Whence Came a Prince (16 page)

I should never have come home.

The sad refrain had echoed through her heart all evening. Even now, as she lay in her box bed, Leana’s conscience prodded her. Why had she not written first? Why had Rose not written sooner? She tossed beneath the sheets, knowing sleep would not come easily, not after so harrowing a day.

At least young Annabel had performed her duties well; Leana’s bedroom smelled as sweet as any pudding. The maidservant had polished the furniture, scrubbed the floor, and changed the bedding, throwing open the window to let the cooler night air freshen the room. Leana had discovered her few treasured books stored in the cupboard and spent the balance of the evening with Richardson’s
Pamela
, the lively tale of a serving maid and a young man of means. Lost in the twists and turns of their affairs, she’d managed to forget the knotty nature of her own life for a bit until exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, beckoning her to bed.

But sleep would not come.

Down the stair, the mantel clock chimed the late hour as she
thought of Ian alone in the nursery. Leana would have the lad to herself for as long as she might keep her eyes open.

Moments later she stood in the darkened corridor outside the nursery door. Touching her hand to her heart, as if to calm its rapid beating, she slipped into his room, letting her eyes adjust before she latched the door behind her. Unlike the other bedrooms, no candle remained lit here. Jamie and Rose slept in the next room; they would hear Ian if he cried out.
As they might hear you, Leana.

Undaunted, she moved toward the crib, her bare feet soundless against the wooden floor, her white linen nightgown catching a strand of moonlight shining through the window. Ian’s face shone as well, turned to one side. He looked even younger in his sleep, like the child she’d said farewell to months ago.

She knelt next to his crib, longing to hold him. Might she touch his brow without waking him? She did so, holding her breath, marveling at the softness of his skin. When he did not move or make a sound, Leana continued to stroke his head, faintly skimming over his hair. She noticed his hand lay curled beside him, slightly open. If she gently slid her finger inside his curled hand, would he stir? He did not wake when her skin touched his; instead, his hand closed round her finger by instinct, holding her tight.

“Oh, Ian,” she said aloud, not meaning to. Her voice did not wake him, nor would Ian let go, no matter how hard she tugged her fingers. She smiled, even as tears pooled in her eyes. “You have caught me.”

“Aye,” a male voice on the other side of the door answered, “so I have.”

Leana tried again to pull free of Ian’s grasp as the door opened and Jamie’s shadow fell across the room. She could not see his face, only his outline lit by the hall candle.

“I heard you slip past our bedroom.” His low voice bore no note of censure. “ ’Twas easy to guess where you were headed.” Leaving the door ajar, he entered the room and knelt beside her, gazing at the sleeping child with obvious affection. Jamie’s smooth hair hung loose, brushing against his nightshirt as he bent over the crib. After a quiet moment he confessed, “You have given me a fine son, Leana.”

“He is God’s gift. To both of us.” She heard the slight tremor in her voice. Jamie was too close, the warmth of him too apparent. Yet if she moved, she risked waking Ian. Rubbing her thumb across the back of his tiny hand, she hoped Ian might relax his grip. But he did not. “It seems I am here to stay.”

“So you are.” Jamie must have sensed her discomfort, for he stood and backed away from her. “Sleep well, Leana.” And he was gone.

As if on cue, Ian opened his hand in his sleep, setting her free. She rose at once, shaking from head to toe. From relief, from desire, from a sinking realization of what the next two months would require of her.
You look bonny, Leana.
She could not dwell on such thoughts.

Back in her box bed once more, Leana smoothed her hand across the sheets, back and forth, as if the motion itself might lull her to sleep. But there was no hope of that. She had sewn these sheets herself and tucked them inside Rose’s cherished dresser drawer—the one every bride filled with new linens before her wedding day—never imagining the sheets would cover her own bridal bed instead.

Leana closed her eyes, unable to hold the memories at bay any longer. That December wedding night long ago had been cold, bitterly so. Cozy behind the curtains of this very box bed, the bride and groom had not even noticed the temperature: Jamie warmed by whisky, Leana warmed by Jamie. Vivid recollections sprang to life, heating her skin, robbing her of any chance of sleep.

Jamie, my sweet Jamie.
She gripped the bedsheets.
I love you still.

