Fair Is the Rose (57 page)

She focused on Leana’s letter once more.
I cannot share Ian
.

Rose swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “And I cannot raise Ian alone,” she confessed, addressing the paper as if Leana might hear her. Caring for Ian had proved to be much more difficult than she’d imagined. The child had settled down enough to nurse at Jenny’s breast. But when Rose held him, he wriggled and fussed, obviously miserable. “What am I doing wrong, Leana?” she pleaded. “Is it because I am not you?”

The letter’s silent prodding bruised her heart.
Say the words I would say
.

“I
do
say them!” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I tell Ian all the things a child wants to hear. That he’s dear. That he’s precious. That he’s loved.” Even saying those words aloud, Rose knew they were not what Ian needed most. “Is it because I am not the mother who bore him that he cries so?” She shook the paper, demanding an answer. “How can he miss you when he’s naught but a baby?”

The same way you missed your mother, Rose. From the hour you were born
. A fresh wave of grief swelled inside her. Undone, she collapsed on the nearest chair, the letter fluttering to the floor.
Mother
. The name she had never truly spoken. The name she might never hear.
Please God, may it not be so
.

The knock at the door was faint but enough to stir Rose from her painful reverie. Blinking away her tears, she stood, a bit weak kneed, and called out a greeting.

Annabel needed no further invitation, breezing into the room with a whimpering Ian in her arms. “The lad wants his noony.”

“Nae,” Rose sighed, “the lad wants his mother. His true mother, not a poor substitute.”

Annabel’s bright expression faded, and sympathy took its place. “Dinna fash yerself, Mistress McKie. Ian will warm tae ye in time. Bairns are hard tae please at this age. Always greetin’ for this or that.” She held the boy up. “Aren’t I richt, Ian? Yer stepmither is tryin’ her best tae see ye blithe and weel. As for ye, lad, see that ye honor yer faither and yer mither. ’Tis the wird o’ the Laird, and I dinna mean yer
Granfaither
McBride.”

Rose reached for him, both hands filled with hope. “Will you come to me, Ian?”

He did not stretch out his soft arms as he always had for Leana. But he let Rose disengage him from Annabel’s grasp without protest and rested against her velvet bodice without squirming. How good he felt in her arms!

Annabel grinned. “There, ye see? Better already.”

The maidservant spoke too soon. Ian suddenly howled as if stuck with a sprig of blackthorn and waved his arms toward the red-haired lass, his wishes clear. “Och! Come here then, and we’ll see ye fed and put doon for a nap.” She looked at Rose, clearly chagrined. “ ’Tis all the child cares aboot at the moment: his noony and his nap. Ye’ll help me, aye?”

Rose knew Annabel didn’t need her help. The canny maid was doing what she could to boost her spirits. Grateful, Rose followed maid and child into the hall, closing the door behind them, determined to spend the day making herself useful. As her mother used to do, by Neda’s account. As Leana always did.

The hours passed quickly, if not easily. While Ian napped, Rose was given the daunting task of helping Neda make marmalade. The Seville oranges, procured at market in Dumfries, were dear in cost and easily
bruised. “Grate them wi’ care, and see ye dinna lose a bittie o’ the rind,” Neda cautioned her. “After that, ye cut them crosswise and squeeze the juice through a sieve. We’ll need lemons as weel, two lemons tae every dozen oranges. And whan ye boil the rinds, change the water
aften
. ’twill take awa the bitter taste.”

Rose did as she was told, wincing when she cut her finger and plunged it into the tart juice, yelping when she burned her hand clarifying the sugar. When all was finished and a fresh pot of marmalade sat cooling by the window, she hardly noticed her wounds for the praise Neda heaped on her head.

“I’ll be proud tae serve yer marmalade wi’ the boiled ham ye’ll be havin’ for supper,” the older woman assured her. “Won’t Jamie be surprised tae learn wha made it for him?”

The sun hung low in the sky when Rose heard Jamie and her father come through the front door. Her heart quickened at her husband’s voice, at the sound of his footsteps heading up to their room. Perhaps she might keep him company while he dressed for dinner. She’d just wiped her hands clean on her apron and stepped toward the hall when she heard Jamie calling her name from the top of the stair.

“Rose?” His tone was less than cordial. “I would speak to you at once.”

