“Forgive me, Reverend.” Heat crawled up his neck. “I meant no disrespect to the kirk or to the Lord. I only meant—”
“Aye, aye.” He waved away Jamie’s apology. “The fault is mine. I’m a bit sensitive on the subject, as many a parishioner has tried to pay for his sins in silver rather than face the repentance stool.”
Heat continued to rise toward Jamie’s face. “I pray there’s been nothing said this evening that requires such … ah, severe discipline.”
Reverend Gordon’s steady gaze was less than comforting. “The evening is not over, Jamie. Send in your wife.”
Forty-Two
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives.
GEORGE HERBERT
Leana, the men are waiting for you.”
She looked up, and her heart overflowed like a stream in March. Dearest Jamie. He stood there in the hall of the manse, handsome as ever, and yet he looked wrung out, like a rag draped over Eliza’s bucket. “Come and sit, dearie. Rose is out of doors, breathing some fresh air to revive her spirits. You’ll have the hall to yourself for a bit.”
“I’m glad of it.” He joined her on the bench, his gaze intent, traveling over her from head to toe, as if committing her to memory. “Beloved wife.” Grasping both her hands, he kissed her lips, then her cheek, before he whispered in her ear, “Be careful what you say.”
She squeezed Jamie’s hands once more, then rose at Reverend Gordon’s urgent bidding from the dining room doorway.
“Come, lass. The hour is late, and we have many questions that beg answering.”
Easing past the minister, she turned for a final glimpse of Jamie before the door closed between them. Beloved husband. If all went well, he would be hers alone before evening’s end.
The room was far brighter than the hall. Leana blinked, letting her eyes adjust, then sat down, scooting the heavy chair toward the table with some difficulty, for her knees were shaking. Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust. She was nervous, aye, but she was eager as well. Eager to tell the truth and have any lingering stain on their marriage scrubbed clean.
Leana folded her hands at her waist, not touching the table, sitting as straight as she could. Mother would be proud. She looked down at her white silk gloves. The gloves Agness McBride had worn on her wedding day. The gloves Leana had worn when she spoke her vows to Jamie. Mother’s gloves. Pure white silk, without spot or blemish, kept in a drawer and wrapped in linen, left untouched most of the time.
Except tonight.
Tonight she would hold out her heart for inspection and let them see that she loved the Lord God and that she loved Jamie. Both also loved her. And both had forgiven her. She was a sinner, aye, but she was washed clean by grace. Who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart. Leana looked across the table at those who held her life in their grasp and prayed for mercy.
“Mistress McKie … ah, Miss McBride.” The clerk splayed his fingers, clearly at a loss. “Until we finish these proceedings and a decision is made, how shall we address her, Reverend?”
“With her permission, we will call her Leana. Will that suit you, lass?”
“Aye,” she said, bowing her head in respect. “My mother chose the name.”
“Did she now?” Amid the minister’s wrinkles a slight smile appeared. “And do you ken the meaning?”
Leana lifted her brows, curious. “I assumed she liked the sound of it.”
“The name means, ‘Serves Ian.’ Perhaps Jamie knew that when he chose your son’s name?”
“Except I chose it.” Leana bit her tongue, wishing she’d kept that truth to herself. It made Jamie sound uninvolved. Disinterested. Perhaps it was not too late to mend her mistake. “Our son’s name means ‘gift from God,’ and Ian certainly is that. A gift to both of us.”
“Aye, he’s a fine lad,” Reverend Gordon agreed, shuffling his papers. “He greets rather loudly during services, but most bairns do.”
“I try to keep him quiet.” Leana noticed the other men growing impatient with their chatter. She was pleased to talk about Ian, though she must do so with care; two hours had passed since she’d nursed him. And she was happy to chat about Jamie. But naught would be accomplished until she spoke of Rose.
“Let us press on with more serious matters,” the clerk said, his tone weary and a bit short. “Miss … ah, Leana. Your husband—that is to say, Mr. McKie—said, and I quote, ‘Leana McBride made it very clear she would be pleased to be my wife.’ Is that a true statement?”
