Whence Came a Prince (5 page)

The gentle reminder soothed Leana’s heart like a balm. Jamie’s last words, spoken in Auchengray’s garden, whispered to her afresh.
I will ne’er repent of loving you. Do you hear me, Leana? I will always love you.
But her own words written to him that next morning came to mind as well.

Leana met her aunt’s troubled gaze. “You’ll recall I sent Willie home with a letter for Jamie.”

Meg glanced at the finely polished writing desk, one of the few items brought from Auchengray. A gift from Jamie. “You ne’er told me what you wrote, lass.”

“I wrote—” Leana’s voice caught on the words. “I wrote, ‘Love my sister. Seek your future together in Glentrool.’ ”

Her brow wrinkled. “Has he done those things, do you suppose?”

Have you, Jamie?
If only she could be certain. “He has ne’er written back to tell me. Nor should he,” Leana quickly added, masking the regret in her voice. “ ’Tis not proper for a married man to do so.”

“Och!” Meg was on her feet, her arms folded across her bosom. “If your dotty session clerk had done what was proper, if he’d made the necessary entries in the session records, you’d still be married to Jamie.”

Leana held up her hands, too exhausted to wrestle with the past. “What is done cannot be undone. With Jamie’s child growing inside me, ’tis even more urgent that I return home. For if I stay, I’ll put you in a dangerous way with the kirk and with your neighbors.”

The woman jerked her chin, though Leana saw the slight tremor in it. “I can manage being snubbed at market in Kirkcudbright.”

“ ’Twould be more serious than that, Auntie. An unmarried woman with an unborn babe? I’d be sentenced to the repentance stool for weeks and would drag you into the muck with me. For your sake, I cannot remain in Twyneholm.”

“But …” Meg hesitated. “I hate to even mention it, but … what will your own parish say?”

Leana’s stomach, already unsettled, drew into a knot. What
would
Reverend Gordon say when he learned the news? Since the kirk session had demanded she give up Ian, might they do the same when this child was born?
Please God, it cannot be!
The minister’s voice rang through her
heart like a
deid
bell on a funeral morn.
It is our wish to see Ian McKie reared in a devout and pious home, free from improper influences.

Nae!
Leana pressed her hand to her mouth. She would not allow it. Not again. Not if she had to live alone in the woods like Lillias Brown, shunned by decent society. Not if she had to board a ship for the Americas with her bairn beneath her wings. Not this child. Not this time.

Leana answered Meg at last. “I don’t know what they might say. I only know what
I
will say: My sins have been atoned for. And this child was conceived while all in the parish considered us married. Including the kirk.” She was glad to confess the words aloud, if only to remind herself of those truths.

Her aunt reclaimed her seat and clasped Leana’s hands in hers. “Remember this, dearie: No child is a surprise to the Almighty.”

The knot inside her eased. “How right you are, Meg.” Her child would have a heavenly Father if not an earthly one. When the child was born at Auchengray, she would send news to Jamie at Glentrool and see if he might willingly give the child his name.

Not his fortune nor his
heirship.
Only the name
McKie.

C
ome, little one. Let me mark you as mine.”

Jamie wrapped his arm firmly round the lamb and dabbed its neck with paint. Thinned with linseed oil, the scarlet
keel
mark would eventually wash out, leaving the wool white once more. Although the meat of the blackface, rather than the coarse wool, made the animals valuable, he would see their lightweight fleece put to good use as well. The blood-colored mark identifying the smaller lambs as his needed to last only until he herded his flock to Glentrool. “Two months from today,” he promised, nudging the bleating animal toward its mother.

He stood and stretched his cramped legs. The blackface breed flourished in cool, damp conditions; a shepherd’s joints and muscles did not. Last night while he’d slept, the month of June had made a showery entrance, drenching the countryside in a fine rain that had lasted all morning. Good for the gardens, especially the rose bed, but not the best weather for rounding up skittish lambs. Still, choosing which ones to mark was a task he dared not entrust to others, especially not the new shepherds who’d worked at Auchengray but a few days.

He’d arrived at the Whitsun feeing fair in Dumfries last Monday afternoon only to learn the most experienced herds of the parish had already been hired for the next term. When he’d happened upon Duncan near the Midsteeple shaking hands with a black-haired plowman to seal their agreement, Jamie pulled the overseer aside and told him of his bargain with Lachlan.

