Andrew Sproat studied her through his spectacles. “Did you wet your thumbs and join them, as is custom?”
“We did, sir.”
The session clerk’s pen scratched across the page of his leather-bound book.
“And were you also present to hear the banns read in Newabbey parish kirk on three consecutive Sabbaths?”
“Aye. My name was the one read. Rose McBride. And James McKie.” It felt wonderful to say it aloud. To be reminded, in her own voice, that Jamie was meant to be hers. From the beginning. What she was doing was fair. And right. And most assuredly true. Wasn’t that what Leana wanted?
Jock Bell leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, lass, when did you plan to be married?”
“Hogmanay.”
“And did you have a gown fitted for this occasion?”
Rose smiled, remembering the first time she’d slipped the rose-colored gown over her shoulders. “Aye, my gown was made by Joseph Armstrong, a tailor from the village.”
Reverend Gordon turned to Henry Murdoch. “I believe you’ve already spoken with Mr. Armstrong.”
Her hands grew cool inside her gloves. Though it was customary for the elders to gather information round the parish, the thought of them knocking on doors, inquiring after her own actions, unnerved her. Naught slipped past their watchful eyes. A fisherman mending his nets on the Sabbath or a lad who did not properly respect his father soon found himself before the kirk session, where he might be reprimanded, fined, or locked in the jougs at the kirk door, an iron collar tethering him to the outside wall, exposing him to the ridicule of his neighbors. She hoped they’d not unearthed some impropriety on her part, for she was the innocent one. Hadn’t her father said so?
Mr. Murdoch nodded curtly. “Mr. Armstrong remembered the bridal gown and both sisters. He was certain ’Twas the younger sister—‘the dark-haired one,’ he said—who was to be the bride. Said she took leave of the fitting to deliver wedding invitations with Mr. McKie.”
“Is that how it was, Miss McBride?”
“Aye. Jamie and I delivered the invitations. Together.”
Rose eyed the empty chair next to hers, imagining Jamie sitting there glowering at her. Furious. Her brave front began to slip. Please, Jamie. You ken ’Tis true.
“So then,” the minister said. “You traveled to Twyneholm parish one week before your wedding to stay with your aunt, Miss Margaret Halliday, a woman of good standing. A matter of tradition, aye? The bride flits for seven days, then returns for the wedding itself.”
“Aye, ’tis.”
“But you did not return.”
“Nae.” She looked away, pierced afresh with a keen sense of loss. How innocent she’d been! Naive. Trusting. It had never occurred to her, not for a moment, that her delay would cost her Jamie … that Leana … that her own father …
Jock Bell nudged her with his words. “Miss McBride, why did you not come home as planned?”
Rose brushed a loose tendril of hair from her damp forehead, delaying the inevitable if only for a moment. “The morning of my wedding we awoke to a terrible snowstorm. Newabbey was not affected, but the roads were not fit for carriage nor horse in Twyneholm.”
The dominie tapped his notes. “I can write Reverend Dr. John Scott in Twyneholm parish to verify that point, if necessary.”
Reverend Gordon held up his palm in response, his gaze fixed on Rose. “What was your expectation? That your family would go on with your wedding with a proxy bride? Or that your cousin would in fact marry your sister with your blessing?”
Touching the round stone beneath her dress, as if it might give her courage, she spoke the truth. “Neither, sir. I thought my family would wait until I was safely home and then we’d proceed as planned. I did not even know what a proxy bride was before my sister described it to me.”
The minister’s features stilled. “On what day did she so describe it?”
“New Year’s Day 1789. I arrived at Auchengray at the dinner hour and discovered the wedding had already taken place.”
A low murmuring moved through the room as the men conferred with one another, clearly agitated. Their voices grew more strident, their faces more grim. Finally Henry Murdoch raised his hand, and the men turned to her as one. “The crux of the matter is this: When you arrived at Auchengray, Miss McBride, were you surprised to find James and Leana were husband and wife?”
