Whence Came a Prince (66 page)

Contentment had begun to seep into her life. And with it, a desire to create a peaceful home for Ian and for the child wildly kicking inside her. A woman’s seventh month was the most active one for her bairn, midwives said; the gymnastic display beneath her loose-fitting gown was proof.

Leana slowly stood, then took a turn about the nursery, following Ian’s progress. She thought it the nicest corner of Glentrool, though it had no corners at all. Completely round, the first floor of the turret
served as an office for Thomas and Ivy Findlay, with a door leading out to the garden. The nursery on the second floor had remained vacant since the day Evan and Jamie had outgrown their nursery maid. Not an enormous room, like the others at Glentrool, it was perfect for a little boy stretching his legs. There was one window—slender but almost as tall as the room—made of-heavy glass with swirls in the center of each pane that caught the sun. As the window faced west, light poured in all afternoon, brightening the room considerably. A blue velvet drape easily dropped into place when it was time to sleep.

Rowena had done a fine job of designing a nursery. Thick carpet covered most of the floor, and the wall sconces were mounted far above the reach of little hands. A sturdy set of chairs marched round a diminutive wooden table, the edges of which were rounded and smooth. Rowena would have been a mother to be reckoned with, a woman who knew exactly what her sons required.

Behind a door neatly fitted into the curved wall, a spiral stair led down to the first floor of the turret. Dark, steep, and narrow, the steps were not meant for a child learning to walk nor for an expectant mother. Someday Leana would fly up and down them with candle in hand, but for now the door to the stair stayed closed.

She watched Ian pull himself up using the table, then release his hands for a moment. Ah, the look of achievement! He sat back down almost at once, but the freedom shining in his eyes gave her pause. Once Jamie McKie’s son could walk, he would run.

Since she could no longer safely lift Ian from the floor, Leana eased down beside him and invited him into her embrace. He came willingly, though he did not stay long, his curiosity outstripping his need to be held. Colored blocks and bright cups and animals on wheels were much more interesting than Mother. When he was ready for his nap, though, he’d crawl into her lap and sigh with the satisfaction of coming home.

While she waited for her son to wind down like his toys, Leana examined her sewing project and smiled again, picturing Jamie’s face Saturday next. An unusual present—he could neither open it nor use it. She still felt certain the sight of it would please him.

The idea had come to her when she’d finished altering all of Jamie’s sarks and begun digging through his mother’s old sewing kist, looking for remnants that might be put to good use. Beneath layers of linen, cotton, wool, and silk, she’d unearthed a treasure: an ell of heavy satin in dark green, woven with a claret design. The very same fabric used to make Jamie’s best coat.

Now the future heir of Glentrool had a coat just like his father’s, alike to the last detail. Making a pattern required borrowing the coat from Jamie’s clothes press while he was off to the village on an important errand and shooing Annabel out of the nursery for several hours. Fitting her wriggling son had presented a much greater challenge, but Leana had made a game out of it—“What is hiding in this sleeve, Ian? Can you poke your hand inside and find out?”—and soon had the coat styled to her satisfaction.

Ian would protest when she tried to dress him in anything so stiff, and he’d outgrow her creation in a matter of months. But the effort would be worth it to see Jamie’s face. Especially if it made him laugh. How she missed that sound! Rich, warm, masculine laughter, rolling from deep inside him. It made her toes curl to remember it.

Will you laugh for me, Jamie?
Only then could she be certain that he, too, was starting to heal. There were hopeful signs. His appetite had returned, and he seemed happy to join his family at table or welcome visitors to their door. The family worship he led each evening after supper was well prepared and his comments sincere. He’d taken a bold step and invited the servants to join them. Not perched on rough benches along the periphery of the room, nor standing in shadowy corners, but seated at the long dining table in comfortable chairs. “We are all members of God’s family and equal in his sight,” Jamie had announced to their collective astonishment.

Each day he also found time to walk among the flocks, to visit with his father, to spend a playful moment with Ian. But he had yet to look completely relaxed. Instead, a stoic grief had etched new lines on Jamie’s handsome face. If Leana could, she would smooth them away with one of her potions. Egg whites mixed with alum and rose water, perhaps.
She could not pretend her touch alone would banish the evidence of his pain. Or erase the memories of Rose that brought a sheen to his eyes in quiet moments.

