Whence Came a Prince (14 page)

And mine, with Jamie. Not so long ago.

How would she bear watching them together, knowing his child grew inside her? ’Twas hard enough the first twelvemonth of their marriage when she carried Ian and Jamie favored Rose. Leana never dreamed it would happen again. But it had.

And this time she had nowhere to run.

“Here we are.” Rose nodded at the room, taking a lighted candlestick from the hall table. The sisters walked through the door in tandem, greeted by the musty smell of linens that needed laundering. “I’ll see that Annabel cleans the room before you retire.” Rose placed the candle by the washstand, then pulled open the curtains, sending dust motes flying. Sunlight made the bedroom look even more neglected. A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. The towel by the washbowl was soiled, used and discarded some time ago. “As you can see, housework has suffered of late.”
Because of you.
Rose did not need to say the words for Leana to hear them.

Leana placed her hat on the bedside table and touched the box bed curtains, fond memories hidden in every fold. “It seems my departure left Auchengray short-handed.” She was sorry she’d left without telling them and equally sorry she’d returned unannounced. How had it come to this?

Rose looked round the square bedroom with its large oak clothes press and carved mantelpiece. “The Widow Douglas may prefer this room once they’re wed. The spence is father’s domain, not at all suited for a woman.”

Leana gazed toward the room where Ian slept. “I could stay in the nursery—”

“Nae!” Rose was clearly distraught. “Th-that hurlie bed is
most
uncomfortable. Please consider this your room.” She moved about the room, absently touching the furnishings. “Not long after Mistress Douglas moves to Auchengray, Jamie and I will depart for Glentrool. Then she and Father may have our old room, and everyone will be happy.” She turned toward Leana and held her palms up as if the matter were resolved.

Oh, Rose.
Nothing was ever so easy. Leana clasped her sister’s
outstretched hands. “Dearie, I think you have something to tell me. Not about Father. ‘Yer ain guid news,’ as Neda called it. A babe perhaps?”

Rose blushed to her roots, the whites of her eyes stark against her pink skin. “Is it … that obvious?”

“Only because I know you so well, my sister. You look like you swallowed a candle.”

Rose ducked her head, shy and uncertain, like the young woman of sixteen she was. “It feels more like peat burning inside me.”

“So it does.” Leana slowly gathered her sister in her arms, hoping it might ease the tension between them. Her own revelation would have to wait. Hadn’t they competed enough? “I am happy for you, Rose. ’Twas what you wanted, a child of your own.” Leana squeezed her eyes shut, willing the pain to subside.

“Oh, Leana. I wanted you to be the first to hear, not the last.” Rose sniffed, hugging her tight. “I’m sorry you weren’t here.”

“I am too, Rose.” The girl Leana remembered from childhood returned. The charming Rose. The innocent Rose. They stood in the dim and dusty room, holding each other, almost sisters again. “When do you expect your bairn to be delivered?”

Rose leaned back, drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab her nose. “Early January, I think.” She gave a little shrug. “Perhaps this summer you might help me prepare for … what’s to come.”

“I will.” Leana would do what she could. For Rose’s sake. And for Jamie’s.

A light tap at the door announced Eliza with a steaming pitcher of water in her hands and a bright smile on her face. “Mistress, ’tis guid tae have ye hame.” She hurried across the room to deposit her heavy pitcher in the washbowl, then dropped a deep curtsy.

“Bless you, Eliza.” Leana touched the ruffled edge of the girl’s white cap. “ ’Tis good to see you, too.”

Eliza offered her the fresh linen towel draped across her arm. “Ye’ve been sairlie missed, mem.” She stuck out her hands, the creases stained from gardening. “As ye can see, I’ve done a’ I could, but yer
gairden
is mair than I can manage.”

“Not to worry. I’ll start with the kitchen garden in the morn’s morn.”

Rose stepped forward. “Eliza, the rest of the household is anxious to greet my sister. See to her grooming while I gather the staff in the parlor.”

“Aye, mem.” Steam swirled round the broad porcelain bowl as Eliza poured the hot water. She fished a small cake of soap from her apron pocket, bathed Leana’s neck, face, and hands, then cleaned the dust from her gown. Finally Eliza offered her mistress a slender birch twig to freshen her teeth, then untangled her braids and brushed her hair until it shone.

