Whence Came a Prince (7 page)

L
achlan McBride pinned a hard gaze to the lad’s chest, daring him to stay. Did he enjoy being humiliated, this nephew of his?

“As it happens, Uncle, my lambs are all marked.” Jamie’s jaw clenched as he spoke.

Ah, but his
fists
were not clenched, Lachlan noted. Jamie lacked the
smeddum
for fighting. Lachlan released his grip on the two brothers, ne’er taking his eyes off his nephew. “How many sheep are yours? Or have you not counted?”

“I have.” Jamie’s tone had a sharp edge. “Twenty score lambs bear my keel mark.”

“Four hundred, eh?” Lachlan took care not to smile as he pointed to a nearby pasture. “The ones that look like their necks are bleeding?”

“You ken the paint will wash out with hot water and lye soap.” Jamie jerked his chin at him. “I’ve chosen the smaller of each twin, as I promised.”

He acknowledged Jamie’s words without agreeing to them, lest his future stepsons leap to the wrong conclusion. Lachlan fished his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and flipped open the gold case.
Nearly five. Enough dallying.
“With Duncan away to Kingsgrange, there must be tasks in the steading that require your attention.”

His nephew glared at him. “There’s always work to be done at Auchengray.” Jamie spun on his heel—though none too effectively on the soggy ground—and headed downhill toward the farmyard, his polished boots covered with mud.

Lachlan watched the departure without comment. Let him muck
out the stables if his muscles needed flexing. Jamie McKie, born to a wealthy laird, had yet to learn the meaning of hard labor. Did the gentry ever grasp those truths? They did not. Not like a man who’d worked all his life.

A yellowhammer flitted past, catching his eye for a moment with its bright coloring and musical call. He scanned the brightening skies, inhaling the rain-freshened air. “Our afternoon will be more pleasant without my nephew’s sullen countenance, wouldn’t you say?”

The Douglases laughed—uneasily, he thought—then quickly fell silent. After a lengthy pause, punctuated only by the bleating of sheep, one of them spoke up.

“Mr. McBride, my brothers and I have been wondering …” Ronald shifted his weight, exchanging glances with his older siblings. “Will Edingham Farm be sold, sir? When you’ve married our mother, that is?”

A bold question for a lad who’d seen only seventeen summers. Lachlan gave Ronald his full attention. “Have you an interested buyer?”

“Nae!” Gavin blurted out. “But if it were sold, would the proceeds be split evenly among us?”

“Or will I inherit the whole,” Malcolm countered, “as the eldest son?”

Lachlan locked gazes with each of them in turn. Malcolm was the oldest and the strongest. Only a daft man would challenge him to a fight. Gavin, the middle son, often seemed rash and impulsive. Harmless, though quick to speak. Ronald, the youngest, was also the canniest, Morna had warned him. Tenacious. Hard to fool. Of the three, Ronald would bear the most watching.

“Your father was a generous man,” Lachlan admitted, “bequeathing Edingham solely to your mother. Verra unusual in Scotland for a woman to own property. Perhaps she might answer your question about who will inherit Edingham.” Certainly
he
would do no such thing. Lachlan smiled, hoping to put them at ease. “Rest assured, nothing will happen in haste. You will remain comfortably at home at least until Lammas, when there will be more … ah, more room available at Auchengray, should lodging be required.”

Malcolm grimaced. “With due respect, sir, Edingham may not be as vast a property as yours, but … to be frank, our farm is better tended.”

“If we lived here,” Gavin said, “there’s no telling how much work ’twould take to make this place presentable. The steading alone—”

“My brother means no offense,” Ronald interjected smoothly, touching Gavin’s sleeve to silence him.

“Nor am I offended,” Lachlan said just as smoothly. “There is much room for improvement here. Jamie has done what he could, but …” Lachlan shrugged, letting them fill in the rest. “Perhaps the greater question is, what will become of Auchengray when the time comes? For this corruptible body must put on incorruption, aye? And this mortal must put on immortality. My holdings will no longer matter to me then, but they might matter verra much to you.”

Ronald’s brown eyes glowed like a candlelit turnip on Hallowmas Eve. “Have you no proper heir, sir? None who might rightfully claim Auchengray upon your death?”

