Fair Is the Rose (53 page)

Reverend Gordon cleared his throat. “After your sister subscribed her band, I suggested Mistress Gordon serve as your witness.”

“Oh.” Rose tried not to look disappointed, but she was. Had the meeting with Reverend Gordon been more draining than Leana had expected? When she’d spoken with her sister earlier, Leana had looked as if she’d not slept all night.

“Let us begin,” Reverend Gordon said, his voice solemn, as though he were in the pulpit rather than standing on a slab of granite outside the kirk door. “With the understanding that this is an informal exchange of vows for the bride’s sake and not an official wedding ceremony, I will begin with the usual question: Is there any impediment to this marriage? Any reason the two of you should not be joined together as husband and wife?”

Rose spoke first, wearing her brightest smile. “Nae. We are already husband and wife and wait only to be … joined together.”

A snicker in the crowd sent her spinning round to locate the rude fellow until Jamie tugged her back in place. “Continue, Reverend.”

“Since there is no impediment, will you place the wedding ring on your wife’s hand?”

Rose slipped off the ring and tucked it into Jamie’s palm in time for him to lift her left hand and slide it back on, though only to her knuckle. He held it there with a steady grip. Her own hand trembled at his touch and at the gravity of the vows they were about to speak.
Please mean what you say, Jamie. Please try
.

Reverend Gordon began without preamble. “Do you, James Lachlan McKie, take this woman, Rose McBride, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

She held her breath and looked into Jamie’s handsome face as he made his pledge.

“Even so, I take her before God and these witnesses.”

She closed her eyes, shutting out the sorrow in his expression.
Do take me, Jamie. Please claim me as your own
.

Her eyes flew open when the minister spoke again. “And do you, Rose McBride, take this man, James Lachlan McKie, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Rose said as bravely as she could, “Even so, I take him before God and these witnesses.” She held out her hand and pressed the ring home, though her fingers were so cold the silver band spun about.

“For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they twain shall be one flesh.”

One flesh
. The words made her lightheaded. And more than a little nervous.

Reverend Gordon said with particular emphasis, “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

The small crowd mumbled at that. Whether for or against their joining, Rose could not say.

Finally the minister held his right hand over them to offer a benediction: “The Lord sanctify and bless you; the Lord pour the riches of his grace upon you, that ye may please him and live together in holy love to your lives’ end. So be it.”

“So be it,” she said, then realized no one else had repeated it.
Ninny!

Ignoring her blunder, the minister inquired of the others, “Shall we sing the wedding psalm? ‘thy wife shall be a fruitful vine—’ ”

“Nae.” Jamie said firmly, stepping back. “The vows have been spoken twice, witnessed twice, and recorded twice. I am more than married, sir.”

“So you are.” Reverend Gordon stepped forward to plant a dry kiss on Rose’s lips, as custom dictated, then nodded at Jamie. “Her next kiss must be yours, James. See to it, lad.”

Sixty-One

What else remains for me?
Youth, hope and love;
To build a new life on a ruined life.

H
ENRY
W
ADSWORTH
L
ONGFELLOW

R
ose turned toward her bridegroom, flushed with expectation. But Jamie did not kiss her.

Lachlan McBride pressed a silver coin in the hand of the minister, who strode off to the manse, his duties done. Mistress Gordon signed a fresh page in the kirk session records, and so did Lachlan, as witnesses to the vows, after which the clerk closed the book and disappeared into the kirk.

And still Jamie had not kissed her.

Whatever was the matter? He’d kissed her many times before. Chaste and proper kisses, to be sure, yet he’d seemed to enjoy them well enough. She touched his arm. “Jamie?”

“Forgive me, Rose.” Without another word, he walked across the glebe and mounted Walloch with a single sweep of his long legs, then rode off, leaving her standing there, unclaimed and unkissed.

“Never mind, dearie.” Mistress Gordon circled her arm about Rose’s shoulders, turning her away from the villagers with their ill-mannered smirks and stares. “Give the man time. Mr. McKie will come round. His mind is elsewhere today, out in the fields with the ewes.”

Rose knew better. He was not thinking of the ewes. He was thinking of Leana.

