Fair Is the Rose (22 page)

The newly erected stone pillar, dedicated to Charles, Duke of Queensberry, pointed upward like a slender finger. It stood amid a vast, open market square, frozen and deserted. “And there’s the school.” Jane pointed to an elegant corner building as she dragged Rose in that direction. “This will take but a moment. Mistress Clark will be drinking her tea at this hour. Only a foolish servant would disturb her for the return of a book.” Jane knew the schoolmistress’s habits well. They no sooner had rung the bell and presented themselves to the head servant than the soiled cookbook was plucked from Jane’s gloved hands. A curt word of thanks was followed by an abruptly closed door.

Jane brushed off his poor manners with a sweep of her long cloak, as the two spun about and made their way back down the High Street, bound for the Globe at a brisk pace. “Rose, ’twill be an adventure you’ll not soon forget.”

“Aye, if I live to remember it.” Rose shivered, for a dozen reasons. With the wind against their backs and the path downhill, they had to slow their steps to keep from falling. Rose spotted the Globe at last and
felt her heart squeeze into a knot. In that very inn Jamie McKie had spoken the words that changed her life.
Say you’ll marry me, lass. I’ve waited a lifetime for you
.

Memories swirled round her like mist: the love she’d seen in Jamie’s eyes that day; the greed she’d spied in her father’s; the disappointment that surely had shone in her own. For she had not loved Jamie then. Instead she’d prayed he might marry Leana.
Och!
’Twas a mistake she would not make again, throwing away a perfectly good proposal of marriage, waiting for some elusive feeling of love. Her love for Jamie had bloomed too late. And his love for her had faded too soon.

“Miss McBride!” Jane tugged on her elbow. “A more melancholy countenance has ne’er been observed in the vicinity of the Globe. Cheer up, lass. A wee dram will put the roses back in your cheeks.
Attendez voir
. Wait and see.”

They slipped through the narrow wooden doors, greeted first by a wave of warm air, then by the strong scent of whisky and ale, punctuated by the sound of tankards banging on tables. Instinctively Rose backed toward the door, her eyes darting about the crowded entranceway. A young tradesman stared her up and down, his impudent brown eyes gleaming. She hastily set her sights elsewhere. Wasn’t that the very thing Father had warned her about? “Your bonny face may open doors better left closed, Rose.” She stole a quick glance in the lad’s direction, distraught to find him still eying her beneath his coppery lashes. She longed for a husband, aye, but this man did not have the look of a bridegroom about him.

Hovering behind Jane, Rose stared at the damp tendril of hair that clung to the back of her friend’s neck and listened to her chatting with the patrons as though she knew them, as though the braisant woman breezed through the door of such establishments without an escort every day of her pampered life. Words of caution Rose learned one Sabbath long ago echoed through her conscience:
Let not thine heart decline to her ways, go not astray in her paths
.

Rose longed to be daring, to be different, to explore the world. But not like this. “Jane.” She aimed her gaze at the floor, “I think it best we leave.”

“Too late, fair Rose, for here’s Mr. Hyslop to escort us to our table.”

The proprietor, a ruddy-faced man with a barrel for a chest and forearms the size of tappit-hens, waved Jane forward. “
Oniething
for a lady. And her friend,” he added, leering at them. “And who might this be?”

Jane answered before Rose could stop her. “This is Miss McBride.”

Mr. Hyslop peered at her. “Ye wouldna be Lachlan McBride’s dochter?”

“Aye.” Shame flushed her face to the roots of her hair. Mr. Hyslop’s family resided in her own parish. No doubt he would feel duty bound to write her father a letter and inform him what a tairt he had for a daughter.
Heaven help me!

He shifted his attention to Jane. “Ye’ll be wantin’ the snuggery, I venture.”

Jane pulled off her gloves with great ceremony, obviously enjoying his amusement. “ ’Tis the only proper place for two gentlewomen.”

“Aye, if ye say, ’Tis so.” He rubbed his bearded chin, the curly brown hairs thick as wool. “The door’s closed, Miss Grierson. Could be the room is spoken for. Unless a certain poet has laid claim to it, I’ll see the patron finds another room.”

The beefy proprietor tapped on the snuggery door, eased it open, and stuck his head inside the room. “Well, if it isna Rabbie, sharin’ a dram wi’ Alastair Waugh!”

“Mr. Burns,” Jane mouthed to Rose, as if all her concerns might melt away at the thought of meeting so notable a character.

