Fair Is the Rose (54 page)

Water splashed near her feet. “By all means, Rose. If the Almighty can redeem this unco night, let his word be spoken. Though I’d prefer to see your face. ’Tis the only way I can guess what you’re thinking.”

She took a deep breath to steel her nerves and slowly turned round.

He stood before her, dripping wet, drying himself with a linen towel, not even blushing. “You were saying, lass?”

Flustered, she lifted her gaze so that all she saw was his braw face and his damp brown hair hanging about his shoulders. “ ’Tis just this: ‘the wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.’ ”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Rose? That you own me? Have power over me?”

“I mean that I am
yours
. That my body is yours to do with as you please.”

“And mine as
you
please, I suppose.” He tossed aside the towel. “Turn round, and let me see to your laces. Unless you prefer to have Annabel join us—”

“Nae!” She did as he asked, glad not to watch the storm brewing in his eyes. “Jamie, you ken that I am … innocent.”

He snorted, tugging hard on the laces of her gown. “ ’Tis not the word that comes to mind when I think of you, Rose. Once, perhaps. But not now. You’ve seen too much.”

She could hardly disagree.
The betrayal of a sister. The spells of a witch. The death of a friend
. “Not innocent in all things, nae,” she said softly, “but certainly in the ways of a man with a maid.”

“Ah.” He pulled her loosened dress off her shoulders, then began unlacing her stays.

The air felt cool on her back and cooler still on her face. “You will be gentle with me, Jamie. Won’t you?”

Sixty-Two

Marriage is a desperate thing.

J
OHN
S
ELDEN

A
ye.” Jamie gripped the stays in his hands and closed his eyes. “I will be gentle.”

’Twas the only promise he knew he could keep.
Do not ask me to love you. Do not ask me to enjoy this. Do not ask me to please you
.

When he opened his eyes again and saw her thick hair coming loose, he swallowed the shame that rose in his throat, sickened by a frisson of desire that had nothing to do with Rose and only to do with her being a woman waiting for him to teach her the ways of love.

Except this was not love. This was duty.

He released the last of her stays, and her clothes dropped to the floor.

“Jamie,” she whispered, “might you fetch my nightgown for me?”

Stepping round her skirts, he reached for the delicate linen nightgown, then slipped it over her shoulders, letting her manage the rest of it. The less he touched her, the better. He would not build up her hopes only to dash them by the light of day. As his legal wife, Rose deserved his attentions for one night. His sense of duty stretched no further than that. Not when Leana, the woman he loved, slept in the next room. Though he’d not seen her since they’d spoken in the garden this morning, he was certain Leana would return from the Newalls soon and retire to the nursery.

Forgive me, beloved
.

Nae, there was no forgiveness for this. The marriage law said this was good and right and holy. Yet, to him, this night was hochmagandy at its very worst.

Forgive me, Lord
.

Darkness
. That was what he needed. A veil of shadows to cover his
sin. He made his way round the room, pinching out all but one taper perched on a bureau well away from their bedside. Flicking the soot from his fingers, he dipped his hand in the washbowl in passing and shook it dry, lest he sully her white gown.

Her gaze followed his every move. He sensed it, even when he wasn’t looking at her. She waited until he’d finished with the candles before she spoke. Her request devastated him.

“Now will you kiss me, Jamie?”

He had no choice. He could not say no. Yet ’twas more intimate than any act that might follow, that kiss. His body would do what it must; he could disengage his emotions, if necessary. But a kiss was holy.

“Come here, lass.” Jamie reached for her hand, helping her step over the mass of skirts and petticoats at her feet, and drew her toward him. Not too close but close enough.
I will give you my mouth, Rose. But not my heart
.

Rose lifted her face to his, beseeching him, not afraid to ask again. “Please?”

He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened to unman him and slanted his mouth against hers. She responded at once, just as he’d feared she might. And tasted far sweeter than he’d remembered.

Oh, Rose. Do not ask this of me. Do not ask me to love you
.

Long before the Sabbath dawned Jamie awakened and reached for the chamber pot, feeling he might be sick. The illness was not in his stomach; ’Twas in his spirit.
Forgive me, Leana. Forgive me
. He could never say it enough.

