Whence Came a Prince (53 page)

Rab had looked at him through narrowed eyes. “And thar’s a brig o’er baith o’ these burns, aye?”

Jamie had assured him they would not spend the day ferrying sheep. “The Balloch is shallow enough to walk across at low tide. And the Moneypool has a fine granite bridge. Nae need to worry, Rab.”

Moments later Jamie found the shepherd walking up beside him, swatting at the midges with his bonnet. “Whaur shall we pasture the lambs while we wait for the tide tae drop?”

“At the Ferry Thorn, this side of the Balloch Burn.” Jamie pointed ahead to the hawthorn tree, a familiar trysting place. “I’ll join you after I attend to some business in town.”

Jamie rode past the Ferrytown landmark, then eased down to the banks of the Balloch. Even now, at high tide, the small burn was easily forded. A sturdy row of steppingstones poked above the surface for travelers on foot. Astride Hastings, Jamie gamely entered the water, which barely reached the heels of his boots.

Horse and rider were soon on dry ground again and headed up the harbor street with its abundance of tippling houses. Choosing the busiest establishment among them, Jamie tied Hastings to a wooden post near the door, then crossed the threshold. The stench of malt, tobacco, and unwashed fishermen nearly knocked him back into the street. He forged on, his eye on the proprietor. “I need a lad with a horse,” Jamie told him, fingering a shilling. “Someone I can trust to run an errand for me.”

Stroking his woolly beard, the older man scanned the rough-beamed room. “See that lang strap o’ lad wi’ the
broon
hair? That’s wha ye’re leukin’ for: Lewis McMinn. He’ll earn onie shullin ye gie him.”

Jamie caught the lad’s eye and motioned him out of doors, where the air was fresher and the blether diminished. “If you’ve a decent mount and a few hours’ time, I have a fair proposition for you.”

“I’m listenin’, sir.”

Jamie guessed Lewis McMinn had seen twenty summers. His eye was clear and his stance straight. Aye, he’d do. “I need you to ride to Monnigaff, to the Cree Inn at the foot of the bridge. You ken the place?”

When the lad nodded, Jamie wasted no time. “You are looking for a man my age. My twin brother, though we look nothing alike. He is a bit taller than I am and stouter round his chest. With a full head of red hair, as bright as a linnet’s crown in summer, and the same thick hair on his arms. He’s more likely to be wearing a plaid than a coat and breeches, and you may smell whisky on his breath. Goes by the name of Evan McKie. Formerly of Glentrool, now settled in Wigtownshire. If he’s not staying at the inn, someone there will point you in his direction, for I’m told he’s in the vicinity of Cree Bridge.”

Lewis eyed the shilling in Jamie’s hand. “And after I find him?”

“Give him this message.” Jamie pulled a small letter from his pocket, crudely written at dawn, roughly folded, and sealed with candle wax.

Seven words, chosen from the Buik.
May I find grace in thy sight.

He had wronged his brother and confessed it in his last letter. Nothing remained but to plead for mercy. Jamie handed the lad the sealed note. “Be sure he reads it. Once I hear what my brother has to say, I’ll ken what’s to be done next.”

“Judgin’ by the way ye’ve described him, ye might want tae run the ither direction.”

“I’ve done that long enough.” Jamie dropped the silver in Lewis’s outstretched hand. “I’ll have another shilling for you when we meet later at the Ferry Thorn. Eight o’ the clock?”

“Aye.” Lewis glanced at the cloud-strewn skies. “Afore
daurk.”

Jamie watched him trot off, then climbed astride Hastings and forded the Balloch again, waving his hat in the direction of the parked wagon. Rab and Davie were attending to the lambs while Leana and the maids chased after a crawling Ian. Rose was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s off tae the parish kirk,” Annabel explained. “Said she’d not be lang.”

True to her word, Rose returned after a bit, gingerly stepping across
the stones in the burn, then strolling up the footpath, bearing their next meal and a crafty smile. “Fresh bannocks, hard cheese, and ripe summer apples.”

Jamie stared at her, incredulous. “It appears my wife has robbed the parish collection box. Wherever did you find the coins to purchase our supper?”

She struck a flindrikin pose. “I borrowed them from
you
, good husband.”

Jamie did not argue with her, but he knew the contents of his purse to the last penny, and no coins were missing. While the others ate, he fixed his restless gaze on the road heading north. It would take them no time to cross the bridge at the other end of the village. Better to wait here than to risk missing Lewis McMinn.