The innkeeper pushed the door open further, stepping aside so the parties might catch a glimpse of one another. “Gentlemen, I’ve twa special guests who’d be pleased tae have use o’ the second table, if ye’ll allow it.”

A man with dark, soft hair and eyes like pools of chocolate stood at once and bowed. “Miss Grierson, I believe. You are quite welcome to either table.” He was perhaps thirty years of age and robust in appearance. Though Rose knew the poet was a farmer in Dunscore parish, his manners more bespoke a drawing room than a milking parlor.

“Mr. Burns, Mr. Waugh, I am pleased to introduce to you Miss Rose McBride.” Jane tipped her head toward her. “From Newabbey.”

As if stuck with a pin, the other gentleman bolted to his feet. “Mr. Alastair Waugh of Dumfries at your service, ladies.”

Rose moistened her lips, lest they crack when she spoke, and stared forlornly at a decanter and two well-drained glasses on a table stained from years of use. “You are most generous, sirs, but I fear we’ve interrupted you.”

“Not at all.” The poet waved his hand toward the empty table and chairs. “ ’Tis merely a birthday we’re celebrating, Miss McBride.” He eyed them both. “Rest assured, dear ladies, we’re kintra folk and harmless as they come.”

“Harmless?” Jane repeated, offering a dazzling flash of teeth. “Because you reside in the country?”

“Nae, miss.” His smile bore an equal measure of charm. “Because we are both married men.”

Twenty-Four

We married men, how oft we find
The best of things will tire us!

R
OBERT
B
URNS

P
oor Jamie, you look exhausted.” Leana ushered him into the house, slipping off his coat and dispatching a servant for hot water. “Where is Father? Did he not ride home with you?”

“Nae, lass.” Jamie dragged the tricornered hat off his rain-soaked head, grateful for a dry house and the prospect of a bath. “Morna Douglas welcomed us to her table for dinner again. ’Twas an invitation I declined, but your father was quick to accept.”

Leana nodded, as though considering that bit of information, but said nothing. Jamie was relieved she didn’t ply him with questions, for he had few answers. Her father’s interest in the Widow Douglas seemed little more than neighborly, but one could never be sure with a
sleekit
man like Lachlan McBride. All afternoon Lachlan had pored over her ledgers—in full view of the widow this time—and at considerable length. His uncle had muttered to himself as he added figures in his head and jotted notes in a small volume he kept hidden beneath his waistcoat. The brothers came and went, no doubt making notes of their own.

While the widow was away preparing tea and her three sons busy elsewhere, Jamie had pressed him for an explanation. “Is there some purpose for this second visit, Uncle?”

Lachlan had drawn himself up, as if preparing for a fight. “The Buik says ’Tis pure religion and undefiled before God to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.”

Jamie was proud of himself for not quoting the rest of the verse about keeping oneself unspotted from the world. Lachlan McBride worried more about a single blemish on another person’s moral fabric than
the mass of black marks that sullied his own. How the
hatesome
man had fathered a good and gentle soul like Leana was beyond Jamie’s ken.

She stood before him in the hall now, looking up expectantly. Her hair, freshly washed and brushed, gleamed in the candlelight. “How fine you look,” Jamie said, touching her cheek. “The gathering at the Drummonds’ is still planned for this evening, aye?”

Her joyful expression told him all he needed to know. Indeed, who deserved an outing more than Leana, confined to the house for months with Ian? A few hours of merriment at nearby Glensone would provide a welcome respite from winter’s bleak sameness. “If you aren’t too tired to escort me,” she quickly amended. “And if you won’t object to going out again in this wretched weather.”

“Not to worry. We’ll take the chaise.” He captured her hand in his and turned toward the stair. “Come and tell me what our son has been about this
dreich
day.” Leana followed him up to their bedroom, where a tub of hot water and a clean suit of clothing awaited him. Jamie tossed aside his damp, filthy attire and sank into the steaming tub, while Leana pulled her chair a modest distance away.

Her voice rang with maternal pride as she described Ian’s progress. “I read to him this morning. Of course, he can’t begin to understand a word, but he babbles along as I read.”

“Aye, I’ve heard him when he coos,” Jamie agreed. “Sounds like he belongs in the doocot.”

“And look at the rattles Neda made for him.” She held up the dried gourds with painted faces. “Berry juice, Neda said she used. ’Tis a blessing to have such a thoughtful woman under our roof. I wish your mother lived closer so Ian might ken the love of his grandmother, too.”

