Whence Came a Prince (51 page)

His uncle was already halfway to the door. “Then we will away, my sons and I. Our business here is done.”

As Lachlan’s footsteps faded down the stair, Rose spoke up. “Jamie? Might you do something … for me?”

He turned to her, noting at once her pained expression. Had she truly not been able to stand? Was she ill or merely upset? Jamie closed the gap between them and knelt beside her chair. “What a trial this has been for you, lass.” He kissed her soft cheek, chafing her icy hands. “Is there some medicine you require?” Glancing up at Leana, he was struck by the concern in her eyes. “Something your sister might prepare for you?”

“Not just now. But … please see that Father leaves for home … and does not follow us.” She pressed a fervent kiss to his knuckles. “I cannot bear looking over our shoulders all the way to Glentrool, fearing his retribution. Might you strike some peace with them? Father said he would not harm you, but his sons made no such promise.”

“Wisely said, Rose.” Jamie stood, adjusting his waistcoat. “I will find them at once and put your fears to rest.”

When Jamie reached the foot of the stair, Lachlan was nowhere to be seen. At a small dining table near the entrance hall sat three empty ale glasses, the sides still glistening. The lads had not gone far. Jamie hastened out of doors, determined to see the four men astride their horses and pointed east. He trusted the Almighty completely. But he did not trust his uncle or his new cousins.

Encouraged by the sight of three French Trotters near the entrance of the inn, Jamie approached the stable lad, offering him a penny before
asking his question. “Have you seen their riders? Three lads with hair the color of clay?”

“I have.” The stout lad grinned, pocketing his coin. “Said they were off on a walk through the village afore takin’ their leave. Doon the main street they went not twa minutes syne.”

“Was an older man with them?”

“Wi’ a scowl on his face? Aye, they left thegither.”

As Jamie strode down the busy street dressed in his lairdly attire, many villagers tipped their hats at him. His costume had served him well. Though he’d not conversed with Murray of Broughton, Jamie had indeed confronted Lachlan McBride.

The row of cottages and shops ran down to the water’s edge, where he spied the three brothers leaning over the stony expanse of the Fleet Bridge, tossing rocks into the water. Lachlan stood with them, gesturing wildly as he spoke—still enraged about his missing gold. Jamie pitied the thief who’d taken it, for Lachlan would not be merciful.

“Gentlemen.” Jamie approached them, his hand well away from his scabbard lest they misconstrue his actions. “I wonder if I might have a word with you before you leave.”

Ronald leaned back, his elbows propped on the bridge. “Have you not spewed enough words in our faces, Cousin?”

“They were not aimed at you, lad.” Jamie nodded at the rest. “Nor at your brothers.” He did not look at Lachlan. “I’ve come to make certain that we part on … ah, good terms.”

Malcolm threw a jagged rock in the water with more force than necessary. “The only terms that interest us involve the return of our gold.”

“I wish I knew who took it, for I would gladly confess his name.” Jamie meant it sincerely and hoped they heard it as such. “You can be sure Duncan Hastings would never stoop to such a crime.”

“He had good reason to rob me,” Lachlan grumbled, “for I refused to pay him for the term.”

Jamie flinched at the news.
Poor Duncan.
When he arrived at Glentrool, he would send the man sufficient silver to cover his losses. “Duncan had many chances over the years to pocket your silver, and he touched nary a coin. He is not a thief, and you ken that’s so.”

Lachlan grunted in response.

“Willie does not have the smeddum,” Jamie continued, “nor Hugh the nerve. In any case, had one of your servants done anything so foolish, he would have departed Auchengray at once. Both men were still there when you arrived, aye?”

“They were,” Gavin said bluntly. “Since it appears you are not the culprit, we’ve little choice but to return to Newabbey and inform the sheriff of our loss.”

Jamie thrust out his hand. “May the Lord watch over you on your journey home, even as he sees us safely to Monnigaff.”

One by one, the brothers begrudgingly shook his hand. When Jamie turned to Lachlan, no hand was offered him. Only a scowl and a narrow gaze.

“I want your pledge that you will treat my daughters well.”

“You may depend on it, Uncle.”
Far better than you have treated them.

Lachlan’s brow darkened. “Nor will I allow you to put my daughter aside to marry another.”

