Whence Came a Prince (28 page)

“Did the two of you … fight?” She looked up at him, her sweet face lined with worry. “I heard … shouting. And scuffling …”

“I’m afraid so.” He hung his head, truly repentant. “ ’Twas my fault entirely. He said things about Leana that were … improper.”

“Oh, dear Jamie.” She cupped his cheek, her damp handkerchief threaded between her fingers. “You defended her, didn’t you? My brave husband.”

“A brave man would have challenged him to a proper duel. Instead, I nearly choked him.”

“Now I
am
sorry I left. I suppose we shan’t have our usual hour of family worship this evening.”

“I think not.” He shrugged off his coat, eying his discarded work shirt. “I’ve tasks to do in the steading and two more hours of daylight. Will you mind?”

“Nae, for I have tomorrow’s meals to plan with Neda. Do stop in the nursery and assure Leana that you are all right. She was quite worried.” Rose kissed his cheek. “We both were.”

She hastened down the stair while Jamie changed into clothes better suited for the byre. His muscles were still tense, his nerves on edge. The last time he’d felt his blood pounding in his head like this was when Evan and he had fought in Glentrool’s kitchen on the dark night of his
deception. Evan, broader and stronger than he, would have pummeled him senseless if their father had not intervened.

You have brought shame to Glentrool this day, James McKie.

Jamie swallowed hard, remembering his father’s painful words. He could only pray that his own words, sent by letter Tuesday last, would begin repairing the rift between them. Just as Duncan advised him, Jamie held nothing back, confessing his many transgressions without stooping so low as to mention his mother’s involvement. When the time had come to pretend he was Evan,
he
had spun the web of deception, not his mother. The lies were his alone.

He’d also sent a separate letter to Evan, hoping it might do some good, though it seemed an impossibility. What brother could forgive such treachery? Even Duncan had conceded, “A brother offended is harder tae be won than a strong city.” After congratulating Evan on the birth of his son, Jamie had forced his pen to write the words that weighed on his soul.

Seeing the truth on paper had shaken him to the core.
Deceiving. Dishonoring
. It was one thing to confess such sins; writing them out was quite another.

He’d never in his life written such letters. It had taken him another day to work up the nerve to send them. Now they were in the hands of
a courier. He could only wait for his father and brother to respond and pray they might be merciful.

For the moment there was work to finish in the steading and a wife’s request to honor. He finished dressing, then stepped into the corridor and lightly knocked on the nursery door. When there was no answer, he opened it with care, lest he wake their sleeping son.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. Ian lay in his usual pose, arms and legs spread out, staking his claim on the crib. Leana lay on her side on the small trundle bed, her eyes closed, her breathing even. Asleep as well, it seemed. She had discarded her apron and modestly unbuttoned her gown to allow a bit of air round her neck. Her hands, usually tucked beneath the pillow, rested in front of her, crossed at the wrists.

He closed the door, lest the sounds of the household disturb them. Stepping closer, then closer still, he finally knelt beside her, resisting the urge to speak her name.

She sighed but did not wake. Turning ever so slightly onto her back, she lifted her arms above her head in sleepy repose, revealing the graceful lines of her neck. Memories, unbidden, washed over him, drowning him. He ignored his guilty conscience and let his gaze follow the curves of her body.

His heart thudded to a stop.

She is with child.

Jamie sat back on his heels, dumbfounded. How could he not have noticed before?

She looked so vulnerable lying there, so defenseless, her belly round just like last summer when she carried Ian. Jamie laced his hands together, resisting the strong urge to touch her, to protect her.

No wonder you came home, lass.
An unmarried woman with a bairn would not be welcome in Twyneholm parish or any other. Though she’d kept her secret well hidden beneath her apron, it appeared she’d been carrying the child for several months.

One thing was certain: The child was his.

He bent forward, pressing a fist against his mouth, lest he groan aloud.
Oh, Leana
. A moment of anger quickly passed. She’d not meant to deceive him; she’d meant to spare him.
I ken more than that but am
bound to silence.
Lachlan knew, it seemed. Yet she’d clearly begged her father to keep her secret.

