The laird of Nethercarse sat before his empty dish, a stray daub of custard on his waistcoat, a faint scowl on his face. “I met your young cousin, Miss McBride, if only for an instant. Your father wisely sent him up the stair to see to his appearance. ‘Twill take a great deal more than soap and water to make that lad presentable.”
Rose flew to Jamie's defense. “He traveled nearly fifty miles, much of it on foot.”
“The gendeman addressed your sister, not you, Rose.” Father's reprimands were a staple at dinner. “Kindly let her respond.”
“What you say is true, Mr. McDougal.” Leana's slight smile may have fooled Fergus, but Rose could see how it grieved her sister to be polite to the man. “Our cousin Jamie had a long and arduous journey across Galloway. We're grateful he's arrived unharmed.”
“However undressed. And unexpected.” Fergus almost lookedlikt a haggis, so tighdy was his mouth drawn between his fat cheeks. “Not the usual manner of things at Auchengray, is it, Mr. McBride?”
“Ah…itisnot. No.”
Rose had seldom seen her father shamed to silence. She stared at her plate, served hot from the kitchen, and hoped someone would say something. What an unco day it was and only half over!
“Eat your dinner, Rose.” Her fathers words did not bite so sharply this time. “Jamie will join us before long.”
She plunged her fork into the oyster pie, suddenly famished. Had she eaten breakfast? Supper, yestreen? While the two men conversed and Leana listened, Rose made short work of her dinner. “Is there any burnt cream left?” she whispered to Neda, who soon placed not one but two small dishes before her.
A male voice floated across the room. “My wee cousin has quite an appetite, I see.”
Rose looked up and swallowed her first spoonful of custard with some difficulty. “Cousin…Jamie?”
“Aye.” He stood in the doorway and laughed, a warm, rumbling sort of chuckle. “I'm much altered, thanks to your fathers generosity.”
Altered fell short of the mark. His hair was pulled back into a sleek tail, no longer a dark, matted mess. In the afternoon light it shone a rich brown. His smooth chin, freed from its bearded brisde, jutted out handsomely, a subtle dare. Even wearing her fathers old suit of clothes, Jamie was a braw sight, standing to attention like a gendeman soldier waiting for his marching orders.
“Sit, Nephew.”
Jamie claimed the remaining chair next to hers, smiling at her as he sat. “Forgive me for arriving at such an awkward hour, Uncle.”
“Och!” Lachlan motioned to Neda and Eliza, who came bearing dishes heaped with food. “Nothing awkward about feeding a starving man at any hour.” Lachlan stood to his feet and inclined his head toward their well-fed guest, who heaved himself out of his chair as well. “Begging your pardon, Nephew. Mr. McDougal and I must retire to the spence for a bit of business. Your cousins will keep you suitably entertained while you dine. Wont you, ladies?”
Rose exchanged glances with her sister, who answered for them. “Aye, Father. Between the two of us, Jamie will be well cared for.”
Fergus McDougal moved toward the door, delivering a parting message over his hunched shoulder. “Make your cousin welcome, Miss McBride, but not too welcome, if you ken my meaning.” He turned and winked at Leana—how perfectly dreadftil!—then added, “I'll see you again next Wednesday, when our dinner will not be so ramstam interrupted.”
“Wednesday,” was all Leana said, her voice as cool as the water in Lochend.
Jamie seemed too busy with his meal to notice the drama unfolding around him. His table manners, though, were impeccable, like Leana's. He brought each bite of food to his mouth, instead of bending over the plate and shoveling it in like a plowman. “While I enjoy the best meal I've eaten in a week, might one of you kindly tell me the way of things at Auchengray?”
“Oh, Cousin!” Rose groaned at such a gloomy topic. “As you can see for yourself, Auchengray is the dreariest place imaginable. A bothy compared to Maxwell Park. I visited with Lady Maxwell yestreen, did I tell you? Aye? A grand house with painted paper walls and corniced ceilings and carpets. Imagine that! Our house is naught but three floors of cramped rooms with uneven stone floors, rough beams,”—she waved her hand overhead—“and too few candles. The chimneys wont draw properly, and the casement windows—”
“I didn't mean the house, lass.” His reproof was so gentle she almost missed it. “I meant the people. Tell me who lives here at Auchengray. Who are the servants? What sort of property does your father own, and how does he use it?”
