Whence Came a Prince

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “Well, if it’s a wee lass, she’ll have a much better father than ours,” Rose said, as if reading her thoughts. “For now, what’s to be done about Lachlan McBride?”

  Jamie’s mood darkened. “Curse him. And quit Auchengray for good.”

  “But what of Leana?” Rose clasped her hand in support. “We cannot leave her.”

  “Please, you must go.” Leana hid her sorrow, even as she hastened to affirm his decision. “Your life together will be ruined if you remain. I will … leave as well.”

  Jamie looked surprised. “And go where?”

  Flustered, she offered the first place that came to mind. “To Aunt Meg’s. To Burnside Cottage. ’Twill take three days on foot, but the weather is fine and the summer days are long …” Her voice faded at the sight of her sister’s gaping mouth.

  “On foot? Leana, you must be daft! You are halfgone, and yet you’d consider walking two dozen miles?”

  “Perhaps it is a bit far,” Leana murmured, feeling foolish. But if the McKies departed for Glentrool, the doors to Auchengray would close behind her as well.

  “Father’s money box is positively bulging with coins,” Rose fumed, her color high. “Can he not spare a bittie for you? Enough to see you safely transported to Twyneholm or settled in a cottage of your own?”

  Jamie threw down the green apple. “He can, and he will.” He started to say more, but the faint ringing of a handbell announced the dinner hour. “Och! I’ve no appetite whatsoever. Nor any desire to sit at that wretched man’s table.”

  Leana reminded him this was Morna’s first meal at Auchengray. “Hungry or not, we should be present for her sake.”

  “How can you be so generous?” Jamie grumbled, though she heard the resignation in his voice. Even on the most desperate of days, manners had their place. He offered Rose his arm, though his gaze remained locked with hers. “Your father will not have the final word on this, Leana. Rest assured, I shall see to your needs.”

  She bowed her head, if only to hide her relief. “I know you will, Jamie.”

  Moments later they emerged from the sweet-scented orchard into the fullness of the sun, bound for a meal none of them wished to eat. Morna seemed grateful for their company at table. How much did the older woman know of the conversation in the spence? Lachlan behaved as if they’d never spoken, tucking away food like a man who’d not eaten for a week.

  Jamie did not say a word through the entire meal, yet no one looking at him could miss the message his countenance conveyed. Anger. Impatience. And resolve. While Lachlan ate, Jamie planned. Leana could tell by the angle of his chin and the crease in his brow. A light came into his eyes when he thought of something new; then he’d shift his posture, as if testing the weight of his idea. Whatever Jamie had in mind, she did not envy Lachlan McBride. Nor did she pity him.

  After the plates were lifted, her father ended the meal with a lengthy prayer, asking for the Almighty’s blessing on his marriage. When Lachlan finished, Jamie bolted from the table, Rose close on his heels. Leana retreated to the second floor. Holding Ian in her arms was the only remedy for her sorrow.

  She found the lad crawling about the nursery, exploring each surface with fingers and mouth while Eliza kept a watchful eye on him. “Have you had your bath and your noony?” Leana knew the answer; Eliza’s apron was covered with wet spots and remnants of Ian’s midday meal. “Well then, sweet boy, come play with Mother.”

  Leana held Ian tight against her bodice, fighting a fresh spate of tears. Where could she possibly live? And with her child, come December? Not at Auchengray. Lachlan had already made that clear. Neither bed nor board. Yet Jamie had made a promise as well. I shall see to your needs. Of the two men in her life, she trusted the father of her children far more than her own father.

  “Let us away to the garden, Ian.” She dried her cheeks, determined to be cheerful for Ian’s sake. “We’ve carrots and radishes to harvest. Wait ’til you see how colorful they are.” Ian gave a happy cry as she bounced him in her arms. When Leana reached the foot of the stair, she found Morna waiting for her, one foot on the bottom step.

  The older woman offered a tentative smile. “Will you mind if I … have a look at your room?”

  “Not at all.” Leana nodded politely, then hastened past, hiding her dismay behind her son’s dark head. Already changes were afoot. She went out by way of the kitchen, lifting her broad-brimmed garden hat from its hook near the door.