“Like waves of spun gold,” Eliza said, clearly pleased with her work. “Shall I dress it in a circle o’ braids again? Though, if ye dinna mind me sayin’, ’tis nice as ’tis.”

“We’ll leave it unbound,” Leana agreed.
The way Jamie likes it.
She was ashamed of her thoughts, yet could not bring herself to coil her hair on top of her head. Just for this evening. Just for the first time he saw her.

Eliza was straightening the washstand and fretting over the sorry condition of the room when a familiar cry floated down the corridor.
Ian.

Leana flew from the room, a cloud of hair wafting over her shoulders. “Coming, sweet boy,” she called out, her heart beating wildly. Would he still know her voice? Her face? Would he welcome her or shrink away, confused?
Ian, ’tis your mother. Home to stay.

Light steps sounded at the foot of the stair as Leana opened the nursery door. Rose must have heard him too. Compelled by instinct and an urgent need to hold her son, Leana slipped into the room and hastened to the crib.

Ian was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, not quite awake yet.

She stared at him in wonder. “My braw wee lad.” The child was a miniature Jamie, from his sleek dark hair to the set of his chin. Only his eyes were like hers, blue and wide, blinking at her now.

“Will you come to me, Ian?” She reached toward him, grateful he did not whimper as if she were a stranger. Leana slid her hands under his arms and lifted the child out of the crib, surprised at the weight of him. When she held him against her, his body still warm with sleep, tears sprang to her eyes. “My dear son.” Smoothing one hand over his silky hair, she kissed his brow, then his cheek. “Who would have imagined
such a fine neck hiding beneath that handsome head of yours? Has Neda been feeding you her good porridge?”

“He’s eating minced beef now.” Rose stood in the doorway, watching them. “And
tatties
and gravy and soft cheese. Neda has cooked carrots for you tonight, Ian, and bits of the fish your father caught. Aren’t you the lucky lad?” She held out her hands, and Ian dove toward her with a gleeful cry, nearly tumbling out of Leana’s embrace.

“Careful!” Leana held him a moment longer before guiding him into her sister’s open arms. Did he truly not recognize her? Or did he prefer Rose?

Ian patted Rose’s cheeks as the two pressed their noses together, then he whirled about as if to
assess
this newcomer to the nursery.

“You know who this is, don’t you, Ian?” Rose’s voice was even. “ ’Tis my sister, Leana. She once took care of you and loves you dearly. Just as I do.”

Leana stared at her in dismay. “Will you not tell him who I am?”

Rose averted her gaze, busying her hands straightening Ian’s sleeve. “Jamie and I have not spoken of the matter. We did not expect to see you again, and so I thought … that is, I assumed Ian would think of me as … his mother.”

“But I …” Leana’s throat tightened, “
I
am his mother.”

“You gave birth to him,” Rose acknowledged, blushing as she said it. “But Ian is ours to raise now. Jamie’s and mine. When we arrive in Glentrool, ’twould be so much easier—”

“Easier for
you.
” Leana clutched her skirts in her hands, her grief mounting. “But not easier for me, Rose. Nor for Ian when he learns someday that you have hidden the truth from him.” She reached for the sharpest arrow in her quiver. “ ’Tis the sort of thing Father would do, keeping secrets from his children.”

Rose turned away as if she’d been slapped, then recovered just as quickly. Without a word she stepped round Leana and began changing Ian’s wet nightgown as though Leana were no longer in the room. “Aren’t you a fine boy,” she praised him, “staying still while I dress you in your nice, clean gown?”

Before Leana spoke again, she made certain her voice was calm, and
her words far kinder. “Rose, you are a wonderful stepmother. There is no shame in such a role.”

Rose’s hands stilled. “I am not ashamed, Leana. I am only thinking of Ian in the years to come. Even you must admit how difficult it would be for Ian, always explaining why the woman that bore him is no longer married to his father.”

“Aye.” Leana sank against the wall, her strength gone. The long journey by chaise, the shock of finding the McKies still here, and the babe in her womb had all taken their toll. “What you say is true, much as it grieves me to confess it.”

