Jamie MacLeod

by Michael Phillips

  In the distance, partially obscured by tree roses and shrubbery, was the outline of Jamie’s form. And she was alone!

  He followed her with his gaze for a few moments, then slowly opened one of the doors with a trembling palm and softly made his way toward her over the grass.

  Jamie sensed his approach but did not turn until he had stopped about four feet away. The few extra moments gave her time to gather in the last of her tears and take a deep breath to still her racing, tormented, overflowing heart.

  At last she turned.

  “I thought you might be here,” he said.

  “It’s always been a favorite place of mine,” she answered. “Andrew and I used to be fond of this courtyard especially.”

  “I remember.”

  “Ah, yes! The day you joined us for lunch.”

  “And we played with Andrew’s new ball.”

  “Yes,” Jamie laughed, “and Lady Montrose came to call in the midst of it.”

  “She wasn’t particularly amused at our games,” said Edward, smiling.

  Jamie said nothing in reply. The subject of Candice Montrose brought to the surface the pain which had been the reason for her tears.

  “Andrew is much better,” she said at length.

  “Yes,” agreed his father. “The doctor says he will be able to come out in a couple days.”

  “That’s wonderful,” replied Jamie, then paused. “And then I shall have to return to Aberdeen,” she added.

  “Must you? I mean—so soon?”

  “I have my duties,” she said, her voice trembling a bit.

  “I know—but . . . don’t you think you could be persuaded?”

  “Persuaded to what?”

  “Well—to stay, perhaps?”

  “To stay?” she repeated. “But . . . you mean . . . but why . . . you mean for a few days?”

  “Yes, yes! A few days would be marvelous—No! That’s not what I meant—”

  He stopped, obviously flustered.

  “It was so . . .” he tried to continue, “—it was so dreary after you left.”

  He laughed nervously, trying to shake off the tension.

  “I know,” Jamie said. “It was rather dreary for me, too. And I missed Andrew—” she stopped.

  “And?”

  “I mean—of course, I missed all of Aviemere, all the people here, everyone that I had grown to love.”

  “And now you want to leave again?”

  “But I must. I have the Gilchrist children to take care of.”

  “And you have your Lt. Taggart waiting to take you back to Aberdeen.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “He has asked me to marry him.” As she said the words she looked away.

  He mistook her. It was as though a bomb had exploded in his ears and his fleeting hopes had been splintered into a thousand pieces.

  “He is a good man,” said Edward, desperately struggling to control his voice and to keep the tears in their place. He must not lose himself now! He had prayed for her happiness, and now he must be strong to accept the Lord’s decision. “His wife will be a lucky woman.”

  “Yes,” said Jamie, still turned away. “I’m sure she will be—when he finds her.”

  “When do the two of you leave?” asked Edward, his mind in a fog, hardly hearing what she said. “I know the two of you—she?” he repeated suddenly, a flash of hope searing his heart.

  “Yes. I know Robbie will be happy when he finally finds the right woman.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “He did ask me to be his wife,” said Jamie.

  “And what did you tell him?” asked Edward in the agony of joyful premonition.

  “I haven’t given him a final answer,” said Jamie slowly. “But I can’t marry him. I know that now.”

  Like the crashing of a great wave all around him, her words reverberated throughout his entire being, and Edward wrestled with himself to keep his voice from shouting aloud. She was still looking in the other direction and had continued talking, but he scarcely heard what she said. He strained to hear through the thundering silence of his own ears echoing with the pounding of his heart. Then he heard something about Candice Montrose.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Miss Montrose . . . I understand that the two of you are to be married?”

  What? he thought. How could she have heard such a thing? Who was spreading such rumors? The thing was patently absurd!

  “No,” he said. “We have seen one another, of course. But—”

  He could not go on. His voice was starting to crumble.

  Sensing his emotion, Jamie slowly turned. Their eyes met.

  “Jamie, Jamie—don’t you know?” His voice faltered in dismay.

  “Know what, Mr. Graystone? What is it? Have I done something to displease you?”

  “Dear Lord, no!” he said miserably. “I’m going about this all wrong! Oh, perhaps I should keep silent, but I will have no peace until I speak. But this is so difficult to do. Yet if there is even a small glimmer of hope.”

  “Hope? I don’t understand.”

  “Candice Montrose means nothing to me! Jamie, Jamie—how can I tell you? It’s you I care about, Jamie.”

  “Me!”

  “Jamie, I love you!”

  The words came as a hot blast from a suddenly opened furnace and Jamie reeled where she stood. Edward reached out a hand to steady her. The moment their hands touched they both froze, but neither withdrew.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said weakly, referring to her faintness. But he closed his eyes in preparation for her rebuff. “I—I never dreamed . . .”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he replied. “But in truth I only realized it myself a day or two ago. I was afraid to tell you.”

  “Afraid?”

  “I didn’t want to place you in an awkward position.”

  “An awkward position? But how could it possibly do that?” she said, the color coming back into her cheeks and a great joy beginning to overflow within her.