In a few hours the household would set off to the kirk for services. To sit side by side in the family pew—Jamie, Ian, and Rose—with the curious gazes of their neighbors pinned to their coats like buttons. Leana would be forced to sit apart from them with her father. Even after her turn on the repentance stool, the woman would be held at arm’s length by the parishioners for a long time to come. No longer a wife, no
longer a mother, she would have no true place in the community. ’Twas the cruelest sentence of all, worse than the stool.

Jamie listened carefully to see if Leana stirred in the nursery next door. It was not unusual for her to be awake at odd hours of the night, caring for Ian. Though he could not meet her behind a closed door, they might speak briefly in the hall. He needed to assure Leana of his love, of his support. He well knew the reason she had not served as a witness at their wedding: She was ashamed of what had happened at the bothy, just as he’d known she would be.

’Twas naught but a kiss, lass
.

Dressing in the dark, careful not to make a sound, he left his boots behind and padded into the hall, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the setting moon. Jamie pressed his ear to the nursery door, wishing he could hear Leana’s soft, even breathing. Though he could not enter, he could
look
within, could he not? For a moment? He needed to see her and let her see him. To let her read the truth once more in his eyes:
I will always love you. I will never leave you
.

He raised the latch, wincing at how loud it sounded in the empty hall. Pushing the door open as slowly as he could, he gazed at the tender scene, relieved. Ian was fast asleep, his thumb planted in his mouth. Next to his crib, buried beneath the covers, lay the familiar shape of a woman, with a tuft of golden hair showing near the pillow. He gripped the latch, forcing himself to stay put rather than follow his instincts, which would lead him to her bedside, to kiss her awake and pray no one would hear them.

When she turned in her sleep, brushing the sheets away from her face, Jamie fell back a step.

Eliza!
Whatever was she doing in Leana’s bed?

He backed into the hall, pulling the door shut as he went, not caring how loudly the latch sounded.
Why wasn’t Leana there?
Then the answer came to him.
Of course
. Since Ian was now Rose’s responsibility, one of the maids would sleep near the lad. Leana had no doubt been moved to his old room. Which was once Rose’s old room. A very confusing household, Auchengray.

When no one answered his knock, Jamie entered the familiar bedroom, surprised to find the box bed curtains tied back. Odd. Though it was a mild enough night, Leana usually preferred to be closed in, for warmth. He stepped closer, then realized the sheets were freshly changed. And utterly empty. “Leana?” Ridiculous to say her name aloud as if she were hiding in the corner. But where
was
she? In the kitchen perhaps? Seeking Neda’s counsel?

He eased down the stair in his stocking feet, aware of the cold stone against his soles and the loud beating of his heart. Not a sound came from the kitchen or from behind the spence door, where Lachlan slept. Jamie found a lighted candle in the front parlor and carried it about from room to room, growing more anxious by the minute. Her father had insisted she’d gone to visit Jessie Newall for supper. Had she spent the night at Troston Hill Farm? Would she stop at Auchengray before going to kirk or meet them there?

A sense of foreboding curled round him, like a mist rising from Loch Trool. Leana was hiding from him, or from Rose. He went into the empty kitchen, lit only by the glow of the hearth, and dropped onto a three-legged stool, setting his candle on the chopping block with a groan. “What have I done?”

“Ye’ve done naught, Jamie.”

Startled, he turned round. “Och! Neda.” If anyone knew Leana’s whereabouts, this good soul would. “Where is she?”

Neda did not answer him at once, pulling up a second stool to join him by the hearth. The light played against the lines in her face, each one shadowed with a marked sadness. “She’s gone, Jamie.”

“
Gone?
” He bolted to his feet, knocking over the stool. “Gone
where?
”

“I dinna ken. She wouldna tell me.”

Jamie stared at her, incredulous. “But you’re certain she’s left? For good, I mean, not just visiting the Newalls?”

“Aye. Leana told me while ye were at the kirk that she was leavin’ Auchengray.”

“But
why?
” Distraught, he ran his hands through his hair, yanking at the roots as if to punish himself. “Doesn’t she realize that I love her?”