“
Weel
done,” Duncan had said, a smile decorating his weathered face. “Ye’ll be
sairlie
missed at Auchengray, but ye deserve tae have yer
ain
flocks and live in yer ain hoose.” He’d tipped his head and eyed Jamie with obvious amusement. “Is
thar
anither reason why ye’re anxious tae
flit
tae Glentrool?
Mebbe
a certain wife wha carries yer bairn?”

Few circumstances in life slipped by Duncan Hastings.

Jamie was standing there in the forenoon rain, still chuckling at the memory, when that same gruff voice came floating o’er the
braes.
“Will ye leuk at the
ill-faured
spots ye’re puttin’ on yer
puir
lambs this wet Tuesday?”

“My keel marks are not ugly,” Jamie protested, grinning all the while. “And my lambs will make me wealthy someday, not poor.”

Duncan made his way down the hillock. “ ’Tis a
blissin
yer uncle will let ye take that mony lambs tae Glentrool.” He surveyed the flocks, slowly nodding as he did. “I’ll see ye have the help ye need come August, Jamie. Rab Murray and Davie Tait will be pleased tae join ye on yer
raik
west, and
ithers
as weel. A fortnight later they’ll a’ be hame again, nae
warse
for wear. Ye’ll be generous wi’ them, aye?”

“You ken I will.” Jamie would make certain Alec McKie pressed a fair amount of silver into the itinerant shepherds’ hands before they were sent east again. Fifteen shillings each would be a fair stipend. “You’re bound for Kingsgrange, I’m told.”

“Aye, tae visit me youngest dochter, Mary. Anither bairn has come tae her hoose. I promised tae finish buildin’ her a cradle.” Duncan shrugged. “Her man could do it just as weel, but she wants her
faither
tae make it, she says.” After another long pause he added, “I’ll be hame in the morn should ye need me.”

Jamie dropped his paintbrush into the pail at his feet, determined to hear whatever Duncan seemed reluctant to say. “What brings you out on the hills looking for me when you should be riding to Urr parish?”

Duncan shifted his gaze to the watering trough. “ ’Tis yer uncle, Jamie. He’s been studyin’ his ledgers mair than usual, makin’ marks I canna follow. Sendin’ posts tae Embrough and Edingham Farm as weel.”

“He’s marrying a widow with a sizable estate come July,” Jamie reminded him. “Correspondence with the courts in Edinburgh is to be expected. And letters to his future bride too.”

“
A
’ I’m sayin’ is, be mindful, Jamie. Yer uncle is not above a bit o’
swickerie.
I willna stand by and see ye lose a’ ye’ve worked for.” With a tip of his checked wool bonnet, Duncan bid him farewell, then trotted down the hill toward Bess, a seasoned mare waiting patiently for her rider.

Jamie watched him go with misgivings. Duncan seldom spoke so candidly about his master. Was the man seeing deception where there was none? Or were Duncan’s fears well grounded?

The bleating ewes drew his thoughts back to the task at hand. Two months old now, the lambs were ready to be weaned from their mothers, a slow process of increasing the oats for the lambs and decreasing it for the ewes. The mothers bleated pitifully when their lambs no longer needed them. Despite the ewes’ obvious discomfort, nothing could be done but wait until their milk was gone.

Watching one ewe nudging her lamb, encouraging it to nurse, Jamie felt his throat tighten. A forgotten image returned to haunt him: Leana nursing Ian in the garden, bent over their son, weeping. Jamie closed his eyes, praying he might dislodge the painful recollection. Instead, it grew more vivid. Her hair, the color of ripened wheat, falling in soft waves round her shoulders. Her voice strained to the breaking point as she sang a lullaby, bidding their son farewell.

With a groan, he jammed his mud-covered boot into the soft ground, his frustration mounting anew. Could he not have done
something
? He found it nigh to impossible to forgive the elders of the kirk for their heartless decision. Asking a woman to give up her child was unconscionable. Asking Leana, the kindest woman he had ever known, to wean her son and place him in the arms of her sister, who…

“Och!” Jamie stamped across the waterlogged pasture, the ewes darting out of his way, taking their lambs with them. The scene before him was no longer green hills and blackface sheep but firelight throwing shadows against the walls of the Newabbey manse as Leana slipped off her wedding ring and placed it before Rose. Had he ever known a more terrible hour in his life? He’d begged the elders for mercy, but instead they demanded justice.