“More than surprised, sir.” Rose bowed her head. “I was shocked.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Forgive me, Leana. But I was, and you ken it well. Would they prod and query until she unveiled the rest? How Leana climbed into Jamie’s bed and pretended to be her? How Leana stole her husband?
Reverend Gordon interrupted her thoughts with an entirely different question, one she’d hoped to avoid. “But, Rose, did you not in fact encourage your sister to marry James McKie?”
“Aye,” Jock Bell chimed in. “I’ve had several witnesses round the parish testify to that fact.”
Be fair, Rose. “When he first arrived, I did suggest he court my sister. She was most enamored of him, and …”
Henry Murdoch cut her short. “You were not in love with him at that point.”
“I was not. Not at first.”
“When then?” he persisted. “When did you decide you loved him?”
The truth, Rose. You promised the truth. “Not until after I left for Twyneholm.”
The merchant’s gray head tipped back as he rubbed his chin. “So when you left the parish, betrothed to be married, Mr. McKie was still not certain of your affections.”
“Nae,” she admitted, “but he was certain of my intentions.” Wasn’t he? She glanced at the empty chair again. “I wished to marry him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The dominie’s thin brows rose high above his spectacles. “Why did Mr. McKie marry your sister?”
“Because he … because she …” Tell them. Tell them about Leana.
Rose tried, but the words would not come.
Instead she saw her sister’s face filled with love for her every day of her life. Her sister’s hands attending her sickbed. Her sister’s voice singing to her. Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing. Her sister’s words comforting her. I love you like my own child, Rose.
She collapsed onto the table and buried her face in her hands.
The elders did not wait long before Henry Murdoch insisted on an answer. “Forgive me, miss, but we must know the truth: Was Leana McBride the woman James McKie meant to marry on 31 December?”
Rose lifted her head, her gloves wet with tears. “ ’Tis a question I cannot answer. You must ask Mr. McKie.”
The minister stood, shoving his chair behind him. “So we shall, Miss McBride. You can be verra sure of that.”
Forty-One
Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin.
GEORGE CRABBE
Jamie!” Rose stumbled out of the dining room and fell into his arms.
“Cousin, are you ill?” He lowered her onto the hall bench, quickly disengaging himself from her embrace. Leana pressed a hand to Rose’s cheek, for the girl’s distraught face was as white as a floured board, then hastened to the kitchen for a glass of water. Jamie stood over Rose, trying to keep his voice calm. “What happened in there?”
What did you tell them? That was what he needed to know. What exactly did you say? She’d promised to speak the truth, but whose truth? Her own? Lachlan’s? The truth as it stood that night long ago … or the truth as it stood now? Might she have seized the chance to turn the tables in her favor? Even if it broke her sister’s heart, even if it ruined his life?
He stared down at her as she sat in stunned silence. Please God, you didn’t tell them the worst of it.
The door to the dining room swung open. “Mr. McKie.” Reverend Gordon greeted him with a troubled look. “ ’Tis your turn to speak to the kirk session. I regret to say we have some difficult
questions for you. Questions that require an honest answer.”
Jamie nodded, his mind reeling. What questions? What have you done, Rose? He followed the minister into the room, warmed by the fire and the heat of five men, one of whom wore a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Reverend Gordon pointed toward an empty chair. “Sit, please.”
The scrape of his chair echoed through the silent room. Jamie took a moment to arrange his coattails as he begged God for wisdom, remembering the Almighty’s promise to him, spoken in a dream the night he left Glentrool and started for Auchengray. I will never leave you. A word of assurance Jamie needed now more than ever.
He surveyed the men across from him, recognizing them by name or reputation. Millar, the new session clerk. Sproat, the schoolmaster. Murdoch, the merchant, a hardheaded sort. And Jock Bell, a neighbor and fellow sheep farmer, the friendliest of the lot. Jamie tipped his head at the man, though it did not erase Jock’s worried look.
Reverend Gordon had no sooner sat down than the queries began.
Murdoch shot first. “Was it your intention to marry Rose McBride on 31 December?”