“I will have no wife but your daughter,” Jamie assured him.

Lachlan smacked his fist on the stone bridge that spanned the Fleet. “When you cross this bridge heading west tomorrow, do not turn back, thinking to harm me. Nor will we cross it in pursuit of you.”

Jamie almost smiled. ’Twas precisely the assurance Rose wanted. “With the God of my father as witness, we will go our separate ways in the morn’s morn.”

Lachlan would not shake his hand, but he did meet his gaze. Jamie saw the flicker of fear there. Whatever Lachlan had heard or seen in his dream, the Almighty had left his mark on the man’s soul.

“Come,” Jamie said, extending his arm toward the inn. “You’ve traveled all day with nothing but a glass of ale to slake your thirst. Let me arrange for a hearty dinner and suitable rooms for the night. At my expense.” When Lachlan cast a suspicious eye on him, Jamie explained, “ ’Tis my father’s silver that will pay for your repast. Not your own.”

Jamie led the way toward the Murray Arms, knowing what he must do: lock his door and guard his purse until the four men disappeared from view in the morn.

W
hen Leana heard the gentle tapping at her door, she turned the key, disregarding Jamie’s last words yestreen: “Unlock your door to no one.” This tentative knock could only belong to her sister. And they had much to discuss.

Rose stood in the corridor, already dressed for the day. Dark circles beneath her eyes hinted at a poor night’s sleep. “Leana, might you join me for breakfast? I realize ’tis naught but six …”

Leana pressed her forefinger against her lips, eying the sleeping maids behind her and Ian dozing soundly in his crib. “Let us away, for they’ll not miss me for another hour.”

The kitchen staff greeted their first guests of the day with fresh scones, still warm from the inn’s brick ovens, and pots of honey, creamy and thick. Leana helped herself to sliced fruit from the sideboard and served Rose as well, while steaming cups of tea were delivered by a bleary-eyed waiter.

“Leana, I’ve news that cannot keep.” Rose leaned forward, ignoring her breakfast, her gaze darting about the empty room. “Yestreen … when I could not rise from my chair … when I …”

Leana waited for her to continue, certain of what would come next.

“I could not stand because …” Rose’s eyes began to mist. “Because I was afraid that my … that something was wrong with … my bairns.”

Leana blinked at her for a moment. “You mean it had nothing to do with father’s gold?”

“Nae, nae!” Rose’s voice was stretched taut as a fiddle string. “I was … in pain. And then when I changed my cotton chemise this morning, I found …”

“Oh, Rose!” The gold forgotten, Leana reached across the small table to catch the tear on her sister’s cheek, praying her instincts were wrong. “Was it … blood?”

Rose gave a little sob, then nodded her head.

Heaven help us!
Leana scooted her chair closer, then rested her hand on Rose’s arm. “Listen to me, dearie. Jostling about in a wagon and climbing inn staircases are not proper activities for an expectant mother. No wonder you’ve had a bit of bleeding.”

Rose looked up, hope dawning in her eyes. “You’ve had this problem too?”

Leana would do anything to comfort her sister, but she could not lie. “I did not. Yet ’tis not uncommon, Rose. And there are measures that may be taken to keep your bairns safe. Let me speak with the cook.”

Moments later Leana returned to the table bearing a bitter-scented cup of tea. “Just as I’d hoped. The cook fancies herbs, as I do, and keeps dried nettle in her stillroom. ’Tis the best cure to ease a woman’s bleeding.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “The same nettle they use for fishing nets and tablecloths?”

“And nettle soup. A most useful plant.” Leana took her seat, trying to sound calm, while her beating heart was sounding an alarm. “Drink some, Rose. I believe it might help.”

Rose downed it quickly, then requested another while Leana offered what advice she could. “Elevate your feet when you ride in the wagon. Let Jamie lift you in and out, rather than managing on your own. Place your bairns’ health above all other concerns.” Leana made sure Rose was listening when she asked, “Have you told Jamie?”

“Oh, I dare not.” Rose pushed away her empty teacup. “He has too much on his mind already. But I will do everything you’ve asked me to do, Leana. And it was only a tiny bit of blood. And only once.” Her voice grew softer and more persuasive. “Promise you won’t tell him?”

