Her animated features grew still. When she spoke, he no longer heard music in her voice. “Tell him only what will satisfy him. ‘Tis the safest way.”
“I see.” What he saw was a shadow of fear lingering over the young woman's face. “Thank you for…ah, warning me.”
She shrugged and looked straight ahead. “Auchengray is not an easy roof to live under.”
Wanting to hear her laugh again, Jamie arched his brows in mock disdain. “ ‘Tis a heidie thing for a lass to be saying about her own father.”
“Och!” She jerked her chin at him, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I'll thank you to keep my headstrong words to yourself. And your opinions as well.” She quickened her steps, pulling on his sleeve. “Come, I've something to show you, Cousin.”
He climbed over the dry stane dyke, then followed her up a steep hill, headed toward a knot of blackface sheep. “These are my father's flocks.” She swung her arm in a proud arc. “Aren't they a fine lot?”
Jamie nodded, already assessing the animals’ conformation. Straight backs. Strong chests. Solid legs, widely set. “Aye, fine indeed. Healthy coats, too.” He approached one of the older ewes and lighdy ran his fingers over the long, coarse wool. “Good texture. Have you been checking their feet?”
“What kind of shepherdess do you take me for?” She bristled, her dark eyes snapping. “You can be sure I keep an eye on their feet and all else.”
“Its clear that you do.” Jamie could not keep the admiration from his voice or the delight from his face. “Have you many more like these?”
“Hundreds.” She planted her hands on her hips, measuring him in rather the same way he'd studied her flock. “Are you bent on progress and improvement, like my father? Always with an eye to better breeding?”
“That I am. Breeding is of utmost importance.” He matched her bold stance and regarded her with such keen interest that her cheeks turned as rosy as her name. “Tell me, lass, have you found a worthy ram?”
“Th-that's Duncans duty,” she stammered. “Duncan Hastings, our overseer. He's to bring the tups to Auchengray this afternoon.” She looked about, as though seeking a way of escape, when a wry smile suddenly lit her face, and she pointed across the pasture. “In the meantime perhaps you could turn my watering trough aright.”
The old trough was enormous, built of solid oak. It was clear she didn't think him strong enough for the task. Indeed, four men might not be able to manage it. He marched over to the massive trough, determined to prove himself. Grasping the rough edges, he ignored the splinters piercing his skin and heaved the trough with all his might. It barely moved as he strained against the weight. His face grew hot, and his knees threatened to buckle. At last, as though helped by an unseen hand, Jamie turned it upright, dropping it into place with a noisy thud as the sheep trotted over, bleating loudly.
“They 11 be needing water,” he said, plucking the worst of the splinters from his palms. “Hand me those buckets.”
She did so, her eyes wide with frank admiration. “I've not seen a gentleman do such a thing before.”
“Well, now you have.” He left her standing there and made his way back to the loch, filling both wooden buckets to the brim and lugging them up the hill. It took several trips—him hauling, her watching— before the trough was full. He refused to grumble about the weight of the buckets or complain about the hill, which grew steeper with each round. He was strong as any man and would earn her admiration by the sweat of his brow if necessary. Hadn't he turned over a trough only the Almighty himself could have budged?
When he finished, Rose arched her back, stretching out her arms as though she had dragged all those heavy buckets of water herself. A coy smile decorated her features. “The sheep are too stupid to be grateful. But I am, ever so.”
Only then did Jamie notice what he should have seen at once: Rose McBride was the very image of her Aunt Rowena. The same womanly shape blooming from a small waist, the same dark hair and sparkling eyes, the same persuasive charm. No wonder he felt at ease with her; no wonder he thought her bonny. His father had sent him on a journey to find a wife. Who could have known he would find a young Rowena— a loosome Rose—waiting for him at journeys end?
Jamie stood before her, still breathing hard from his labors. “Are you truly grateful, lass?”
“Aye, truly.” She moved one step closer, her chin almost brushing his chest, and gazed up at him, the picture of innocence. Though her black braid was windblown and tangled, her bright eyes shone like jewels. And though her cheeks were brushed with dirt, her rosebud mouth formed a perfect bow. “Oh, Jamie,” she said, her voice soft as a sleeping baby's sigh, “I'm glad you've come.”
