Grace in Thine Eyes

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  Jamie’s hands went cold. “You were witness to a death and did not report it?”

  “We’ve been on Arran only a few days,” Will reminded him, “and didn’t know where to turn.”

  His son’s words chafed at his conscience. I should have been here. Nae, I should have been on that mountain.

  Jamie leaned against the door with a weary sigh. “Finish dressing, for I must comfort your sister, then take you directly to Brodick castle. I met the steward on Monday, you ken. He also serves as Arran’s justice of the peace. You’ll be prepared to answer his questions, aye? About how Sir Harry fell?”

  “Father …” Will bowed his head. “The news is far worse than that.”

  Jamie straightened, even as the hairs on his neck rose.

  “When Sir Harry slid down the north side of Goatfell, Somerled tried to reach him and … fell … onto the rocks.”

  “Somerled is dead as well?” Horrified, Jamie stared at his sons. At their stubborn jaws and their averted gazes. “Did you do nothing to prevent this?”

  “We tried to rescue Somerled,” Sandy murmured at last.

  “He slipped from our grasp, Father. I promise you, we did everything we could.”

  Jamie remembered another of Will’s promises. My anger will burn far longer than that. Had his sons done the unthinkable?

  Two strides and Jamie was face to face with them, his hands clenching their collars. “Tell me this was an accident and not an act of vengeance.”

  Will flinched when Jamie tightened his grip. “We did not murder them, Father.”

  “That is not what I asked you.” Jamie shook them both, even as his heart began to break. “Did you deceive these men and then allow them to die?”

  “We tried to rescue Somerled.” The same answer from Sandy, which was no answer at all.

  Jamie wanted to shout at them. Wanted to throttle them. He could do neither in a public inn, but he would not let go of them without knowing the truth. “Did you want these Highlanders dead? Did you?”

  “We did.” Will yanked free from his grasp and stepped back. “From the day we arrived on Arran. But we did not murder them. They fell. Both of them.” His voice was ragged, as if scraped across granite, and his dark eyes shone like glass. “We could not save Sir Harry, because he was too far down the hillside. But we did everything possible to save Somerled. I risked my life—”

  “He did,” Sandy interjected. “Will climbed down and tried to reach him.”

  “But you did not succeed. You watched him die and his father before him.” Jamie released his grip on Sandy, then backed away, clenching his fists in frustration. “What am I to do with you? Let the justice of the peace probe and question until he has enough evidence to hang you both? What will I say to your mother? And—God, help me—how will I comfort your sister? You have torn apart Davina’s life. Twice.”

  “Please, Father.” Will begged him with his eyes, with his hands, with his tears. “Help us do whatever must be done. To make things right.”

  Right? Did they think such a travesty could be mended with words? “Two men are dead because of you. Never forget that. You can be sure I will not.” Jamie turned away with a groan, unclenching his hands, releasing some of his anger, if only for the moment. There was too much to be done. Too much to be explained. And a daughter who needed him.

  “Make yourselves presentable,” he ordered them, “while I attend to your sister. Do not tarry, for tongues are already wagging round Cladach.”

  Jamie did not remember walking down the stair, turning at the landing, reaching the entrance hall. Shock and disbelief numbed his mind, dulled his senses. We did not murder them. The men were nonetheless dead, and his sons were in some way responsible. God forgive them. No one in Scotland would be so merciful.

  Standing before his daughter’s door, he lifted his arm as if a sack of oats hung from his wrist, then knocked twice. “ ’Tis your father.” Jamie gave her a moment to compose herself, then eased open the door of the small room with its single, flickering candle and rain-soaked windowpanes.

  Davina was sitting on the side of her bed, her hair unkempt, her cheeks chapped from crying. The handkerchief Leana had embroidered for her was clutched in her hands.

  Undone at the sight of her, Jamie simply held out his arms.

  She leaped into them with a sob, knocking him back on his heels, then clung to his shoulders and buried her face in his chest.

  My poor child. He held her for a long time, saying nothing. Smoothing back her tangled hair. Drying her tears, though they would not stop.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered at last. “So very sorry.”

  She touched the handkerchief to her heart again and again.