  “This could make it difficult for you to return to Aberdeen.”

  “Oh, Edward! Are you sure of what you said? It’s so hard for me to take in the very words I longed to hear!”

  “You longed to hear! Do you mean—”

  “Yes, Edward! I cannot marry Robbie—because I love you!”

  He took her tenderly in his arms and held her for several moments. Neither spoke for some time.

  At last Jamie broke the intense silence. But now her voice was calm and peaceful.

  “For so long I tried to convince myself otherwise,” she said, “that I did not love you.”

  “And why did you do that, my dear Jamie?” said Edward softly.

  “Because how could one such as I ever expect a man in your position—”

  “Jamie,” he interrupted, “you’re not a snob when it comes to social rank, are you?” He laughed.

  She smiled. “I was thinking of you. What would people think of—you know, a shepherdess and a laird?”

  “You forget. I’m no laird. I’m merely a hired caretaker. There’s hardly much rank in that.”

  “But your family . . . your name. You are, Edward, a gentleman. And gentlemen don’t fall in love with shepherdesses or nurses. They marry ladies.”

  Edward relaxed, then turned and, with Jamie on his arm, began walking still farther from the house, through a grassy path with high hedges on either side. They walked slowly, neither speaking.

  At length Edward broke the silence.

  “Jamie,” he said earnestly. “However I try to tell you this, the mere words will take away from the depth of meaning I feel in my heart. But can you try to trust me and believe me, as perhaps you have never trusted me for anything before?”

  “I will, Edward.”

  “Then I have this to say to you, Jamie MacLeod, the woman I have grown to love, and—God willing—I will be allowed to love for many years to come: Jamie, you are a lady! Being a lady is not something you c
an be born with—it’s something you are! My Olivia had the blood, the breeding, and the family. And she too was a lady. Candice Montrose has all those things, but she is not a lady. You, Jamie, have been bred and nurtured in life that comes from on high. You have allowed that life to grow and deepen within you. You have allowed yourself to become the woman of God’s design. And that is the essence of what makes a lady—being God’s lady! You are a lady, Jamie MacLeod! And here and now, I want to ask you: will you consent to become Lady Graystone? Whether I have a title or not, you will always be my lady to me!”

  They had ceased walking by now and were standing hand in hand. With tears streaming down her face, Jamie reached her arms about the man she loved and laid her head softly against his chest. At last she knew what all her years of searching the distant horizons and dreaming of far-off places had been about. All that time she had been looking for love. She had discovered the love of her God, but he had also been preparing her for this moment, so that when it came she would realize the deep sense of completion and fulfillment it gave her.

  If you find love, you will have attained the greatest dream of all. Her mother’s words came back to her and suddenly took on the significance she had no doubt had in mind when she had written them to her daughter. Somehow Alice MacLeod had foreseen this search of her daughter’s heart and had done her best to direct her to the fulfillment of that dream.

  Her tears of joy were all the answer Edward needed to complete his own bliss. When Jamie looked up at him after a few moments, she saw tears in his eyes too—eyes that had once frightened her. But they were no longer fearsome nor impenetrable. She saw clearly into them and was thus able to read his heart, perhaps even his soul, for he had opened all to her.

  By unspoken consent they turned and, arm in arm, walked slowly back toward the house, neither anxious to end the rapture of being together at last, but realizing there were things they now needed to face as a result of the pledges they had made.

  44

  A Piece of the Puzzle

  Later in the day Jamie went on a more difficult errand.

  She had been watching for his return with MacKay, and thus found him walking back toward the house from the stables. When he saw her coming, he looked up with obvious expectation in his eyes. But closer scrutiny of her countenance drained all hope from him.

  “Robbie, I—”

  “Don’t say another word!” he quickly said, placing a restraining finger on her lips. “I’m sure I won’t be able to take it as well as you did when the tables were turned two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You needn’t be.”

  Then he laughed. “Look at you! You are trying so hard to be solemn, but I can see that you are fairly bursting with joy. You love Edward Graystone, and from the smile I can see hiding under that attempt at seriousness, I would guess that he has returned your love. Am I right?”

  She only nodded. Then her control broke and she smiled sheepishly.

  “You are happy, Jamie, and that’s the most important thing. Don’t get me wrong. I am miserable! But I think I’m not as miserable as I ought to be. I think I see something I tried to tell you at Sadie Malone’s a long time ago. I love you and you love me. But we have both tried to mistake that affection for something it’s not. We shall always be friends, and I shall always be as a brother to you—and don’t you ever try to take that from me!” He added these last words with a grin.

  “I wouldn’t dare do that, my friend!”

  As they embraced, Jamie cried with her happiness. He laughed at her—then with her. They strolled for some time out in the meadow behind the stables—the waif and the sailor once more, grown into an officer and a lady, enjoying more than ever that friendship, begun in a blizzard, which would warm them both for years to come.

  That same afternoon Robbie Taggart took his leave, for he had extended his superior officer’s good graces far too long already. And if he could admit it, he was itching to strike out for a new adventure.