Lachlan left the question unanswered for the moment, directing their attention to the westward pastures with a proffered hand. “Come, enough of this morbid subject. We’ve barely started our tour.” He sighed expansively, striking out across the rise. “I wish the weather were more congenial, but ’tis a farmer’s lot to accept what the heavens send.”

His words, it seemed, struck the proper chord. All four of them, he and the Douglases, were the same, were they not? Honest men braving the elements, eking out a living from fields and pastures, ever at the mercy of rain, seed, and stock. As a bonnet laird, naturally he’d moved beyond daily duties in the steading. The filthy byre, the stinking midden were no longer his domain. All the more reason to gather round him young men such as these—not one of them a laird’s heir who fancied himself a master breeder, but strong, capable lads unafraid of hard work.

Genuine farmers. Laborers.
Sons.

Glancing over his shoulder at the three of them discussing the merits of Auchengray, Lachlan smiled to himself.
Aye, Ronald. Edingham will be sold.
Thomas Henderson of Dalbeaty stood ready to buy Edingham Farm—the house, the steading, the fields, the cattle, the lot of it. Lachlan pictured his thrifite, already packed with silver coins, soon overflowing with gold ones. As gold as the knotted cord that lay hidden among his shillings. A gift from Lillias Brown, the local wise
woman, meant to bring riches to his doorstep.
’Tis working, Widow Brown.

Lachlan stepped closer to the lads, pointing them toward Dumfries. “To the north you’ll find untamed moorland with stands of oak and ash and the royal burgh beyond it. My neighbors are the Newalls of Troston Hill Farm and the Drummonds of Glensone. Fine families, however modest their holdings.” He swerved about with a broad sweep of his arm. “My tups come from Tannocks Farm east of here. And, as you ken, there’s naught to the south but Criffell and the Solway.”

The young men craned their necks to take it all in, turning at last to admire the heather-covered slopes of Criffell. The summit, draped in mist, stretched nearly two thousand feet above the shoreline of the Solway Firth, the western waters of which mingled with the Irish Sea. The brothers seemed impressed. Perhaps the time had come to answer Ronald’s question about heirship.

Lachlan touched the lad’s elbow to catch his attention. “A moment ago you asked who might rightfully claim this land.” Ronald’s brothers swiveled in his direction, the view forgotten. “The truth is I have no sons or male relatives whom I wish to see inherit Auchengray.” He lifted his shoulders slightly as if to shrug off the sympathy he saw in their eyes. “Of my two daughters, the older one has produced a son. A
bystart.
”

He let the word hang in the air like a disagreeable smell. It produced the reaction he expected. Shock. And, judging by the look on Malcolm’s face, aversion. The Douglases were a respected family, proud of their standing in society and unacquainted with scandal.

“Due to the shameful circumstances of his birth, I refuse to claim Ian McKie as a grandson. He will depart with his father at Lammas, and any ties to Auchengray will be severed.” The relief on their faces was obvious.

“As to the child’s mother, Leana,” he continued, “no honest man would have her for a wife. The woman spent three weeks on the stool of repentance for the sin of …
hochmagandy.
Pardon me if the term offends you, lads, but that’s the sorry truth of it.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “Will she … that is …”

“Have nae fear,” Lachlan assured them, bending to pluck a sprig of yellow broom. “Leana will not be welcomed back to Auchengray. As to
my younger daughter, you’ve already seen the sort of man she married.” He glanced down the hill toward the mains, letting his contempt show. “My nephew is weak, easily manipulated by the women in his life, starting with his mother.”

A momentary light flickered in Malcolm’s eyes, though nothing was said.

“When he landed on my doorstep, looking like a
gaberlunzie
without penny or purse, I took him in, dressed him hat to boots, and gave him a home.” Lachlan exhaled with a weary sigh. “You can judge for yourself the respect it has earned me.”

Gavin curled his lip. “We’ll not be sorry to see him leave.” Judging by the disdain on their faces, all three brothers were viewing Jamie in a new light. One that cast a murky shadow across the heir of Glentrool.

Lachlan clapped his hands together, eager to press on while the stage was set. “I’ll not bore you with the rest of it. We’ve more important things to discuss before our growling stomachs demand supper.” He guided them down Auchengray Hill, directing them toward a stone
bothy
in the glen below. Little more than a rough shelter from wind and rain, the small building had recently been put to rights, with the sagging walls shored up and the dirt floor swept clean.

