Leaving her soiled apron in the housekeeper's hands, Leana donned her bonnet and wandered out into the afternoon sun to discover Rab Murray swapping stories with the other shepherds, a knot of wide-eyed children at their feet. “Mistress McKie,” he said, politely tugging at his forelock as she passed. She watched a group of older lads challenge one another, seeing who might heft a sack of newly harvested grain the farthest, while all around her swirled the music. Three fiddlers took turns through the day, keeping their neighbors dancing until they fell on the plaids, exhausted and happy. Rose never grew tired and grabbed a different partner for each dance, confounding poor Neil, whose sad expression put his heart on display for all to see.
Her sister was dancing a reel with Jamie now, her skirts and braid flying, her skin pink as willowherb. They made a handsome couple: his long legs guiding her in graceful circles; her dark eyes shining; her smile, not so innocent as it once was, decorating her bonny young face. When the tune finished with a flourish, they bowed to one another amid much clapping, though more than one gaze drifted toward Leana to see what she thought of her husbands spirited turn on the lawn.
It seemed Jamie sensed their subde reproof as well and sent Rose off to find another partner. “Leana,” he called out to her, extending his hand, “dance with me, wife.”
She started to protest, but he would not hear of it, pulling her into the circle with the others, his hands callused and rough against hers, the heat from his body radiating like the sun. Suddenly shy at his touch, she ducked her head beneath his chin. “Jamie, I'm so ungraceful.”
“You are never ungraceful,” he chided softly. “I promise not to spin you about.” He was good as his word, turning her only when necessary, and then widi great care, through one dance, then another, until a nod at the fiddler produced a slow strathspey. Jamie bent down to whisper in her ear as dieir pace eased, “A bit more suitable for you and the babe, I diink.”
“Aye,” she said, patting her brow. Much as she tried to guard her heart, her efforts were of no use. His smile was too close, his touch too warm. Even if it was only meant to appease the gossips, dancing with her husband left her breathless with joy. When the strathspey ended, he bowed deeply to her curtsy, then led her to a table where a much-needed cup of punch waited.
“ ‘Tis a festive day,” he said between gulps. “You'd never find so many souls at Glentrool on Lammas.”
Glentrool. Dare she ask his plans? “Jamie, I know your obligation to my father ends this day.” He gazed at her over the rim of his cup but said nothing. “Were you thinking we might remain at Auchengray until Hogmanay perhaps?”
“Your father would have me stay through breeding season.” His expression, his tone told her nothing.
“Does that…please you?”
His lengthy sigh told her too much. “My pleasure is of no concern to your father. He has offered me an honest wage now that my ‘obligation,’ as you call it, has been met. Since we must remain until you have delivered our child, it seems we will stay at Auchengray for a season.”
“Is your mother not eager to have you return to Glentrool?”
“She is eager, aye. But she is not willing. Her last letter indicated the time was not ripe for my return.” He shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Soon, she said.” He tossed the dregs of his punch on the ground, then banged the cup on the wooden plank table. “Thank you for dancing with me, Leana. See that you dont tire yourself.” He touched her hand, the smallest of gestures, then strode toward the shepherds, who'd embraced him as one of their own.
Oh, Jamie.
Her prayers had not been answered. Her love for him refused to die.
“The lad still carries your heart in his pocket, I see.” Lachlan joined her for punch, his gaze trained on Jamie. “But you never managed to capture his heart. Only his babe.”
“And that is enough.” Leana put down her cup more firmly than she intended. “For if I have his son, I have what matters most to him.” She walked away without looking back, proud of herself for being neither rude nor timid. Though her father never spoke of it, she was of age now and married besides. He had no authority over her. She answered to God as her Maker and to Jamie as her husband. Deep inside a corner of her quiet, compliant self, a jubilant cheer arose.
Hours later, when the food was well consumed and the stories all told, Duncan stepped to the tower of wood that would soon fill the night with a crackling light and held aloft two wooden sticks. “The need-fire,” he called out, then began rubbing the sticks furiously together. Custom required he not bring fire from the house; it must be a new fire to hold the darkness at bay. When a spark struck the kindling, he waved the fire to life as all stood watch in a circle around it, their gazes following the sparks rising into the black sky above.
A piper had joined the gathering and played with all his might, piping the flames higher as the dancing began in earnest. Across the lawn Leana watched Jamie gather Rose in his arms to dance. It seemed he no longer cared who might see or judge. He had done his duty by his wife. Now he would see to his own pleasure.
Leana stood back from the bonfire, watching them together, remembering the night when she had danced with Jamie beneath a cold Hogmanay sky certain that he loved her and only her. When she could bear it no more, Leana slipped back into the house, knowing she would not be missed. The doors were open to the warm night air, the rooms abandoned, strewn with the remains of the day's celebration. She climbed to the top of the stair and sat down, holding on to the rail for support, though it was another sort of strength she needed now.
Please, God, let me bve him no longer.
Silence greeted her request.
Alone in the empty house, Leana buried her head in her skirts, and her heart gave way. Tears poured forth from the broken places that would not mend, as she grieved for the love that would not let go, even after all her prayers.
