her heart as if that might calm its frantic pace.
Oh my sweet child. She knelt beside the bed, hesitant to wake her daughter yet longing to see her face, hidden in the folds of her pillow. She smoothed her hand over Davina’s hair, barely touching the loosened strands, then brushed a single finger across her cheek. How raw her skin felt! Had she been crying? When she realized the pillow was damp, Leana sat back on her heels in dismay. Whatever has happened? Is this why your brothers are here?
Her daughter’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a moment until their gazes met. Mother. She saw the word on her lips, formed but not spoken.
“Aye, lass.” Leana smiled, tears pooling in her eyes.
Davina held out her arms, welcoming her embrace.
“Precious one,” Leana murmured, pressing their cheeks together, holding her as tightly as she dared. “How warm you are! I hated to wake you …”
Davina held her closer still.
At last Leana eased her daughter back onto the bed, then sat beside her and clasped her hands, relieved to feel those delicate fingers inside hers once more. “Ian and I have both come,” she began, certain the news would please her. “He left for Brodick castle to find your father. And the twins.”
The flicker of light in Davina’s eyes went out, as if a sharp wind had blown through the room. She stared dully at her shoes, abandoned beside the bed; the hands inside Leana’s grew cool.
Praying for wisdom, Leana veered in a different direction. “Davina, I have … so many questions. Why you’re no longer staying with the Stewarts nor with the Fullartons. Why the twins have come to Arran. But ’tis only fair you know first why we have come.” Leana pulled two letters from her reticule, touching them to her heart with affection. “I’ve read these many times on our journey. Now ’tis your turn, for I know their words will mean more to you than to anyone.”
She presented her with Sir Harry’s letter first, astonished to find Davina’s hands trembling as she unfolded it. Did she not guess its contents and know the words were heartsome?
From the moment she began reading, fresh tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks. Davina brushed them away, but they would not stop. She held the letter upright, as if to avoid smearing the ink, and still she wept. When Leana tried to retrieve the letter, fearing she’d done more harm than good in sharing it, Davina turned away, gripping the paper.
Surely Sir Harry’s recommendation of marriage was not news to her?
When Davina finished reading, she folded the letter with utmost care, rubbing her fingers across the broken seal before slipping the letter beneath her pillow. She eyed the second letter with obvious trepidation, which Leana now shared.
“Perhaps I might save this for another time. When you are stronger.”
Davina plucked the letter from her hand, then held it to her heart, eyes closed, her lips forming a single word. Somerled.
“Aye, ’tis from Somerled. Are you certain …”
Davina already had it open. Whether she’d read one sentence or the whole of it, Leana could not tell, but she’d read enough. Davina collapsed on top of the letter with an expression of anguish so profound, Leana’s own heart broke.
“Davina! Please, can you not tell me what has happened?” Distressed, Leana looked about the room for Davina’s sketchbook, hating to leave her side yet desperate to help her.
Then she heard voices in the hall, each one of them dear to her.
Jamie. He would tell her what she needed to know.
Leana draped herself round Davina like a blanket, comforting her, protecting her, as the four men in her life walked into the room, filling it with their presence.
Jamie was beside her first, kissing her brow. “I’m glad that you came,” he said softly. “Your daughter needs you.”
Leana nodded, too overcome to speak.
The twins knelt to look at her as well, their faces stark with pain.
“Mother …,” Sandy began but could not continue.
“We need you too,” Will said, shocking her with such an admission.
As her family gathered round her, Leana clung to her daughter, giving Davina every bit of strength she possessed. When Ian rested his hand on her shoulder, offering his support, Leana laid her cheek upon it, catching his father’s gaze.
Jamie. She implored him with her eyes, praying he might explain all she did not know.
He rose to his feet, slowly pulling her up with him. “Ian can comfort his sister for a moment,” he said, leading her toward the door. “We must speak, Mrs. McKie. In private.”
Once she saw Davina well ensconced in her brother’s arms, Leana followed Jamie across the hall. His room was a mirror of Davina’s and every bit as gloomy. As there was only one chair, they stood near the window so they might see each other’s faces.
“Ian told me about the letters from Sir Harry and Somerled,” he began, his voice low, as if someone were pressing an ear to the door.
“Alas, I let Davina read them,” Leana confessed. “As you saw, they upset her greatly. Are she and Somerled not to marry after all?”
Jamie’s gaze met hers. “There was an accident on Goatfell this morning. The twins went climbing with the MacDonalds. When they reached the summit, both of the Highlanders … fell.”
Leana felt as if she were standing on the packet boat once more, the boards beneath her feet unsteady, the horizon ever swaying. “They’ve been injured?”
“Nae.” Jamie swallowed. “They’ve been killed.”
