Fair Is the Rose

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Neda’s hands stilled. “The lad will be here, have nae dout.”

  “Fine.” There was naught else to be done. Rose dragged herself up the stair, fighting tears. What sort of wedding day was this? No friends to attend her, no bridal feast, no sister to witness her vows, and no kiss from her husband. ’Twas not fair, not in the least. She slammed her bedroom door shut, pleased at how it rattled the pictures mounted on the walls, though it did little to ease the hurt. Rose looked about, realizing Jamie would not care what nightgown she was wearing or how sweetly scented the room was. Not when his heart still belonged to her sister.

  Perhaps when they all gathered for supper, she might stake a proper claim on him and let Leana see that, despite all, she would make Jamie a good wife.

  But Jamie did not appear at supper. Nor did Leana.

  “Where are they?” Rose asked her father, sitting alone with him at table. She sensed something was amiss but feared what that might be. Surely the two had not run off together.

  Lachlan offered little sympathy. “I’ve not seen your sister since noontide. You cannot blame the lass for avoiding you, Rose. ’Twas my understanding she was having supper with the Newalls.” Lachlan put aside his soupspoon to toss down a glass of claret. “As for Jamie, I ken for a fact the man is halfway to Barlae Hill, up to his knees in lambs. One of the herds just came by with the latest count. ’Tis impressive what your husband is doing. Still all twins. Duncan swears he’s ne’er seen the likes of it.”

  “Sheep, sheep, sheep!” she muttered under her breath. “Is that all this household thinks about?”

  “At lambing time you can be sure of it.” Her father’s visage grew stern. “Jamie is laboring on your behalf, Rose. ’Tis your future at stake, and he kens it well. Be grateful, lass, and do not expect more of the man than he can give.”

  “Aye.” Her father was maddeningly right, as usual. She glanced at the mantel clock. “Jenny Cullen is to arrive any minute. If I might be excused to see that Ian is ready for her?”

  “Go, go.” He waved his spoon at her. “And don’t expect too much on that score either. These things are not as simple as they appear.”

  Alas, her father was right again. Jenny was a quiet young woman of twenty, with a bairn three months older than Ian and more milk than she needed. But Ian would have no part of her. Rose watched with chagrin as the child shrieked and waved his arms about, smacking poor Jenny in the neck, refusing to nurse, leaving the maid red-faced with shame.

  “ ’Tis not your fault,” Rose assured her, following Jenny out the front door into the cool of night. Where was Leana? Surely if she’d been there, things might have gone more smoothly. “I’ll see that my sister is here when you return in the morning. She may be of some help.”

  “I ken what tae do, Mistress McKie,” Jenny said, ducking her head. “But Ian is a heidie lad, wi’ his own notion o’ wha’s tae feed him.”

  “You are to nurse him. Once in the morning, once in the evening,” Rose said firmly. “When he’s hungry enough, he’ll not fight you. We’ll see he has porridge and juice and other bits of food throughout the day, but we’re depending on you, Jenny. See you don’t disappoint us.”

  “Aye, mem.” Jenny curtsied and aimed her steps toward Glensone.

  Seeing the young woman’s sagging shoulders, Rose felt a stab of guilt. Clearly she’d been too sharp with her. “ ’Tis a dark night,” she called out. “Shall I have Willie walk you home?”

  “He’s gone, mistress.” Annabel stood in the doorway behind her, holding Ian, her knuckle tucked in his mouth to keep his gums busy.

  “Och, at such a late hour?” Rose threw up her hands. “Forgive me, Jenny. ’Tis been a most fretful day.”

  “Glensone is less than a mile awa, mem.” The dark-haired servant curtsied again and was gone.

  Rose trudged past Annabel and up the stair, pausing at the landing before her maid got out of earshot. “You’ll attend to Ian’s needs tonight, aye? Feed him porridge or applesauce or whatever the dear child will eat, as long as it will help him sleep through the night. I will be in my bedroom. If and when Mr. McKie returns, tell him his wife is waiting for him.”