“So am I, Cousin.” He bent his head and lighdy kissed her, surprising them both. Tears stung the back of his throat. “So am I.”
Twenty-Two
In life there are meetings which seem
Like a fate.
EDWARD ROBERT BULWER, LORD LYTTON
If Fergus kissed her that afternoon—if he dared even try—Leana would bolt from the man's side and run the rest of the way home.
“Mr. McDougal, you must be famished by now.” Leana slipped her hand from his arm and lengthened her stride as much as her heavy skirts would allow. “Neda will have dinner waiting. My sister, Rose, should be along shortly.” She glanced over her shoulder, grateful to see Willie keeping a close watch on them. The manservant nodded at her, his expression filled with compassion. Dear Willie. He disapproved of the match. Only her father saw its benefits and only because they benefited him.
“Why the haste, Miss McBride?” Fergus caught up with her effortlessly. “Dinner will wait. Although I must confess, my hunger is seldom sated.” He drew her hand back and firmly placed it on his arm. “We've climbed two wee hills, and already you're eager to return to Auchengray.” He leaned closer, ignoring Willie's throat-clearing noises behind them. “Am I to gather you do not favor my suit?”
Leana could not meet his gaze, certain the truth would be reflected in her eyes. “Not at all,” she answered, knowing her words carried two meanings and he would hear the one that suited him. By dodging deceit and keeping Fergus appeased, she hoped to avoid her father's wrath and the Almighty's displeasure as well. It was an exhausting game more suited for a juggler at court.
“It's the brightness of the sun,” she explained, tapping her wide-brimmed hat. Her long sleeves and linen gloves protected her fair skin, but her tender eyes longed for relief. “I prefer shade over sunlight, Mr. McDougal, and a cool, dark room over a brighdy lit hill.”
“Well then,” he said with a low chuckle, “I'll see to it we spend many happy hours in cool, dark rooms.”
She refused to acknowledge his comment, pressing a hand against her stomach to keep it from turning over in protest. The last half-mile passed with blessed swiftness, his attention distracted by a pair of herd dogs snarling and snapping at each other a short distance ahead. “A regular collieshangle? he said, quickening his pace to keep up with them. Not Auchengray dogs, she noted, grateful for small mercies.
By the time they arrived at the house, Leana was overheated and thirsty, though with no appetite for oyster pie. She excused herself in the hall, then hurried to her room to repair her appearance and have a moment to herself before the ordeal of dinner began. When she removed her hat, she discovered her hair in shambles. She combed and braided it again, pinning the braids in place with limited success, bathed her hands and face at her washstand, then slipped down the stair to the dining room, hoping no one noticed her delay.
Her fathers stern greeting proved otherwise. “Why have you kept Mr. McDougal waiting?”
“Sorry, Father.” She ducked her head and took her seat posthaste. Lachlan sat at the head of the table, with Mr. McDougal on his right, then Leana. Across the table her sisters chair was conspicuously empty. Leana carefully drained her voice of any emotion, lest she spark her fathers temper. “Rose should be here any moment, Father. Might
we bide a wee while?”
“And watch Nedas savory meal grow cold? I should say not. Let us pray.”
Heads bowed, hands folded, they offered thanks to God for the meal before them and for a goodly number of other things before finally sinking their forks into the flaky crust. Well-seasoned oysters, beef, bacon, and shallots vied for her approval, but Leana could barely swallow a bite. When she saw a look of concern crease Nedas brow, she hastened to explain. “Its delicious, Neda, truly it is. No claret for me though.”
Their meal dragged on, the conversation stilted and one-sided, her father expounding on topics only another bonnet laird could appreciate. Fergus McDougal nodded, apparendy listening, but his brown eyes focused solely on her. She felt his gaze moving over her features, almost tasting her, as though she were the main course. Maybe she was. He ate everything on his plate and asked for more, smacking his lips appreciatively, complimenting Neda each time she appeared with another dish. He would be an easy man to please at the dinner table. Leana could not bear to think of pleasing him in any other way.
