Whence Came a Prince

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  “If ye’d like, Davie …” Annabel turned bright pink beneath her freckles. “I can … help ye wi’ yer lambs.”

  “Are ye sure, lass?” The hopeful note in Davie’s voice was hard to miss. “The collies will wark each side o’ the road. If ye’ll not mind walkin’ behind the flock—and mind yer step whan ye do—I’ll ride ahead and see aboot Rab. And then I’ll … then I’ll join ye, miss.”

  Jamie’s scowl was mere pretense. “It seems my job as topsman has been usurped.”

  Davie pulled off his cap and hung his head. “Beggin yer pardon, sir.”

  “Nae, nae.” Jamie waved away his concerns. “Your plan is a fine one, lad. Carry on.”

  Taking his responsibilities to heart, Davie lifted both gentlewomen into the wagon. Eliza and Ian joined them as Leana took the reins, turning round in her seat to get instructions from Jamie. “Let the flocks and Annabel go ahead of you,” he told Leana. “If my brother intends to meet us, it will give us time to see him coming.”

  Rose slipped her hand round his arm with a sigh. “Hard as it will be, I am relieved this day has finally come, Jamie. Yet I wish you were not limping. I would not have your brother think you weak.”

  “Jamie is not weak,” Leana was quick to say, “but he is in pain, and for that I am sorry.” She shifted her gaze to Jamie. “Suppose I prepare a poultice for you. Comfrey may be found in any damp woods in the Lowlands, near rivers especially. The yellow flowers are gone by now, but ’tis the long, oval leaves I need. I’ll take the roots as well, since comfrey is also useful to stop bleeding.”

  Leana did not look at her when she said it, but Rose felt certain the offer was for her benefit. The spot of blood she’d found on her nightgown that morning was small but alarmingly dark. Traveling was surely to blame. Or the excitement of nearing Glentrool. Or the promise of twins. Jamie thought they might reach home sometime Monday. Could she not take special care for two more days?

  “I’ll appreciate the comfrey,” Jamie responded, smiling down at Rose. “Until then, I’ll try not to complain about the pain.”

  Rose gazed up at him. And I will do the same, my love.

  Sixty-Eight

  ’Tis not for mortals always to be blest.

  JOHN ARMSTRONG

  When Rose snuggled closer, taking care not to put any weight on Jamie’s sore leg, she heard him groan. She quickly sat up, full of apologies.

  “Don’t be daft,” he chided her. “You did not mean to hurt me.” He took her hand and lightly touched the place where his thigh and hip met. “A joint of some sort pulled from its mooring. Leana’s comfrey will help. So will time, the best of healers.”

  Rose could not keep her anxiety to herself. “But how will you fight Evan? You cannot walk without cringing, let alone unsheathe your sword …”

  “I will not fight my brother.”

  She stared at him in confusion.

  “What a taigled look you have, Rose! I’ll also not let Evan kill me. Nor hurt one hair on your bonny head.” Jamie adjusted his position on the wagon bed, favoring his leg. “ ’Tis his forgiveness I am after, not his neck beneath my sword. I believe my injury may well serve some good purpose. ‘For when I am weak, then am I strong?’ ”

  “Oh, Jamie!” She rolled her eyes. “Wherever do you come up with such things? It must be that nasty scrape on your brow. Leana,” she called out, “have you anything in your medicine case for Jamie’s head wound? For I fear it has addled his brain.”

  “I do,” her sister said over her shoulder, a smile in her voice. “Lavender.”

  Jamie closed his eyes, tipping his head against the back of the wagon. “I did enough fighting yestreen to last many a season.” As he described in greater detail his harrowing experience, a sense of awe permeated his words. “I might have died, Rose. But I did not.”

  She lightly stroked the bruise on his forehead. To think, she’d been sleeping soundly in a cozy farmhouse while he fought for his life! “We should have been there. All of us. To help you … to save you …”

  “I was not alone, Rose.” After a moment he opened his eyes. She had never seen Jamie look so peaceful. “When I face my brother this day, I will be stronger than ever. And when I face my father at kirk on the Sabbath, I pray I will be stronger still.”

  Rose believed him. How could she not when he was so confident? Yet there he sat, wounded and in pain, without boots on his feet or weapons in his hand. Something had happened to her husband; he was not the same man who had disappeared into the fog yestreen.

