Fair Is the Rose (44 page)

Aye, she could do that, for ivy grew along their hedgerow.

“ ’Tis the wrong season for findin’ cones and nuts, though if ye’ve almonds in yer cellar, add them to yer mornin’ parritch.” Lillias tipped her head, regarding her. “ ’Tis a shame ’twill not be a guid time o’ the month for ye.”

“Nae,” Rose sighed. She knew very little of such things, though now her fears were confirmed. “Is there naught can be done?”

“Oo aye, lassie.” She chuckled, clearing a grassy spot. “There’s meikle can be done. Sit doon, if ye will, wi’ yer face tae the village.”

Rose hesitated but not for long. If the auld wutch could help her, would that be so terrible? She did a half-turn, then eased down onto the ground, her arms covered with dappled sunlight. “Why toward the village?”

“Newabbey sits tae the east.” Lillias knelt behind her, placing her hands on her shoulders. “We’ll draw the power from the sun tae warm yer wame. And gather the strength o’ the earth tae make ye fertile as the soil in spring. Bide a wee while and dinna speak.”

Rose closed her eyes, aware only of the cool grass beneath her and the gentle weight of Lillias’ sun-browned hands on her shoulders. How much more pleasant this was than sitting in the kirk and feeling guilty! Birdsong filled the air, and a light breeze lifted the tiny hairs that framed her face. Rose smiled, relaxing her spine, succumbing to the pleasant sensation of sinking into the ground like a plant sending forth roots.

Naught was said. Naught was done. Minutes were left uncounted.

When she felt compelled to open her eyes, Rose found her shoulders no longer bore the wutch’s hands. “Lillias?” she whispered, looking to either side.

A chuckle came from behind her. “I’d niver leave ye in sic a state. D’ye feel stronger, lassie?”

“Aye.” Rose said, amazed to discover it was true. She scrambled to her feet without assistance and brushed the woodland debris from her skirts, invigorated, as if she’d taken a brisk walk in fine weather. “I’ve not felt this healthy since—”

“Since afore ye had croup.” Lillias frowned, digging in her pocket. “If yer friend had breathed the feverfew, she might be wi’ us still.”

Rose sensed the hairs on her neck rising. “You mean Jane Grierson?”

Lillias shrugged. “I couldna deliver a sack o’ herbs tae Dunscore.” Her gaze met Rose’s. “But I ken ye found yers on yer doorstep.”

“Reverend Gordon was the one who found it.”

Lillias shuddered visibly. “But he didna touch it?”

“Nae.”

“Guid, for his power is borrowed and not from the truest source.”

Rose stepped back, her uneasiness returning, knowing what Reverend Gordon would say.
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil
. “I … I must go, Lillias. I’m … expected. At home.”

“Ye’ll not leave afore I gie ye a praisent.” Lillias produced a thick green cord tied with knots. “ ’twill make ye mair than fertile, Mistress McKie. ’Tis the most powerful spell o’ the lot.”

Rose stared at it, her eyes widening. “My … my father has such a cord.”

“Aye.” The gray head bobbed up and down. “Mr. McBride has it hidin’ in his thrifite, does he not?”

“He does.” Rose swallowed the sickening taste that rose in her throat. “Leana described it to me. Except for the color, I believe ’tis like that one.”

“I made them both.” Lillias fingered the cord with obvious pride. “ ’Tis a seven-knot charm, each knot tied as the power rose inside me, then I waved the cord through smoke doused wi’ herbs. Yers is green tae make ye fertile.” She held the cord out to Rose once more, bidding her take it. “Yer faither’s is
goud
tae grow his riches.”

“When …” Rose eyed the green cord, not touching it. “When did my father … come to you?”

“I came tae him, same as I did tae ye in the hazel grove. Headin’ hame from a meetin’, he was. Walkin’ up the road from Newabbey, bauld as ye please.” The wutch twirled the green cord round, as if ’twere a snake and she its handler. “We chatted a bit, yer faither and I. Same as ye and I did, Rose. Then he knocked on me door at Nethermuir just
afore yer cousin came tae stay. And took hame seven knots.” Her laugh made Rose cringe. “This verra cord will be yer salvation.”

I am thy salvation
.

“My … salvation?” Rose echoed, confused. ’Twas as if two voices spoke inside her at once. One low and sure. The other louder but less certain.

“ ’twill save ye from barrenness and bring ye twa bairns.”

“Two?” Her breath caught. “Are you certain?”

The woman’s smile was neither kind nor comforting. “Will ye tak the cord or not?”