Her shoulders sank under such weighty questions. “Ah…Leana?”
Her sister lifted her chin and smiled across the table at Jamie. Not the pretend smile she gave Mr. McDougal. This one was genuine, with teeth. “I'd be pleased to tell you about Auchengray, Cousin. Though our house is modest, the lands are well managed and prosperous.”
Jamie beamed his approval, continuing to eat while Leana, well versed in household ledgers, filled their cousins bonny head with names and numbers: Duncan Hastings, the overseer, and his wife, Neda, the housekeeper; so many acres of oats and so many of hay; this many milk cows and that many sheep. Rose was content to nibble on her burnt cream and watch the two of them warm to one another. Jamie not only listened to Leana, he looked at her intendy with eyes the color of gray alder leaves in spring, plying her with questions, then nodding thoughtfully at her answers.
Her sisters features, plain as whey, grew almost animated when their discussion turned to vegetable crops. “Perhaps when you've had a chance to rest, you might care to see my gardens,” Leana suggested, then lowered her gaze, as though she'd been too forward.
Jamie quiedy responded, “I would like that very much, Cousin Leana.”
Rose pressed her spoon against her lips, holding back her growing sense of delight. She had no talent for ledgers, but she knew an answer to prayer when she saw one: Jamie McKie was a much better match for her sister than old Fergus the Haggis. Oo aye, he was! They were close in age, both a bit serious minded, and practical to the point of dullness. A perfect couple.
Rose was so caught up in her mental matchmaking, she didn't notice when the conversation dwindled into a comfortable silence and Jamie shifted in his chair to look at her. “Rose, you had much more to say when I watered your sheep.”
Across the table the light in Leana's face dimmed. “She did?”
“She needed my help with a watering trough. Isn't that right, Rose?” Jamie continued to gaze down at her, seated next to him.
“Aye,” she said, blinking. “The flock was most grateful. And so was I.” Grateful enough to let him kiss you, silly girl.
Now Jamie was studying her as he'd studied Leana, frankly curious, with the unguarded look of a cousin who has no fear of being rebuffed. “Shall we tell Leana what else transpired this afternoon?”
“We shall not,” Rose said firmly, leaning back in her chair to distance herself. She had plans for Jamie McKie, and they did not include his kissing her, not ever again. She glanced at the plates scraped clean by his fork. “Since you've emptied the table of all our provisions, Cousin, why not start with your departure from Glentrool and describe your journey east?”
“Aye, please do.” Leana's features brightened again. “Spare us no details, for my sister and I are eager for news of all you've seen and heard this week.”
“Jamie will have to tell Father again later,” Rose reminded her. “You won't mind telling tales twice, will you, Jamie?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Nae. I can tell my uncle…later.”
“Good.” Rose stood, glad to stretch her legs. “Come, we'll pull our chairs up to the hearth. A man who's lost his boots has more than one story to share.”
The three of them gathered in a half circle facing the warm glow of the peat. Jamie sat in the middle, with a sister seated on each side, their knees almost touching. Servants came and went, clearing the dinner table and trimming the wicks, a pleasant murmur of sound behind the
m. Jamie rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and sank back. “Shall I begin with the first night, when I slept on a grave older than King David?”
Rose clapped her hands. “Aye, do. What an adventure!”
“Some might call it that.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “ ‘Twas an education far removed from the schooling I had in Edinburgh.” He stared up at the ceiling as though collecting his thoughts from between the beams, then dropped his chin and smiled at them both. “George, the stable lad at House o’ the Hill. Aye, we'll begin with him.”
Leana drank in every word the man said, as though committing each to memory. Rose listened, but she watched, too. Watched her sister's eyes widen with horror at his description of the cairn and heard her gasp with concern when Jamie described the purplish berries.
“Not Jacob's ladder!” Leana touched his arm. “Oh, my dear cousin, you might have died.”
“Aye.” Jamie nodded grimly. “So the Gypsy told me.”