  Blessed of the Almighty. Aye, he was that.

  Such a man deserved a gracie wife. Not a thief.

  Her gaze fell on the basket of soiled linens that hid the last of the pilfered coins, and her heart sank. While God was busy protecting Jamie, she’d foolishly put his freedom at risk. Rose turned away so he might not see her fresh tears and ask their source. He must never know of her transgression. But she had to tell someone. Had to unburden herself of the guilt that weighed far more than the gold. She’d thought getting rid of one would solve the other. But she was wrong.

  Could she confess her crime to her heavenly Father, if not her earthly one?

  All at once a terrible cramping seized her, as if an unseen hand held her in its grip.

  Oh, Father. Perhaps it was too late for confessions. The damage was already done.

  Rose sagged against the back of the wagon, pain radiating from a place deep inside her, moving to her limbs, flowing from her body. Aye, more blood. Please forgive me. Please heal me.

  “Rose?” Jamie’s voice. Concerned. “Beloved, is something wrong?” Louder, speaking to her sister. “Leana, might we stop? Rose is not well.”

  She sensed the wagon slowing to a halt and wrapped her hands round her middle, wishing she could heal her bairns with her touch. Too late. Too late.

  Leana bent over her, helping her lie down, propping up her feet. “Jamie, I think it best we not move her. There’s a croft there behind the trees. Eliza, take Ian with you and see if the folk who live there might help us. We need cool water to drink and hot water for compresses. And clean rags.”

  Eliza was gone in an instant, Ian in her arms, while Jamie inched back, giving Leana room.

  “My sweet Rose.” Leana leaned over her and pressed their cheeks together. “Do not be afraid.”

  Rose struggled to focus her thoughts. “Please … do not tell …” In the morn perhaps. After Jamie faced Evan. Not now.

  “Nae, Rose.” Leana’s voice was low but her words unbending. “Jamie is your husband. He deserves to know.”

  When Leana sat up, Jamie moved in beside her. His expression left no room for debate. “Tell me, Leana. For it seems my wife cannot.”

  Leana looked at them both. “Rose had some … bleeding.”

  “Had? Is this not the first time?”

  “I’m sorry, Jamie.” Rose lifted her hand, hoping his temper might soften beneath her touch. “ ’Tis my fault you were not told sooner. Not Leana’s.” She closed her eyes against the bright sun, while a thin trail of tears escaped from each eye, flowing into her hair. ’Tis all my fault.

  Leana brushed away those tears, her voice as soothing as her fingertips. “Forgive us both, Jamie. It was only a bit of spotting. And ’tis not … unusual. But now that it’s happened again, I will take additional precautions and put my medicine case to good use. Rose is young and healthy. You’ve both nothing to fear.”

  Rose sighed as Jamie kissed the palm of her hand. He loves me still.

  “I ken verra well it was Rose’s idea to keep this from me.” Jamie’s tone was no longer quite so stern. “The lass is good at concealing secrets.”

  Leana looked down at her fondly. “She is that.”

  Eliza hurried up, bouncing Ian on her shoulder, a peasant lass by her side. “This is Mistress Hughan of Calloch Croft,” the maid said, making hasty introductions. “She has a fine gairden o’ herbs. Leuk what’s she’s brought ye, mistress.”

  Rose watched her
sister receive the young woman’s humble gifts with heartfelt joy. “Comfrey leaves! Already ground.”

  “Aye, mem,” the crofter said. “Enough for a poultice or twa. And the ither things ye asked aboot are here as weel. I thocht some nettle tea might serve.”

  Leana eased Rose to a sitting position so she might drink the lukewarm tea from a horn cup. “As you can see, I have two patients, both of whom will benefit from the comfrey.” She pinched a bit of the damp herb and added it to Rose’s tea. “This evening we shall lodge at an inn where I might nurse you properly. Won’t we, Jamie?” Leana gave him a pointed look.

  Sitting up, tea in hand, Rose felt somewhat improved. Thank the heavens above, she had worn a dark gown. Perhaps the blood would not show. As she watched the tawny-haired crofter empty her apron full of herbs and pour glasses of cool water for her uninvited guests, her heart went out to the poor lass in her faded gown and tattered cap. Could they not do something for Mistress Hughan in return? Did kindness not deserve a reward?