  “Aye.” Tears tightened round his words. “Somerled loved you very much.”

  Davina’s features crumpled as she nodded her head.

  Searching for some word of comfort, Jamie finally said, “I will take you home to your mother. Before the week is out, Lord willing.” He could think of no greater solace to offer her. Leana would know what to do, what to say to help their daughter, an innocent young woman who’d lost her virtue and then her only hope of redeeming it. God, help us. What is to be done?

  Footsteps in the hall, then a tapping at the door announced her brothers. Jamie gently stepped back, making sure she could stand on her own. “Forgive me, Davina, but I must take Will and Sandy to the castle. We’ve some business to attend to.” He did not burden her with details. “I’ll ask Mrs. McAllister to remain withindoors, should you need her, and will send for Reverend Stewart. We’ll not be gone more than an hour.”

  When he guided Davina toward her bed, she did not protest but stretched out on the narrow mattress and let him slip off her shoes. He located a clean handkerchief in her valise and tucked it into her hand, then pressed a kiss to her freckled brow. “Rest if you can.”

  She nodded, though he was sure she would not sleep.

  Jamie met his sons in the hall rather than usher them into her room. Who knew what fabrications they’d told Davina? Or how she felt toward them now? He would not upset her further. Time enough for reconciliation later. Davina, like her mother, had a great capacity for mercy. He did not.

  Mrs. McAllister was hard at work scrubbing the floor in the far corner of her kitchen, her manner less vexing than usual as she stood to address them. The innkeeper agreed to look after Davina, then offered to take her a cup of tea.

  “Better that she rest,” Jamie told her, wanting to spare Davina the woman’s ill-fashioned company. “We will be at the castle should we be needed. In the meantime, send a messenger to the Kilbride manse on my behalf.” He wrote a terse note of explanation to Benjamin Stewart and sealed it firmly. Two hours earlier he’d galloped north after a pleasant visit with his cousin, never imagining how soon the minister’s services would be needed.

  With his note and a few coins in the innkeeper’s hands, Jamie directed his sons toward the door. The sky had lightened considerably, and the rain was reduced to a fine mist as they strode uphill toward Brodick. “Choose your words with care,” he warned the twins, keeping his voice low. “Mr. Hunter has a sharp eye and a keen mind. Speak the truth, yet take heed where your words might lead you.”

  “Father.” Will had not met his gaze since they had left the inn. “Sandy and I made arrangements with a fishing boat sailing from Brodick quay at four o’clock. Might we still—”

  “You may not,” Jamie snapped. “Only guilty men flee. Unless you would brand yourselves as criminals, you’ll remain on Arran until the justice of the peace deems you innocent.”

  Sandy’s eyes grew round. “How long might that take, sir?”

  “I cannot say.” Too long, I fear. His own plans to sail in the morning were dashed as well. He’d at least see a letter placed on board, marked for Glentrool. Much as he dreaded committing the words to paper, Leana had to be informed of all that had transpired.

  Your daughter lo
st her innocence and her betrothed. And your sons watched two men die.

  Jamie was to blame for all of it; he could not pretend otherwise. Not with the gruesome evidence lying battered and broken on Arran’s hills. And with a daughter, also battered and broken, watering her pillow with her tears.

  The maidservant who met them at the castle door shrank back when she saw the twins. Mrs. McAllister’s gossip had traveled quickly. “This way,” she said in a shaky voice, directing them to Lewis Hunter’s office on the ground floor. Had it been only two days since Jamie was there signing the marriage agreement?

  “Gentlemen.” The steward rose as they entered. He walked round a desk littered with papers as he removed the spectacles perched on his nose. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Pardon our delay,” Jamie hastened to say. “I was riding home from the manse when my sons returned from their climb. They were distraught, of course—”

  “Of course,” Lewis Hunter said evenly.

  “And being new to Arran, they did not know whom to tell or what to do concerning the accident on Goatfell.”

  “Then they are fortunate to have their father with them.”