A loaded question. “At first I did intend to marry Rose,” Jamie agreed, treading carefully. “But I chose to remain married to her sister instead.”
“Chose?” Murdoch snorted. “Did Rose afford you this choice, or did you choose without asking her?”
Sproat leaned forward. “And when did you choose? In November? December? January?”
“And you say you chose to remain married.” Millar’s words bore the mark of censure. “That is not the same as choosing in advance, sir.”
“Gentlemen!” Reverend Gordon banged his fist on the table. “One at a time, if you please. Have you forgotten your manners?” He turned to Jamie, while throats were cleared and collars loosened. “Jamie, your cousin Rose presented us with information that … ah, differed from your uncle’s account. We are simply trying to sort out what took place.” The minister looked round the room for a moment, settling them with his solemn gaze. “Mr. McKie, why don’t you tell us what happened in your own words? In doing so, you may answer all our questions for us. If not, you can be sure we’ll ask them. Go on, son.”
Jamie bowed his head, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. Speak the truth in love. Aye, there it was. He would tell them the truth, that he loved Leana and did not love Rose. It was not the beginning of a story that mattered but the end of it. He looked up and met their gazes squarely. “I have been the husband of one woman, Leana McBride McKie, for one year and two months. I love her with all my heart and am grateful that she willingly married me on Hogmanay 1788. We have one son, my legal heir, Ian Lachlan McKie. We request the kirk record show that on 31 December 1788, Leana McBride married James McKie.”
Two of the men looked relieved. Willing, even, to end the inquiry there. But three men did not. And Reverend Gordon was one of them.
“Jamie, why did you not tell me this at the bride stool? Why did Leana stand in for her sister as proxy if you both intended for Leana to be your bride?”
The worst possible question.
“Because then …” Jamie faltered. Any road he took ended in a peat bog. “Because the decision to marry Leana came after the banns had been read.” And after the wedding as well. Jamie did his best to look embarrassed, as though the couple were naught but two impatient lovers. “I was eager to proceed with the wedding, Reverend. So was Leana.” ’Twas true, but for different reasons. “It seemed prudent to carry on with the ceremony as planned.”
“Prudent, you say?” The session clerk wagged his pen like a scolding finger. “You assumed you’d simply fix the kirk records later. Was that it?”
Jamie bowed his head. He did not care what they thought of him or how foolish he appeared. He only wanted to save his marriage to Leana. “Aye, sir. We lost our heads.”
The minister’s voice was low and not unkind. “The penalty for what you’ve done is not quite that severe, James. All three of you will keep your heads on your shoulders. But there are still discrepancies between your story and Rose’s that do not sit well with me. ’Tis a matter of the timing of things. Anyone in our parish can see that you cherish your wife and son. Rose’s contentment with the situation is less apparent. She has refused an offer of marriage from a young man of the village, I understand.”
Jamie nodded, relieved to shift the focus elsewhere for a moment. “Neil Elliot sought her hand in marriage, aye.”
“Did you encourage her to pursue that match?”
A memorable scene floated before him. Rose and Neil standing in the shadows of Sweetheart Abbey. Kissing. “Indeed I did. My uncle was in favor of their marrying as well. But Rose was unwilling, and there was no reason to force her.”
“You mean nothing improper had occurred between them.”
Jamie felt certain of his answer. “Nae, sir. Nothing improper.”
Reverend Gordon turned to the others. “I must confess, having known Rose McBride all her young life, she is a lass prone to exaggeration and vivid emotion, an ever changeable girl whose mind seldom lands on any one thing for very long.”
Jamie managed a smile. “You ken her well, sir.”
Shrugging, the minister added, “ ’twould not surprise me at all if she chose to marry you one minute and chose not to the next.”
“Aye, you’ve captured her nature exactly.” Jamie had to work to keep the elation from his voice. If they saw Rose as capricious, there was still cause for hope.