  “Let me tie that round yer chin, mem,” Annabel offered, drying her hands on her apron. “Itherwise, yer lad will pu’ yer bonnet off yer head and toss it tae the grunties for dinner.”

  Touched by her thoughtfulness, Leana obliged her, lifting her chin. “We’ll not go near the steading,” she assured the freckled lass, “just in case Ian sees any hungry pigs. Do follow me out with a basket. We’ve gardening to do, don’t we, Ian?” Annabel helped the two of them settle beside the carrot patch, then hurried back to her chores.

  Leana paused, breathing in the earthy scents of foliage and soil, feeling the sun warm the straw crown of her bonnet. On a day filled with heartache, her garden was a balm to her soul. “Now, lad. Can you sit still while I wrestle these vegetables out of the soil?”

  It seemed he could not. Ian took off crawling across the garden, squashing feathery carrot tops beneath his pudgy knees. Leana stood, then lifted him from the ground before he stuffed a fistful of dirt in his mouth. “Our gardening days are behind us, I fear.” She brushed off his hands, then headed for the cool shade of the yew. When he was older, he could be taught to pull out carrots. But for now Ian wanted only to play. The harvest would have to wait.

  Beneath the yew Ian found much to interest him—twigs and leaves and dried berries—all of which she had to rescue before he put them into his mouth. “Not to taste, just to touch,” she said over and over, following him round the tree trunk. She taught him the names of things, knowing full well he could neither understand nor repeat the words. “Someday you will,” she told him, “when you’re older. When you live at Glentrool.” When I am not there to teach you.

  She pressed a palm to her rounded waist, a tangible comfort. The babe inside her indeed offered tender solace and hope for the days ahead. She would welcome another little one’s arrival with utter joy. Yet the child at her feet was just as dear to her. How could she live with one and not the other?

  Leana dropped to her knees beside Ian, drawing him to her, holding him close even as he wriggled to be free. “My sweet son, I’ll not let you go. Not until I must.” Even then she would not truly let go. He would take her heart with her, clutched in his small hands. “Please, Ian …” She moaned the words. “Stay with me.”

  But he could not stay. Not unless his father did.

  Her arms tightened round her son, who’d ceased fighting her and nestled into her embrace. “My precious boy.” She buried a kiss in Ian’s dark hair and closed her eyes against the sad fact: The McKies would be gone by Lammas.

  Please, Jamie. Take me with you.

  Shame heated her cheeks. Jamie could do no such thing, of course. It would be improper—scandalous, in fact—and utterly unfair to Rose. Her sister had endured enough. One did not travel across the countryside with an old wife and a new one, let alone set up housekeeping with both women.

  A selfish notion, nothing more. “Forgive me, Jamie.”

  “Forgive you for what, lass?”

  Leana looked up, shocked to find him standing beneath the yew’s branches, as if beckoned by her thoughts. “Jamie, I …”

  “Confess your sin, Leana.” He drew closer. “So I ken what it is I’m forgiving.”

  Forty-Four

  Men must decide on what they will not do,

  and then they are able to act with vigor

  in what they ought to do.

  MENCIUS

  Jamie watched Leana’s pale cheek turn as pink as the blooms in her rose beds.

  He should not have startled her. Nor should he have eavesdroppe
d. But when he happened by the yew tree en route to the steading and heard Leana speak his name and saw her arms wrapped round their son … truly, how could he not pause, knowing he might never behold such a tender scene again?

  Crouching beside her, he offered his handkerchief, wishing it were not so damp. “Rose has been crying the last hour as well.” As she dabbed at her nose, he gently asked, “Leana, will you not tell me what you’ve done that requires my forgiveness?”

  She practically hid behind his handkerchief. “I had a … shameful thought.”

  “Oh, Leana. If I were forced to confess all my improper thoughts, the Lord would quickly tire of hearing my voice.” He said it gently, hoping to ease her embarrassment. “I have a confession as well: I fear I can never please both the McBride sisters. Rose insists we remain at Auchengray for your sake. And you insist Rose and I leave for her sake.”

