Fair Is the Rose (9 page)

“Suppose Eliza remains here at Auchengray.” Jamie kept his voice steady, without a hint of pleading. “Once Leana and I leave with Ian, you’ll have three fewer mouths to feed and Eliza’s undivided attention to her tasks.”

Lachlan regarded him with one eyebrow arched, an expression quite like the one Jamie often saw on his mother’s face when she thought him clever. His uncle said nothing to Jamie’s suggestion at first, then slowly nodded. “Aye, you have more than enough maidservants at Glentrool. Eliza could remain with us.”

“You see? We’ll hardly be missed.” Jamie masked his relief. They could leave the day after Martinmas and arrive by the Sabbath. However gray the mid-November skies might be, they’d not yet be thick with snow. Feeling generous at the prospect, Jamie added, “Mother will no doubt be writing you within a fortnight after we arrive, begging you to take us off her hands.”

“That reminds me …” Lachlan patted his waistcoat, as if in search of something. “Rowena sent you a letter.” He withdrew a folded paper and shook it open with some effort. “As you can see, one of the servants carelessly broke the wax seal, but all the pages seem to be in order.”

Jamie claimed the letter, his blithe mood fading. “How would you ken if they’re in order, Uncle, unless you’ve read them yourself?” Biting back his anger, Jamie scanned his mother’s words that covered each page with swirls of black ink.

To James Lachlan McKie
Wednesday, 7 October 1789

My dearest son Jamie,

We delight at the blithe news of Ian’s birth. I trust Leana continues in good health and the babe as well.

Jamie’s grip on the letter tightened. “How is it she’s already heard the news? Did you write my mother before I did?”

Lachlan gave an indifferent shrug. “She is, after all, my sister. ’Tis my right to pen a letter at her grandson’s birth.”

“Aye,” Jamie grumbled, “and see that it’s delivered by courier rather than by post so you might hear back from her at once.” Whatever the contents of his uncle’s letter, it had not paved the way home.

Alas, here at Glentrool your father has developed a worrisome cough. Sheltering your new son under the same roof would not be wise, I’m afraid.

Since Evan is looking toward Wigtownshire for land, spring might be best for your return to Glentrool. Once your father is well again and your brother and Judith are settled far to the south, you and your family will find a warm welcome here …

Jamie glanced up at Lachlan, whose features remained impassive. Clearly Lachlan had read the contents and already knew how their meeting tonight would end: with the McKies forced to remain at Auchengray through the lambing season.

Please God, ’twill be a short winter
. Jamie stood, determined to strike a blow at Lachlan’s most vulnerable spot: his
thrifite
. Though the money box was not in sight, it was seldom far from Lachlan’s mind. “If we tarry here through the spring lambing, Uncle—and I warn you, we’ll not stay a moment longer—then ’Tis only right that you raise my wages.”

Lachlan straightened in his chair, his features alert despite the hour. “Aye, that’s fair enough.” A light shone in his eyes like that of silver coins held up to the moon. “Suppose I pay you so many shillings for each ewe that survives the winter and so many shillings for each lamb that survives its birthing. What say you to that, lad?”

Jamie could hardly agree to so vague an offer. “How
many
shillings?”

“Come now.” Lachlan held up his hands in protest. “Without my ledgers tallied before me, I cannot give you an exact price, Jamie. We’ll work out a suitable arrangement before the first snow. For now, let
us agree that you and your family will remain here through spring.” Lachlan did not offer his hand to seal the bargain but instead rose to his feet and turned toward the bed, signaling the end of their discussion.

Jamie left the room without another word. If his uncle would not be bound to their agreement, then neither would he. He’d been caught in a vicious trap of words last Martinmas when he’d asked if he might have Rose’s hand in marriage and Lachlan had said, “You might.” The treachery of the man! He’d later shaken his finger and said, “There is no promise in the word
might
, now is there?” The memory of it still stuck in Jamie’s craw.

“Then we
might
stay through spring,” he muttered under his breath, stamping up the stair without a care for the slumbering household, his mother’s letter clenched in his left hand. He flung open the bedroom door, nearly crashing it against the wall as he did, then shut it behind him with a satisfying bang.