She closed her eyes, shutting out the pain—not her own but Davina’s. It cannot be. Must not be.
Jamie caught her by the elbows, holding her steady. “Now you know why ’tis good you’ve come.”
“Aye.” Leana opened her eyes, remembering Somerled’s words. My very soul has cleaved to your daughter. “Did he truly love her?”
“I believe he did.”
“Oh, Jamie …” She sank against him, grateful when he circled his arms round her. “I cannot fathom her pain.”
After a long pause he said, “Her suffering goes deeper still.” Jamie sought her gaze once more, then held it. “Though Somerled was honorable in pursuing her hand in marriage, he … dishonored her at the start.”
“You mean when he accompanied her … when they played together?”
“Nae, Leana.”
She looked away, frighten
ed by what she saw in his eyes. But still he said the words.
“I mean when he violated her.”
Leana shook her head, as if she might dislodge the dreadful image of a man forcing himself upon a woman. Upon Davina. Their innocent daughter.
“Nae,” she insisted. Somerled’s letter was too loving. His words were too kind. “ ’Tis not true,” she said firmly, though tears were already gathering in her eyes.
“Leana, listen to me …”
She tried to pull away from him. Needing to breathe, needing to run, needing to scream. Not … our … daughter! Her words came out in broken pieces. “He cannot … he cannot have done that. Not to Davina.”
“I’m afraid he did. On Midsummer Eve …”
Leana touched his mouth, stopping his words. But she could not stop the memory of a June evening alone at Glentrool. A breathless letter from her daughter. A request for prayer …
“ ’Tis all my fault.” She struggled free from his embrace. “Davina needed her mother that night … and I was … not here …”
Jamie held on to her arm. “None of us were here, Leana. That is my fault, not yours.”
“Nae!” she cried, refusing to listen. “I should have been here. To … help her … to …”
“Leana, do not torture yourself.”
She looked at him through a blur of tears. “How can I not?” Forgive me, Davina. Please, please forgive me. “Don’t you see? She needed me here. She needed her mother.”
“She still does.” Jamie gently released her, then brushed away her tears. “Go to her, Leana. ’Tis never too late.”
Sixty-Nine
Whene’er I meet my mither’s e’e,
My tears rin down like rain.
ROBERT BURNS
Davina heard her mother’s footsteps in the hall. Heard her open the door and send the lads off with their father to dine on plates of barley broth. Heard her close the door and tiptoe across the room, the silence as palpable as the mist that followed the day’s rainstorm.
Please, Mother. She held her breath, stifling her pain. Help me.
“My darling daughter.” Leana quietly drew a chair next to her bed, then smoothed her hand across her brow. “I love you so.”
Davina had cried more tears that day than all the days before. But still the well had not run dry. With a sigh she let them fall, trailing across her cheeks and onto her bed linens. She touched her heart and then her mother’s. I love you too.
Leana clasped Davina’s hand, holding it tight as she inched her chair closer to the bed. “Your father shared some things with me … I did not know.”
Poor Mother. Davina squeezed her hand a little. There was so much she had not told her. Could not tell her. Not in a letter.
“When I arrived, I did not realize … I had not heard about the accident. I am so sorry, Davina.” She brushed a kiss across her fingers. “So very sorry.”
Slipping her other hand beneath the pillow, Davina felt the two posts hiding there. Too painful to read now but in the months to come, salve for her wounds.
“Your father also told me about Midsummer Eve.” Leana began to stroke her hair, speaking so softly Davina had to strain to hear her. “How terrible for you. To be here alone. To endure such a thing. And then have no one to console you.”
She trembled beneath her mother’s touch, undone by her sympathy.
Leana leaned closer, her voice breaking. “I am here now, dearest. Come, let me hold you.”
Davina lifted her arms as her mother drew her onto her lap. She no longer fit there, but it did not matter. Her mother smelled of lavender and rain, like the gardens of Glentrool. Like home. Wrapping her arms round her neck, Davina rested her cheek against her mother’s breast and wept.
In the quiet stillness, the only words she needed were the ones she remembered from long ago. Come unto me … and I will give you rest.
She could not guess the hour. Was it still Wednesday? So much had happened, all of it painful. Her body was in pain too, and she dreaded discovering the reason. But it could not be postponed. Davina sat up, meeting her mother’s gaze, then pointed to the chamber pot beneath the bed.
“Of course,” Leana murmured, helping her stand. She crossed the room to gaze out the window and give her daughter a moment’s privacy.
Just as Davina had suspected, her courses had begun.
Guilt pressed down on her. Had she not prayed for this on Midsummer Day? Please, Lord. Not a child. Not his child. Yet here she was a fortnight later, clinging to one hope, like a thread pulled taut between life and death. Let me bear his child and redeem his name. Aye, and assuage her guilt, if only a little.