Rose turned, Ian tucked in her arms once more. Though Leana saw compassion in her eyes, suspicion lurked there as well. “Why are you here, Leana?”

She leaned her head against the cool plaster. Bits of psalms learned long ago came to mind but brought no comfort.
I am like a broken vessel.… I am poured out like water.… I am withered like grass.

“Leana, will you not tell me what brings you to Auchengray?”

Straightening, Leana took a deep breath as though the air alone might support her. “I came home because I could not impose on poor Aunt Meg’s hospitality another hour.” That was the truth; she felt no shame in saying it. “And I missed Neda. And Duncan and the others.” Also a fact Rose could hardly deny. “Since I was certain you’d left for Glentrool in May, I saw no harm in returning to Auchengray.”

“I see.” Rose lowered Ian to the floor, letting him test his knees as he rocked back and forth. “I wish you had written first.”

“So do I, for I did not mean to grieve you.” At least her reasons, hastily assembled, had appeased her sister. “Why did
you
not write and tell me your news?”

“I did.” Rose bent to place Ian’s wooden blocks within his reach. “My letter will no doubt arrive in Twyneholm on Monday.”

Monday.
Leana swallowed, feeling ill. “If only I’d waited …”

“But you didn’t,” Rose said matter-of-factly. “And now you are here, and we will make the best of it.” She gestured toward the stair. “The household is waiting to greet you. It might make things easier if Ian and I waited here.”

Leana moved to the door, her legs stiff, like those of a wooden soldier being put through its paces by an impatient child.

Rose reached out a hand to steady her. “Leana, are you all right?” “I’ll be fine,” she said faintly as she started down the stone steps.
’Til Jamie comes home.

J
amie crossed the lawn with long, purposeful strides, Willie lagging far behind him.

“Miss McBride has come hame!” the servant had cried when he’d found Jamie in the far pasture. “Wull ye be wantin’ tae
walcome
her, sir?”

Aye, he would. Very much. And then again, he would not.

Leana.
Her name pounded inside his chest, louder than his heart. This would never have happened if they’d left for Glentrool in May as he’d planned. Or if Rose had written her sister sooner … or if he’d sent a letter of his own.

Why, Leana? Why now?

He could not blame her for coming home. He could only blame himself for not preventing it. Or had that been his secret hope all along? That Leana would come back to him?

Love my sister.
“ ’Tis done,” he muttered, pushing open the front door.

Jamie strode into the house, empty except for the parlor, where house servants and farmworkers alike stood in a ragged reception line. His steps slowed when he spied the graceful woman greeting each one, her hair cascading down her back, her voice low and gentle. He’d thought himself prepared to see her, but he was not. When she turned toward him, he could not move another step or take another breath, save the one that spoke her name.

“Leana.”

She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her skin shone like ivory silk. Her eyes were wider, her mouth fuller. Or had her face grown thinner? Was that the difference? She looked fragile, as if her time away from home had been difficult for her. How well he understood.

The household had finished welcoming her it seemed, for the servants began filing out. A blur of browns and grays slipped past him, though Jamie paid scant attention. His eyes were on Leana, walking toward him, her hair draped round her like a silk mantle.

“Jamie.” She curtsied, perhaps to hide the pink tinge in her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry to have come home without writing first.” Her chin remained lowered as if she could not bring herself to look at him. “Had I known that you and Rose were still living at Auchengray, I would have waited until August.”

Finally he found his voice. “This is your home, Leana. You are always welcome here.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Leana looked up at him at last. “I could not impose upon Aunt Margaret any further.”

There was another reason, Jamie decided, barely visible in the blue depths of her eyes. Had something happened at Twyneholm?

“Jamie,” she began, stepping closer. Her hair brushed against his sleeve. It felt like a caress. “Rose and I had a chance to talk. I am … happy to hear of your news.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, to witness the pain etched across her face. The slender crease between her brows. The fine lines round her eyes and mouth. Leana was anything but happy, and no wonder: She’d found her sister blooming with child, in love with the man who’d once pledged to love only her, forever.

Forgive me, Leana.
He would have to say those words aloud. Not now, when Rose might appear any moment, but soon. Mere words would never be enough to assuage his guilt or ease her sorrow. Not Leana, who felt so deeply and loved so well.