Whence Came a Prince

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Rose did not remember drifting off to sleep. But she remembered waking in Jamie’s arms, wrapped in a warm plaid and her warmer husband. Night had truly fallen.

  He pulled her closer. “I did not mean to wake you, lass.”

  “I’m glad you did.” When she kissed Jamie’s neck, his skin felt rough against her mouth. “Is everyone else asleep?”

  “Aye. Your sister and the maids are in the wagon with Ian, and the lads are over the brae.” He fell silent. “I’ve not … slept yet.”

  She turned in his embrace, seeking a better look at him. “ ’Tis Evan that worries you?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  Rose longed to comfort him as only a wife could, to wrap herself round him on their grassy bed and chase away any thoughts of his vengeful brother. But she dared not. Place your bairns’ health above all other concerns. Leana’s words of caution, well noted.

  Rolling onto her back, Rose gazed up at the blackness of the night and the quarter moon beginning to rise. If she could not offer her husband solace, perhaps the One who inhabited the heavens might. “Jamie …” She rose to a sitting position, the better to collect her thoughts. “You said this morning that you are blessed of the Almighty.”

  He groaned. “How prideful that sounds.”

  “We all know ’tis true. Even Father said so.” Rose smiled into the darkness. “Much as it grieved the man to admit it.”

  Jamie sat up beside her, his elbows resting on his bent knees. “I’ve done naught to deserve God’s favor. Who knows when he will tire of me and lift his hand?”

  Rose rested her head on the solid warmth of his shoulder. “When you dream, Jamie, when he whispers to you in the night, does the Almighty put hedgerows round his promises? ‘I will do this, but only if you do that?’ ”

  Jamie was not long in responding. “Nae. In spite of my foolishness, his mercy has never wavered.”

  “Then why would he forsake you when you cross paths with Evan?”

  He slid his arm round her. “Perhaps you are right, dear wife. Though you ken ’tis not my own life I value but yours. And our child’s. And the lives of Leana and Ian and all the others entrusted to my care.” Jamie leaned forward and kissed her soundly, the strength of his conviction clear. “I do not fear death for myself, Rose. Only for those I love.”

  “Then have no fear,” she said softly, welcoming his kiss again, opening her heart to him. My brave Jamie. My love.

  It was only when he lifted his mouth from hers that Rose noticed the colors in the heavens above them. “Jamie, the sky!”

  They were both on their feet in an instant, mouths open in awe.

  “ ’Tis the merry dancers.” Jamie clasped her hand, his gaze pointed upward. “Like angels on the wing. Have you seen them before, Rose?”

  “Once, as a lass. But never like this.”

  A display of northern lights flooded the distant horizon with flaming patches of red and gold, waxing and waning, dancing across the sky. A shimmering veil of light, moving in majestic silence. A presence bearing down on them.

  Jamie swept his arm in an arc, taking in the ancient stones, black against the vivid hues. “They call this place Cairnholy. The name suits it, aye? This night especially.”

  Rose turned at the sound of snapping twigs. Rab and Davie drew near, rubbing their eyes in wonderment.

  “Will ye leuk at that?” Davie said. “A blissin, tae see sic a thing in Gallowa’.”

  Rab tipped his head back. “A miracle, I’d say.” As they watched the curtain of light waving over them, he confessed, “I’m glad tae see the merry dancers, Mr. McKie, but the cairns make me skin crawl. We’ll sleep aside the wagon, if ye dinna mind.”

  “Not at all, lad.” Jamie shifted his gaze to the upright stones, barely visible beneath the glowing sky. “Though I slept on a cairn once. The night I left Glentrool.”

  Jamie said no more, but Rose saw the memory of that night reflected in his eyes. Sleepless hours filled with remorse. And loneliness. And fear.

  Sixty-Five

  Like one, that on a lonesome road

  Doth walk in fear and dread …

  Because he knows a frightful fiend

  Doth close behind him tread.

  SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

  I mean to kill you, Jamie.

  Jamie’s gaze stretched across the sands to Wigtownshire, his brother’s warning from two years past still twisting in his gut. Each hour they traveled today passed too quickly, each mile seemed too short. The heavenly visions of yestreen had faded into the grim realities of the present.