  A man of perhaps fifty, Hunter still had most of his black hair, straight and thin as it was, and gray eyes that were ever alert. As justice of the peace, he was charged with trying minor civil cases and examining persons accused of serious crimes. Jamie prayed his sons would not fall beneath the man’s talons, for they appeared very sharp indeed.

  “Please be seated.” Hunter pulled three chairs close together, then sat behind his oak desk, a silent reminder of his authority. “Mr. McKie, if you will allow your sons to answer my questions.” He motioned to an efficient-looking young man across the room, who joined them at once, pen and ink at the ready. “My clerk will be taking notes, but do not let that alarm you. We simply need an accurate record of the day’s events.”

  Hunter asked for their full names, which Will and Sandy provided. Jamie could tell the lads were nervous, but their confident postures and steady voices served them well. He sat back, resisting the urge to intervene for his sons as a barrage of questions were fired at them. Some were merely a request for information—the time of their departure, the ages of the climbers, the condition of their boots—but other inquiries were more pointed.

  “In light of the heavy cloud cover, why did you not turn back?”

  Will looked genuinely remorseful. “I wish we had, sir. When we approached the last six hundred feet, I asked the MacDonalds if they preferred to quit. Sir Harry in particular was quite winded. But he said, ‘Quit? Indeed not.’ ” Will hung his head. “Then he shook his walking stick at me.”

  “Ah.” The steward tented his hands, nodding. “I confess, in my brief acquaintance with the baronet on Monday morning, his pride was kenspeckle, as my mother used to say.”

  Jamie well knew the Scots word—conspicuous—but did not gloat over the observation. If pride alone could kill a man, he would have perished long before these sons of his were born.

  As the questions grew more difficult, Will and Sandy did not make excuses for their behavior, nor did they incriminate themselves. Their facial expressions were open, their comments seemingly honest and sincere. Might they be innocent after all?

  “I’ve already dispatched a party of men to retrieve the bodies,” Hunter informed them. “Once I’ve determined the cause of their deaths and have ruled out foul play, you will be free to leave Arran. I assume that is your desire.”

  “At the earliest possible hour,” Will confessed, looking at Sandy as he spoke. “My brother and I long to put this sad incident behind us and return to our studies in Edinburgh.”

  It was then Jamie realized what talented actors he had for sons. The twins had no desire to resume their education; they simply wanted to escape from Arran before Lewis Hunter deduced the ugly truth.

  Sixty-Eight

  Hope, withering, fled—and Mercy sighed farewell.

  GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON

  Leana’s first steps on the Isle of Arran were less than agile. “Dinna fash yerself,” Ian said gently, guiding her along the coast road, carrying their bulging valise. “By the time we reach the manse, you’ll be walking as gracefully as ever.”

  “I pray you are right.” She carefully put one foot in front of the other as they headed north from Lamlash harbor. Their packet boat captain had spoken of passengers having “sea legs,” which Ian had quickly developed, as if born for sailing the main.

  He’d arranged for everything, this capable son of hers. They had reached Maybole yestreen, far sooner than anticipated, then sailed at noontide from Ayr with the wind at their backs and a storm brewing overhead. Last hour’s drenching rain was the only disappointment of their journey.

  Leana shook out her wet skirts as they walked, starting to regain her balance. Would they find Jamie and Davina at the manse? Or at Brodick castle with the MacDonalds? She and Ian were not expected—not by the Stewarts and certainly not by her husband and daughter. “I do hope our visit will be a welcome surprise,” she murmured, “and not an imposition.”

  “You could never impose on anyone,” Ian assured her, then gestured to the right. “This way. Past the old kirkyard, the captain said.”

  When Leana glimpsed a tidy garden to the rear of the manse, her apprehension eased; Elspeth Stewart was a kindred spirit.

  A black-haired maidservant answered their knock, agape when she saw Ian. “Ye maun be the son o’ Mr. McKie! I’ve niver seen a lad wha mair favored his faither.”

  Ian smiled down at her. “You’ve a good eye, lass. Are the Stewarts at home?”

  “Mrs. Stewart is, aye. She’ll be pleased tae see ye baith.” The maid ushered them in, eying Leana all the while. “Ye’re Mrs. McKie, I jalouse.”

