Whence Came a Prince (59 page)

Leana walked toward him, her reticule swinging by her side, noticeably lighter. She did not take his arm, nor did he offer it. “All is well,” she said simply, tipping back her head as the kirk bell rang in the belfry, calling all to worship.

With Jamie leading the way, the small group skirted the headstones. “Are a’ these deid McKies related tae ye?” Rab asked.

“Distant relatives, aye.” Jamie glanced at several graves in passing. “But my grandfather and grandmother are buried at Glentrool. We’ve a private mausoleum for the family, consecrated by the parish minister. I’ll not be buried here at the kirk, nor will my parents.” He shuddered, thinking of his waking dream.

Rab was quick to say, “May that day be a lang time comin, Mr. McKie.”

A long time indeed.

The stone kirk, as plain a rubble rectangle as any they’d seen that week, seemed colorless, swallowed up by the mist. Jamie proceeded through the door, his empty stomach tied in a mangled knot. He had yet to be welcomed home, had not spied a soul from Glentrool, and Rose’s well-being weighed heavily on his conscience. Had she fallen back asleep? Might the bleeding have stopped by now? Never had he felt more divided between duties.

Jamie had made one decision at least: He would send the herds on with the lambs the moment the service ended. Of all the concerns pressing down on him, that one was easily solved: The lads would be on their way by one o’ the clock.

As he sat in the kirk, memories flew at him like house sparrows descending on a garden. There was the family pew where he’d sat every Sabbath of his youth. There were the families he’d known since childhood: Carmont, Galbraith, Laurie, McFadgen. Soon Reverend Erskine would appear: balding, stoop shouldered, grim faced, wearing a black robe as stiff as his demeanor.

Jamie guided his group to his father’s pew, knowing it would grow crowded once the family arrived. But surely they’d be pleased to find him there waiting for them. On the Sabbath, the McKie household usually left Glentrool at seven o’ the clock—the servants on foot even earlier—to make the long trek south to the kirk. They were seldom early, but they were never late; Alec McKie saw to that. “Give God the first and the last of every day,” his father had always said. Never was that more true than on Sundays. Only in severe wintry weather did the household remain at Glentrool, and then the patriarch led a lengthy time of family worship.

Father, please forgive me.
Jamie rehearsed the words, for they would need to be spoken. Though Alec McKie had sent him eastward with a goodly blessing, he’d done so in spite of Jamie’s deceit, not because of it.

The second bell of the morning clanged above them, muted by the damp air. Jamie looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his father’s bent figure toddle through the door. And his mother behind him, her raven head held high, her black eyes snapping. Envisioning her, Jamie thought of Rose.
You will like her, beloved. And she will very much like you.
They were two of a kind, his mother and his wife.

The precentor stood for the gathering psalm. Still no McKies.

When the minister climbed into the pulpit, it was not Reverend Erskine but a much younger man, no more than thirty. “Reverend Moodie,” Jamie heard someone say. Disconcerting, having a stranger leading the service, today of all days.

A quarter of an hour later, when the minister stood for prayer,
Jamie’s spirits had sunk to his boots. Something was very wrong. Had his father’s health kept them away? Alec McKie was eighty-four years of age. Not many in Galloway lived so long. Perhaps Reverend Erskine was bound for Glentrool, summoned to his father’s bedside. And what of Rose, was she improving? Should he go to her at once?

Spent with worry, Jamie bowed his head for prayer. ’Twas not the young minister’s words he lifted up to heaven but the words of a king, hidden in his heart.
Be not far from me. Lord. Trouble is near, and fear is on every side.

R
ose eyed Leana’s box of herbs. “Annabel.” She pointed past the maid’s shoulder. “Do you know which medicine Leana would use …”

“Nae, mem.” Annabel glanced at the box made of hazel, its contents a mystery to all but its mistress. “Yer sister will be back onie time noo. She’ll ken what ye maun take.”

Rose shifted her gaze to the door, willing it to open.
Hurry, Leana. All is not well.

After Jamie and the others had left for kirk, Rose slipped off her gown and dozed for a bit, only to be awakened with a nagging pain. It had started in her back, then moved lower, creeping round her body as if embracing her unborn children, intent on stealing them from her.