  Everywhere she’d turned that day someone had disappointed her, Jamie especially. Can you not love me a little? Walking into their bedroom without bothering to close the door, Rose poked a stick of straw in the fire, then began lighting the candles round the room as the first tears began to fall, staining her green gown. She had his name and his fortune. But it still was not enough. “Please,” she said aloud, her voice breaking, “I want more than that.”

  Jamie’s voice floated in from the doorway. “More than what?”

  Rose whirled about, trailing sparks from the straw. She quickly blew it out before the flame burned her fingers. “There you are!”

  “I was told you were expecting me.” He strode into the room, his shirt and breeches soiled from working with the ewes, and closed the door soundly. “What is it you will have from me, Rose? What more do you speak of? Don’t you have enough? My name? My son?”

  “Jamie, you ken what I want. Your … your heart. Your love.”

  “And this.” He pointed toward her bed. “You want that from me as well.”

  “Aye,” she confessed, drying her tears. “For ’tis the only means of having your sons.”

  “Wheesht!” He yanked his shirt over his head, throwing it onto the floor in a heap. “You want the children but not the man?”

  “Nae!” she cried. “Jamie, please do not put words in my mouth.” She tried not to look at his bare chest, sparsely covered with hair as dark as that on his head. “Of course I want you. Only you.”

  “ ’Tis always what you want, Rose.”

  “Aye, but what I want is you.” She held out her hands, imploring him with her eyes. “Does it not please you to be wanted, Jamie? To be desired, to be needed? To be … loved?” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Would that anyone felt that way about me.”

  “Och, lass, you cut me to the quick.” His sigh was that of a beaten man. “I felt all those things about you once. But I cannot rekindle a fire that has burned out.”

  “Perhaps I can,” she said, casting her modesty into the hearth. “That is, if you will let me.” Her gaze darted toward the pristine nightgown hanging from the clothes press. Should she ask him to leave while she changed? Might he need to bathe first? She clasped her hands and tried not to wring them. “What … what shall we do … first?”

  “Do!” ’Twas more of a growl than a question. “I shall scrub off the sweat of my labors. Leave the room or stay—it matters not to me. Then you shall remove your dress and put on your nightgown and join me in your box bed. ’Tis not a complicated process, Rose. Husbands and wives do this sort of thing on a regular basis.”

  She stared at him, stunned by the sharpness of his words. Was this how he’d treated her meek sister? Nae, she’d seen them together; he behaved like a gentleman with Leana. “Why, Jamie? Why are you being so cruel to me?”

  “You ken the reason.” He showed her his back, yanking off his breeches with little ceremony. “When you betrayed your sister to the kirk session, you betrayed me as well.”

  “ ’Twas not a betrayal.” One glimpse of his long, muscular legs and Rose turned away with a guilty start. “I spoke the truth,” she reminded him, “just as my sister asked us both to do.”

  “Aye, but you did not tell the whole truth. Only enough to get what you wanted.” His words were accompanied by the sound of water pouring from the pitcher to the bowl. “And now I am yours, Rose. ’til death do us part.”

  She held her tongue, lest she infuriate him further, and gave him a moment to attend to his bathing. “Jamie,” she said as sweetly as she could, “I searched the Buik for a special verse for you. For us. For tonight. Might you care to hear it?”

  Water splashed near her feet. “By all means, Rose. If the Almighty can redeem this unco night, let his word be spoken. Though I
’d prefer to see your face. ’Tis the only way I can guess what you’re thinking.”

  She took a deep breath to steel her nerves and slowly turned round.

  He stood before her, dripping wet, drying himself with a linen towel, not even blushing. “You were saying, lass?”

  Flustered, she lifted her gaze so that all she saw was his braw face and his damp brown hair hanging about his shoulders. “ ’Tis just this: ‘the wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.’ ”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Rose? That you own me? Have power over me?”

  “I mean that I am yours. That my body is yours to do with as you please.”

  “And mine as you please, I suppose.” He tossed aside the towel. “Turn round, and let me see to your laces. Unless you prefer to have Annabel join us—”

  “Nae!” She did as he asked, glad not to watch the storm brewing in his eyes. “Jamie, you ken that I am … innocent.”