Leana finally agreed, with serious misgivings. If it happened again, she would insist Rose tell Jamie, or she would tell him herself.

Their breakfast was nigh ended when Ian appeared, babbling like a burn in spate as he sailed through the door in his father’s arms.

“What a lucky boy you are,” Jamie told Ian, strolling over to their table. “You have two women who love you dearly.” He claimed a seat, smiling at them both. “I promised the maids I’d have scones sent to their room if they’d let me bring my son to breakfast.” He leaned round to catch Ian’s eye. “Will you nibble on a scone, lad, or would you rather drag it through your hair?”

“He’d prefer to drag it through
yours
.” Rose brushed back a loose strand from Jamie’s brow, fond affection sketched across her face.

Leana watched her sister closely. If she was in pain, it did not show.

The sound of male voices and boot heels on the stair put an end to their lighthearted table banter.
Father. And his sons.
Jamie handed Ian to Rose without a word, then stood facing the door. Though he did not bear his sword, Jamie’s daunting countenance would give them pause.

Only Lachlan made an appearance. He did not presume to take the fourth chair but simply stood beside their table—his manner subdued, his voice steady, without a hint of rancor. “I have come to bid you farewell, my daughters. For we shall not see each other again.”

Dismayed to find her throat tightening, Leana looked away lest Lachlan see the moisture in her eyes and think her weak. Relieved as she was to see him go, he was still her father. She would not miss his presence. But she would mourn what might have been.

With her head turned, Leana did not realize he’d reached for her hand until Lachlan startled her with a brief kiss on her knuckles.

“Godspeed, Leana.”

She looked up to find her father dry eyed, stoic as ever. Yet in those gray depths she saw a man whose heart had been broken so thoroughly that the pieces were misplaced and the pattern lost forever.

“I am sorry, Father,” Leana said. And she was.

Lachlan briefly kissed Rose’s hand as well, then spread his fingers across Ian’s head and murmured the oft-spoken words, “The L
ORD
bless thee.” With that, Lachlan McBride turned toward the door and was gone.

Jamie sat once more, rather stiffly. Lachlan had not said a single word to him, neither greeting nor farewell. “At least I am blessed of the Almighty,” Jamie said evenly. “And I do not envy my uncle the days
ahead. Facing his new wife without silver or gold. Perhaps when he returns home, he’ll find his thrifite buried in the lawn.”

Rose kissed Ian’s head. “Perhaps.”

As their breakfast plates were cleared, a commotion in the entrance hall drew their attention. “ ’Tis the mail,” Jamie informed them, nodding at the clock above the hearth. “According to the innkeeper, two coaches arrive at seven each morning. One from Carlisle, the other from Portpatrick. They’ll sort out the posts, change horses, then send the coaches on their way.”

Rose arched her brows, her interest obvious.

“Come, Rose.” He helped her to her feet. “Half the town folk congregate outside the door.”

Leana claimed Ian, sparing Rose the additional weight, then followed the couple across the hall, where a desk overflowed with cotton sacks stuffed with mail. A harried clerk squinted through his spectacles, deciphering the handwritten addresses scrawled on the sealed posts. Most letters went back inside the mailbags, destined for other parishes, but a few were put aside for local residents of Girthon and Anwoth.

Both wooden doors were propped open, allowing bystanders to watch the proceedings withindoors and out. Passengers on the mail coach stretched their legs, admiring the village beneath a clear blue sky, while fresh horses were harnessed and the carriage swept clean.

The clerk lifted his head, scanning the onlookers until his gaze lighted on Jamie. “Mr. McKie? James McKie, aye? ’Tis a fortunate thing, sir, you being here this morn.” He held up a letter written on stiff cream-colored stock and sealed with scarlet wax, then peered at the address again. “ ‘For James Lachlan McKie of Auchengray. From Glentrool.’ No sense delivering it there when you’re here. Might you be expecting this, sir?”

Leana’s own pulse was fluttering; she could not fathom how Jamie felt making his way forward to claim the post. He paid the man his threepence, then held up his prize as he headed back in their direction, his face a jumble of emotions, all of which Leana shared. Fear. Anticipation. Dread. Hope.

Rose nearly tore the post from his hands. “
Please
, Jamie! Do not keep us in suspense.”

He honored her wishes, unfolding the letter without delay and reading to them both.