She rode home in the chaise with her father, her spirits sinking lower with each jolt of the wheels. Her bridegroom was nowhere to be seen when they clattered up the drive to the mains. The minute the carriage drew to a stop Rose leaped to the ground and made for the house, poking her head in each room, hoping Jamie might be found
withindoors awaiting her arrival. Perhaps a kiss in so public a place did not suit him. Let him kiss her here at Auchengray then.

But when she reached the kitchen, her last hope, she learned the truth. “Jamie’s busy with the lambing,” Neda answered without being asked.

Rose breathed in the aroma of hare soup, which had been simmering on the hearth all afternoon. “I trust Jamie will join us for supper. ’Tis … ’Tis important that he … that we both enjoy your soup, Neda.” Lillias Brown was a horrible wutch, but that did not mean the auld ways had no value. If the
gustie
dish, flavored with sweet herbs, peppercorns, and port, might help her conceive, Rose would happily consume the entire kettle.

“The man seldom misses a meal. I’ll be sure tae ring the bell and call him hame whan the time comes.”

“And what of my sister?”

“Not hame at present,” Neda said, too busy chopping carrots to look up. “Ian is doon for a nap.”

“Jenny Cullen, the maid from Glensone, will be here at eight o’ the clock,” Rose reminded her. “Leana will have Ian ready for her, aye?”

Neda’s hands stilled. “The lad will be here, have nae dout.”

“Fine.” There was naught else to be done. Rose dragged herself up the stair, fighting tears. What sort of wedding day was this? No friends to attend her, no bridal feast, no sister to witness her vows, and no kiss from her husband. ’Twas not fair, not in the least. She slammed her bedroom door shut, pleased at how it rattled the pictures mounted on the walls, though it did little to ease the hurt. Rose looked about, realizing Jamie would not care what nightgown she was wearing or how sweetly scented the room was. Not when his heart still belonged to her sister.

Perhaps when they all gathered for supper, she might stake a proper claim on him and let Leana see that, despite all, she would make Jamie a good wife.

But Jamie did not appear at supper. Nor did Leana.

“Where
are
they?” Rose asked her father, sitting alone with him at table. She sensed something was amiss but feared what that might be. Surely the two had not run off together.

Lachlan offered little sympathy. “I’ve not seen your sister since noontide. You cannot blame the lass for avoiding you, Rose. ’Twas my understanding she was having supper with the Newalls.” Lachlan put aside his soupspoon to toss down a glass of claret. “As for Jamie, I ken for a fact the man is halfway to Barlae Hill, up to his knees in lambs. One of the herds just came by with the latest count. ’Tis impressive what your husband is doing. Still all twins. Duncan swears he’s ne’er seen the likes of it.”

“Sheep, sheep, sheep!” she muttered under her breath. “Is that all this household thinks about?”

“At lambing time you can be sure of it.” Her father’s visage grew stern. “Jamie is laboring on your behalf, Rose. ’Tis your future at stake, and he kens it well. Be grateful, lass, and do not expect more of the man than he can give.”

“Aye.” Her father was maddeningly right, as usual. She glanced at the mantel clock. “Jenny Cullen is to arrive any minute. If I might be excused to see that Ian is ready for her?”

“Go, go.” He waved his spoon at her. “And don’t expect too much on that score either. These things are not as simple as they appear.”

Alas, her father was right again. Jenny was a quiet young woman of twenty, with a bairn three months older than Ian and more milk than she needed. But Ian would have no part of her. Rose watched with chagrin as the child shrieked and waved his arms about, smacking poor Jenny in the neck, refusing to nurse, leaving the maid red-faced with shame.

“ ’Tis not your fault,” Rose assured her, following Jenny out the front door into the cool of night. Where
was
Leana? Surely if she’d been there, things might have gone more smoothly. “I’ll see that my sister is here when you return in the morning. She may be of some help.”

“I ken what tae do, Mistress McKie,” Jenny said, ducking her head. “But Ian is a heidie lad, wi’ his own notion o’ wha’s tae feed him.”

“
You
are to nurse him. Once in the morning, once in the evening,” Rose said firmly. “When he’s hungry enough, he’ll not fight you. We’ll see he has porridge and juice and other bits of food throughout the day, but we’re depending on you, Jenny. See you don’t disappoint us.”