But, nae. No child was nestled in her womb.
As she attended to her needs, Davina had difficulty concealing the evidence from her mother.
“Oh, lass.” Leana dried her tears, then discreetly slipped the chamber pot out of sight. “Whether you’re disappointed or relieved, I’ll not judge you for either. Not after all you’ve been through.” Her mother kissed her cheek, then drew her close. “Children are a gift of God in any circumstance. But if ’tis not to be, then that is from God’s hand as well.”
They sighed as one.
Two taps at the door, and Ian was in the room with them, bearing a cup of tea. “I thought you might have need of this.”
Davina took his offering, embarrassed when the teacup clattered in her hands.
Leana placed it on the table for her, then reached inside her reticule. “Perhaps this will bring a wee bit of comfort.” She pulled out a lumpy napkin and unwrapped its contents. “Shortbread from the manse.”
Davina sat down on the chair rather abruptly, bumping the table and nearly spilling her tea. Had she ever known such heartache? Yet here were the people she loved most, offering what they could to encourage her. A fragrant cup of tea. Mrs. McCurdy’s shortbread. She consumed them both, surprised she could even swallow, while her mother and Ian exchanged vital news.
Assuming Reverend Stewart was able to borrow a mount, he was expected shortly. The family would gather for prayer and retire early, building their strength for the difficult day ahead. At noon they were to meet with the justice of the peace, a gentleman named Lewis Hunter.
The thought of it all made Davina slump in her chair, pressing the empty teacup into her mother’s waiting hands. Tomorrow she would have her sketchbook and pencil ready. To answer questions and to ask them. To make very sure the truth was known and Somerled’s memory honored.
“The men have had supper.” Leana inclined her head toward the kitchen. “Would you like something else to eat? Barley broth? Bannocks and cheese?”
Davina waved away even the mention of more food. She pressed her hands together, then placed them beside her cheek.
“A wise choice, Davina.” Leana shook out her bedcovers, then smoothed them in place. “ ’Tis the best remedy for sorrow. ‘For so he giveth his beloved sleep.’ ” She turned over Davina’s pillow, careful not to disturb the letters beneath it. “Ian, ’tis time we gave your sister an hour’s peace.”
“Aye.” Ian leaned down as she stretched out on the bed. “And if you’re still resting when ’tis time to pray, I will pray on your behalf.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Sleep well, my sister.”
Davina watched them leave, her eyes drifting shut as the door latched closed.
Blessed silence. But not for long.
In the recesses of her heart an imaginary bow was drawn across the strings of a violoncello. She responded at once, pressing her unseen fiddle against her shoulder to join him in a lament. Hearing every note he played. Feeling every breath he took. Regretting every day she would live without him.
Seventy
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak!
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Davina bowed her head, disheartened to find herself sitting once more in the room at the top of t
he turnpike stair in the oldest part of Brodick castle. The room where Somerled had offered all he owned in exchange for her hand in marriage. Whatever you say, I shall give.
He could not have imagined what his love would cost. Everything.
“Miss McKie?” Lewis Hunter’s voice forced her to look up. He knew of her impediment and so did not press for a verbal response. “Pardon me for asking you to join us. You have my sincerest sympathy. Alas, ’tis imperative that I have the entire McKie family present for this formal inquiry.”
She acknowledged him with a slight nod, then looked across the table at the twins, sitting in the same chairs they’d occupied on Monday and wearing the same clothing. Her father as well. Ian was by her side, as Somerled had been, and her mother to her right. Mr. Hunter did not begin to fill Sir Harry’s seat, though that was the chair he’d claimed at the head of the table.
“You should know that Lady MacDonald was informed of their deaths sometime overnight. When our messenger returns, we shall ascertain her wishes concerning her family members’ remains.”
Davina’s heart sank at the thought of this woman she had never met answering her door in the dark of night, learning the worst news of her life. Her dear husband. Her only son.
“And now, if you will, Peter.” Mr. Hunter gestured to his clerk, who occupied a small desk in the corner. “At twelve twenty on Thursday, the seventh of July, a formal inquiry commenced regarding the deaths of Sir Harry MacDonald and Somerled MacDonald.” The steward listed those present, carefully spelling out each name for the record. “I will direct my questions primarily to William and Alexander, though I may call upon their father or Miss McKie for verification of certain facts. Mrs. McKie, you and your eldest son are welcome to offer silent support but no other.”
Leana responded, “Then I am free to pray.”
“You are indeed. Man’s laws are no more than a fumbling attempt to make God’s laws sovereign. ‘Thy will be done.’ As justice of the peace, that is ever my prayer, Mrs. McKie.”
“And mine,” she murmured. “Let thy mercy, O LORD, be upon us.”
Grace in Thine Eyes Page 37