  “Poor Jamie, having to wrestle with such decisions.” She returned his handkerchief, damper than before. “I pray you’ll do what is best for my sister and quit this unholy place.”

  In the silence, a wren began to sing, filling the air with its musical trill. When Leana kissed Ian’s forehead, Jamie imagined the warmth of her lips on his own brow. Disconcerted, he sat on the ground, putting some distance between them.

  “What will you do?” she asked him after a bit, her gaze still trained on their son, whose sleepy eyes were at half-mast.

  “I am only certain of what I will not do, and that is bow to your father’s demands.” Saying the words aloud, Jamie’s strength returned. “Nor will his greed determine the course of my life any longer. ’Tis the will of the Almighty I seek.”

  Leana’s smile lit her countenance. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear you say so.”

  “I’m … glad.” When he’d confessed to Rose his dependence on God, she had merely nodded in agreement. Leana’s encouragement ran deeper, like ground water nourishing a well. “Duncan has advised me to wait for the Lord’s clear direction.”

  “ ’Tis best to wait.” Leana rested her cheek on Ian’s head. “Too many lives depend upon you.”

  “Three young lives in particular.”

  He leaned forward and gently laid his hand across their son’s back as the child drifted off to sleep in the afternoon heat, his head against his mother’s breast, his legs splayed across the brother or sister not yet born. David. Davina. Their bairn would arrive in early December. If only he might be there. To see his son at the hour of his birth. To hear his daughter’s first cry. But he could not leave Rose’s side to attend to her sister. Much as he might wish to do so, it would not be fitting.

  Watching her now, Jamie said what he could to comfort her. “You are a wonderful mother, Leana.”

  “And you are a wonderful father.” She placed her hand on top of his. The faintest joining. There for an instant, then gone.

  When she lifted her gaze, he was struck afresh by the soft light in her eyes and the radiance of her skin. Could he truly bid her farewell?

  Come with us to Glentrool.

  The words waited on his tongue, ready to be spoken. It would be the wisest and easiest solution, would it not? Leana would be safe from Lachlan, and all her needs would be met.

  Aye, but…

  With Leana at Glentrool, Rose might grow fearful again. Of sharing Ian. Of sharing him.

  “Jamie,” Leana said softly, “we should not be here. Alone.”

  “I know.” He stood, brushing a few stray leaves from his shirt to hide his disappointment. “Rose will be glad for your company. The household is in a quandary with Morna inspecting her new surroundings.”

  “I shall go to my sister, then.” Leana nodded toward their sleeping son. “Might you take Ian? I cannot rise very gracefully holding so dear an armful.”

  Jamie did so, then helped Leana to her feet and followed her toward the front door of the house, forcing himself to look at anything but the sway of her skirts.

  Once they reached the hall, she turned, inclining her head toward the stair. “Would you kindly carry him to the nursery?”

  Jamie started up the stone steps, his hand cupped round his son’s head to hold him steady. Responsibility like a leather horse collar settled onto Jamie’s shoulders. He not only had this lad to protect but both of his unborn children as well. And their mothers. What man could carry such a burden without stumbling?

  “Watch your step,” Rose cautioned from the top of the stair, “for ’tis easy to trip when your arms are full.” She guided him toward the nursery, where Annabel waited to tuck in Ian for his nap. Jamie deposited the boy onto the mattress, then eased out of the room. Rose stood in the hall wringing her hands, as though some new worry troubled her.

  He angled her away from the door, keeping his voice down. “What is it, Rose?”

  “Two maidservants just arrived from Edingham. Neda is having fits trying to squeeze in another bed on the servants’ floor. And Annabel is miserable, for the blether round the back stairs is that we won’t be leaving for Glentrool after all.” Rose paused as if waiting for him to confirm or deny his plans.

  “I see.” He hated to dodge her question, but he had no answers. Not yet.

  “And then there’s Morna.” She glanced toward the bedroom door at the end of the hall. “When she told Father how much she liked Leana’s room, he had Morna’s trunks delivered up here instead of the spence. I have heard of husbands and wives having separate rooms but not on separate floors. She’s already making herself at home,” Rose added with a frown, “arranging her dressing table.”