The servant girls were lifting the last of the dinner plates when the front door nearly burst off its hinges and a flushed and flustered Rose appeared at the dining room door.
“Father! We have a visitor.” Roses anxious gaze moved back and forth between those gathered around the table and their unseen guest beyond the front door.
“Who is it, dearie?” Leana asked, grateful for any diversion.
Roses reply came out on a squeak. “Our cousin James from Glentrool!”
Jamie McKie. Leana searched her mind for some memory of him. A bothersome lad of twelve tugging at her braids, whining for his supper, and bragging about Glentrool as though it were the only place worth calling home.
Lachlan shot to his feet, tossing his napkin aside. “Rowenas son? Is my sister with him?”
“Nae, Father, but Zhere.” Rose was all but hopping from one foot to another, bidding them join her. “Do come and greet him.” She lowered her voice, though the note of excitement remained. “You must forgive his attire, Father. Jamie met with several mishaps on his journey.”
Lachlan dismissed Rose with a curt nod, sending her flying back out the door, then turned to their dinner guest. “Pardon me, Mr. McDougal, while I attend to my nephew.” His gaze shifted to Leana, narrowing slighdy. “Stay where you are, Leana. See that you engage our visitor with your wittiest discourse.” Her father disappeared, leaving her at a loss for words.
“Mr. McDougal, Im not…”
“No need to be witty for my sake, Miss McBride,” the laird of Nethercarse assured her, sipping the last of his claret. “I have no need of a clever woman. Merely a compliant one.”
Compliant. Aye, she'd spent a lifetime learning to be submissive. Rose had never spent one day of her life doing so. Which was why her sister was happily outside, making their cousin welcome, while she was stuck in the dining room with Fergus McDougal, making herself miserable.
Enough, Leana. Self-pity made a poor dessert.
She clasped her hands in her lap and forced herself to smile. “Mr. McDougal, tell me about your children.”
“Och!” He waved his fork, splattering gravy on the fresh linen tablecloth. “Three more ill-deedie children could not be found in Galloway.”
“I am sure they're not so bad as—”
“Nae, they're worse!” He abrupdy waved at Annabel, hovering in the corner, and pointed at his empty glass. “My oldest son, Dougie, is seven years of age and the instigator of most of the mischief around Nethercarse. His brother, Harry, is five and does whatever Dougie tells him to do. A verra dangerous business. And Martha, the three-year-old, cries for her mother all the livelong day.”
“Poor child,” Leana murmured, compassion for the girl crowding out her concerns for herself. “I know what it's like to grow up without a mother.”
Fergus swallowed a mouthful of claret and wet his lips, staining them a bit. “So you do, lass. Which is why I thought you might be of use to me…ah, to my children.”
“Of use,” she repeated softly.
“Aye. Useful. To me. To my household.” His brow darkened, and a frown creased his thick face. “It isn't love you're wanting, is it, Miss McBride?” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “There are certain… ah, needs a man brings to a marriage, and I expect those to be met. As to love…well, I thought surely a woman of your age…with your….ah, particular…”
Leana stood. She could not bear to hear another word. “I understand. Completely. Mr. McDougal, might I kindly have your permission to greet my cousin?”
He looked perturbed. “Go, if you must, and tell your father I gave my leave.” He glanced at the dessert Annabel had set before him moments ago, and his frown faded. “I can amuse myself for quite some time with this tempting burnt cream.”
Leana curtsied and glided out the door, biting her lip to hold her tears at bay. What did her sister call him? A “horrid old farmer.” Aye, Rose, he is. She hurried toward the conversation coming from the front garden. Two familiar voices and a third, not quite so deep as her fathers but warmer and laced with good humor, floated in her direction. She ducked around an overgrown hazel, then slowed to a stop, amazed at what she saw.
Lachlan McBride, usually sparing with his affection, held a tall, shabbily dressed gendeman in a loose embrace. “My own flesh and blood!” her father said with obvious fondness, tousling the younger mans already tangled hair. “My sisters son, my own nephew,” he added, pressing him to his chest.
“Father, let him breathe!” Rose cried.