“N-not!” Rose exclaimed, the word sharpened by fear. Whatever was she doing, conversing with such a woman? Lillias Brown knew things mere mortals were not privy to. Even Jane
—oh, my poor, lost friend!
—had called Lillias “the devil’s midwife.”
You were right, Jane
.

“I am not o’ the de’il,” Lillias said, gathering her skirts about her. “Nor am I o’ yer Lord.”

Rose stared at her in horror. “What are you then?”

“I’m yer friend, Rose McKie. And Jamie is yer husband now, aye? Just as I promised ye?” Her smile was a hideous thing. “Do as I’ve told ye, and a bairn will be yers as weel.”

“Nae.” Rose backed away from her, glancing at the path she’d taken through the pine forest behind her. “I have a son already. Ian will be my stepson.”

“Och!” Lillias shook the cord at her. “D’ye think anither woman’s bairn will bind Jamie tae yer side? Nae, lassie. Ye must have twa sons—mair than yer sister—tae win Jamie’s heart. ’Tis the only way, Rose. Ye ken I speak the truth.”

His truth endureth
. Leana’s words that morning taken from the Buik.

“Nae,” Rose said with conviction. “You speak nae truth at all, Lillias.” She yanked the ribbon from her neck and threw the stone necklace at the wutch’s feet. “Keep away from me. And from my family.”

Rose did not wait for a reply but turned and ran like the wind through the trees, her heart pounding.
Depart from evil
. ’Twas all she could think of, crashing past the pine branches that tore at the pins in
her hair, leaping over fallen limbs with her skirts held high.
Keep thee from every wicked thing
. Lillias Brown was wickedness itself. And to think, she had trusted her!
Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me
.

When she burst into the sunlight at the edge of the forest, Rose stopped only long enough to catch her breath and wipe away the last of her tears, grateful to be free from the woman’s grasp and back on the road toward home.

Forty-Nine

A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping.

S
AMUEL
L
OVER

H
ush-a-ba, birdie, and hush-a-ba, lamb,” Leana sang softly, skimming her fingers through Ian’s silky hair as he dozed in her arms. Neda had spread a thick tartan in front of the hearth in Jamie’s bedroom, where mother and child could nurse and then nap in private, while the rest of the household went about their Wednesday afternoon tasks. As for Jamie, he was spending the day in the far pastures with Duncan, seeing after the ewes.

“In two weeks, your father tells me, he’ll have his first lambs.” Leana smiled to herself, lowering Ian to the blanket with great care. “But I already have mine.” She covered him with a cotton blanket and wrapped him in a lullaby. “And hush-a-ba, birdie, my bonny wee lamb.”

The child was growing before her eyes. He could reach for things and grasp them tightly now. Not waving his arms about but aiming his hand straight toward a carved block or his doeskin ball with a determined look on his face quite like his father’s. She wore a string of colorful wooden beads about her neck whenever she held him in her lap for long periods. He played with the beads, utterly fascinated, while she chatted with a visitor or listened to Jamie read aloud in the evenings. Jessie Newall had taught her that. Jessie, the blithe mother of twa bairns.

And I am the mother of one
. “But not for much longer, lad.”

Leana drew the front laces of her gown together, tying them tight, biting her lip as she did.
No tears, Leana
. Hadn’t she wept enough? Her eyes flooded nonetheless, spilling tears over their banks. By evening her breasts would be full again, a tender ache which only a hungry babe could relieve. How would she bear it when the dreaded day came?
When she handed Rose her son? When she watched a stranger nurse Ian? When she saw another woman tuck him into his crib at night?

“Haste thee to help me.” She patted her cheeks dry, only to find them wet again moments later. Enduring the cutty stool was naught compared to this. Shame, reproach, rebuke—those burdens came and went in mere hours. She had poured them out before the Almighty, and he’d kindly borne the weight of them on her behalf. But this sacrifice was too great.

“Help me!” she whispered and buried her face in her hands.

A sharp knock announced Neda’s appearance in the doorway. “Leana? Is something wrong?” The concern in Neda’s eyes turned to sympathy. “Och, lass.” She slipped into the room, latching the door. “ ’Tis a heartless deed they’ve done, the kirk session. Not a mither among them, or they’d niver have thocht of sae
ill-kindit
a thing.”

“ ’Tis for Ian’s sake.” Leana tucked the blanket closer about his neck. “They say I’m not fit to be his mother.”

“Wheesht!” Neda shook her apron as if their words were crumbs easily discarded. “Ye’re a woman wha made ane mistake and that only by chasin’ yer heart. Yer sin has been lang atoned for, and the whole parish kens it. Did ye not see them flockin’ aboot ye after the first service?”