She sat up, sick with longing for a man she could not have. “Beloved one,” she cried softly, her voice hollow in the empty box bed, “my heart does have limits.”

In Twyneholm she’d had the freedom to love Jamie from afar. But here beneath her father’s roof, that freedom was gone. She could not—
must
not—love Jamie as she once did. Not as a woman loved a man. Somehow she would learn to care for him as one did a cousin, a brother-in-law, a close friend.

Jamie’s voice taunted her.
It can never be that way with us.

“It must be, my love.” She fell back on the heather mattress, fresh tears filling her eyes. “It must be.”

T
ell me true, Leana.” Neda set a bowl of porridge at her place. A generous dollop of butter melted on top of the oats, and fresh cream circled the edges of the pottery bowl. “Does the place leuk different tae ye since ye’ve been gone a spell?”

“Aye, it does.” Leana ran her thumb along the rose pattern on her spoon, wishing she’d slept better. Father was expected home soon; she would need all her strength to face him. “ ’Tis as though I’m visiting a neighbor’s house. Familiar, yet changed. Not quite home anymore.”

“But you
will
remain here.” Rose sat across the way, her breakfast untouched. The two sisters had the table to themselves that morning; Jamie was already on the hills, fending off the pouring rain. Without him there, the tension in the air had almost dissipated. For the moment at least. “Auchengray will be your home now,” Rose said firmly. “For good.”

If Father allows me to stay.

Leana slipped a spoonful of steaming oats into her mouth and nearly burned her tongue. Eyes watering, she swallowed with some difficulty. “Aunt Meg likes her porridge lukewarm,” she explained, putting down her spoon. “Perhaps I’ll wait a bit.” She eyed Rose’s plate. “What of your breakfast, dearie?”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Not today. Probably not tomorrow morning either.”

Though she could not quite reach her, Leana stretched her hand across the table in sympathy. “ ’Twill not always be thus. As the Buik says, ‘For surely there is an end.’ ”

“When?” Rose pushed her bowl away with a weary sigh. Apparently
even the aroma was more than she could stand. “Come dinnertime I always feel better. Then it seems I cannot stop eating.” She pinched her cheek, her expression glum. “Look how I’ve filled out. ’Tis most unbecoming.”

Jamie does not think so.
Leana held her tongue, but her thoughts were not so easily restrained.
He loves you, Rose. Be grateful.

“And
you
have lost weight,” Rose said petulantly. “Eat my dishful as well, for I’ve ne’er seen your cheeks so gaunt.”

Leana answered with a slight shrug, tasting her porridge again. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the shape of my face.”

“Wheesht!” Rose nearly spilled her tea. “Forget my own sister? In two months’ time? You can’t mean that.” Her gaze was clear, any wariness gone. “I have seen your face everywhere I looked, Leana. In the gardens and at your spinning wheel. By the hearth with your needle. Here at table with your fine manners.” She dipped her chin. “I’ve missed you, Leana.”

“Oh, my sister.” Dropping her porridge spoon, Leana stood and hastened to her side, then wrapped her arms round her shoulders. “And I have missed you. Have I not told you so?”

Rose shook her head, cutting Leana to the quick.

“I
have
missed you, dearie,” Leana assured her, kissing the back of Rose’s neck as she held her close. “Forgive me for not saying so yestreen.” After a long moment, Leana straightened, her hand still touching her sister’s shoulder. “I am sorry I left. And I’m sorrier still that I’ve come home at the wrong time and ruined your summer.”

“Nae.” Rose looked up, her dark eyes swimming. “I am glad to have you home.”

Leana felt something shift inside her, in that deep place where vows are made and kept. With God’s help, she would learn to be happy—genuinely happy—for her sister and for Jamie. It was the only remedy for her wounds, the only balm for a love that could not be expressed or requited. Hour by hour, day by day, she would teach her heart a new song.
Rejoice with them that do rejoice.
Aye, just that.

“Suppose I stay busy in the garden,” Leana offered, brushing her cheeks dry. “And if you’ll let me, I would like to help with Ian. Oh, Rose, I was a fool to think I could live without my son.”

The sincerity in Rose’s face did not fade. “I understand. I do.” She stood leaving her napkin beside her cold porridge. “I will be glad for your help, and so will Ian. I think you caught him off guard yestreen, just waking from his nap. See if he doesn’t recognize you today.”