  Her spirits lifted ever so slightly. Aye. The gold.

  ’Twould do much good at Calloch Croft. But however would she place it in the young woman’s hands without the rest of them knowing? The basket of linens was at her side. Dared she fish out one of the remaining sacks? And then what?

  When Mistress Hughan put her empty wooden pitcher down next to Rose to entertain Ian for a moment, the rest of it came easily enough. The child’s squeals of delight at the lass’s heartsome antics, twirling him round, drew everyone’s attention while Rose quietly transferred the gold. She added two linen handkerchiefs to muffle the sound.

  “We must be on our way,” Jamie announced, turning to look at her, the green of his eyes more vivid in the sunlight. “Are you feeling well enough to travel, Rose?”

  “I am.” She pushed the pitcher toward their hostess. “You’ll not want to forget this, Mistress Hughan. I tucked a few linens inside. In gratitude for your provision.” Not a lie; there were linens. If the wooden pitcher seemed heavier to her, the peasant lass did not comment but merely went off, swinging it by her side.

  Leana, meanwhile, had pressed the poultice between her fingers into a flat compress the size of her hands. “Rose, you’ll need to put this on Jamie’s … that is, on whatever part of him is injured.” Her pale sister had no hope of hiding a blush. “The skin is not broken, is it, Jamie? For comfrey will not do on an open wound.”

  He threw a plaid over his lap and grimaced as he eased down his breeches, while Leana and Eliza looked the other way. “ ’Twould be easier to manage this in a kilt.”

  Rose dutifully pressed the poultice against the tender place he’d shown her. When he winced, she knew she’d found the spot. After arranging the plaid for modesty’s sake, Rose assured the other women that they were free to ride on. “We’ve left Annabel tending her sheep by the roadside for a very long time.”

  The wagon was soon rolling along the meandering banks of the Cree. Annabel walked ahead of them, holding Davie’s shepherd’s crook over the lambs like a talisman.

  After a mile or so Leana turned to see how her passengers were faring. “The kintra folk say comfrey bodes a safe journey.”

  “If ever we needed such a blessing, ’tis this day.” Jamie held the poultice in place with one hand and clasped Rose’s hand in the other. “We’re not far from Monnigaff.”

  Rose saw her sister’s back stiffen. “And here come Rab and Davie astride Hastings. No doubt with news. From your brother.”

  Sixty-Nine

  I want that grace that springs from thee,

  That quickens all things where it flows.

  WILLIAM COWPER

  Until he saw his brother face to face, Jamie would not know if his letter or his lambs had softened his brother’s hard heart. But Rab Murray might know. As the lad rode up, Jamie steeled himself for the shepherd’s report.

  “Yer brither was waitin’ at the Cree Inn after a’.” Rab let Davie dismount to join Annabel, then turned Hastings round to walk alongside the slow-moving wagon. “Said that yestreen was too dreich for man or beast.”

  “So it was,” Jamie agreed. Vivid memories of his night in Moneypool Burn rose before him. “What did my brother say about the lambs? Did he accept my gift, small as it was?”

  “He did.” Rab scratched at his shirt, as though a bath might be in order. “Ane o’ his herds was plannin’ to drive the lambs tae his farm in Sorbie parish.”

  Jamie sat up straighter in the wagon. “The men with him are shepherds?”

  “Herds and hinds, the lot o’ them. Whan I walked through the inn door, me heart thumpin’ ‘neath me sark, I thocht I’d be facin’ ten scoonrels.” Rab grinned. “Turns oot, I was leukin at ten o’ meself.”

  Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, all the while erasing the image he’d carried in his mind. Of Evan glowering at him from the head of a rough-hewn table, flanked by ten ruthless men. Scoundrels, just as Rab had expected. “Shepherds,” Jamie repeated, still trying to grasp the truth. “And farmworkers.”

  “Braw lads, they were. Like most workin’ men.” Rab winked at Eliza, who turned the color of red campion in May.

  “And plainly attired, I hope.” Jamie put aside the cooled poultice and rearranged his clothing. Though his coat and breeches were clean, they had little else to recommend them. He’d hoped to meet Evan in the manner in which he’d confronted Lachlan—a well-dressed prince, not a barefoot pauper. Instead, Jamie would take a humbler approach in every respect. And pray it would not cost him his life.

