Whence Came a Prince (49 page)

The door to the inn opened, and Leana appeared. “Sorry to keep you, Rose. Have you somewhere in mind for us to visit?”

Rose took her arm, pulling her forward. “I do.” Wisps of fog softened the brightly painted doors, and the smell of leather and grain permeated the village. Laboring folk hurried by, en route to the cotton works or the tannery or the brewery. “Birtwhistle Mills employs three hundred or more, and there are at least a dozen shops, the innkeeper says.” Rose peered through the open doors as they walked down the street, the gravel surface still wet from yestreen’s hard rain. “See, Leana? Stockings, gloves, shoes, and all sorts of cotton goods.”

She steered her sister into a mercer’s shop, where bolts of cotton and wool in every hue filled the wooden shelves. The dyes stung her eyes, making them water. “Might you want a length of fabric for a new gown?”

Leana looked at her askance. “Dearie, you know I haven’t a penny to my name.”

Rose dabbed her eyes, hiding her smile. “I have a bit of silver to spare.” She loosened her purse strings and produced a handful of coins. “You are welcome to whatever this might purchase.”

What it purchased was several yards of woven cotton in a muted blue. “ ’Tis the exact color of your eyes.” Rose drew Leana closer to the shop window and held the fabric up to compare. “A perfect match.”

While the clerk wrapped the cotton goods with twine, Rose paid the shopkeeper with Lachlan’s silver. Sweet revenge for the gown money Father had pilfered from Leana when she returned home from Twyneholm. Rose had also deposited a few of his shillings in Meg’s cupboard drawers in Twyneholm, to be found some weatherful day when her aunt might need them. What was the use of having money if one didn’t give some away?

Leana admired the folded material in her arms. “However shall we explain this to Jamie?”

“I don’t need to explain a thing, because ’tis not my fabric.” Rose guided her into the street, the moist air awash with the pale light of forenoon. “And
you
don’t need to explain a thing, because he’s not your husband and dare not ask you whence the money came. See how easy it will be?”

Leana patted her cheek affectionately. “What I see is a lass who likes to keep secrets.”

“But I have nothing to hide from you, my sister.” Rose swept her braid over her shoulder, aiming Leana across the Fleet Bridge. “In a moment we’ll be in the next parish. I hear they have a lovely old kirk nestled in the woods. ’Tis but a mile and a half.”

Leana slowed her steps. “Might I leave the fabric at the shop then? I fear I’ll soil it on a stroll through the countryside.” When they ducked back inside, Leana tugged on Rose’s plaid. “Why not leave this here as well? It’s much milder now than earlier.”

“Nae.” Rose drew the plaid round her shoulders, covering the fist-sized bundle tied to her waist. “ ’Twill be cooler in the woods.”

The sisters crossed the bridge, then veered at the blacksmith’s forge and followed a well-trod footpath through the hilly woodlands. Ash, birch, and oak trees crowded them on both sides. The loud piping of a wood warbler floated down through the canopy of leaves. Rose could not see the distinctive yellow stripe on the bird’s head, but its song was unmistakable. She leaned back, searching the oak branches above.

“Dearie …” Leana stopped by her side, looking up as well. “Did you … take something of Father’s?”

Rose kept her gaze pointed upward. “Whatever do you mean?”

“In the wagon I found …” Leana sighed. “It’s nothing, really. A book of poetry. But he might well miss it.”

“A
book?
” The plaid nearly slipped from Rose’s shoulders. If only her theft were so trifling! “Father cares little for verse,” she managed to say. “I doubt he will notice it’s gone.” Her cheeks sufficiently cooled, Rose turned toward her sister, the wood warbler forgotten. “Shall I send the book back to him by post?”

Leana’s laugh was soft, apologetic. “I’m being silly, aren’t I? Enjoy the poetry, and I shall read it as well.” She slipped her hand through Rose’s arm. “
Then
we’ll send it back.”

Rose was relieved when they came upon the Anwoth kirk at last, for her back ached and the sack of coins had grown heavy. Enclosed by a dry stane dyke and surrounded by trees, the preaching house where Samuel Rutherford had won the hearts of his parishioners was a simple rectangle of gray stone with a belfry high above the door and a steeply pitched roof. Not a soul was in sight that quiet Wednesday morning; the bleating of sheep and the cawing of crows were all that could be heard as they strolled round the kirkyard.