Rose pressed her lips together as though she meant to say something else and then changed her mind. “Jamie …” She paused, then started again. “Jamie spoke with me about … about Glentrool. And … Ian.” Her cheeks matched her name. “Jamie is right, of course. And so are you. Ian will always be your son. Always.”

Leana released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You only meant to protect Ian.”

“I’ll not have you thinking me generous.” Her blush deepened. “ ’Twas my reputation I was protecting.”

Touched by her honesty, Leana cupped her sister’s cheek. “But I
do
think you’re generous. More than you know.” She nodded toward the window. “With this heavy downpour, I’ll not be doing any gardening this morn. May I bathe Ian instead?”

“You may,” Rose said emphatically. “ ’Tis my least favorite task, for the child makes certain I am wetter than he is before we’re done.”

Leana smiled, picturing it. “I’ll wear an apron and be prepared to find one of my old gowns when I’m finished.”

“We stored them on the third floor.” Rose slipped her hand in the crook of Leana’s arm and led her toward the stair. “I’ll have Eliza bring them to your room for an airing. You can see which ones still suit you.”

“They’ll all have to suit me, for I cannot afford another.” Leana thought of the silver in her purse, then discarded any notion of spending it on something so frivolous as a new gown. Who knew when those coins might be needed? “I suspect my old dresses will require altering. A woman’s body ne’er quite recovers from giving birth.”

When Rose paused to look her up and down with a critical eye, Leana wished she’d not spoken so carelessly. Rose arched her brows. “Your waist looks ever so trim to me, Leana. And will look more so as each week passes, compared to mine.”

Not true, dear sister.
Leana quickly changed the subject. “I am off to find Ian, then, and receive a good soaking.” They parted company when
they reached the stair—Rose to the kitchen to plan their meals for the Sabbath, Leana to the nursery, eager to hold her son again.

“Father should be home by noon,” Rose reminded her. “Won’t he be surprised?”

“
Crabbit
is the more likely word. His temper alone will dry his wet clothes when he arrives and finds me here.” Leana looked down at her from the landing. “Kindly see that I’m informed the minute Father rides up the drive. ’Tis best if he hears the news from my own lips.”

“
Oo aye!
” Rose rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you the brave one to face him?”

“Not brave, my sister. Desperate. I have nowhere else to call home but Auchengray.” Leana turned and hurried up the steep stair.

Annabel was in the second-floor hall, standing guard over Ian, who was doing his best to pull a chair down on his round head. Leana smiled at the red-headed maid, a twelvemonth younger than Rose and Eliza. “My sister says I may bathe you, Ian, and to arm myself accordingly.”

Annabel patted the cloth folded over her arm. “I’ve a clean apron for ye, mem.”

While Leana held Ian in her outstretched arms, the maidservant slipped the linen apron over her mistress’s head and tied it round her waist. “Not too tight,” Leana cautioned her. At least it tied in the back and not the front. Perhaps an apron would be a wise addition to her wardrobe—not just when needed but worn throughout the day, as Neda did. Unless guests came to call, there was no shame in wearing one at home.

Ian wiggled and flapped, wanting to be held, wanting to be put down, wanting something different than being airborne. Leana laughed, pulling him close, then planted kisses all over his face, much to his delight.

A grin appeared on Annabel’s freckled face. “Yer son does remember ye.”

Leana cradled him close and aimed for the nursery. “Now we’ll see if I remember how to bathe him.”

A shallow wooden tub waited in the center of the nursery floor. “ ’Twas steamin’ a bit ago,” Annabel said, “sae the water should be
richt
by noo. Thar’s naught mair
slitterie
than a soapy bairn.”

Leana pulled off his clothing, which Ian was happy to be rid of, then eased him into the water, kneeling beside the tub as she did. He
welcomed her with a great splash, nearly soaking the front of her apron through. “Well!” Leana said with a laugh, realizing just how much Ian had grown. He was stronger, more vocal, and far more energetic. Even with Annabel’s help, both their aprons were dripping wet when they finished, and the floor was covered with water as well.

“There’s hardly a drop left in the tub,” Leana teased him, lifting him onto the dry towel on her lap and rubbing his pink skin. She was still attending to his sleek cap of hair when Rose appeared at the door, breathless, her eyes like black saucers.