  Indignation shot through him, sharp and hot. “And Leana?”

  “Exiled to the nursery.”

  “What?” He bit back an oath. “Your father cannot expect your sister to sleep on that hurlie bed in her condition.”

  “I will manage.” Leana appeared near his elbow, having slipped up the stair so quietly he’d not heard her. For a woman who’d just been ousted from her room, she was surprisingly calm. “Aunt Meg’s hurlie bed was no wider nor softer. Yet I slept well each night, dreaming of Ian.”

  He studied her features. “You are certain the change in rooms will not be a hardship?”

  “Quite certain.” If Leana was upset, she concealed it well. “As Lammas draws near, I am grateful for every hour I spend with Ian.”

  Rose took Leana’s arm. “And I am grateful for every moment with my sister.”

  “In that case, I leave you in each other’s care.” With a slight bow, Jamie headed for the door and the hills beyond, determined to work until his muscles ached and his frustration turned to sweat. No matter which direction he turned, his hopes were thwarted. If he remained at Auchengray, his family’s future would be ruined. If he left for Glentrool, Leana and his child would have no future at all. If he took Leana with them, Rose would be miserable. If he stole back his lambs from Edingham, where would he pasture them? And what of his other lambs Lachlan insisted on claiming?

  Och! Jamie marched up the side of Auchengray Hill, crushing the blooming heather beneath his boot heels as he climbed. Hard labor was his only refuge. He would forgo supper and toil through the gloaming until naught shone above him but the waxing moon.

  Jamie worked his way across each pasture—mending the dry stane dykes, hauling water from the well, examining the lambs and ewes for illness or injury. With no other shepherd in sight, he aired his grievances aloud, leaning back to challenge the evening sky.

  “Did you not promise you would always be with me?” Silence. No response echoed from the heavens; no voice whispered in his heart. “Where are you, Lord?” His throat tightened. “Why have you hidden your face from me?”

  The last rays of the sun painted the clouds in vibrant colors, yet he could not find the light of truth written across them. Compelling him to stay. Or commanding him to go.

  Duncan’s reminder nudged his conscience. Wait on the Lord and keep his way.

  “I have waited.” Jamie wiped his sleeve across his brow, drenched w
ith the evidence of his hours in the fields. When he could no longer see to work, Jamie returned to a darkened house and a sleeping wife. Though his body ached from his labors, his anxiety had not eased. Though he’d shouted his questions into the starry night, he’d heard no reply.

  Wait on the Lord. “I am weary of waiting, Duncan.” He pulled off his boots and dropped them to the floor. “Does the Almighty not ken the date? ’Tis only one week ’til Lammas.”

  Forty-Five

  Hope starves without a crumb.

  LEWIS J. BATES

  The LORD knoweth the days of the upright.” Reverend Gordon stretched his hands over the assembled congregation. “And their inheritance shall be for ever.”

  Jamie bowed his head for the benediction, even as his hopes rose. Was this the answer he’d been longing to hear? His inheritance did indeed await him at Glentrool. But upright? He was hardly that. Not with the schemes he’d concocted over the years. Not with the dilemma facing him now.

  The beadle swung open the kirk doors, ushering in a freshening wind that toyed with the ribbons on Rose’s gown. McKies and McBrides moved toward the aisle. The second service had been shorter than the first, but it was still a lengthy Sabbath for Ian, who’d fussed and wriggled through most of it. Leana had reached for the child more than once during services, then quickly withdrew her hands, remembering her place. The sadness in her eyes grieved Jamie deeply.

  What can I do, Leana? How shall I help you?

  The parish gossips had been busy. All of Newabbey knew of Leana’s condition. When the time came, would they support her? chastise her? shun her? If he could not take Leana with him to Glentrool, then he would at least see she was in good hands, settled beneath a solid roof, and warmed by a friendly hearth. The minister oversaw such matters. Might he put his mind at ease?

  As they neared the door, Jamie caught the man’s eye. “Reverend Gordon, may I speak with you on an important matter?”

  The minister waved Jamie toward him, the draped sleeve of his black robe enlarging the motion. “Shall we meet in the kirkyard? Or at the manse?”