A soft knock at the door heralded Mistress Gordon with a heavy tea tray. “I waited for a quiet moment.” She made quick work of distributing cups and pouring tea. “There’s a plate of cakes, if you’re a bit peckish, and milk for your tea.” The reverend’s wife slipped out as unobtrusively as she’d entered.
While the elders enjoyed their repast, Jamie sorted through all he’d said. And had not said. If no other questions were raised, perhaps the worst had come and gone. When saucers were pushed aside and crumbs brushed from waistcoats, Jamie tried to appear relaxed and confident, as though he had naught on his mind but ginger cake.
“Forgive me, Reverend Gordon.” Walter Millar tapped on his book of minutes. “But we’re neglecting one of Miss McBride’s later comments. Mr. Murdoch asked her if she was surprised to return home from Twyneholm and find that James and Leana were husband and wife. Her answer was, ‘More than surprised, sir. I was shocked.’ ”
Jamie’s heart thudded to a stop. Oh, Rose. She’d told them the truth after all. Too much truth. Jamie was neither surprised nor shocked. But he was undone.
“Why was she shocked, Mr. McKie?” Sproat’s voice bore a hint of accusation.
“I cannot say, sir.” The truth, Jamie. Leana expects no less. “As Reverend Gordon attested, her emotions are unpredictable. I only ken that she left for Twyneholm having never once stated that she loved me.”
“And her sister, Leana. Did she confess her affection for you, her desire to be your wife?”
Jamie, I love you still.
“Yes, sir, she did. Several times.” Please God, he would not fail her. Not now, when every word meant the life or death of their marriage. “Leana McBride made it very clear she would be pleased to be my wife. And I am honored to be her husband.”
“We asked your cousin a question in closing, Jamie,” the minister explained, “one which she deferred to you. Mr. Millar, would you read it please?”
Beneath the table, Jamie pressed his heels into the floor, steeling himself. He’d promised Leana that he would allow the Almighty to guide his words. O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed.
The session clerk’s head bobbed up and down on his too thin neck. “Mr. Murdoch asked, ‘Was Leana McBride the woman James McKie meant to marry on 31 December?’ And how would you answer that, sir?”
Meant to marry. Jamie stared at the flickering hearth, buying time, considering his response. If they were asking if he intended to marr
y Leana, the answer was no. But was Leana the woman he was meant to marry, by God’s gracious provision? That he could answer honestly without hesitation.
“Aye. I was meant to marry Leana.”
“Not Rose McBride.”
“Nae, gentlemen,” Jamie said firmly. “Not Rose.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that Leana will not concur with all that you’ve told us?”
On this point, he could speak with confidence. “Leana and I are in complete agreement on these matters.”
“Aye, I’m sure you are.” Reverend Gordon stood to pace before the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. “Jamie, you’ll forgive a question now of a more personal nature. But ’tis the duty of the kirk session to see that its parishioners abide by the Ten Commandments. In particular the seventh of those good laws.”
Jamie counted through them. Ah.
“Your son was born rather soon after your wedding day.”
“Nine months and four days, sir.” Much as the question irked him, he remained calm. “If your question concerns Leana coming to our marriage bed a maid, you can be certain she was.” Verra certain.
The clerk spoke again, pen poised. “The week that Lachlan McBride came to the kirk session meeting and testified on your behalf, none of us were present, save Reverend Gordon. And, as you ken, a written record does not exist. But I believe your uncle stated that your marriage was consummated the night of the wedding.”
Jamie kept his voice even, though his jaw tightened. “It was.”
“So it is possible your son, Ian, was conceived on that night.”
“ ’Twould seem my wife is blessed of God with a fertile womb, aye.” Uneasy with the direction their questions were taking, Jamie tried a different tack. “Reverend Gordon will attest that a sufficient amount of silver was paid as a fine for our impetuous actions, and rightly so.” He touched a hand to his purse, hidden beneath his waistcoat. “However, if an additional amount—”
“Mr. McKie!” The minister’s voice rang through the room like Judgment Day itself. “You cannot buy righteousness.”
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