  He snorted, tugging hard on the laces of her gown. “ ’Tis not the word that comes to mind when I think of you, Rose. Once, perhaps. But not now. You’ve seen too much.”

  She could hardly disagree. The betrayal of a sister. The spells of a witch. The death of a friend. “Not innocent in all things, nae,” she said softly, “but certainly in the ways of a man with a maid.”

  “Ah.” He pulled her loosened dress off her shoulders, then began unlacing her stays.

  The air felt cool on her back and cooler still on her face. “You will be gentle with me, Jamie. Won’t you?”

  Sixty-Two

  Marriage is a desperate thing.

  JOHN SELDEN

  Aye.” Jamie gripped the stays in his hands and closed his eyes. “I will be gentle.”

  ’Twas the only promise he knew he could keep. Do not ask me to love you. Do not ask me to enjoy this. Do not ask me to please you.

  When he opened his eyes again and saw her thick hair coming loose, he swallowed the shame that rose in his throat, sickened by a frisson of desire that had nothing to do with Rose and only to do with her being a woman waiting for him to teach her the ways of love.

  Except this was not love. This was duty.

  He released the last of her stays, and her clothes dropped to the floor.

  “Jamie,” she whispered, “might you fetch my nightgown for me?”

  Stepping round her skirts, he reached for the delicate linen nightgown, then slipped it over her shoulders, letting her manage the rest of it. The less he touched her, the better. He would not build up her hopes only to dash them by the light of day. As his legal wife, Rose deserved his attentions for one night. His sense of duty stretched no further than that. Not when Leana, the woman he loved, slept in the next room. Though he’d not seen her since they’d spoken in the garden this morning, he was certain Leana would return from the Newalls soon and retire to the nursery.

  Forgive me, beloved.

  Nae, there was no forgiveness for this. The marriage law said this was good and right and holy. Yet, to him, this night was hochmagandy at its very worst.

  Forgive me, Lord.

  Darkness. That was what he needed. A veil of shadows to cover his sin. He made his way round the room, pinching out all but one taper perched on a bureau well away from their bedside. Flicking the soot from his fingers, he dipped his hand in the washbowl in passing and shook it dry, lest he sully her white gown.

  Her gaze followed his every move. He sensed it, even when he wasn’t looking at her. She waited until he’d finished with the candles before she spoke. Her request devastated him.

  “Now will you kiss me, Jamie?”

  He had no choice. He could not say no. Yet ’twas more intimate than any act that might follow, that kiss. His body would do what it must; he could disengage his emotions, if necessary. But a kiss was holy.

  “Come here, lass.” Jamie reached for her hand, helping her step over the mass of skirts and petticoats at her feet, and drew her toward him. Not too close but close enough. I will give you my mouth, Rose. But not my heart.

  Rose lifted her face to his, beseeching him, not afraid to ask again. “Please?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened to unman him and slanted his mouth against hers. She responded at once, just as he’d feared she might. And tasted far sweeter than he’d remembered.

  Oh, Rose. Do not ask this of me. Do not ask me to love you.

  Long before the Sabbath dawned Jamie awakened and reached for the chamber pot, feeling he might be sick. The illness was not in his stomach; ’Twas in his spirit. Forgive me, Leana. Forgive me. He could never say it enough.

  In a few hours the household would set off to the kirk for services. To sit side by side in the family pew—Jamie, Ian, and Rose—with the curious gazes of their neighbors pinned to their coats like buttons. Leana would be forced to sit apart from them with her father. Even after her turn on the repentance stool, the woman would be held at arm’s length by the parishioners for a long time to come. No longer a wife, no longer a mother, she would have no true place in the community. ’Twas the cruelest sentence of all, worse than the stool.

  Jamie listened carefully to see if Leana stirred in the nursery next door. It was not unusual for her to be awake at odd hours of the night, caring for Ian. Though he could not meet her behind a closed door, they might speak briefly in the hall. He needed to assure Leana of his love, of his support. He well knew the reason she had not served as a witness at their wedding: She was ashamed of what had happened at the bothy, just as he’d known she would be.