The woman he’d once loved with all his heart would never lie. If he asked her, Leana would confess the truth at once. But Jamie trusted her instincts; she was concealing her child for some very good reason.
Rose.
There could be no other explanation. Leana meant to keep this news to herself rather than wound her sister. Rather than devastate him.

“Och, lass,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

Her scent rose to greet him. Lavender and soap and Leana. Overcome, he leaned back, catching his breath. Should he leave? Should he stay and voice his suspicions? He watched her turn onto her side again, wondering if she’d heard him.

“Did my father win the skirmish?” she asked softly, opening her eyes. “Or did you?”

There was no leaving now. He met her gaze, still clouded with sleep. “No one did, I’m afraid.”

“But you tried, Jamie. You spoke on my behalf, and I’m grateful.” She drew up her knees, pulling her gown round her, covering what she could. “Have you been here … long?”

“Not long.”
Long enough.
“Rose asked that I put your mind at ease about … what happened in the dining room.”

“Did Father … say anything … in particular?”

Jamie hesitated, longing to expose her secret, wanting to hear her confession:
I am carrying your child.
But that was unfair and unkind. When she was ready to tell him, she would. “Lachlan and I exchanged very few words,” he finally admitted. “We talked about my stolen lambs.” Well, they had, hadn’t they?

“Your precious flocks.” She lifted her hand as though she might brush his cheek, then laid it across her bodice instead. “ ’Twas unthinkable what those men did.”

“Whoever they were.” When Ian stirred in his crib, Jamie realized his visit to the nursery was nearing an end. He stood, looking down at her all the while. “I am verra sorry about your father’s decision. About the wedding.”

“It matters not, Jamie.” Her words sounded genuine. Leana had yet to meet Morna or her sons. Perhaps she truly did not want to go. “With the house to ourselves, Ian and I will have a fine day.”

“But our gift …”

She lifted her hand, gently stopping his words. “I’ll not begrudge my father a wedding present simply because I won’t be there to hear the marriage vows.” Her gaze shifted away from his. “I have heard them spoken before.”

“So have I.”
And have said them. Twice.
“I’ll leave you to Ian, then.”

Jamie bowed, then quit the room and bounded down the stair more quickly than was prudent. Running from the house. Running from the truth.

T
hree weeks to Lammas.

Leana could think of little else this Sabbath day, even while the notes of the closing psalm rang round her head and the words of Reverend Gordon’s sermon beat upon the doors of her heart. “Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts.” That was precisely where the truth could be found. Yet all she could offer was a timorous smile while her mind turned the pages of a calendar.

The first of August would find her in this very pew with only Neda and Duncan to keep her company. A day she both longed for and dreaded. Though her hidden child could at last be revealed, Ian would be taken from her arms. Though her heart could begin to mend, the loss of Jamie’s company would render it irreparable.

Three weeks to Lammas.

“Dearie,” Rose whispered in her ear, “the benediction is finished.”

Leana lifted her head like one grateful to be awakened from a sad dream. Some parishioners stood among the pews, others milled in the aisles, loath to face the downpour that waited for them beyond the kirk doors. All through both services the rain had pounded on the slate roof and drummed against the windowpanes.

“Miss McBride.” Reverend Gordon greeted her at the end of the pew. “Might I speak with you for a moment?”

Leana turned aside as the rest of the household squeezed past her. The air smelled of mildew and damp linen, and the gray light cast a pallor on every face. Rose gave her a furtive glance, and Jamie eyed her with genuine concern. Her father, who held the truth in his hand like a trump card, looked the other way as his coattails brushed her skirt.

Giving the minister her full attention, Leana did what she could to appear calm. Reminding herself to breathe. Offering a silent prayer.
Thou art my hiding place.
She intended to tell Reverend Gordon her news but not yet. And not here.