  When they’d turned away from the waters of Wigtown Bay for the salt marshes and mud flats of the Cree estuary, Jamie had felt his brother drawing closer—one minute stalking him on foot on the shore road, the next charging down from the hills on horseback, then stealing across the river by boat instead of waiting for him seven miles north at Cree Bridge. Evan was equally at home on water or land and far more comfortable out of doors than within. His hunting bow was nigh attached to his shoulder, his flintlock musket an extension of his arm, and his dirk seldom far from reach.

  Jamie glanced down, relieved at the sight of his own dagger lodged inside his boot. Good for hand combat, if it came to that, but useless if Evan pointed his musket at him across Cree Bridge. As a safeguard, Jamie now rode ahead of the others, with his flocks and herds behind him and his household positioned last.

  He would take another precaution the moment they reached Ferry-town of Cree.

  A small riverside village—bordered by Balloch Burn on the south and Moneypool Burn on the north—Ferrytown of Cree was nigh to an island. Sailors and smugglers alike moored their vessels at the tidal harbor. When Jamie had described the place to Rab and Davie that morn, he’d told them, “You can hardly enter or leave the place without crossing a bridge.”

  Rab had looked at him through narrowed eyes. “And thar’s a brig o’er baith o’ these burns, aye?”

  Jamie had assured him they would not spend the day ferrying sheep. “The Balloch is shallow enough to walk across at low tide. And the Moneypool has a fine granite bridge. Nae need to worry, Rab.”

  Moments later Jamie found the shepherd walking up beside him, swatting at the midges with his bonnet. “Whaur shall we pasture the lambs while we wait for the tide tae drop?”

  “At the Ferry Thorn, this side of the Balloch Burn.” Jamie pointed ahead to the hawthorn tree, a familiar trysting place. “I’ll join you after I attend to some business in town.”

  Jamie rode past the Ferrytown landmark, then eased down to the banks of the Balloch. Even now, at high tide, the small burn was easily forded. A sturdy row of steppingstones poked above the surface for travelers on foot. Astride Hastings, Jamie gamely entered the water, which barely reached the heels of his boots.

  Horse and rider were soon on dry ground again and headed up the harbor street with its abundance of tippling houses. Choosing the busiest establishment among them, Jamie tied Hastings to a wooden post near the door, then crossed the threshold. The stench of malt, tobacco, and unwashed fishermen nearly knocked him back into the street. He forged on, his eye on the proprietor. “I need a lad with a horse,” Jamie told him, fingering a shilling. “Someone I can trust to run an errand for me.”

  Stroking his woolly beard, the older man scanned the rough-beamed room. “See that lang strap o’ lad wi’ the broon hair? That’s wha ye’re leukin’ for: Lewis McMinn. He’ll earn onie shullin ye gie him.”

  Jamie caught the lad’s eye and motioned him out of doors, where the air was fresher and the blether diminished. “If you’ve a decent mount and a few hours’ time, I have a fair proposition for you.”

  “I’m listenin’, sir.”

  Jamie guessed Lewis McMinn had seen twenty summers. His eye was clear and his stance straight. Aye, he’d do. “I need you to ride to Monnigaff, to the Cree Inn at the foot of the bridge. You ken the place?”

  When the lad nodded, Jamie wasted no time. “You are look
ing for a man my age. My twin brother, though we look nothing alike. He is a bit taller than I am and stouter round his chest. With a full head of red hair, as bright as a linnet’s crown in summer, and the same thick hair on his arms. He’s more likely to be wearing a plaid than a coat and breeches, and you may smell whisky on his breath. Goes by the name of Evan McKie. Formerly of Glentrool, now settled in Wigtownshire. If he’s not staying at the inn, someone there will point you in his direction, for I’m told he’s in the vicinity of Cree Bridge.”

  Lewis eyed the shilling in Jamie’s hand. “And after I find him?”

  “Give him this message.” Jamie pulled a small letter from his pocket, crudely written at dawn, roughly folded, and sealed with candle wax.

  Seven words, chosen from the Buik. May I find grace in thy sight.

  He had wronged his brother and confessed it in his last letter. Nothing remained but to plead for mercy. Jamie handed the lad the sealed note. “Be sure he reads it. Once I hear what my brother has to say, I’ll ken what’s to be done next.”