  ’Twas naught but a kiss, lass.

  Dressing in the dark, careful not to make a sound, he left his boots behind and padded into the hall, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the setting moon. Jamie pressed his ear to the nursery door, wishing he could hear Leana’s soft, even breathing. Though he could not enter, he could look within, could he not? For a moment? He needed to see her and let her see him. To let her read the truth once more in his eyes: I will always love you. I will never leave you.

  He raised the latch, wincing at how loud it sounded in the empty hall. Pushing the door open as slowly as he could, he gazed at the tender scene, relieved. Ian was fast asleep, his thumb planted in his mouth. Next to his crib, buried beneath the covers, lay the familiar shape of a woman, with a tuft of golden hair showing near the pillow. He gripped the latch, forcing himself to stay put rather than follow his instincts, which would lead him to her bedside, to kiss her awake and pray no one would hear them.

  When she turned in her sleep, brushing the sheets away from her face, Jamie fell back a step.

  Eliza! Whatever was she doing in Leana’s bed?

  He backed into the hall, pulling the door shut as he went, not caring how loudly the latch sounded. Why wasn’t Leana there? Then the answer came to him. Of course. Since Ian was now Rose’s responsibility, one of the maids would sleep near the lad. Leana had no doubt been moved to his old room. Which was once Rose’s old room. A very confusing household, Auchengray.

  When no one answered his knock, Jamie entered the familiar bedroom, surprised to find the box bed curtains tied back. Odd. Though it was a mild enough night, Leana usually preferred to be closed in, for warmth. He stepped closer, then realized the sheets were freshly changed. And utterly empty. “Leana?” Ridiculous to say her name aloud as if she were hiding in the corner. But where was she? In the kitchen perhaps? Seeking Neda’s counsel?

  He eased down the stair in his stocking feet, aware of the cold stone against his soles and the loud beating of his heart. Not a sound came from the kitchen or from behind the spence door, where Lachlan slept. Jamie found a lighted candle in the front parlor and carried it about from room to room, growing more anxious by the minute. Her father had insisted she’d gone to visit Jessie Newall for supper. Had she spent the night at Troston Hill Farm? Would she stop at Auchengra
y before going to kirk or meet them there?

  A sense of foreboding curled round him, like a mist rising from Loch Trool. Leana was hiding from him, or from Rose. He went into the empty kitchen, lit only by the glow of the hearth, and dropped onto a three-legged stool, setting his candle on the chopping block with a groan. “What have I done?”

  “Ye’ve done naught, Jamie.”

  Startled, he turned round. “Och! Neda.” If anyone knew Leana’s whereabouts, this good soul would. “Where is she?”

  Neda did not answer him at once, pulling up a second stool to join him by the hearth. The light played against the lines in her face, each one shadowed with a marked sadness. “She’s gone, Jamie.”

  “Gone?” He bolted to his feet, knocking over the stool. “Gone where?”

  “I dinna ken. She wouldna tell me.”

  Jamie stared at her, incredulous. “But you’re certain she’s left? For good, I mean, not just visiting the Newalls?”

  “Aye. Leana told me while ye were at the kirk that she was leavin’ Auchengray.”

  “But why?” Distraught, he ran his hands through his hair, yanking at the roots as if to punish himself. “Doesn’t she realize that I love her?”

  “o’ course she kens ye luve her, Jamie. ’Tis why she had tae go awa. Tae spare ye bein’ torn tae pieces. Which I see ye are oniewise.”

  Torn? He could barely breathe. Leana, you cannot leave me. Not like this.

  Neda righted the stool for him, tugging on his sleeve with her other hand. “Come, sit wi’ me, Jamie. Not anither soul kens she’s missin’, though they’ll find oot soon enough.”

  Stricken as if by a hard blow, he dropped onto the stool, holding his head in his hands. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she say good-bye?”

  “Ye ken why, lad.” Neda rubbed the back of his neck with a hand rough from years of housework. “Ye would’ve begged her tae stay, Jamie. And she would’ve stayed tae please ye, because she luves ye wi’ all her heart.”