Leana caught her breath as well, the ordeal at the dinner table already forgotten. James Lachlan McBride. Her cousin. No longer a rough-and-tumble lad, he was a grown man, taller than her father.
“Cousin James.”
He turned at her voice. Recognition dawned in his mossy green eyes. “Leana!” He held out a hand to her. “Come let me have a look at you.” A warm smile stretched across his bearded cheeks. “How grown you are. A woman now, not a lass.”
“So she is.” Lachlan's tone was sharp, his cordial manner gone. “A woman who was told to keep our dinner guest amused.”
Heat rose from the neck of her gown, quickly reaching her hairline. “He…gave me leave to greet my cousin.” She held out her hand, wishing it were more steady. “Welcome, James.”
“Jamie,” he amended with a playful wink directed only at her. “Still just Jamie.” He'd noticed her embarrassment—how could he not?— and intervened with a bit of levity. The kindness in his eyes was genuine. Taking her offered hand, he bent over it, dark waves of damp hair falling forward, and planted a light kiss on her fingers, his lips barely grazing her skin. When Jamie straightened and brushed the locks from his brow, their gazes locked.
For one moment Leana thought something passed between them. A slight frisson, the slenderest thread of understanding. It warmed her soul yet cooled her skin so that she shivered in the October sunshine. No one else noticed, perhaps not even he. But she was certain of it. Somehow he had looked inside her heart and approved of what he found.
“Come, come.” Lachlan interrupted her reverie, tugging on Jamie's tattered sleeve. “We must clothe you, lad, and see that your stomach is filled.” He slung one arm across Jamie's broad shoulders and guided him toward the house, waving the other arm expansively, describing his holdings.
Left to fend for themselves, Leana and Rose followed some distance behind, exchanging glances.
“What do you think of him?” Rose whispered, her voice high as a child's.
“I think Jamie's in desperate need of a hot soak and a good night's sleep.” Leana watched Lachlan's broad gestures and overeager words. “Father, however, will insist on learning the purpose of our cousins visit first.”
“Oh, that!” Rose giggled. “I already know why Jamie's here.”
Leana's breathing stilled. “You do?”
Twenty-Three
How happy could I be with either,
&n
bsp; Were t'other dear charmer away!
But while ye thus tease me together,
To neither a word will I say.
JOHN GAY
Well, not exactly,” Rose quickly amended, ducking her head. “I mean, Cousin Jamie hasn't toldme why he's come, not in so many words.” She couldn't lie to her older sister. Not because it was unseemly, but because it was impossible. Leana's wide, pale eyes missed nothing.
Jamie had not come to Auchengray intending to kiss her. Of that Rose was very sure. It was only a friendly kiss between cousins. Over as soon as it began, though it scared her a little. Perhaps she shouldn't have permitted him to do such a thing. Not that he'd asked. Still, it was not why he'd come. Whatever the reason, it was something else altogether.
“I think I know why he's traveled east,” Rose said, hedging again. “That is, I have an idea…”
“I see.” Leana's lips were pursed, as though she was trying not to laugh. “So you met Jamie while you were out tending the sheep?”
“Aye, near Lochend.” The sisters tarried near the front door, their voices low. Rose knew they were expected inside but couldn't bear to keep her news to herself. “Rab Murray discovered him first,” she whispered, “bathing in the loch. By the time I saw him, Cousin Jamie was dressed but still dripping wet. No boots, no hat, and a poor traveler's walking stick.”
Leana smiled at the picture she painted. “What did you two chat about on the walk home? Was it—”
“Daughters!” Lachlan McBride loomed over them from the open doorway, his brow a thundercloud. “Leana, find your place in the dining room at once. Rose, see that you spend a moment at the washstand in the spence, then haste to join us. Our invited guest has kept his own company long enough.”
Rose blushed, Leana nodded. “Aye, Father,” they said in unison. Both did as they were told and soon took their seats across from one another at the table—she in her worn drugget dress and Leana in her gray serge. Rose had insisted her sister wear the dreary gown, hoping it might discourage Fergus the Haggis from pursuing things further. Poor Leana!
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