  “Judgin’ by the way ye’ve described him, ye might want tae run the ither direction.”

  “I’ve done that long enough.” Jamie dropped the silver in Lewis’s outstretched hand. “I’ll have another shilling for you when we meet later at the Ferry Thorn. Eight o’ the clock?”

  “Aye.” Lewis glanced at the cloud-strewn skies. “Afore daurk.”

  Jamie watched him trot off, then climbed astride Hastings and forded the Balloch again, waving his hat in the direction of the parked wagon. Rab and Davie were attending to the lambs while Leana and the maids chased after a crawling Ian. Rose was nowhere to be seen.

  “She’s off tae the parish kirk,” Annabel explained. “Said she’d not be lang.”

  True to her word, Rose returned after a bit, gingerly stepping across the stones in the burn, then strolling up the footpath, bearing their next meal and a crafty smile. “Fresh bannocks, hard cheese, and ripe summer apples.”

  Jamie stared at her, incredulous. “It appears my wife has robbed the parish collection box. Wherever did you find the coins to purchase our supper?”

  She struck a flindrikin pose. “I borrowed them from you, good husband.”

  Jamie did not argue with her, but he knew the contents of his purse to the last penny, and no coins were missing. While the others ate, he fixed his restless gaze on the road heading north. It would take them no time to cross the bridge at the other end of the village. Better to wait here than to risk missing Lewis McMinn.

  Late afternoon faded into early evening. As the lasses watched the oyster catchers wade about the water and the curlews probe deep in the mud for food, Jamie watched the skies turn to solid pewter. Hurry, lad.

  The tide was ebbing when Lewis came splashing across Balloch Burn.

  Jamie ran ahead to meet him, lest his report alarm the others. “What news from Cree Bridge?”

  Lewis dismounted, leading his horse to higher ground. “I found Evan McKie, quite as ye described him.”

  Jamie suddenly wished he’d eaten supper, for his mouth felt glued shut.

  “I gave him yer note.” Lewis inclined his head, as though unsure how to proceed. “Yer brither gie me a wird for ye as weel.”

  Two years of guilt closed round his throat. “And?”

  “I told him ye were at the Ferry Thorn.” Lewis didn’t quite meet his gaze. “He said tae watch for him.”

  “He’s headed here?” Jamie’s hands grew clammy. Was his brother eager to resolve things? Or did he want justice served on a lonely riverside at night without witnesses? “What else, lad?”

  “Mr. McKie will not be comin’ alone. Yer brither had ten lads wi’ him.”

  “Ten?” Jamie’s knees barely held.

  Lewis stuck out his palm. “I’ll tak that shullin, if ye dinna mind, sir.”

  Jamie went through the motions of paying him, though his fingers had trouble sorting through the coins. Two shillings for the worst news of his life.

  Lewis eyed the lambs. “Ye’re not thinkin’ o’ takin’ yer beasts tae Monnigaff?” When Jamie assured him he was, the young man wagged his head. “Have ye not heard? The brig o’er the Moneypool is gane.”

  Jamie almost laughed. “What do you mean it’s gone?”

  “Fell into the burn, it did.”

  “The whole bridge?”

  Rab ran up in time to hear the sorry news. “Surely ye dinna mean it?”

  Lewis took his time pushing back the brim of his cap, making the most of their undivided attention. “For years fowk said the brig was weak, that the bulwarks couldna hold. After a frichtsome storm on Tuesday last, the water came rushin’ doon the hills, and …” His careless shrug said the rest. “ ’Twill take thirty pounds sterling tae rebuild it and mair men than Ferrytown can muster.” Lewis waved in the general direction of the village. “Go and see for yerself. Naught but meikle rocks stickin’ oot o’ the water.”

  Almost before the lad had finished, Jamie was astride Hastings, bound for the Moneypool. First his brother’s impending arrival and now this! Anger sent him charging up the harbor street at a hard gallop, veering onto the high road at the kirk. When he reached the burn, the scene was just as Lewis had described. Large sections of rough-edged granite littered the steep banks and stream, sinking deep into the silt and sand.