“Jamie?” Leana’s voice floated across the darkened room. “Did something go amiss?”

“Aye.” He tossed the letter and then his waistcoat atop a leather trunk. Hugh would put his clothes aright in the
morn’s morn
. For now, Jamie wanted naught but the solace of his bed. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light of a single candle, and took a deep breath of the clean, heather-scented air, a welcome change from the closeness of the spence. He shook out the tails of his shirt as he confessed to Leana, “ ’Twas worse than I expected. Your father thinks we should stay ’til spring.”

She gasped. “
Spring?
”

Her response so echoed his own, he almost smiled. “If ’twere your father’s opinion alone on the matter, I would brook his displeasure and leave before Yule.” He yanked off his boots and dropped them on the floor, then retrieved the letter and held it aloft. “Alas, my mother has made the same request.”

Leana slipped to the edge of the box bed and drew the candle closer. “Come, read me her words.” Her bare feet shone pale against the wooden floor. The lace-edged hem of her nightgown was whiter still. ’Twould be good to have her sharing his bed again. Next to the hearth
slept Ian in his cradle, mere steps from his mother. Odd to have their infant son so near. Might he wake them at all hours? Would they never have a moment to themselves again?

When Jamie sat down beside her, the bed boards groaned. “You’ll be missing the Gordon’s fine mattress.”

“Nae, I will not.” She slid her hand inside the crook of his elbow and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Her hair fell round her face in waves of gold. “ ’Tis my husband I’ve been missing.”

Husband
. Jamie swallowed his shame. Before Ian’s birth, he’d been anything but an attentive husband. “Suppose we save the letter for the morn.” Dropping the papers on the bedside table, he slid his arms round Leana, pulling her closer until her head nestled below his chin. She released a small sigh as he kissed the crown of her hair, then tipped her head back so he might kiss her brow as well. When he did so, the forgotten sweetness of her skin overwhelmed him.
Leana
. Memories of their first week as husband and wife returned unbidden, awakening a desire long neglected.

“Jamie.” She straightened, brushing the hair from her eyes, though she did not look up to meet his gaze. “You ken that I cannot …”

Of course he knew. Did she think him so base? “Speak no more of it, Leana.” He stood long enough to perch the candle on top of the tall dresser. Its feeble flame would not disturb their slumber yet would light the way if Ian awoke needing attention. Sliding beneath the covers, Jamie watched his wife settle into a comfortable position and resisted the impulse to touch her hair, the soft curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her neck.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, her words already slurring.

He lay still in the darkness, wide awake yet exhausted, his hands jammed behind his head. This business of being husband to Leana and father to Ian required a patience he did not know if he possessed. “ ’Tis like handling a ewe and her newborn lamb,” Duncan had explained earlier in the week. “Dinna be
roarie
or hasty wi’ yer movements. Make certain the
twa
have a chance tae get weel acquainted. Niver mind the time o’ day; if they’re tired, let them baith sleep.”

He listened as Leana’s breathing sank into a deep, slow rhythm.
Sleep then, my wife
.

Jamie woke to a pale, gray dawn filtering through the curtains. Leana had been up and down all night but now slept peacefully by his side with Ian cradled next to her. Watching them, a sense of purpose rose inside him: While Leana saw to their son’s needs, he would care for the ewes, see them well fed and well bred. Duty alone would keep him tied to Auchengray until spring—not his uncle’s tricks, nor his mother’s concerns. He would remind himself of that duty each morning as he rose before dawn to join Duncan in the pastures.

The blue gray days of October came and went, each shorter than the last. Jamie labored in the sheepfolds, returning home at suppertime, his clothes soiled, his muscles aching from hard work and the damp, chilly air. Leana made certain hot water and a clean shirt were waiting for him, though dark circles beneath her eyes and a tremor in her hands hinted at the strain of mothering a babe who’d grown colicky.

“I’ll sleep through the night when Ian does,” she promised one evening, her tired gaze again drawn to the hearthside cradle. “His colic will not last forever. No more than two or three months, Neda says.” She patted Jamie’s rough cheek. “Perhaps ’Tis best we cannot leave for Glentrool ’til spring.”