Seventy-Four
The greatest of faults is to be conscious of none.
THOMAS CARLYLE
It's your fault, Jamie McKie!” Rose stood before him, hands on her hips, her scolding tone like an Aberdeen fishwife's. “Not a soul at Auchengray knew about your birthday. If your mother hadn't written, we might never have known.”
“You might have asked,” he teased her, folding his mothers letter and tucking it in his pocket. They'd walked to Newabbey village together to enjoy the splendid September weather and had discovered Mr. Elliot had a letter waiting for him, addressed in his mother's sweeping hand. Impatient as ever, Rose had insisted he read it to her immediately, standing there in the street.
When the letter began “To my son on his twenty-fifth birthday,” Rose had erupted. “Well! Since you didn't tell us, there will be no presents waiting by your plate and no apple tart appearing from the kitchen.”
“I've no need of gifts, Rose, and as for Neda's tart, you would eat every bite yourself.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Aye, that I would, just to spite you.
Rose. A year older and still as childlike as ever. Precious, endearing, but her charm wore a bit thin on days like this one, when he had so much on his mind. The birthday letter from his mother was expected; she wrote him in Edinburgh during the Septembers he was at university. This one was lengthy, filled with news of the flocks at Glentrool and the latest parish blether, along with the usual concerns about his ailing father. It was what she did not say that troubled him. No mention of coming home. No mention of Evan at all. Perhaps she was waiting to hear that an heir had been born.
Only a few weeks remained at most. Leana was certain it was a boy, but it could easily be a daughter. He'd have to prepare himself, have a compliment at the ready, should she hand him a wee lass. Not that he minded the idea; young Annie from Troston Hill was enchanting. At the moment, however, two women in his life were enough. Too much, in fact.
Rose tugged on his sleeve, pulling him up the road toward Auchengray. “Lift your feet, lad, or we'll never make it home in time for supper. You've
not faced the wrath of Lachlan McBride until you've walked in the door with the meal already on the table.”
“You forget, Rose, I've faced the man's anger over much more than being late for supper.” He lengthened his stride, soon outpacing her, making her skirts swish to keep up with him. Though the leaves had not started to fall, the trees were edged with gold and red, striking against a sky the color of Scottish bluebells. Unbidden, a vision assailed him. The bluebetts on Leanas nightgown. She'd worn it often through the spring and summer. Perhaps she'd hoped it would stir some pleasant recollection of their time in Dumfries. All he remembered of their bridal week was waking up morning after morning with the wrong woman beside him.
Nae. That was not fair to Leana. There were moments in Dumfries so tender they frightened him. He chose not to think of them, but they were there nonetheless.
A warm hand slipped through the crook of his elbow. “Now you're walking too fast,” she whined, forcing him to match her pace. “Tell me about the day you and Evan were born so very long ago.”
“That would be the days we were born. Wednesday night before midnight for my brother, and Thursday morning after the twelfth strike of the clock chime for me.”
“You were born just after midnight?” Rose stared up at him, her mouth agape. “Och! Jamie, that is very lucky indeed.” She gripped his arm and dropped her voice. “I've heard that a child born at that hour can see the Spirit of God. Have…have you?”
Nae, butlve heard him. He almost said it aloud, then swallowed his words. Rose would never understand, though her sister might. As autumn moved across the land, the memory of his dream was becoming more vivid again, as though the tilt of the sun and the chill in the air recaptured something of that night on the cairn. I will never leave you.
Shivering at the thought of it, he gazed at Rose and steered their conversation in a different direction. “You know what the rhyme says?”
“ ‘Thursdays child has far tae go.’ And you have traveled far, Jamie. Edinburgh and Glasgow, even London!“ Her sigh only lacked words to be a song. “I've been to Moffat and Dumfries, which are hardly a long distance. Oh, and Kirkcudbright with Aunt Meg when I was a child.”
He hid a smile, patting her hand. So provincial, his Rose. Her innocence was what drew him to her from the first. And now she had plans to attend a school for young ladies. “To put a proper finish on my domestic skills and genteel manners,” she'd explained. Rose would depart from Auchengray in January and take the sun with her, leaving him with a meek wife, a new babe, and no Rose.
He gazed down at her, as bonny as a painted porcelain doll, and thought of the year he'd spent loving a lass he could not claim. Four seasons of stolen kisses and holding hands when no one might notice. Valentines in February, dinner at Maxwell Park, dancing at Lammas. His memories with her were as bright as the fireworks he once saw displayed in London exploding over the Thames. Would they fade as quickly, leaving nothing but a black sky?
An elbow struck his ribs. “Jamie McKie, your face is more dour than my father's.” Rose spun in a circle before him, dancing like the Gypsies he'd met on his journey to Auchengray, with her head tilted back and her braid begging to be caught like a black rope. “Cheer up, lad! You're not a father yet. No need to be so serious.”
He snatched her braid and tugged on it, bringing her spinning to an abrupt halt. “Only you can cheer me, Rose. With a kiss.”
Haifa mile from home, in the middle of a country road, with sheep bleating and cows lowing and magpies chattering overhead, Jamie kissed her long and well, for once not caring who might come upon them. He released her at last and gathered the stars in her eyes for a keepsake. “Home, Rose,” he said softly. “For I will be a father soon, and I must see to my duties.”