Apprehension slowed her steps. Had there been some mishap at Edingham? Had Jamie and her father argued on the journey home? Or was it something she’d done or not done? Exhaling to ease the tension building inside her, she climbed the stair, looking up at him waiting for her, his hands behind his back. “Jamie,” she said tentatively, “is anything the matter?”

His gaze was even, and so was his voice. Unnervingly so. “Aye, ’Tis the matter of a certain correspondence. Addressed to me, not to you. But which, apparently, you have read.”

Leana’s letter
. She froze, her foot on the last step, picturing the letter discarded beside the bedroom chair. Forgotten until now.

Jamie held it up, waving it before her. “Am I correct? You found this in the clothes press and read it?”

“Aye,” she said meekly. There was no use pretending otherwise. “I must confess, Jamie, when I spied it among your clothes, curiosity got the better of me, and I … I read it.” She ducked her head. “Most of it, that is.”

“Well, by all means come read the rest.” He pulled her into their room, more gently than she expected, and aimed her toward the reading chair.

She stood rather than sat, wanting to be near him. “Jamie, I’m truly sorry. I had no business—”

“None whatsoever.” He shook his head, clearly irritated with her but doing an admirable job of controlling it. “Do you nae ken what the Buik says, Rose? ‘the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her’? How am I to trust a woman who would do such a thing?”

“I am … so sorry.” She splayed her hands, at a loss for what else she might say to appease him. “Please, Jamie. Can a wife not be forgiven for wanting to read a letter from her own sister?”

“Forgiven?” His features softened a bit. “Aye. Of course you are forgiven.”

He meant it. She could see that he did. When had he changed so? The Jamie who first came to Auchengray would have scolded her for an hour.

“The last line is the one you most need to hear.” He held out the stiff paper. “Leana wrote, ‘I do release you, Jamie. To love my sister.’ ”

Oh, Leana
. “Do you think she … meant it?”

“You ken she did, Rose. When did your sister speak anything but the truth?” He folded the letter and slipped it inside his waistcoat, training his gaze on her all the while. “Because of my love for Leana, I am trying hard to love you, Rose. For all our sakes. But you … you make that very difficult sometimes.”

“I do not doubt it.” Grateful for his honesty and surprised at her own, she stepped closer. “I pray you will do as my sister asks and love me, Jamie. Love me, as I love you.” When he did not flinch, she grew bolder still and rested her hand on his sleeve. “Please fill up the hollow place inside me,” she whispered. “I die a little each day it remains empty.”

His eyes searched hers. “Do you mean your heart?”

She bowed her head, ashamed to speak the truth. “I mean my womb.”

Jamie started to say something, then turned away from her instead.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Jamie, for I cannot guess.” A note of pleading threaded her words. “Is it wrong to want a child? To want someone who truly needs me?”

Jamie’s voice was gentle. “Nae, it is not wrong, Rose.”

Not wrong. But selfish
. The word had dogged her all morning.

When Jamie turned back to her, the compassion on his face was unmistakable. “You
are
hollow inside, Rose, but ’Tis not your womb that is empty. ’Tis your heart. Only the Almighty can fill that. Not me and not a bairn.” His hands lightly grasped her shoulders. “Do you understand? Do you hear what I’m saying?”

She wilted beneath his touch. “You are saying you do not love me. And that no child of yours will e’er be mine.”

“Nae, lass! You’re not listening …”

Rose fled from the room, having listened to enough.

Sixty-Seven

God tempers the wind to the new shorn lamb.

S
COTTISH
P
ROVERB

L
ove my sister
.

“She is
your
sister,” Jamie grumbled to himself. “
You
love her.” He heaved his water bucket into the trough too abruptly, making the nearby ewes jump. “Sorry, lassies.” He soothed the skittish animals with familiar words and the calming sound of his voice. “Naught to worry. ’Tis only fresh water from Lochend.”

The forenoon sun bathed the pastures in a warm yellow as he made his rounds alone. There were too many ewes and not enough shepherds, so the men had divided their duties. Jamie preferred to work alone, for then he could imagine Leana walking the braes with him. Not an hour went by when he did not hear her voice in the snippet of a ballad sung by a passing shepherd or sense her touch in the caress of a soft April breeze ruffling his hair.

To look at Ian was to catch a glimpse of the woman who had given birth to him. Leana had always declared that Ian was a smaller version of him. But Jamie knew ’Twas not altogether true. Ian had his mother’s eyes. A clear gray blue. Unblinking. Trusting.