Leana would not rush Jamie nor impinge on his mourning. The first moment each day when she thought of Rose, her heart broke afresh, realizing she would never see her dear sister again. Yet the cracks were growing smaller, and they healed a bit more quickly. Not because she did not love Rose or cherish her memory, but because she
did
love her sister and knew how she’d want to be remembered.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning

Voices on the spiral stair made Leana scramble to her feet, using the little table for support, just as Ian had. She would not miss feeling so ungainly come December. By the time Annabel and Eliza eased the door open, peeking round the edge to check Ian’s whereabouts, Leana had stuffed Jamie’s gift beneath her apron, folding her arms over the suspicious-looking lump.

“ ’Tis time yer lad went doon for his nap.” Annabel swept Ian off the floor and into his crib with the ease of youth and a trim waistline.

Eliza eyed her mistress’s apron but said nothing. “And
ye
, mem, have a surprise waitin’ for ye in the gairden. Let me walk ye doon the stair.”

The door to the hall opened directly across from the bedroom that Leana shared with Eliza, as was the custom for a lady’s maid. Leana had a roomy curtained bed with neatly carved posts, and Eliza slept in a box bed tucked in the wall behind a folding door. Yet the room was so large they hardly heard each other turn over on their mattresses.

“A moment while I discard my apron.” Leana ducked into their bedroom to wrap the linen apron round the little coat. Moments later she emerged into the hall where sandy-haired Eliza stood, looking round as if she’d hardly noticed her mistress’s strange behavior.

“You say someone has a surprise for
me?
” Leana took Eliza’s arm with one hand, the railing with the other, as they walked side by side down the wide oak staircase that divided the great house down the center.

“ ’Tis not sic a surprise, syne ye ken ’tis comin—”

“My rose!” Leana released her and hurried down the last few steps.

“Aye,” Eliza called after her. “Mr. Muir’s waitin’ for ye.”

The lanky gardener was standing near her new physic garden, one elbow propped on his long-handled spade, a bare-looking shrub at his feet. “If ye’ll point, Miss McBride, I’ll plant.”

“Well done, Robert.” He’d remembered their promise to Jamie.

When the two had worked together on her herb garden, Leana had expressed her love for roses—one bright pink variety in particular. Robert in turn had boasted about the hothouse roses at Bargaly House, an estate built in the foothills of Cairnsmuir. “Bargaly’s gardener is a freen o’ mine. Whan next I visit the man, I’ll see if he has yer favorite.”

Robert Muir was a man of his word. He’d brought her an Apothecary’s Rose.

“We need a spot with full sun,” Leana explained, eying the rocky hills dotted with sheep. “Yet it must be protected from the wind.”

“In the glen?” He shook his head. “Sunshine we have, but ye’ll not easily hide from the wind. The east side o’ the hoose might be best.” He picked up the small shrub and followed her round the corner. “I’ve soaked the roots for an hour. ’Tis ready.”

Leana chose a spot below the dining room window, then had Robert cut the roots short and straight. When the rose was duly planted and pruned and the soil well watered, the gardener ambled off, giving her a bit of privacy.

Leana knelt and carefully placed her hands near the plant’s bare shoots, then sat for a moment. The September sun felt warm on her shoulders. Westerly winds passed her by, sheltered by the house that was meant to shelter Rose.

“My dearest sister.” She smoothed her hands across the soil, her eyes wet with tears. “Welcome home.”

H
e could tell Leana had something on her mind. Her hands fiddled with the silverware, yet she’d not tasted her breakfast. Not even Aubert’s freshly baked baps, warm from the oven and fragrant with yeast. Was she worried about not having a gift waiting for him at his plate? Birthday presents were not expected when a household was in mourning.

Before he could tell her so, Leana abandoned her place at table.

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” She stood, a hint of a smile crossing her features. “I shan’t be a moment.” With a slight bob of her head, she disappeared into the hall. Her footsteps faded up the stair.

Alec looked up from his porridge, blinking in confusion. “Is your wife … eh, is Leana … ill?”