Leana was waiting for them at the door. If she noticed their hands quickly slipping apart, it did not show in her eyes. “You have minutes to spare,” she warned them, though there was no reproach in her voice. “Clean yourselves up and be seated by seven o'clock. I hardly need to tell you why”
As they hastened up the stair and did as they were told, Jamie realized that Leana would make a fine mother indeed, good at keeping her brood in order. Brood? Would there be more than one child? If she gave birth to a girl, there would have to be more. Several perhaps. The thought of so many lives depending on him made him stumble for a moment on his way down the stair.
He was not prepared to be a father. He had yet to learn to be a proper husband. When he reached the landing, he turned and saw her standing at the bottom of the stair. Leana. My wife. She smiled up at him, her body full of his child, her face full of love for him. The unspoken power of it struck him afresh, pressing him back against the stair wall.
It was a love he could not begin to comprehend. A love he could not return. And a love he could not live without.
Seventy-Five
In my end is my beginning.
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
The longer the Sabbath service lasted, the more uncomfortable Leana became.
She leaned against the hard wooden pew, her back aching, her legs numb from sitting in the same position through the singing of the psalms and the prayers of confession and the reading of Scripture. The babe had found a new hiding place, lower than before, pressing painfully against her when he turned. Leana realized too late that she should not have come to kirk, not that morning. But compelled by a longing to be in Gods house, she'd braved the three-mile ride in the chaise, wincing with every jarring bump.
“Not prudent,” her father had said at breakfast, eying her with a certain apprehension, when she'd told him her plan to join them that morning. Difficult as it was to admit, Lachlan McBride might have been right.
Cooler weather had coaxed her out of doors as well. The fourth of October had dawned with pale blue skies and a freshening breeze from the Solway, which meant she could worship without patting at her brow all morning. Jamie sat next to her in the pew, though not too close, giving her a bit of room to breathe. When he glanced down at her, his eyes were kinder than usual, and his concerned expression seemed genuine. “Are you feeling well?” he whispered so softly she almost didn't hear him.
Leana nodded, but something in her face must have told him otherwise. He found her hand, tucked beside her skirt, and drew it into his own. The simplest of gestures, yet it sent her heart soaring. My dear husband. Nothing had changed between them. Yet being filled with his child also filled her with compassion. He was clearly a man tormented by something he'd done, or not done. If he might love their son, that would be enough, that would be a beginning.
He squeezed her hand in silent support, and she closed her eyes to savor his touch. So taken was she with Jamie's unexpected affection that she missed Reverend Gordon's introduction of his text for the day, opening her eyes and giving him her full attention when he began to read from the Buik.
“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh.
Aye. She knew about thorns. Her roses had pricked her finger many times, each puncture bleeding more profusely than a small wound merited. Leana realized the thorn he spoke about was not from a rose. He meant some painful experience, some debilitating, unwelcome thing that would not go away, that hurt without ceasing.
Like loving a man who does not love you.
She held back a tiny gasp.
The minister neither saw nor knew how carefully Leana listened as he continued reading. “For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.”
Aye, she had. But not three times. Three hundred times. Please, God, kt me love him no longer. She blinked away a tear that appeared on her lashes unbidden. She had begged and pleaded for release, but God had not answered that prayer. Jamie, I bveyou still.
Reverend Gordon's deep voice rang across the sanctuary. “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee.
She touched a handkerchief to the corner of her eye as the truth settled inside her. His grace, his mercy, his love, his enduring presence, his fai
thfulness were sufficient.
Jamie had once told her that he could only give her what he had. “It will have to be enough,” he'd said. But it was not enough. It would never be enough. Even if Jamie loved her completely, his love would still not begin to fill all the empty places inside her. Places only Almighty God could fill, because he alone was enough.
She gripped Jamie's hand without meaning to, so overwhelmed was she by the ministers words. “For my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Aye!She was weakness itself, but in her weakness she'd found Gods strength. Jamie's arms were strong, but they could not hold her in the darkest of nights when everything hurt and all was broken. Only God could. Only God.
Her tears would not stop now nor would the joy welling up inside her. It must have shown on her face, for Reverend Gordon was looking directly at her with a curious gaze as he read the last words.
“Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
Gladly glory.
Leana let the words sink in, tasting them, swallowing them with her tears. Could she manage such an impossible task? Could she gladly glory in loving Jamie, in bearing the pain of his rejection, if it meant that Christ's love would shine through her? Would his almighty power sustain her through a lifetime of loving yet being unloved?
Then the truth struck her, and her soul leapt with joy.
She was not unloved. She was loved completely. God had loved her through it all. Loved her now, loved her still, would love her always.
How had she neglected to see it for so long? Her love for Jamie, the thorn in her heart, the love that would not stop, was there for a reason. To remind her that it was no longer Leana loving Jamie; it was God himself. God would never stop loving Jamie, nor would she.
“Jamie!” She hadn't meant to say his name aloud in the midst of Reverend Gordon's sermon, in the kirk where every eye turned to see what the outburst was about.
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