Late afternoon faded into early evening. As the lasses watched the oyster catchers wade about the water and the curlews probe deep in the mud for food, Jamie watched the skies turn to solid pewter.
Hurry, lad.

The tide was ebbing when Lewis came splashing across Balloch Burn.

Jamie ran ahead to meet him, lest his report alarm the others. “What news from Cree Bridge?”

Lewis dismounted, leading his horse to higher ground. “I found Evan McKie, quite as ye described him.”

Jamie suddenly wished he’d eaten supper, for his mouth felt glued shut.

“I gave him yer note.” Lewis inclined his head, as though unsure how to proceed. “Yer brither gie me a wird for ye as weel.”

Two years of guilt closed round his throat. “And?”

“I told him ye were at the Ferry Thorn.” Lewis didn’t quite meet his gaze. “He said tae watch for him.”

“He’s headed
here?
” Jamie’s hands grew clammy. Was his brother eager to resolve things? Or did he want justice served on a lonely riverside at night without witnesses? “What else, lad?”

“Mr. McKie will not be comin’ alone. Yer brither had ten lads wi’ him.”

“
Ten?
” Jamie’s knees barely held.

Lewis stuck out his palm. “I’ll tak that shullin, if ye dinna mind, sir.”

Jamie went through the motions of paying him, though his fingers had trouble sorting through the coins. Two shillings for the worst news of his life.

Lewis eyed the lambs. “Ye’re not thinkin’ o’ takin’ yer beasts tae Monnigaff?” When Jamie assured him he was, the young man wagged his head. “Have ye not heard? The brig o’er the Moneypool is gane.”

Jamie almost laughed. “What do you mean it’s
gone?
”

“Fell into the burn, it did.”

“The whole
bridge?
”

Rab ran up in time to hear the sorry news. “Surely ye dinna mean it?”

Lewis took his time pushing back the brim of his cap, making the most of their undivided attention. “For years fowk said the brig was weak, that the bulwarks couldna hold. After a frichtsome storm on Tuesday last, the water came rushin’ doon the hills, and …” His careless shrug said the rest. “ ’Twill take thirty pounds sterling tae rebuild it and mair men than Ferrytown can muster.” Lewis waved in the general direction of the village. “Go and see for yerself. Naught but meikle rocks stickin’ oot o’ the water.”

Almost before the lad had finished, Jamie was astride Hastings, bound for the Moneypool. First his brother’s impending arrival and now
this!
Anger sent him charging up the harbor street at a hard gallop, veering onto the high road at the kirk. When he reached the burn, the scene was just as Lewis had described. Large sections of rough-edged granite littered the steep banks and stream, sinking deep into the silt and sand.

“ ’Tis worse than I’d imagined,” Jamie admitted when he returned to the Ferry Thorn. “We’ll need to carry the lambs across this wee burn while the tide is manageable, then do the same o’er the Moneypool in the morn.”

Lewis looked at him askance. “Ye’ll not be sleepin’ aside the burn, will ye? By the leuk o’ the sky, ’twill be a daurk and misty nicht. I’d hate tae find ye gane in the morn’s morn, dragged tae yer grave by the kelpie o’ Moneypool. ’Tis like a meikle horse that rises wi’ the tide …”

Jamie only half listened to the lad’s superstitious rambling. A water
demon haunting the ford was the least of his worries. A collapsed bridge, deteriorating weather, and Evan McKie—armed and leading ten men—were far greater fears. By the time Jamie had sent Lewis on his way, Rab and Davie were already toting lambs across the shallow water while Annabel and Eliza herded the growing flock on the opposite bank.

Jamie carried Ian astride Hastings, then led his party through the village, his spirits as low as the tide. Instead of being safely sequestered at a local farm, his household and flocks would spend another night out of doors, exposed to the elements. And to his brother’s wrath. Was there nothing that could be done?

Once they reached the banks of the Moneypool, Jamie helped them find a patch of solid ground for the wagon and sufficient grass for the lambs. Leana and Rose said little, but he sensed their apprehension as they shared the last of the apples, then spread thick plaids over the wagon bed for the night.

With each passing minute, one truth became clear: Evan had to be stopped before he reached Ferrytown of Cree.