Your wife.
Jamie forgave his father’s blunder, considering how easily she had stepped into the role of Glentrool’s mistress. Such confusion about Leana’s role was understandable.

His own confusion was another matter.

Jamie leaned toward his father. “Leana is fine, sir. I believe she simply … forgot something.”

Minutes later as he was spooning out the last of the porridge from his plate, Jamie heard laughter floating down the stair, accompanied by Ian’s exuberant babbling. “It seems what she forgot was my son.” Children generally did not come to table until they were … well, until they were not children. Perhaps she intended a short visit in honor of his birthday.

Someone tapped on the door panel—there were at least three amused women on the other side—and announced, “Behold, the future
heir of Glentrool!” As if to heighten the drama, the door slowly creaked open, swinging toward Jamie.

The exalted future heir, enthroned in his mother’s arms, was revealed at last.

Oh, my.

Leana smiled. “Jamie, aren’t you going to say something?”

What could he say? It was the most outrageous thing he’d ever seen: Ian, dressed exactly like him, right down to the leather booties on his feet.

“Well, it’s …” Jamie didn’t mean to laugh. It just came out. “You’ve obviously worked … very hard.” Another laugh, which he tried to turn into a cough with little success. “Ah … thank you, Leana. Is this my … present?” On the word
present
, a great roll of laughter came out, which he could no more recall than a top spun across the floor. Out of reach. Too late.

“James McKie!” His father glared at him. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“Father … you might want to take a look.” Jamie turned his head away, thinking if he didn’t
see
the child, he could restrain himself. But when he turned round, the miniature Jamie was still there, beaming at him, flapping his little lacy cravat up and down. “All he needs…,” Jamie managed to say, “is a sword.” At which Leana turned the boy sideways and displayed the silver teaspoon attached to his waist.

There was no hope after that.

Jamie laughed until his limbs were weak and his eyes were wet with tears. Ian found his father’s behavior most diverting and leaped into Jamie’s open arms. Annabel and Eliza peeped round the door, as did half the household staff—’twas a good thing the dining room had several entrances. When Ian’s grandfather got a good look at the boy, Alec laughed harder than all of them, dissolving into a wheezing cough that worried Jamie until he saw the joy on his father’s face.

Leana was laughing as well—a bright, cheerful sound, like bells ringing. “I’m pleased you like your gift, Jamie.”

“Most
shortsome
, this present of yours.” He fingered the rich fabric, marveling at her skill. “I only pray you did not cut up the original coat to create this one.”

“Your coat awaits you in your clothes press. I did … borrow it, though.”

“Stealing, eh?” He handed Ian back to her with an exaggerated frown. “Be forewarned, Miss McBride, that your birthday is six month’s hence. Sufficient time to prepare my revenge.”

Another birthday came much sooner, though: Ian celebrated his first year in early October. Across the glen the vibrant greens of summer faded into the muted shades of autumn—burnished red oaks, prickly brown hedgerows, golden yellow gorse, dark green pines—while Ian’s sunny demeanor continued to shine, casting a warm glow across the household.

Mourning or not, there were presents waiting for Ian that Monday. Jamie gave him a wooden hobbyhorse, crafted by a carpenter from the village, and sent another like it to Evan’s son in Sorbie. Leana’s gift was a large cloth ball made of quilted cotton and stuffed with wool. His grandfather provided the most useful of gifts, a gold sovereign. And Aubert was coaxed into preparing the child’s favorite foods: tatties and neeps, properly mashed; applesauce sweetened with sugar and cinnamon; and tender lamb roasted with rosemary and cut into tiny bites, suitable for Ian’s sprouting teeth.

Jamie remained in the nursery while Leana fed Ian his birthday dinner and put him down for a nap. Her soothing voice had rather the same effect on Jamie as it did their son. Ledgers and correspondence no longer held his attention. Worries about the start of breeding season were left at the nursery door.

He was in Leana’s domain now. And blithe to be there.

Jamie watched her bend over the crib. The graceful line of her neck, the narrow span of her shoulders, made him long to reach for her. But if he held her, he would press a kiss to the back of her neck, to that tender spot he remembered. His hands would find their way to the swell of her waist where their child grew…