Justice was theirs. And Rose was his. A lovely lass, aye, and charming. But not the dear woman who’d run away from him, leaving behind a single request:
Love my sister.

He did care for Rose; in truth, he had doted on her once, as any lad with eyes in his head might have done. Her dark eyes and hair, her creamy skin, and her sweet mouth had stolen his senses from the hour they met. Now that she was his lawful wife and the mother of his unborn child, duty prevailed. He would treat her fairly, provide for her needs, and fill her arms with the children she seemed anxious to have. But could he do as Leana asked? Could he truly love Rose? And tell her so?

“Jamieee!”

Startled, he spun about, nearly losing his footing in the wet grass. His wife’s voice carried through the damp air like a high, clear bell. The heartbreaking images faded away as the grassy hillocks came into focus once more. Rose appeared a moment later at the top of the rise, bouncing Ian on her hip. As if chased away by the boy’s cheerful babbling, the soft rain ceased, and the gray skies seemed to lighten.

“There’s your father,” she sang out, pointing in Jamie’s direction. “See how he’s painting the lambs?” She slowly worked her way toward Jamie, her skirts dragging in the mud since she could not spare a hand to lift them. “Someday, lad, you’ll have your own flocks to tend. Won’t that be grand?”

At eight months, Ian was already an armful. With long limbs and a wavy mass of dark hair, he no longer bore the look of a babe but a man-child. He’d already begun trying to crawl, rocking back and forth on his knees. Forward motion would not be long in coming. Ian had also learned to point, which he was proving admirably just now, his arm outstretched. Rose held Ian tightly against her and bent her head to press her cheek against his. “Who is that, Ian? Is that your father?”

When the child waved his arms about, showing off his new front teeth with an exuberant smile, Jamie’s heart swelled. “There’s my good lad.” He grasped one of Ian’s tiny fists in his, making the child squeal with joy. “Your stepmother will not be pleased if I cover you with paint, will she?” Jamie gazed into the boy’s blue gray eyes, so like Leana’s, and was astounded to find his mood quite improved. How could a small child make so great a difference?

Leana’s words stirred inside him.
Ian needs you, Jamie. Even more
than I do.
Only now was he beginning to understand how much he needed Ian.

Rose shifted the lad to her other hip, sweeping her braid out of Ian’s reach. “Aren’t you going to ask why I’ve come looking for you?” Before Jamie could respond, she spilled out her news like oats from a pail. “We’ve company arriving for dinner within the hour. Widow Douglas of Edingham Farm and her three
braw
sons. Father insists you dress properly for table.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I suppose he’s chosen my waistcoat for me as well as the words I should speak.”

“Certainly not!” She laughed, turning toward the mains and inclining her head in invitation. “Away to the house, sir. I’m eager to meet the woman who has captured my father’s eye.”

“Instead, I fear his eye has captured her thrifite.” Jamie plucked Ian from her grasp and started east with the child tucked in the crook of his arm, enjoying the warmth of the small body pressed against his drugget coat. The child’s brown hair matched his own perfectly, as if a weaver with a practiced eye had chosen the strands. Jamie addressed Rose over Ian’s bobbing head. “As to the widow’s sons, they are neither handsome nor canny. Your
flindrikin
ways will be wasted on them.”

“Jamie,” she scolded, though her tone was playful, “I’m a married woman, not a flirt.” She lifted her skirts clear of the wet grass and lengthened her stride to keep up with him. “You’ll wear your embroidered blue waistcoat, won’t you? And be civil to them?”

Jamie held his tongue but could not quell his thoughts.
Her father’s daughter: ‘My will be done.’
Leana’s temperament was quite the opposite; she’d neither prodded nor pulled, yet Jamie had delighted in doing her bidding.

As he tramped across the rough pastureland holding their son, he imagined Leana standing on the threshold of her aunt’s house, looking wistfully toward Auchengray, her arms empty. “Rose, I’ve been meaning to ask: Have you written Leana? Told her we are expecting a child? And that we’re staying here through Lammas?”