Rab pulled Jamie aside, his freckled brow drawn into a knot, Davie close behind him. “Mr. McKie, is there oniething I can do tae help ye? For I can see ye’re fash, and I jalouse yer brither’s the reason.”

“Aye.” Jamie could withhold the facts no longer. He related Lewis’s grim report, not sparing them the worst of it. Ten men. Untold weapons. “Rab, you’ve offered to help, and I’ll not refuse it. Suppose you start for Cree Bridge—”

“Richt noo, sir?”

Jamie nodded, a drastic plan unfolding in his mind. “Take a flock of lambs with you as a peace offering for my brother. Two score, I’d say.” A tithe, Jamie realized. “We’re at low tide; the sooner we carry the lambs across, the better. Between here and Cree Bridge there’s but one road. You are sure to meet my brother, though I cannot say the time or place.” Jamie described Evan in detail, warning Rab of his strength. “Treat the man with respect. When he asks who you are and where you’re headed, speak the truth. Tell him the lambs you’re herding once belonged to his brother but now are his as a gift from me. And tell him I will be heading his direction. Soon.”

Though Rab listened and nodded, fear hung round his slumped shoulders like a plaid woven in bold colors, easily seen even in the murk. “What if he kills yer lambs, Mr. McKie? And what if.

“He will not harm the flock. My brother may be birsie, but he’s no fool. The lambs are worth far more to him alive and breeding than slaughtered along the road.” Jamie made sure their eyes met before he added, “He has no quarrel with you, Rab. Nae reason whatsoever to harm you and nae law on his side that would allow it.” Jamie shifted his weight, though he could not shirk his burden. “Take the lambs, Rab. If God is merciful, my brother may look more kindly on me. As I shall look verra kindly on you for this good deed.”

There was no time to lose. With Davie’s help, the men gathered forty of the choicest lambs, then led them down the banks of the burn. Slippery mud, waterlogged sand, and swirling tides made for a deadly alliance; the fallen granite provided the only safe landings amid the lurking pools of silt and quicksand.

After several trips across, a lamb under each arm, Jamie realized what must be done while Rab was still with them: His household and the rest of his flock should be moved as well. They dared not wait until the morn with Evan en route. If the women remained in the wagon, they’d be forced to witness his confrontation with Evan. The very thought of it made his insides churn. And although his brother was a gentleman and would never harm woman or child, Jamie knew nothing of the ten men with him.

Better to lead his household across the burn before the water rose any higher, then guide them to their lodging and leave them in Davie’s capable hands.

He alone would meet Evan.

N
ight was falling.

While the lads started the arduous task of fording sixty more lambs, Jamie sought out Rose and the others, who’d watched the proceedings with worried faces. He explained about Evan’s approach and quickly sketched his plans, noting the quiet concern in Leana’s expression, the heightened fear in Rose’s.

Ian, unaware of impending calamity, was his usual blithe self. Jamie stroked the boy’s head, reminded afresh of his obligations. “Tuck my son in his crib for the night while we attend to the lambs. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Rose put on a brave face, but her lower lip trembled. “We trust you utterly, Jamie. You are the heir of Glentrool, are you not?”

He kissed Rose’s hand, then gently reminded her, “ ’Tis better to trust in the L
ORD
than to put confidence in princes.”

“Well said, Jamie.” Leana smiled at him. “We shall trust the Almighty to guide you, then.”

Jamie met her gaze.
I am glad you came, lass.
He could not tell her so; perhaps she knew. On such a night, Leana’s presence strengthened him in ways he could never explain, even to himself.

“To the lambs.” He eased away from the wagon. “With your prayers.”

Back and forth the three men went, making the most of the hour afforded them, with the tide at its lowest ebb and the misty gloaming still lighting their way. Rab was ready to depart at last, wrapped in a dry shepherd’s plaid, courage pinned to his chest like a badge.

“We’ll start north in the morn’s morn and meet you on the way,” Jamie told him, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “The lambs and your pluck may spare us all, Rab Murray.”

The shepherd bobbed his head, then started up the road with his crook, leaving both collies behind. Davie waved in farewell, then turned to Jamie, his concern apparent. “I’ll mind the sheep, Mr. McKie. Ye’d best be crossin’ the water for the ithers while ye still can.”

The water already felt deeper, Jamie realized. Leaping from one rock to the next, the smooth soles of his leather boots a liability, he kept his eye on the far bank of Moneypool Burn and his mind on those whom he cherished, waiting for him.