She beamed across the table. “Aye, it certainly is true.”
“When did you make that ‘very clear’ to him? In October when he arrived? In November when he proposed to marry your sister? In December at the bride stool? When exactly?”
So many questions. Leana pressed her lips together, trying to preserve whatever moisture remained before her mouth dried to cotton. “I was …” Attracted? Enamored? Infatuated? “That is, I liked my cousin from the first. My feelings for him grew rather quickly.” She turned away, certain her cheeks were as red as hindberries. Liked him? She had loved Jamie from the moment she saw him walk across the lawn of Auchengray and heard him speak her name.
Andrew, the schoolmaster, took pity on her. “Were those feelings returned, lass?”
“Not at first.” Not until two months ago. “But eventually, aye, they were.”
Her conscience tugged at her. Nagged at her. Speak the truth. She would answer every question with complete honesty, of course. But must she speak the truths they did not ask to hear? How much truth would be enough?
“Tell us, Leana.” Jock Bell’s kind voice bore no challenge. “Did your sister, Rose, encourage you in your affection for Mr. McKie?”
“She did. She certainly did.” Leana nodded, praying the movement might cool her cheeks. “Rose seemed eager to see Jamie and me wed.”
At first. Not later. Forgive me, Rose.
Henry Murdoch, a man as short-tempered as her father, snorted with obvious disdain. “Your sister, the matchmaker. Is that the way of it?”
Leana hesitated, unsure of his intention. “So it appeared to me, sir.”
“Well, Miss McBride, ’twas not the way it appeared to your sister.” He used the title deliberately, his face suddenly hard as flint. “When she arrived home from Twyneholm on New Year’s Day and found you married to her betrothed, Rose McBride was, in her words, ‘More than surprised … I was shocked.’ ”
Oh, Rose. Leana tried to swallow, but her heart lodged in her throat. How much had her sister told them? All of it, every sordid detail? Be careful what you say. ’Twas too late for such precautions if her sins had already been confessed by another.
Mr. Murdoch either didn’t notice her discomfort or didn’t care, for he plowed forward in relentless pursuit of the truth. “Gentlemen, I believe our answer rests here.” His mottled face, lit by the fire, threatened to ignite. “If it was Rose’s desire that you marry Mr. McKie, then what did you do, Leana, that was so surprising? So … shocking?”
She bowed her head, pleading for the strength to go on.
I have chosen the way of truth.
“I took …”
Words failed her. It was one thing to make her confession to Jamie, to Rose, to Neda. Even Almighty God had not flinched when she poured out her sins before him like tears from a bottle. But in this room … with these men …
The clerk prompted her. “You took what, miss?”
“I took … what was not mine … to take.”
Reverend Gordon leaned over her. “We need you to be more specific, Leana.” His tone was gentle but firm. “Did you wear your sister’s wedding gown; is that what you took?”
“Nae, her … kell.”
“Her bridal veil?”
“Aye,” she murmured. “I wore my own gown, but I took Rose’s kell to the kirk.”
“I see.” Mr. Millar
tapped the silver nib of his pen on the inkstand. “This does not constitute a breach of moral law, unless we choose to see it as either stealing or coveting her sister’s property.”
“You’ve missed the point, sir.” Jock Bell wagged his head like one of his tups. “However fine the embroidery work, the borrowing of a kell—you did give it back to her, didn’t you, lass?—hardly constitutes a sin, not in any parish in Scotland. Nae, gentlemen, there’s something else afoot, for I spy it in the lady’s countenance.”
Leana looked up in time to find Mr. Bell peering at her across the table. He saw too much. He saw the truth.
“Leana has not told us the lot of it. Confess, lass, for we’ll not leave this room ’til the thing is settled.”
The five of them trained their eyes on her and waited.
In the hearth, a pine log shifted, sending sparks flying into the air.