Nae!
Rose drew her knees closer to her chest. Guarding, protecting. If she lay very still, perhaps she might feel the twins move.
A flutter or two at the end of your fourth month.
Leana’s description, committed to memory, anxiously anticipated.

The time was right. Could
that
be what this was all about?

There.
She froze, her hand glued to the spot. Was that a flutter? If she sensed her bairns moving and knew they were alive and well, she could bear any pain, endure any bleeding.
Wait.
Was that a kick?

Hope gave way as a sharp cramp besieged her.

Annabel hovered over her, patting her face with a damp cloth. “May I bring ye a cup o’ tea, mem? Or would ye rather I fetched yer sister at the kirk?”

“Tea,” Rose said, wincing. “Leana will be along shortly.”

Annabel flew from the room. Rose was grateful for her loyalty, but the maid was too fretful to be of much help. Leana’s soothing touch was
what Rose wanted. Her cool hands, her soft voice, her wise words, her healing herbs. “Hurry, my sister,” she said, inhaling the dank air.

The unpainted plaster walls and scuffed pine floors looked even more depressing by day. If Jamie carried her down the stair and laid her in the wagon amid the fresh air, she would feel better at once.

Until the wheels began to move, and then she would feel worse.

Another sharp pain ground through her. Not like anything she’d felt before or had heard described. Intense. Frightening.
Help me bear it, Lord.
After an excruciating moment, the ache subsided once more. Each time she prayed ’twould be the last.

When Rose heard footsteps on the stair, she pressed the wrinkled bedsheet into the corners of her eyes, stemming her tears. How she hated to have Jamie see her this way!

Annabel tapped on the door, then opened it wide, bearing a fragrant cup of tea and the two people Rose loved most in the world.

She tried to smile and held out both hands. “You’ve come to rescue me.”

Leana perched on the edge of the bed and Jamie on the low creepie, both of them taking her hands, just as she’d hoped.

“My poor sister.” Leana leaned over her, pressing a fervent kiss to her cheek. “ ’Twas the longest morning of my life, worrying about you.”

When Leana sat up, Jamie leaned forward to take her place. Rose closed her eyes as he kissed her, then felt her throat tighten as he whispered in her ear, “I love you, Rose. I will care for you. Fear not.”

I fear only for our children, Jamie. Only for your sons.
She would tell him the truth when she had him to herself.
Twins, dear husband. Yours and mine.

Annabel lingered by the door, tea saucer still in hand, her nervous movements hard to watch.

Rose set her free. “Leave the tea, Annabel. I am certain Eliza could use your help with Ian.” The maid was gone in an instant, the saucer resting on the dresser.

Leana retrieved the hot drink, then took her seat once more. “Jamie, might you help Rose sit up?”

“Gladly.” His strong arms slid behind her back, lifting her as though she weighed less than the thin covering across her legs.

No matter how warm the day might become, Rose would not remove the blanket, lest Jamie see the blood. It was darker now. There was more. She sipped the bracing tea, realizing how parched her lips were.

The moment she swallowed, another pain seized her abdomen. Sharper this time. And longer. Rose hastily pushed the saucer into Leana’s hands, unable to stifle a groan. “Stop,” she pleaded. “
Stop!
”

“Rose, what is it?” Jamie was halfway to his feet, his arms circled round her, keeping her from collapsing. “Leana, we have to
do
something.”

Rose saw the fear in her sister’s eyes, mirroring her own. “Does a physician reside in the village, Jamie?”

“Nae.” He groaned the word as if it were his fault such a person could not be summoned. “Only the minister, and he’s not been in the parish a month.”

“Have Eliza run to the manse. See if Reverend Moodie will come and bring any medical books he might have on hand.” Leana discarded the teacup and quickly unpinned her hat. “If there is a midwife in Monnigaff, we’d best send for her as well.”

Rose did not protest. Not if these strangers might spare her children.

She lifted her face for Jamie’s hurried kiss, then watched him leave, praying he would not be gone long. She could not bear it if he were not here. If something happened.

I am with thee to deliver thee.

The words came and went like a breeze wafting across the room, though the window had no sash.

Leana brushed back her hair. A mother’s touch. “ ’Tis just the two of us now, Rose. Will you tell me where it hurts?”