“Aye, mem.” Jenny curtsied and aimed her steps toward Glensone.

Seeing the young woman’s sagging shoulders, Rose felt a stab of guilt. Clearly she’d been too sharp with her. “ ’Tis a dark night,” she called out. “Shall I have Willie walk you home?”

“He’s gone, mistress.” Annabel stood in the doorway behind her, holding Ian, her knuckle tucked in his mouth to keep his gums busy.

“Och, at such a late hour?” Rose threw up her hands. “Forgive me, Jenny. ’Tis been a most fretful day.”

“Glensone is less than a mile awa, mem.” The dark-haired servant curtsied again and was gone.

Rose trudged past Annabel and up the stair, pausing at the landing before her maid got out of earshot. “You’ll attend to Ian’s needs tonight, aye? Feed him porridge or applesauce or whatever the dear child will eat, as long as it will help him sleep through the night. I will be in my bedroom. If and when Mr. McKie returns, tell him his wife is waiting for him.”

Everywhere she’d turned that day someone had disappointed her, Jamie especially.
Can you not love me a little?
Walking into their bedroom without bothering to close the door, Rose poked a stick of straw in the fire, then began lighting the candles round the room as the first tears began to fall, staining her green gown. She had his name and his fortune. But it still was not enough. “Please,” she said aloud, her voice breaking, “I want more than that.”

Jamie’s voice floated in from the doorway. “More than what?”

Rose whirled about, trailing sparks from the straw. She quickly blew it out before the flame burned her fingers. “There you are!”

“I was told you were expecting me.” He strode into the room, his shirt and breeches soiled from working with the ewes, and closed the door soundly. “What is it you will have from me, Rose? What
more
do you speak of? Don’t you have enough? My name? My son?”

“Jamie, you ken what I want. Your … your heart. Your love.”

“And this.” He pointed toward her bed. “You want that from me as well.”

“Aye,” she confessed, drying her tears. “For ’tis the only means of having your sons.”

“
Wheesht!
” He yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor in a heap. “You want the children but not the man?”

“Nae!” she cried. “Jamie, please do not put words in my mouth.” She tried not to look at his bare chest, sparsely covered with hair as dark as that on his head. “Of course I want you. Only you.”

“ ’Tis always what
you
want, Rose.”

“Aye, but what I want is
you.
” She held out her hands, imploring him with her eyes. “Does it not please you to be wanted, Jamie? To be desired, to be needed? To be … loved?” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Would that anyone felt that way about me.”

“Och, lass, you cut me to the quick.” His sigh was that of a beaten man. “I felt all those things about you once. But I cannot rekindle a fire that has burned out.”

“Perhaps I can,” she said, casting her modesty into the hearth. “That is, if you will let me.” Her gaze darted toward the pristine nightgown hanging from the clothes press. Should she ask him to leave while she changed? Might he need to bathe first? She clasped her hands and tried not to wring them. “What … what shall we do … first?”

“
Do!
” ’Twas more of a growl than a question. “I shall scrub off the sweat of my labors. Leave the room or stay—it matters not to me. Then you shall remove your dress and put on your nightgown and join me in your box bed. ’Tis not a complicated process, Rose. Husbands and wives do this sort of thing on a regular basis.”

She stared at him, stunned by the sharpness of his words. Was this how he’d treated her meek sister? Nae, she’d seen them together; he behaved like a gentleman with Leana. “Why, Jamie? Why are you being so cruel to me?”

“You ken the reason.” He showed her his back, yanking off his breeches with little ceremony. “When you betrayed your sister to the kirk session, you betrayed me as well.”

“ ’Twas not a betrayal.” One glimpse of his long, muscular legs and Rose turned away with a guilty start. “I spoke the truth,” she reminded him, “just as my sister asked us both to do.”

“Aye, but you did not tell the
whole
truth. Only enough to get what you wanted.” His words were accompanied by the sound of water
pouring from the pitcher to the bowl. “And now I am yours, Rose. ’til death do us part.”

She held her tongue, lest she infuriate him further, and gave him a moment to attend to his bathing. “Jamie,” she said as sweetly as she could, “I searched the Buik for a special verse for you. For us. For tonight. Might you care to hear it?”