“A certain matter has come to my attention.” His solemn features gave away nothing. “ ’Twould best be discussed … elsewhere. What day this week might I call at Auchengray?”

A certain matter.
She squeezed the cotton gloves in her hands until her fingers ached. “You are welcome any day, of course.” Ministers were free to knock on parishioner doors whenever they pleased. How else might a shepherd discern the goats among his sheep? “Perhaps Friday would be best. Some of the household will be away at Father’s wedding in Urr parish.”

Reverend Gordon’s thick gray eyebrows arched. “And will you not be in attendance?”

“I am not invited.”

His look of surprise gave way to irritation as the minister stared at her father’s departing back. “I’m sorry to hear it. Expect me for tea at ten.” After a moment his features softened. “I’ll hope for better weather by week’s end.”

“As shall I, sir.” She curtsied, then hastened to catch up with her family.
A certain matter.
What could it be but her bairn? Pausing in the doorway to pull on her gloves with trembling hands, she spied the chaise parked near the kirk gate. Rose was already seated, clutching Ian, while Jamie stood waiting in the deluge, holding out his hand toward her.

Leana hurried across the muddy kirkyard. Holding her hands over her head made little difference; she was soaked through within seconds. “Sorry to have kept you,” she shouted above the din, breathless from running. “Has Father gone ahead?”

“Aye, astride Walloch.” Jamie practically lifted her into the two-wheeled vehicle, then helped her get settled. “ ’Tis good we brought the chaise. No woman should be forced to walk in a
plumpshower
like this. Especially one who bears a babe.”

Jamie looked at Rose when he said it, but Leana thought he’d glanced at
her
in passing. Might he suspect something? Or was he merely being
polite, including her? On several occasions of late, she’d caught Jamie studying her, a pensive look on his face. She ate as little as she could to keep her figure in check, but her babe was not so easily contained. Perhaps she was fooling herself to think the child well hidden. Or had her father disclosed her secret for some ill-kindit reason?

She gripped the soggy leather reins while Jamie made his way to the other side and climbed onto the seat beside Rose. The chaise, one of the few wheeled conveyances in the parish, was meant for two. Three adults and a child in arms taxed the narrow, padded seat to its limits.

“On with you, Bess.” Jamie took the reins, and the chaise lurched forward. The auld mare knew the way, leading them safely through the village, then across the arched stone bridge and westward. The movable bonnet above them provided minimal protection from the elements, and the open sides, none at all. Huddled together, their hats dripping, the sisters did what they could to comfort Ian, whose plaintive cries were muffled by the rain. At least the temperature was warm. They would arrive home drenched but not shivering.

Though Leana kept a wary eye on the flooded ditches, Reverend Gordon’s visit was foremost in her mind. That morning the precentor had announced the kirk session would meet on the second of August. Please God, that Monday evening would not find her in the dining room of the manse before a formidable assembly of men demanding to know the particulars of her condition. Insisting the child should be raised by his father and stepmother.
Nae.
She was innocent before God and would not let the elders decide otherwise.
Let thy mercy be upon me.

Once they arrived at the mains, getting Ian dry and fed was Leana’s primary mission. Exhausted and irritable, he refused to cooperate, swatting his food away. “All right then, laddie. We’ll see to a nap.” Leana walked with him in the second-floor hall as she had when he was a newborn, holding him close, hoping the rhythm of her steps and the warmth of her body would help him drift off to sleep. “Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing,” she sang softly, watching his eyelids droop. “How I wish I’d not weaned you, little one,” she murmured. “A few minutes at my breast and you’d be fast asleep.”

Ian finally drifted off, drooling across the bodice of Leana’s gown.
She smiled as she tucked him in his crib, then released him very slowly lest she jostle him awake. She eased out of the nursery and tiptoed down the corridor toward her bedroom. Sunday supper would be light—day-old bannocks, Dunlop cheese from Ayrshire, cherries and summer pears from the orchard—but until then, her time was her own. She’d change her gown and see if she might find a book to read, something worthy of the Sabbath.