  ———

  Jamie wandered back into the house, saddened by her parting with Robbie, yet at the same time fighting an irrepressible urge to skip and sing. A chapter in her life had been closed, even as the future had just been opened to her. What could possibly come next?

  Wondering where Edward had gone and already longing to see him again, she came into the house through the kitchen, where Dora was busily packing up several crates.

  “What’s all this, Dora?” she asked.

  “We’ve been gathering cast-offs for the poor box,” she answered. “The laird just brought down the last load.”

  Jamie glanced casually at the contents of the latest addition to the pile, which consisted mostly of clothing. Off to one side, however, she spotted a small box containing several items of jewelry.

  “I don’t know many poor folk who would feel comfortable in such fine things,” commented Jamie.

  “I doubt they’ll wear most of it,” said Dora. “The better things will be sold and the money used to purchase more practical items. But I can hardly believe what the laird has done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, some of the things he brought down are valuable. And a little while ago he took me to the room where his wife’s things are stored and told me to take whatever I thought could be used. He had a most peculiar look in his eye.”

  Jamie smiled to herself, thinking that she probably had the same look in her eye.

  “Why, I recall,” Dora went on puzzled, “when he would fly into a rage if anyone so much as thought of touching anything that had been his wife’s. Now he’s telling me to take whatever I like. Just look at this jewelry he insisted I take!” She ran her hand through it and Jamie looked closer.

  Suddenly she gasped and started back.

  “Jamie, what is it?” asked the baffled housekeeper.

  Seemingly ignoring her question, Jamie thrust her hand into the box and drew out one small item. She stared at it for a long time. Then she looked at Dora and said in a dry, lifeless voice, “May I take this for a few minutes?”

  “Of course. Are you all right, Jamie?”

  Without offering an answer, she fled the kitchen, almost blindly finding her way to the stairway, and ran to her room. There she found her pocketbook, and, with hands trembling, tore it open.

  She always kept her father’s last gift with her. She closed her eyes and remembered how it had fallen from his bleeding hand. Now she took it between her two fingers and held it up. There remained, even after all these years, faint bits of dried blood—her father’s blood!—deeply encrusted into the settings of the gems where no amount of cleaning could get it out. She laid it next to the cufflink she had just now found in the box of cast-offs in the kitchen.

  They were identical.

  And then, as if to dispel any simple explanations, she saw something she had failed to notice before in all this time. Engraved in the gold casing around the gems was the single letter “G.”

  45

  Donachie

  Jamie sat, dazed and limp, trying desperately not to let the worst possess her mind.

  She had not allowed herself to think of Iona Lundie for some time. And she clenched her teeth against the onslaught of such thoughts now. But the terrible, hateful words of the bitter woman could not be stopped. She had accused the Graystones of being responsible for her father’s death, and now, despite Jamie’s insistent denials of the past, it seemed perhaps she was right.

  Why else did her father have this cufflink belonging to the Graystone family? What could he possibly have had to do with them? Perhaps he had found it upon the roadside—but why, then, would he hold it for dear life, so hard that it drew his blood even as his life was ebbing from him? And when he had finally relinquished it to her hand, had he not tried to say something about it?

  “It belongs to . . . it belongs—it doesn’t matter . . .”

  He had tried to tell her something but had given up. Oh, Papa, she thought
, it does matter! I have to know!

  If the Graystones had been involved in her father’s death, would that suddenly change her love for Edward Graystone?

  Suddenly the horrifying thought came to her for the first time: What if he had been involved? Could he have been lying to her all this time? He was younger then, harder. She had seen how cold and seemingly unfeeling he could be. Was it possible? No! That possibility was too dreadful even to think of! He couldn’t—he couldn’t lie . . . or kill!

  There had to be some other explanation!

  She must forget all about it, forget she had ever seen either of the cufflinks, throw them back into the poor box where they would never trouble her again!

  Yet how could she marry Edward with such a gruesome, gnawing doubt hanging over her? It would eat at her and destroy whatever love had once been there. Even the ecstasy of a few hours ago had already begun to dissipate in the shadow of her dark thoughts.

  She had to confront him with her discovery, although hints of the old apprehensiveness she had felt in his presence when first she came to Aviemere had already crept back into the edges of her mind.

  How could she doubt him? She angrily chastised herself! She loved him. He could be no killer! She would go to him, and he would clear up the matter in an instant. He would tell her the cufflinks had belonged to his father or brother!

  She found him coming out of Andrew’s room.

  “I must talk with you, in private,” she said. The tone of her voice worried him and quickly dispelled the smile which had spread over his face on seeing her.

  “Of course,” he answered, fearing something had changed between them. He had not seen her again and did not know what had transpired with Robbie.

  His hand was cold and damp as he took her arm and led her downstairs to the library.

  She walked directly into the middle of the room, but when he closed the doors he lingered there for a moment, afraid to turn and face her. Licking his lips, he finally turned and asked with dreadful foreboding, “What is it, Jamie?”

  “You know about my father,” she began, hesitating over each word.