He nodded but said nothing, distracted by an uneasiness that crawled up his spine like bindweed climbing a garden wall.
Leave now
. That was the gist of it. A sense of urgency growing inside him.
Leave now. Flee to Glentrool
. Of course it was not possible, not practical, a ridiculous notion. His place was here at Auchengray helping Duncan. Supporting his wife. And avoiding Rose, who
blethered
on about Neil Elliot, even as she batted her eyes in his direction whenever Leana was too busy with Ian to notice.

Jamie tried to ignore Rose, though she seemed to grow bonnier with each passing day. Duncan said Jamie had chosen the better path. Or had it been chosen for him? By his mother, by his uncle, by Leana, by the babe?
Nae
. Such thoughts were fruitless. Hard work was his only
hope, and duty his only salvation. He would toil as a common shepherd, counting the hours and days until spring returned to Galloway and set him free—free from Auchengray and its endless labors, free from the constant distraction of
loosome
young Rose, free to love his wife without a shadow of regret.

Ten

If I speak to thee in friendship’s name,
Thou think’st I speak too coldly;
If I mention love’s devoted flame,
Thou say’st I speak too boldly.

T
HOMAS
M
OORE

R
ose waited until her father’s attention was fixed on Reverend Gordon expounding from the pulpit before she unfolded the note, then bent closer to read it.
Meet me at the abbey. Friday afternoon at two
. Though Susanne had pressed the folded paper into her hand at the kirk door, the words were written in her brother’s hurried scrawl.

Neil Elliot was pursuing Rose in earnest; of that there could be no more doubt. Since the Sabbath morning of Ian’s kirkin, Neil had called for her at Auchengray on a half-dozen occasions. Even Susanne had hinted at the two girls becoming sisters someday. “By marriage and by law!” her friend had said, eyes bright with happy tears.
Dear Susanne
. Rose neither encouraged nor discouraged her, so uncertain were her feelings toward Susanne’s older brother.

Rose looked up to find Neil staring at her across the pews. His eyebrows lifted in a silent query, easily discerned:
Did you read the note? Will you come to the abbey?
Pretending not to notice, she glanced down and busied herself arranging her skirts round her ankles, while a growing sense of guilt gnawed at her soul. The poor lad was quite besotted. And she was not. Though Neil was handsome in his own way, his smile paled next to Jamie’s broad grin. Neil was polite, yet his
kintra
ways could not match Jamie’s manners, polished in Edinburgh. When Neil clasped her hand, it felt warm in hers but did not build a fire inside her the way Jamie’s touch did.

She knew it wasn’t fair to compare them. Jamie was her first love;
any man would seem a paltry choice after him. But surely she should feel
something
for Neil by now.

All round her, voices rang in tuneless praise with the first psalm of the morning. Rose moved her lips by rote, but her thoughts traveled a few steps north to Sweetheart Abbey. Should she meet Neil there and confess her uncertainty? It seemed the honest thing to do. They were friends, were they not?
Friday afternoon then
. She looked up and found Neil still gazing at her. Waiting for an answer. She nodded slightly.
Aye. Friday
.

The sun hung low in the sky, skimming the treetops, bathing Newabbey in slanted bars of pale gold. Rose, with her insides wound as tightly as a spring, crossed the bridge on foot, then waved at the miller, Brodie Selkirk, sweeping his doorstep. She’d told Neda she was off to buy hazelnuts for the morrow, Hallowmas Eve. Neda, distracted with festive preparations, had let her go without a quarrel since Auchengray’s small harvest of nuts had already been plucked and put to use a month earlier.

On the grassy rise behind the corn mill the lads of the parish were busy stacking fuel for the bonfire to be kindled at dusk the next evening. The mound of broken timbers and barrels, peat and heather, whin and dried ferns had grown to the size of a haystack. A trio of children skipped past, their heads and feet bared to the cool air, their dirty faces bright with glee as they sang the familiar rhyme of the day.

Hallowe’en, the nicht at e’en,
The fairies will be ridin’.

Fairies, aye, and witches, too. On Saturday night, hilltops all over Scotland would be ablaze with fires meant to chase away the powers of darkness. Rose intended to be safe inside the walls of Auchengray, far from the reach of Lillias Brown and her ilk.