“ ’Tis a great deal older than Newabbey kirk.” Leana glanced at the date chiseled into the arched doorway—1627—before her eyes were drawn to an enormous raised tomb. “What have we here?” A closer inspection of the ornate monument revealed its contents. “It seems the laird of Cardoness had two wives.” Leana ran her fingers over the bold inscription. “Margrat and Christen.”

Rose peered at the years beneath their names. “How young they were when they died! Thirty-one and thirty-three.” She touched the carved stone, cold beneath her fingertips. “Is this what Jamie will do someday? Build a tomb … for both of us?”

“Such a morbid thought!” Leana slipped an arm round her shoulders and turned toward the path back to the village. “No more auld kirks for you, lass.”

Rose hung back, remembering her duty. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Leana lowered her arm but still held her with her gaze. “May I not stay and pray with you?”

Easing away from her, Rose promised, “I’ll not be long,” then
ducked inside the empty kirk. She squinted in the dim light.
There.
Though the wooden collection box was locked, she found a small, rectangular hole on top. With some difficulty she squeezed the sack of coins through the opening, pinched between two fingers. Finally she let go, hoping Leana would not notice as the gold and silver landed with a noisy clink.

Rose stood still and waited for her heart to slow. Three small bags and the wutch’s cord were all that remained of their father’s treasure. With a lighter load, the cradle in the wagon had rocked back and forth too easily, emitting the telltale sound of shifting coins. Rose had been forced to find a new hiding place. Now the gold rested at the bottom of a basketful of cotton stockings in their room at the Murray Arms, safe from view. Jamie’s especially.

Forgive me, dear husband.
Once the gold was gone—and it would be very soon—Rose prayed such a painful confession would not be necessary.

“I confess, dear wife. Dinner was later than I’d planned.”

Rose had paid little attention to the food or the hour, so taken was she with Jamie’s altered appearance. After returning grass stained and rumpled from their walk, the sisters had found Jamie disheveled as well, having spent the morning moving his lambs across the bridge and settling them in the meadow below Cardoness. He’d promptly ordered a hot bath delivered to both their rooms, intending to pay a call on Murray of Broughton after their meal. Only his best attire would do.

Jamie had worn his gold-trimmed satin coat only once before, when he’d escorted Rose to Maxwell Park for a private dinner with his lordship. She had never forgotten the richness of the fabric: dark green with claret in a subtle pattern. Without Hugh to attend him, Rose had dressed Jamie’s hair for him, delighting in the silken feel of it between her fingers. Round his neck, the lacy white cravat showed off the firm line of his jaw. At his side hung his sword, the mark of a fashionable gentleman. Though Annabel had dressed her mistress in elegant damask, Rose was only too glad to let her husband carry the day for Glentrool.

The proprietor of the Murray Arms had snapped to attention when Jamie appeared duly attired, requesting dinner at two o’ the clock. Seated in a private dining room just inside the entrance door, the three of them were treated royally, as the kitchen offered up salmon, venison, and grouse, liberally seasoned and swimming in buttery sauces. Though Leana would not be accompanying them to Cally House—Jamie apologized profusely—she was most understanding and had dressed in her best gown for dinner as well.

“And how did you two spend your morning?” Jamie wanted to know.

“Shopping,” Rose said, winking at her sister. “And praying at kirk.”

Their waiter had just finished serving the plum pudding when a disturbance arose on the cobblestones outside the inn. Raised voices, sharp with anger, traveled beneath the door to their dining room, seeking an audience.

Male voices. Lowlanders. Familiar.

Rose gasped, and her spoon clattered to the table. “
Father!
”

Jamie was on his feet at once. “Stay seated,” he ordered the two of them, facing the door to the entrance hall, his hand on his sword.

The sound of boot heels striking the oak floor matched the desperate pounding of Rose’s heart. “Leana, what are we to do?”

“Trust Jamie.” The sisters held hands across the table, staring at the closed door, dreading the moment it would swing back on its hinges.

Instead, Jamie yanked it open. “Lachlan McBride is it?” Loud, strong, fearless.

Father stood in the doorway, his sweat-stained clothes covered with dust from the highway, his hands clenched by his side. Behind him, a wall of sons. Broad shoulders, thick necks, sullen faces.

“I’m sure you’ve been watching for me, Nephew.” Lachlan ventured inside the high-ceilinged room, the lads close behind him. “Considering that you stole away, like a thief in the night—”

“We left in the afternoon,” Jamie said evenly.