When they stepped inside, Lachlan took advantage of the privacy afforded them, lowering his voice to enhance the sense of secrecy. “Here’s the worst of it, gentlemen: Jamie thinks
he
is the one responsible for the fruitfulness of my flocks.” He grunted, nodding at their astonished faces. “ ’Twas my silver that bought the tups. And I believe they did most of the work.” A ripple of male laughter echoed against the stones, just as Lachlan had hoped. Before it subsided, he held up a cautionary hand. “The next is no laughing matter: Jamie has announced his intentions to claim half the lambs for himself and take them to Glentrool at Lammas.”

“
What?
” Malcolm’s gaze grew hard. “Who does this nephew of yours think he is? Taking all the glory and the lambs as well?”

Lachlan nodded grimly. “That’s the way of it.” He fixed his eyes on Malcolm. “What makes this especially disconcerting, lad, is that I intended
you
to be my heir.”

“Me, sir?”

“Aye.” Lachlan reveled in their startled faces, now certain of how they would respond to his proposal. “If, heaven forbid, something should happen to prevent you from claiming Auchengray, your brothers would inherit in your stead.”

Gavin swallowed with some effort. “Wh-what are you saying, Mr. McBride?”

“I’m saying that I’ve chosen you as my heirs. Though I can ne’er replace your father, I will gladly see to your well-being and protect your fortune as if Were my own.”

Disbelief gave way to amazement. “Can you mean this?” Malcolm stared at him, then at his brothers. “ ’Tis more than we could hope for, with no claim on our mother’s land and no land of our own.”

“It’s settled then.” Lachlan’s chest swelled with pride at his own benevolence. “We should commit the details to paper as soon as possible. If I allow this nephew of mine to swick me out of half my lambs, he will in fact be stealing a large portion of your inheritance.”

“Nae!” Three voices rang in anguished chorus, Malcolm’s the loudest. “Is there nothing we can do to stop him, sir?”

“Well …” Lachlan paused, as though considering his answer. Never mind that he’d rehearsed this speech for days; he meant his plan to seem newly hatched, formed at their bidding. “There
is
one thing that might be done.” When he leaned forward, the brothers followed suit, their heads drawn together like Gypsies huddled round a campfire. “Duncan Hastings, my overseer, is away this evening. The timing is … ah, providential.”

H
as the hour grown too late for you, lass?” Though her father smiled across the supper table, his words cast no warmth in her direction.

Rose pretended to stifle a yawn. “ ’Tis just the warm June weather making me drowsy.”

In truth, Rose had not been listening to Lachlan’s blether. For the last several minutes her gaze had been fixed on Jamie’s hands: stabbing at his smoked mutton, slicing the cold meat with fierce intensity, spearing a bite of strawberry with his fork. He was angry—no,
furious
—about something. Every vein in his neck stood out, as though he were daring someone to cross him. Was it the red-headed brothers carelessly wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands that heated his blood? Was it Morna Douglas’s irritating voice? her father’s condescending manner?

Or am I the one who has vexed him?
Her skin chilled at the thought.
Please, may it not be so!

Jamie had returned to the house before the others, stamping about in a foul mood and waking her from a sound nap. “Whatever is the matter, Jamie?” Rose had asked him when he barged into their room breathing threats. “Are you unhappy with me for not writing Leana? I will do so at once.”

“Nae, lass,” he’d said, his temper cooling. “This has naught to do with your sister.”

Nonetheless, while Jamie shed his muddy breeches, she found her writing desk and began her letter yet again.
My dear sister, I have news that cannot keep, though it would be far better to tell you in person …

Rose had forced herself to continue writing even when her hand shook and the ink splattered.
God has answered my prayers…
She included several stories about Ian, praying such details would comfort Leana rather than add to her sorrow. Jamie was only mentioned in passing.
We will leave for Glentrool at Lammas …

The finished letter now rested on the narrow hall table inside the front door. Willie promised to take her letter to Milltown in the morning. From there it would disappear inside the coat pocket of a westbound coach driver and arrive in Leana’s hands a few days hence. Monday at the latest.