“Not everyone flocked,” Leana reminded her. “Thomas Clacharty spat at me, and Mary McCheyne called me a ‘filthy limmer.’ ”

Neda’s eyes narrowed. “Let Mary McCheyne say that again Sabbath next, and she’ll answer tae me. For I ken a thing or twa aboot her. News that wouldna sit weel wi’ the kirk session.”

“Now, Neda. There are secrets behind every neighbor’s door.”

“Aye, ’Tis true enough.” With a thoughtful nod, Neda was her jovial self again. “As it happens, I have mony a saicret hidin’ behind the stillroom door. See that ye dinna go pokin’ aboot whaur ye’re not walcome.”

Leana smiled, this time with her whole face. “Can’t we pretend I don’t have a birthday in the morn? Twenty-two seems very old.”

“Nae,
fifty
-two feels auld,” Neda corrected her, tugging at the silver hairs woven among her coppery ones. “Ye’ve meikle years ahead o’ ye. Guid years, I’ll warrant.” She turned toward the door, leaving a hopeful
word in her wake. “God has not lifted his hand from yer life, Leana. Wait and see.”

When Leana awakened on Thursday morning, she heard the sound of maids tittering on the other side of the nursery door. ’Twas simple to name them: Annabel’s upbringing in Aberdeen transformed the girl’s speech into a Scottish air, and Eliza chattered like a jackdaw when she was with the other maids, then pinched her beak shut round the laird of Auchengray.
Wise lass
.

Since Ian had already begun to stir, Leana could not resist tiptoeing to the door and sweeping it open. “Good morning!” she sang out.

The girls nearly tumbled into the room before they caught themselves, blushing and stammering as they curtsied. “Mornin’, mem.”

Leana tightened her wrapper, then stretched out her arms. “Do I look older?”

“Nae, mem,” Eliza assured her, “but yer son grew another inch since yestreen.”

Leana turned to find Ian sitting up, preparing to crow for his breakfast. “So he has.” She scooped him out of his crib and waved the maidservants down the stair. “Back to work with you, for I’ve a starving child to feed.”

Annabel’s freckles made room for a toothy smile. “And whan will ye be joinin’ the family at table?”

Leana told them to expect her at eight, then closed the door on their giggling and scheming. Och, to be fifteen years old again! Innocent as lambs, spared of life’s heartaches.
Except Rose was not spared
. Leana was chagrined at the realization. Rose had been fifteen when her life had fallen apart. It was hard to be angry with Rose when Leana knew she’d wronged her so. Yet it was hard to be charitable when the price for her sister’s happiness was so dear.

“You, lad. You are what Rose wants most: a babe of her own.” Leana changed his soiled linens, then promptly put him to her breast. “And ’Tis easy to see why, for you are a joy.” She kissed the tip of her
finger and touched his tiny nose. “Your father says he’ll remain at Auchengray just so I can watch you grow.”
Bless you, Jamie
. She could only hope and pray ’twould come to be; such choices in her life were made by others now.

“Come, let’s think of something more cheerful for your mother’s birthday. A cradle song I’ve not taught you yet, aye?” She leaned back in the chair, tucking a pillow beneath her arm to support them both. “O can ye sew cushions and can ye sew sheets? And can ye sing bal-la-loo when the bairnie greets?” She rubbed her thumb across the soles of his bare feet, treasuring the feel of them. “Lad, before this day is done, I’ll no doubt sew, and you’ll surely greet, and so our song will come true.”

They spent a quiet hour together, then it was time to make use of her water pitcher. While she bathed, Ian sat near her feet, entertaining himself with horn spoons, which made a genial clatter when banged together. Eliza arrived at her door before eight to help her finish dressing and see to Ian’s linens, then the servant guided mother and son down the stair at a spirited pace.

“ ’Tis only breakfast,” Leana teased her. “Will the porridge cool so soon?”

Her porridge cup was steaming, and her tea still hot, though what caught her eye first were the gaily wrapped presents sitting by her plate. Not one or two, as was customary, but a dozen or more spilling about her place at table.

Her father pointed his butter knife at them. “See to those first, for there won’t be a bittie of work done in this house ’til you do.”

Leana numbered more than half the household loitering about the dining room, holding a single plate or cup, trying to look useful. “Suppose I open these packages first,” she said lightly. They surrounded her at once, elbowing one another and laughing behind their plates. “Who might this one be from?” Leana wondered.