Jamie saw her every time his son looked at him.

Oh, Leana. Will you not come home to me?

’Twas a question already answered.

Love my sister
.

“I’m trying, Leana.”
But only because you’ve asked me to. And only because I love you
.

Jamie climbed over the dry stane dyke and moved to the next pasture, steering clear of the muddy spots. He’d been up since before dawn, seeing to the ewes, helping them deliver the last lambs of the season. All
twins, all healthy. Jamie shook his head, still astounded by it. “It seems I’m a better shepherd than I am a husband,” he confessed to the lambs tottering round his knees.

“I’d have tae agree with ye there, lad.” Duncan strolled toward him, a wry grin stretched across his weathered features. “Did I not once tell ye that Rose was a stubborn ewe and ye should handle her meikle the same?”

Jamie grunted. “Meaning what? See that she has a pair of wee bairns to care for?”

“Aye, ’twould keep her busy,” Duncan agreed. “But ye ken verra weel ’Tis not what the lass needs most.”

“Is that so?” Jamie felt the skin beneath his collar heating. “Rose is my wife. I ken what the girl needs.”

Duncan wagged his head, bending to pour more feed in the trough. “I’m not sure ye do, lad. Ye’re thinkin’ she needs yer kisses and sae forth. All weel and guid. But what Rose needs mair than a’ that is what
ye
have, Jamie: the assurance o’ God’s luve and forgiveness for a’ she’s done wrong.”

“
Wheesht!
” Jamie kicked the trough hard. “Let her get it from the Almighty then.”

Duncan straightened, putting aside his bucket to fold his arms across his chest. “Was that how ’twas wi’
ye
, Jamie?” Though his voice was soft, Duncan’s words jabbed like a stick. “Did ye seek after God’s mercy a’ by yerself and find it on yer ain? Seems to me Leana’s luve for ye paved the way.”

Jamie jammed his toe into the dirt, staring down at his boot as he did. Anything was better than looking Duncan in the eye. Or admitting the man was right.

“All right, Jamie. Ye dinna have tae confess it, for we baith ken the truth.” Duncan lowered himself onto the dry stane dyke, crossing his ankles as if settling in for a bit. “D’ye see a strange irony at work here, young James?”

“Aye,” he growled. That much he could confess. “I must do for Rose what Leana did for me.”

“Guid.” Duncan nodded in approval. “And what did the lass do, Jamie? Say it plain for ye ain benefit.”

Infuriated, Jamie ground out the words. “Leana loved me when I did not deserve it, when I could not—
och
, when I
would
not return it.”

“Ye were richt on the first, Jamie. Ye couldna luve Leana in those days, for a man canna gie what he doesna have.” Duncan stood once more, clamping his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Whaur d’ye suppose Leana found the strength tae luve ye, tae forgive ye whan ye were busy chasin’ after her sister? Ye ken the answer now, aye?”

He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God
. Jamie groaned in resignation. “Aye, I ken the answer. But how can I love a woman who betrayed her own sister and me as well? Had Rose held her tongue when she was questioned by the kirk session, none of this would have happened.”

Duncan studied him from beneath the brim of his bonnet. “Did it ne’er occur tae ye that this turnabout might be the will o’ the Almighty?”

Jamie’s chest tightened.
A blessing instead of a curse
. Was it possible?

“Forgive the lass, Jamie. Show yer new wife what it means tae be luved. And I dinna mean what happens in yer box bed whan the candles are snuffed. A’ the other hours o’ the day matter as weel.”

Och!
Jamie shook off Duncan’s grip on his shoulder and stamped about the pasture, pretending to be getting the dirt off his boots.
Now
the man was telling him to love Rose round the clock! He spun on his heel and marched toward him. “Six months ago you told me to love Leana.” He stopped inches away from the man and leaned forward. “Well, Duncan, I did! And I do. Can you not see ’tis Leana’s love that matters to me, not Rose’s?”

Duncan did not back away nor change his tune. “But ye already have Leana’s luve, Jamie. And ye always will. ’Tis the way the lass was made by her Creator. The question is, what will ye do wi’ that fine luve o’ hers?” He waved at the boulders scattered about the pasture. “Bask in it all yer days, like an adder curled up on a sunny rock? Or will you do as Leana would have you do and care for Rose, who needs luve sae sairlie?”