“—and robbed me of my most valuable possessions.”

When Rose whimpered, Jamie looked over his shoulder at her. The message in his eyes was unmistakable.
Do not be afraid.
He turned back to their father. “What have I taken that belongs to you?”

Rose gripped Leana’s hand as a dull pain inched across her womb. As if her bairns were listening and shared her terror.
You cannot know, Jamie. Must not know.

“I’ll tell you what you’ve taken.” Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “My daughters.”

Rose exchanged glances with her sister. His words were merely a ploy. Father cared nothing for their welfare.

“Oh, ’tis your
daughters
you value most?” Jamie’s voice rang with contempt. “Including the woman you planned to cast out of your house without a shilling?”

Lachlan did not respond immediately, his gaze fixed on Jamie’s scabbard. “Is that how you coerced Leana into coming with you? At the point of your sword?”

“Nae.” Jamie touched his weapon. A warning. “Leana came willingly.”

Lachlan’s gray eyes measured each of them in turn. “If you agreed to depart together, why was I not told?”

“Because you might have objected,” Jamie said bluntly, “and tried to stop us.”

“Now, Jamie.” Lachlan’s conciliatory tone said more than his words. He was toying with him. Trying to gain the upper hand. “I ken you are eager to return to your father’s house. Had my wife and I known you intended to take your leave, we might have celebrated with a special dinner. Invited some of our neighbors. Had an evening of entertainment.”

Rose stared at her father.
Entertainment?
Had the man gone daft?

Jamie spoke for all of them. “Uncle, you have never—”

“At the very least, you might have let me kiss my daughters and grandson farewell.”

“Och!” Jamie was having none of it. “Now Ian is your
grandson
, and not merely my bystart?”

“Jamie, Jamie.” Lachlan produced a linen handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Such harsh words when I am being generous with you. Why, I haven’t even mentioned the lambs you stole from me. Nigh to four hundred.” He shoved the handkerchief into his coat pocket, his gaze
hardening once more. “It was the Edingham flock that gave away your hiding place, Nephew.”

“Aye.” Malcolm’s smirk was ugly. Condescending. “We were bound for Ferrytown of Cree until we saw the lambs in the meadow below the castle. Your uncle kenned the two shepherds with them were Newabbey lads. That’s what led us back here.”

Gavin inclined his head toward the front door. “That and the old wagon beside the stables. Mother’s maid described it to us.”

Lachlan held up his hand as if expecting Jamie to bolt for the door. “We’ve already searched the wagon.”

Rose was in agony.
Lord, help me!
Had she missed a coin? A splinter from the thrifite?

Unaware of her fears, Jamie pressed for an answer. “You mean to say you searched our wagon for your
lambs?
”

“Nae, Jamie.” Lachlan’s voice was edged with steel. “We searched it for my thrifite. We searched it for the gold you stole from me.”

As Rose slumped in her chair, Jamie unsheathed his sword with a ragged cry. “How dare you make such an accusation!”

Lachlan gazed at the blade, frighteningly calm. “I dare because my thrifite disappeared when you did.”

Jamie stepped closer, brandishing his weapon. “While you were in Lockerbie, any number of people might have stolen your gold.”

“Any of the three people before me, aye. And you, Jamie, are the most likely suspect.” Lachlan looked over Jamie’s shoulder, one brow cocked. “Though I suppose Leana might have absconded with it to provide for her bairn.”

“Father, I would not dream—”

“Or Rose, who built me a fine stone fire. She might have taken my thrifite for spite.”

Rose sat absolutely still, pinned by her father’s gaze, as lethal as Jamie’s sword.

Jamie moved sideways, blocking Lachlan’s view of his daughters. “No one in my party stole your money box.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Am I to simply take you at your word?”

“Not my word, but my blade.” Jamie stepped back, holding the hilt of his weapon across his chest. “If you find even a single coin of your gold in our possession, I will run my sword through the heart of the one who stole it.”

Nae, Jamie!
A tear slipped down her cheek.

Lachlan stared at the three of them in turn. “You are that certain that none among you is a thief?”

“Utterly certain.” Jamie sheathed his sword. “Else I would not make so brash a vow. Search our two rooms at the top of the stair, if you like. Take your sons as witnesses. If you find your gold, I’ll make good my promise. But you’ll not find it, Uncle.”