  “ ’Tis worse than I’d imagined,” Jamie admitted when he returned to the Ferry Thorn. “We’ll need to carry the lambs across this wee burn while the tide is manageable, then do the same o’er the Moneypool in the morn.”

  Lewis looked at him askance. “Ye’ll not be sleepin’ aside the burn, will ye? By the leuk o’ the sky, ’twill be a daurk and misty nicht. I’d hate tae find ye gane in the morn’s morn, dragged tae yer grave by the kelpie o’ Moneypool. ’Tis like a meikle horse that rises wi’ the tide …”

  Jamie only half listened to the lad’s superstitious rambling. A water demon haunting the ford was the least of his worries. A collapsed bridge, deteriorating weather, and Evan McKie—armed and leading ten men—were far greater fears. By the time Jamie had sent Lewis on his way, Rab and Davie were already toting lambs across the shallow water while Annabel and Eliza herded the growing flock on the opposite bank.

  Jamie carried Ian astride Hastings, then led his party through the village, his spirits as low as the tide. Instead of being safely sequestered at a local farm, his household and flocks would spend another night out of doors, exposed to the elements. And to his brother’s wrath. Was there nothing that could be done?

  Once they reached the banks of the Moneypool, Jamie helped them find a patch of solid ground for the wagon and sufficient grass for the lambs. Leana and Rose said little, but he sensed their apprehension as they shared the last of the apples, then spread thick plaids over the wagon bed for the night.

  With each passing minute, one truth became clear: Evan had to be stopped before he reached Ferrytown of Cree.

  Rab pulled Jamie aside, his freckled brow drawn into a knot, Davie close behind him. “Mr. McKie, is there oniething I can do tae help ye? For I can see ye’re fash, and I jalouse yer brither’s the reason.”

  “Aye.” Jamie could withhold the facts no longer. He related Lewis’s grim report, not sparing them the worst of it. Ten men. Untold weapons. “Rab, you’ve offered to help, and I’ll not refuse it. Suppose you start for Cree Bridge—”

  “Richt noo, sir?”

  Jamie nodded, a drastic plan unfolding in his mind. “Take a flock of lambs with you as a peace offering for my brother. Two score, I’d say.” A tithe, Jamie realized. “We’re at low tide; the sooner we carry the lambs across, the better. Between here and Cree Bridge there’s but one road. You are sure to meet my brother, though I cannot say the time or place.” Jamie described Evan in detail, warning Rab of his strength. “Treat the man with respect. When he asks who you are and where you’re headed, speak the truth. Tell him the lambs you’re herding once belonged to his brother but now are his as a gift from me. And
tell him I will be heading his direction. Soon.”

  Though Rab listened and nodded, fear hung round his slumped shoulders like a plaid woven in bold colors, easily seen even in the murk. “What if he kills yer lambs, Mr. McKie? And what if.

  “He will not harm the flock. My brother may be birsie, but he’s no fool. The lambs are worth far more to him alive and breeding than slaughtered along the road.” Jamie made sure their eyes met before he added, “He has no quarrel with you, Rab. Nae reason whatsoever to harm you and nae law on his side that would allow it.” Jamie shifted his weight, though he could not shirk his burden. “Take the lambs, Rab. If God is merciful, my brother may look more kindly on me. As I shall look verra kindly on you for this good deed.”

  There was no time to lose. With Davie’s help, the men gathered forty of the choicest lambs, then led them down the banks of the burn. Slippery mud, waterlogged sand, and swirling tides made for a deadly alliance; the fallen granite provided the only safe landings amid the lurking pools of silt and quicksand.

  After several trips across, a lamb under each arm, Jamie realized what must be done while Rab was still with them: His household and the rest of his flock should be moved as well. They dared not wait until the morn with Evan en route. If the women remained in the wagon, they’d be forced to witness his confrontation with Evan. The very thought of it made his insides churn. And although his brother was a gentleman and would never harm woman or child, Jamie knew nothing of the ten men with him.

  Better to lead his household across the burn before the water rose any higher, then guide them to their lodging and leave them in Davie’s capable hands.

  He alone would meet Evan.

  Sixty-Six

  Then, water-kelpies haunt the foord,

  By your direction,

  An’ nighted trav’llers