In her heart, something shifted as well. I will walk in thy truth: unite my heart to fear thy name. It was God she feared, with a holy fear, not these men. She would speak the truth. All of it. Not because of what they knew, but because of what she knew. The whole truth. She would no longer be ashamed, for there was no shame in truth. Only in hiding it.
“I am ready,” she said calmly. And she was.
Mr. Murdoch cleared his throat. “Answer this, then, for ’Tis the question we’ve posed twice before on this night: Were you, Leana McBride, the woman James McKie meant to marry on 31 December?”
The truth. “Nae, I was not.”
A furor rose, heating the air, filling the room. “Explain yourself, Miss McBride!”
“So I will.” Fear and trembling fell away like scales, and strength poured through her like living water. The truth. “Mr. McKie thought he had married my sister. Instead I claimed him for myself.”
“Claimed him?”
“Aye. I went into his room in the dark of night and presented myself to him as his bride.”
Now ’Twas the elders who were shocked. They threw words at her like rocks. Hizzie. Tairt. Ill-deedie. Limmer.
Reverend Gordon nearly shouted at her, “Are you saying when James McKie spoke his vows in my kirk, he spoke them to Rose? Not to you?”
“He did. Rose is his wife by the law of the kirk.”
“Then what are you?” another roared.
“I am his wife by habit and repute.” She spoke without shame. She spoke without fear. “I am the mother of his son.”
Sharp-edged questions landed at her feet. “What did you tell him that night?” “Did you seduce him?” “How was he deceived?”
Leana felt the blows but not the sting. “Jamie did not realize I was the one by his side until morning. Until it was too late.”
“Why would a woman do such a thing?” Jock bellowed.
“Because I loved Jamie completely. From the beginning.” Jamie, I love you still. “And because I thought he loved me and kenned it was me that night. But he did not.”
“Och! Enough, lass, for ’Tis naught but lies.”
“ ’Tis anything but lies, sir.” For my mouth shall speak truth.
Above the din a voice of reason cried out, “Is no one else to blame, Leana? Your sister? Jamie? Your father?”
She shook her head. Let her father name his own sins. They were not hers to confess. “I alone am to blame. No one else.”
“But, Leana—”
“Gentlemen!” Reverend Gordon thundered. “That’s quite enough.” He held his arms out over the table, his long, pale hands like the tablets of Moses. The elders grew silent, though their breathing sounded heavy and dark, like that of feral dogs run to ground. “Leana has told us more than we asked,” the minister reminded them, his fury retreating. “We have all we need to make a just decision.”
He turned to Leana. Though his brow was fiercely knit, something akin to respect shone from his eyes. “You were honest, lass, and courageous. God will surely reward you. But here on earth, your punishment will be swift, and your sentence painful, for much wrong has been done your sister.”
Forgive me, Rose. “I do not deny it, sir, for I love her dearly.”
“Come then, let me deliver you to your family while we deliberate over what’s to be done.” He clasped her elbow as though he expected her to faint, though she did not so much as stumble. They entered the shadowy hall, where Rose was nowhere to be seen and Jamie sat in abject misery. ’Twas clear he’d heard the shouting, for when he stood to join them, his posture was that of a broken man.
Distraught, the minister pulled her aside. “Why, lass?” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Your husband willingly claimed you as his wife. Why did you not hide beneath his covering?”
Leana looked into his eyes. “Because someday, Reverend Gordon, I will stand, not before this kirk session, not before my husband, not before my father, but before Almighty God.” His name gave her the strength to continue, even as her eyes filled with tears. “And when I stand before him, I will not be ashamed. For the LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust.”
Forty-Three
Man’s inhumanity to man
makes countless thousands mourn.
ROBERT BURNS
Reverend Gordon shook his head in disbelief. “My prayers are with you both.”
Jamie stood behind Leana as the minister returned to the meeting room. His hands were poised to catch her if her knees gave way. Yet she’d sounded anything but weak. Her voice was strong, her words sure. The LORD is my rock. An extraordinary woman, his Leana. Perhaps her meeting with the kirk session had gone better than he imagined.
When she turned toward him, her face awash with silent tears, his hopes died a quick death.