A moment’s hesitation. “Here.” Rose placed a wary hand on her womb. “And here.”

“Are you … still bleeding?”

She could no longer hide the truth. Not from her sister. Rose swept
away her bedcovers and watched Leana’s face turn to ash. Worse than she’d imagined, then. Lying on her back, Rose could not see past her rounded stomach, but she could feel the wet blotches on her cotton shift and sense her body’s traitorous contractions growing stronger. “What is happening, Leana? What
is
it?”

With trembling hands, Leana examined her. “Rose, oh my Rose.”

“Is it … Will I not …” Her words faded into a groan as another fierce pain racked her body. Then another, a harder one, bending her in two.

It cannot be. It cannot be.
“Help me, Leana!”

But her sister could not help her. Could not stop the pain or the blood or the anguish as her babies were torn from her womb, as surely as if they were torn from her arms.

“
Nae!
” Rose screamed the word over and over. “
Please!
”

Leana clasped her hands, sobbing with her. “I’m here, Rose. I’m here.”

Her labor was hard and swift. Struggling to breathe, Rose grasped fistfuls of Leana’s gown in her hands, squeezing the fabric as waves of pain moved through her, crushing her hopes and her heart as well.
My babies!

Tears coursed down her face. “I wanted to be … a mother. I wanted to …”

“I’m … sorry, Rose. So sorry.” Leana was panting as hard as she was, straining with her. “Almost there, dear sister. ’Twill end … soon.”

An urgent knock at the door. Male voices.

Leana did not let go, only held on tighter. “I am with you, Rose. This … cannot last … much longer.”

But it did. It went on and on, as if she were truly giving birth to her children.

But she was not. Not truly.

“Jamie!” Rose cried, before her head slumped and the darkness came.

J
amie burst into the room at the sound of his name and was devastated by the sight that greeted him. Leana was weeping. Rose hung limp in her arms, nearly unconscious. Blood saturated the sheets.

“Rose! My sweet Rose.” He fell to his knees beside the bed, gathering his wife in his arms. “I should never have left. Forgive me … forgive me.”

“Let her breathe, Jamie.” Leana gently eased him away from her sister, then lowered Rose back down onto the bed. “That’s it, dearie. Deep breaths. ’Tis almost over now.”

Jamie looked at Leana in horror. “
Over?
”

Her tear-drenched eyes met his. “Rose has … She has lost your child.” Leana stood, giving him room. “I am … so very sorry, Jamie.”

“Oh, my Rose.” Distraught, he leaned over her. Cupping her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumbs, whispering her name. “I am here, beloved.” When her eyes fluttered open, he choked back a sob.
Thanks be to God.

“Jamie …” Rose spoke so softly, he had to lean closer to hear her. “ ’Tis my fault.”

“Nae, lass. This is no one’s fault.”
Except mine. For bringing you here.
He dared not think of that now, or the guilt would tear him apart.

Nor could he look at the ruined sheets or the sorrow they contained. Instead he quietly tugged the blanket back in place.
My poor Rose.
Someday they would have another child. He would not remind her of that now, but he would later. When such hope would offer comfort. When such words would heal.

“Now we must get you well,” he murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her. Could she be only seventeen? Far too young to have suffered so. He longed to hold her, to comfort her in his arms, but she was
so weak, he feared he would hurt her. Instead he dried her cheeks and whispered every endearment he could think of.
My brave lass.

“Jamie.” Leana’s hand touched his shoulder. “I must … attend to things here. If you might give me a very few minutes …”

Reluctantly he stood and backed away from the bed. Did Rose want him to stay? Or to leave?

Her head rolled to the side, tears streaming onto her pillow. “Leana will … care for me. Come back as soon as she calls you, aye?”

He had never felt more helpless in his life. “I will wait right outside the door.” Both women nodded. His presence was merely delaying the inevitable.

When Jamie stepped into the corridor, he discovered the minister, whom he’d nigh forgotten, standing a few feet away from the door, perhaps allowing them some privacy. Fair-haired and ruddy-skinned, Reverend Stephen Moodie was neither tall nor muscular, but he exuded a quiet confidence Jamie desperately needed.