  “Was Evan kind to you?” Rose asked.

  “Weel, he wasna cruel.” The shepherd rubbed his chin, covered with red bristles. “Nor was he a man o’ mony wirds.”

  Jamie nodded in acknowledgment. “When we were young, I was the one who used words, mostly as a weapon. My brother used his dirk.”

  His own dirk would be useless now, Jamie realized, since without boots, he could not carry the dagger properly. The weapon would remain in the wagon, along with his harmless pistol. Not his sword, though; he had a use for that.

  They’d reached the edge of Monnigaff, an old village of one-story houses thatched with straw that clustered along a low piece of ground where the Penkill Burn spilled into the River Cree. Not nearly so wide here as at Ferrytown, the river was tamed by stony banks and spanned by a bridge built some forty years past. Monnigaff’s Saturday market was under way with visitors from surrounding parishes bustling about, purchasing meal and malt.

  Jamie wondered if he would even find his brother in such a crowd. “Davie, get the lambs settled north of town. And, Leana, kindly park the wagon where you can.”

  She continued past Cree Bridge to a shady spot along the road running parallel with the Penkill and guided the horses to a stop. “Will we … all be meeting Evan?”

  “You will,” Jamie said firmly. A public confession, with his family as witnesses, would be best. Easing onto the ground, he strapped on his scabbard and forced himself to put his full weight on his leg. He’d not waited two years to greet his brother with a limp. It was not sympathy he wanted but mercy. Forgiveness for the unforgivable. Only then could he hold up his head as laird of Glentrool. Only then would he live in freedom.

  When Leana stood, he cautioned her, “Let Rab lift you down, lass. I am sorry that I cannot.”

  Leana leaned over the edge of the wagon so Rab might catch her. Once on her feet, she gathered a sleeping Ian in her arms, then turned toward her sister. “Jamie, I think it best that Rose not be moved.”

  Though Rose was sitting up, her face was chalky and her eyes wide. “Jamie, will you mind terribly if I wait here?”

  “Not at all.” He leaned across the wagon side to clasp her hands, which were too cool for a warm August day. “I only mind that you are not well, Rose.” Was she still bleeding? Was their child in danger? Heaven help me! ’Twas impossible, having his heart and mind in two places. “We’ll not delay after services tomorrow,” he promised, “but will press on to Glentrool.
Would that suit you?”

  “Aye,” she said on a sigh, clearly relieved. “I shall sleep in my new home tomorrow night.”

  “You will, Rose.” He tightened his hold on her. “Your new home. On the Sabbath.” Lord, may it be so. He was loath to leave her, yet his search for Evan could not be delayed. “I must find my brother. Pray for me, lass.”

  “Every moment you are gone.” She lowered her head to kiss his hands. “Our children need a father, Jamie. Please come back to me.”

  With her words pounding inside him, Jamie lined up his party, intending to present them to Evan with all the dignity the occasion merited. Though they were a bedraggled group, worn down from days of travel, they were important to him and deserved a proper introduction. “Rab, you’ll stand behind me, aye? And have Davie join you? Then Annabel and Eliza. Then Leana, with my son.”

  Jamie turned round to catch his wife’s eye, hoping to encourage her. “This is your place, Rose. The place of honor.”

  Rose’s smile was faint. “If you say so, Jamie.”

  “Mr. McKie.” Rab yanked at his coat sleeve. “Thar he is.”

  Jamie looked up in time to see his brother emerge from the Cree Inn, not fifty ells away. Dressed in a drugget coat and unpolished boots. Bright red hair tied at the nape of his thick neck. Evan McKie. Bold as ever, standing on the threshold, surveying the crowd. His herds and hinds gathered round him, none taller than his shoulders.

  Jamie held his ground, waiting until Evan looked his way.

  Their eyes met. At last, my brother.

  Jamie moved first, leaving his household well behind him, where they would be safe. He walked erect, without limping, ignoring the pain in his leg. Though his head and feet were bare, his sword hung at his side. Wait for me, Evan. Let me come to you.

  The milling crowd between the two men stepped back, giving Jamie room. Or so it seemed to him, so focused were his thoughts. For thou art my hope, O Lord.

  When Evan took the first step toward him, Jamie stopped and bowed. Low, as a servant might. His fingers brushed the ground. Dirt covered his feet.