“Oh, Jamie,” she cried, falling against his chest, “I spoke the truth.”
“Aye, I’m sure you did.” My brave lass. Jamie smoothed a hand across her hair. “For if you did not speak the truth, you would not be the woman I love.”
“But Rose told them … Rose said …”
“Now, now,” he whispered, as gently as a father to his bairn. He pressed a handkerchief into her palm. “Rose is not our concern.” Mine, perhaps. But not yours, beloved.
Leana wiped her tears, though they would not stop. “Reverend Gordon said my punishment will be swift …”
Nae. His throat tightened, even as he tightened his embrace. Not my Leana.
“And my sentence, he said, will be … will be … painful.” She buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled against his waistcoat. “I’m afraid, Jamie.”
He stifled a groan, shutting his eyes. The stool of repentance stood like a gallows, stark and empty, waiting for his wife to mount it. It had no sharp points to pierce her pale skin, no rough metal collars to chafe her slender neck. But it would wound her. Shame and humiliation cut deeper than a dirk.
Let me bear the shame. Oh, God, let me bear it for her!
“Jamie, what could he mean? What kind of pain?”
“Do not think of it, beloved. Think only of how much I love you.” He kissed her then, stroking her hair, wanting to comfort her, wanting to ease her fears. Neither of them paid attention to the front door opening and closing behind them, until a familiar voice echoed through the hall.
“Is it … over?”
Rose.
Jamie straightened, brushing back Leana’s hair that had fallen loose from its pins. He kept her close to him as if protecting her from impending harm.
Rose edged toward them, clearly wary. “Did it go … well for you, Leana?”
When Leana shifted as though to move away from him, Jamie held her in place. Stay with me, lass. We will face her together. “Never mind Leana’s testimony, Cousin.” His voice was as sharp as an archangel’s sword and his aim as true. “What did you tell the elders?”
Rose flinched before she answered. “I told them the truth.”
“I’m proud of you, Rose.” Leana dabbed at
her eyes.
“I did not tell the elders all of it though. I might have told them much more.” Rose eased down onto the bench, folding her gloved hands. “I could have described what happened on my wedding night.”
Jamie glared at her. “Except you were not there.” Had he ever been so glad of anything in his life? “ ’Twas not your story to tell. ’Twas mine, if I chose to reveal it. Instead I kept those details to myself.”
“But I did not.” Leana pressed the handkerchief to her mouth as if to stop the words from coming out. “I told the elders the truth.”
Jamie froze. “All of it?” Oh, lass.
Leana hid her face, bright with shame. “I thought Rose … I was sure …”
“ ’Tis not my fault!” Rose cried. “I told them almost nothing!”
“I told them everything.” Leana turned to look at them both, her cheeks still red but her voice stronger. “I had to speak the truth, no matter what else was said in that room. ’Twas Almighty God I wanted to honor, not myself. But I did not mean to hurt you, dear Jamie.” She touched his face with a shaking hand. “Please … please forgive me …”
“Nae, Leana.” He held a finger to her lips. “You did what was right. There is nothing to forgive.”
“What of me?” Rose’s voice was taut. “Am I forgiven as well?”
Leana stepped closer, her hands held out in mute appeal. “ ’Tis your forgiveness I must have, Rose. Yours above all, for you are the one I wronged most.” She bent toward her sister’s cloak, her delicate fingers fluttering over the green folds. “Will you forgive me, Rose? With all your heart, not just words. Please?”
Jamie’s hands clenched as each second went by without a response. Say something, Rose. After all you’ve done, do not punish her like this.
“You have a right to be angry, Rose, to feel cheated.” Leana knelt at her sister’s feet, spreading her skirts across the floor. “The kirk session will take their pound of flesh, of that I have no doubt. What I ask of you is a greater sacrifice, Rose. ’Tis mercy.” She rested her white silk gloves on Rose’s cotton ones, covering the stain. “Have you any mercy to give me, dear Rose?”
“You may have your mercy, Leana.” Rose looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “If I may have my Jamie.”
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