“o’ course she kens ye luve her, Jamie. ’Tis why she had tae go awa. Tae spare ye bein’ torn tae pieces. Which I see ye are oniewise.”

Torn?
He could barely breathe.
Leana, you cannot leave me. Not like this
.

Neda righted the stool for him, tugging on his sleeve with her other hand. “Come, sit wi’ me, Jamie. Not anither soul kens she’s missin’, though they’ll find oot soon enough.”

Stricken as if by a hard blow, he dropped onto the stool, holding his head in his hands. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she say good-bye?”

“Ye ken why, lad.” Neda rubbed the back of his neck with a hand rough from years of housework. “Ye would’ve begged her tae stay, Jamie. And she would’ve stayed tae please ye, because she luves ye wi’ all her heart.”

“At least we would have been together.”

“
Thegither?
” She glanced up at the floor above them. “Not mony a married man lives under the same roof wi’ twa women wha luve him baith the same.”

Galled by her words, he shook off the motherly hand on his neck. “Rose does not love me the same way Leana does.”

“Nae, but she thinks she does.”

“Aye,” he grumbled, standing again and starting to pace the floor. Yestreen in their cozy box bed, Rose had told him she loved him more times than he could tally. He rubbed his hand across the stubble of his beard, trying to sort things out, trying to think. “Surely someone else saw Leana leave.”

Neda rose as well, moving about the kitchen to collect what was needed for breakfast. Naught would be cooked—after all, ’Twas the Sabbath—but a few cold items would be spooned onto plates.

He watched her and realized she was stalling, avoiding his question. Did she not have an answer? Or did she not want to tell him?

Finally she confessed, “Willie took her in the chaise, though I dinna ken whaur.”

Jamie grimaced. She’d traveled some distance then. Or had too
much to carry.
God help me, she can’t have left the parish!
Nae, ’Twas unlikely; she couldn’t depart Newabbey without a testimonial from the minister, stating both her marital state and her moral one. After three Sabbaths on the cutty stool for hochmagandy, she’d be a long time wrangling such a letter from Reverend Gordon’s righteous hands. “When did Willie return?”

“He didn’t.”

His heart thudded to a stop.

“Not yet.” Neda shook out a fresh apron and tied it round her waist, eying him all the while as if deciding what else to tell him. “Jamie, there
is
someone wha may ken whaur she is: Reverend Gordon. Ye’ll remember Leana went tae kirk afore the rest o’ ye yestreen.”

“To subscribe her band.”

“Mair than that, lad.” Neda’s shoulders sank. “Leana asked the reverend for a testimonial. She showed it tae me afore she left.”

Nae
. Jamie stared hard at the floor. “There’s only one reason why she’d need such a letter.”

“Aye,” Neda said softly.

Jamie pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

I will never leave you
.

But she had.

Sixty-Three

We sleep, but the loom of life never stops;
and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down
is weaving when it comes up.

H
ENRY
W
ARD
B
EECHER

T
he bed was cold.

’Twas the first thing Rose noticed when she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The second was more urgent: Her husband was gone.

“Jamie?” She sat up at once, her heart in her throat, and threw open the bed curtains. “Beloved, are you there?”

How strange it felt to call him that.
Beloved
.

Rose pushed back the covers and slipped her legs over the side, waiting for her vision to adjust to the meager light. Either ’Twas a weatherful morning or an earlier hour than she imagined. She padded across to the window and peered out, frowning as she did. It was not only miserably gray but foggy and rainy as well. Dreich weather for a kirkin. Just as a newborn babe’s first morning at kirk was cause for celebration, so was the first Sabbath for a newlywed couple. At last she could sit beside Jamie in the pew and hold her head up as Mistress McKie.

Claiming the single candle on the dresser, Rose turned back toward the box bed and her breath caught.
The sheets
. Faintly stained with blood, they were a stark reminder of all that had happened yestreen. She put aside her candle and gathered up the soiled linens, swallowing her disappointment. Aye, Jamie had made verra sure she was no longer a maid, and he’d been gentle, just as she’d asked. But when she’d whispered, “I love you,” he’d only said, “I am glad.” And when she’d asked, “Can you love me, Jamie?” his answer had been, “I will try.”