Jamie scrubbed his arms with a rough cloth, grinning broadly. “Rowena McKie has many admirable qualities, but I cannot picture her as a doting
granmither.
”

“Have you ever seen her with a babe in her arms?” Leana was clearly challenging his assessment. “Her own grandchild, that is, not another’s?” When he shook his head, she laughed. “Wait ’til we ride up to the gates of Glentrool this May and tuck Ian in your mother’s arms. Children have a way of turning sensible women into Scotch pudding.”

He gazed at her across the rising steam. “So I’ve noticed.”

“Aye, well.” She ducked her head, a becoming shade of pink coloring her cheeks. “Suppose I see to the lad’s supper while you dress.” With that, Leana was away to the nursery, a small storage room down the hall that she’d claimed for Ian. Jamie had watched her direct the servants over the last week, preparing the room. She often scrubbed the surfaces herself to be certain they were clean enough for their curious son, who explored things as much with his mouth as with his eyes and hands. No father could want a more dedicated mother for his child than Leana.

With his chin scraped smooth and the bathwater grown cold, Jamie unfolded himself from the narrow wooden tub and stood, rubbed his skin dry with a linen towel, then pulled on his clothes. The clean shirt felt good against his still-damp back. Hugh, who’d gone after the boots Jamie had discarded by the door, reappeared holding them at arm’s length, the leather polished to a rich mahogany. Jamie motioned toward the bed. “Just leave them there. And see if you can’t do something with this neckcloth, will you?”

Hugh lit two more candles, for the winter sun had set long ago, and put Jamie’s cravat to rights. The manservant, his graying hair pulled into a sleek tail, fashioned the same style for Jamie, tying his brown hair in place with a bit of ribbon.

Leana stepped back into the room bearing a drowsy-eyed boy. “Look, Ian. Doesn’t your father look
braw?
” She’d no sooner propped up the child in her arms than his head drooped to the side. Laughing softly, she turned Ian about and draped him against her shoulder, where he let out a muffled sigh and collapsed into sleep. “Rest assured, lad, Mr. McKie is a sight to behold.”

“So is Mistress McKie.” Jamie said the words easily, meaning them at last. She had no need for Rose’s dark beauty or
speeritie
personality; for Leana was her sister’s superior in a dozen ways. She had a sweet nature, a kind tongue, a patient spirit, a keen mind, a trusting heart. Above all, Leana was filled with unquenchable faith. And she loved him far more than he deserved.

Now he was doing his best to return that love, in every manner at his disposal. With gifts, with affection, with words, with deeds. Was it
enough? Did she believe him when he confessed his love for her? Did she sense it in his embrace, feel it in his touch?

Perhaps his eyes gave away his thoughts. For after she handed over the sleeping child to Eliza, waiting silently behind her, Leana turned to him and said, “Tonight I am not a mother, nor a wife duty bound to her household. I am a woman, Jamie, and yours alone.” The frank longing in her eyes spoke louder than her words, pulling him across the room.

He closed the door on the startled maidservant and drew Leana against him, then kissed her soundly. Aye, she knew that she was loved. Before the night ended, he would make certain of it.

“Jamie,” she whispered at last, smoothing her hand along the back of his neck, “we’re expected for supper at six.”

“Aye.” Somewhere on his person was a pocket watch. He fumbled to find it. “We must leave at once, I’m afraid.” Jamie straightened, releasing her from his embrace but not from his gaze. “When we return home, good wife, we shall have our own midwinter festivities, you and I. Consider this a formal invitation.”

They arrived at Glensone with little time to spare. The elder Drummonds were already ushering guests into the dining room when Peter, their son of twenty years, greeted Jamie and Leana at the door. “Our closest neighbors, yet the last to arrive,” Peter teased as he relieved them of their wet cloaks. “Come, we’ve saved a place for you at table.”

Candles brightened the four corners of the low-ceilinged room. At the hearth, pine logs were ablaze, the welcome heat drying the damp hems of skirts and trousers hidden by the long, cloth-covered dining table. “ ’Tis good that we came,” Jamie murmured in her ear, guiding Leana to an opening along one of the narrow benches. Since he’d arrived in the parish, Jamie had given the gossips plenty to blether about, but no more. He was a father now, a husband, and a hardworking head shepherd. Though Auchengray would only be their home for another quarter, Jamie wanted the neighborhood’s last impression of the McKies to be a favorable one for Leana’s sake.