  “I am.” Leana held her dripping hem away from the hall furnishings. “Might my husband be here? Or my daughter, Davina?”

  “Nae, mem.” Her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “They’re at the inn at Cladach. And here comes Mrs. Stewart tae greet ye.” The maidservant dipped a brief curtsy and was gone.

  “Can this be Cousin Jamie’s wife and son?” When Leana nodded, Elspeth Stewart let out a happy cry, then drew them into the parlor. “Finally we meet! Oh, but do change your gown at once, Mrs. McKie, for I’ll not have you catching cold. Betty will escort you to our bedroom.”

  Leana descended the stair a few moments later, grateful to have freshly combed hair and dry linen against her skin. Ian had donned another coat and was comfortably settled in an upholstered chair. By the look on his face, Elspeth had not ceased talking since they’d arrived.

  “Your husband was here this very morning,” Elspeth explained, “making arrangements to … oh!” Her eyes widened. “Thank heavens you did not sail a day later, or you would have missed them altogether.” She fluttered her hands round her face as if quite shaken by the notion. “You’ll want to meet the MacDonalds, I trow.”

  Leana nodded. They’d been right to come after all, and none too soon. “Betty mentioned that my husband and daughter were staying at … an inn?”

  “Did she?” Elspeth frowned in the direction of the kitchen. “You must think me a poor hostess. But after the Fullartons …” She cleared her throat. “Well, the inn at Cladach is much closer to Brodick and …”

  After an awkward pause, Ian asked her, “Are the MacDonalds lodging at the inn as well?”

  “Nae!” Elspeth looked startled at the suggestion. “They’re guests of His Grace at the castle. ’Tis all a bit … complicated.” Never had a woman looked happier to see a tea tray arrive. “Look, here’s Mrs. McCurdy’s shortbread to tempt you.”

  “Many thanks,” Leana murmured, trying to collect her thoughts. Complicated. Jamie would explain things, of course. But it was disconcerting to know so little. “Your household is rather quiet, Elspeth. I’d hoped to meet Cousin Benjamin. And your daughters …”

  “Dear me, the lasses are with the
ir father, visiting Mrs. McCook at Kingscross.” Elspeth looked most disappointed. “They’re to return at four. Can you not tarry ’til then?”

  Leana put aside her empty cup, then caught Ian’s eye. “Pardon us, but we’re anxious to see Mr. McKie and Davina. Might you point the way to their lodging house?”

  Elspeth sighed, as if resigning herself to their hasty departure. “You’ll need to borrow our horse, for ’tis five miles north o’er a steep hill.”

  Moments later Leana was seated on Grian’s sturdy back, their valise strapped behind her, while Ian led the horse on foot, headed toward Cladach. Davina’s letters had aptly described Arran’s majestic hills. But it was her daughter and husband Leana longed to see most.

  “What do you make of it all?” Ian asked, turning to look up at her. “Our cousin was hardly forthcoming.”

  “Nae,” Leana agreed, “yet had Somerled’s wedding plans fallen apart, Elspeth would not have suggested meeting the MacDonalds.”

  “Some comfort there.”

  For two days she’d imagined the bloom of love on Davina’s face: her freckled blush, her elfin smile, her twinkling eyes. My sweet daughter. I do hope you are happy. Leana would have her answer soon.

  A scruffy lad riding a piebald pony slowed at their approach, wearing a mystified look on his face. “Is that not Reverend Stewart’s horse?”

  “ ’Tis.” Ian smiled at the boy. “Borrowed with Mrs. Stewart’s permission.”

  “Weel …” He held up a letter, folded and sealed. “I’m tae deliver a message tae him.”

  “He’s not home at present but due shortly,” Ian told him, then tugged their mount forward as the lad rode off, frowning to himself. Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever the tidings, I pray the minister won’t miss his horse.”

  Brodick Bay came into view, the water as gray as the sky. Yet the shoreline boasted a pleasing curve, and the mountain that dominated the scene was impressive. Goatfell, Davina had called it in one of her letters. A grand giant of a hill. Elspeth’s directions were quite detailed, bringing them round the wide bay to a small settlement and its slate-roofed inn.