“Gypsy?” Rose couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. “Never mind the berries, Jamie. Tell us about the tinkler. Did he hold a blade to your throat?”
Jamie chuckled. More stories followed—a missing pouch, a generous shepherd, Raploch Moss in the gloaming, a stolen horse. “When I got to New Galloway, I sent your father a letter, alerting him to my arrival.” Jamie glanced at each sister in turn. “Did either of you read it?”
Rose did not need to look at Leana's face to answer for both of them. They never kept secrets from each other. “Nae, Father didn't show us your letter. Perhaps it has yet to come.”
“Perhaps.” Jamie resumed his journey, introducing diem to a talkative weaver, a man with a cart full of tatties, and a clever Gypsy boy who tipped his boot into the Dee. As he spoke, his attentive gaze moved back and forth, from Leana to Rose and back again. Jamie seemed to be measuring them, first one sister, then the other, as though he were a tailor fitting them for new dresses or Duncan at a horse sale on the White-sands of Dumfries choosing between two broodmares.
A curious sensation, being compared so equally with her sister. Men usually looked at Leana, then at her, and never turned away again. No matter. Rose had already measured Jamie McKie against Fergus McDougal and made the obvious choice. It was Jamie who should marry her sister, though Leana might need some convincing, and Father much more so.
A month, Rose decided. She could manage it in a month.
Jamie suddenly yawned and slumped deep into his chair. “My sweet cousins, I must confess I have not slept well in a week. Would you think me terribly rude if I crawled up the stair for a short nap?”
“We are the ones who've been rude,” Leana corrected him, touching his arm again. Rose had counted half a dozen such touches in the last hour, smiling at each one. “Forgive us for insisting you entertain us with your stories when we were the ones who were asked to entertain you”
“Ah, but you did.” Jamie stood, a bit wobbly on his feet in a pair of boots that looked too small for him. He smiled down at them both. “ ‘Twas a most engaging afternoon, ladies.”
He bowed and was gone, leaving the two sisters to regard each other in the fading light of late afternoon.
“So.” Leana folded her hands and pressed them down into her skirts. “What do you make of our cousin?”
“Make of Jamie?” Rose tried not to smile, but it was useless. I will make him your husband, dear sister! She would not tip her hand though. Not for the moment. Leana was too skittish, too uncertain of herself. Rose would simply keep to the wings for once and let Jamie and Leana take center stage.
“Do you find him…” Leana wet her lips. “Ah…that is…”
The poor woman couldn't bring herself to say the word. “Handsome?” Rose offered. “Aye, I do. And so do you, it seems.”
Leanas cheeks grew pink. “He is…fine, isn't he? Intelligent. And well read, I think.”
Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Well read! As if such a thing mattered when so much was at stake. He was young, braw, and not Fergus the Haggis. No other credentials were needed.
“Rose.” Leana stood, slowly pacing before the dying glow of the peat fire. “You said you might know why Jamie is here. Do you?”
“Aye.” Rose kept her features perfecdy still. “Sheep.”
Leana gasped. “Sheep?”
“He talked of nothing else all the way home. Ewes and tups. Lambing and shearing.”
“How odd.” Leanas brow knotted. “Perhaps he thought you were fond of sheep, Rose.”
“Nae, it was not for my sake.” Rose joined her sister by the hearth, linking arms with her, lowering her voice lest Father or Fergus come barreling into the room without warning and overhear. “I think our cousin is here on family business. Perhaps to purchase some of Auchengray's flocks to breed with those at Glentrool.”
“Did he say as much?”
Rose shrugged. “He did mention breeding.” At least that was an honest answer. “Very progressive, our Jamie. Like Father, he favors improvement.”
“Aye.” Leana glanced at the closed door to the spence. “Improvement. How long might he stay, did he say?”
Rose shook her head. Long enough, please God.
Twenty-Four
An honest mans the noblest work of God.
ALEXANDER POPE
Jamie buttered his bannock, then put it aside, anxious to get things / out in the open without further delay. “I must be honest with you, Uncle Lachlan, else I cannot live with myself or with you.”
“Finish your breakfast, lad. Time enough for truth telling when your belly is full.”
Jamie had thought to have this discussion yestreen after supper. By the time he'd discarded his itchy, borrowed clothes and bathed in hot water hauled into one of the bedrooms by a manservant, he'd fallen into bed in a stupor, not waking until the cock's crow startled him from his dreams at dawn.
The morning light cast its bright beams across the dining room table. Jamie watched the two sisters out of the corner of his eye. Seated across from him, side by side, they made a pretty picture: Leana in a light blue gown that matched her eyes, Rose in a printed dress the color of a Galloway sunset in summer, all purples and pinks. He'd awakened to discover he'd claimed one of their rooms, decorated as it was for a lady's taste. But which cousin? Quiet Leana, with her pale skin and graceful gait? Or young Rose, with her dark features and speeritieways? Both had a musical lilt to their voices, both came to just below his chin. They were, in every other regard, two entirely different women.
“Did you sleep well, Cousin?” Rose's dark eyes twinkled. “It's a very comfortable mattress, don't you think?”
“Aye.” He'd slept in Rose's bed then. “Forgive me for turning you out of your own room.”
Her laugh was like birdsong. “ ‘Tis not as if I had to sleep in the byre, Cousin. I shared a box bed with my sister, who never lows like the catde do and bears a far sweeter scent.”
“Now, Rose.” Leana's tone was demure, not scolding. “Our guest does not need the details of our sleeping arrangements.” She shifted her gaze to Jamie and smiled warmly. “Its only important that he be made welcome and comfortable.”
“Rest assured, I am both.” And he was. All that remained was to decide which McBride he would claim for his wife.
He'd soaked in his evening bath until the chilly water wrinkled his skin, counting on each hand his cousins’ pleasing qualities. Leana had a gende tongue, a keen mind, the necessary skills to manage a large household, a gracious manner, and a pleasant face.
Pleasant was a generous word. Leana McBride, with her fair hair braided and coiled about her head, was plain. Nigh to invisible, next to her sister. Perhaps alone in a room she would cast a satisfactory glow. Certainly she was old enough to marry and bear him a son. It was unclear what the McDougal fellows claim on Leana might be. If the man was a serious suitor, Jamie could encounter a problem pursuing the older of his two cousins.
Or he could pursue the younger one instead. Rose.
<
br /> Jamie glanced at her now over his tea saucer. Yestreen he'd thought Rose bonny when she was covered with dirt and tattered clothing. This morning, scrubbed clean, with her hair freshly dressed and her gown neady pressed, she was a vision. Skin like cream, lips like fresh berries. Jamie smiled in his tea. Never mind marrying the girl; he wanted her for breakfast.
But she was young. Very young. Fifteen, she'd told him. A willful child. Unafraid of standing up to her father, she would no doubt give a husband an earful as well. Hadn't he seen the misery his father endured, married to a beautiful, headstrong younger woman? Rose was also clearly enamored of wealth and all it offered. After seeing Maxwell Park, would Glentrool be enough for Rose McBride? Would he?
Last night he'd fallen into an uneasy sleep, hoping he might awaken and find the decision made for him. Another dream, another heavenly visit, something. He had no time to spare; marriage and an heir must follow in quick succession. If his mother were there, she would name his bride without a moments hesitation. But whom would she choose? Leana or Rose? The older or the younger? Pale or dark? Intelligent or charming?
Och! Jamie put down his saucer harder than he meant to, and it clinked on the table, catching Lachlan's sharp gaze.
“Nephew.” Lachlan settled back in his chair. “You've yet to tell us why you've come east.”
Jamie glanced at his cousins, who were suddenly more attentive, then turned toward his uncle. “Sir, that might be best shared in confidence.” When the lasses’ countenances fell, Jamie hastened to add, “I promise, you will know the answer soon enough, dear cousins.” But not until I do.
Lachlan sent the lasses off to their morning chores, brooking no argument despite their long faces. “We'll move to the spence,” he said, pointing the way. “The servants will be wanting to clean the table properly after our meal.” They were soon settled in the cozy room, a morning dram before each of them. His uncle took a sip, then licked his lips. “Something tells me I'm not going to approve of what you're about to tell me.”
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