Thorn in My Heart (38 page)

“
OchlOo
you think I dont ken the way of things? Lachlan sent you here so I might explain certain matters no father should discuss with his daughter. Especially not a girl sae
green
as you, Rose.”

She had been in the woman's house only a minute, and already the conversation had waded into shocking waters. How like Aunt Meg!

Rose found an empty peg to hold her cloak, then moved to the fireside, rubbing her frozen fingers to warm them. “Coal, Auntie? Not peat?”

“The mosses in the southern half of the parish have plain given out.” Her aunt joined her at the hearth, poking at the coals on the grate with her cane. “Have to order coal from Whitehaven now. A guinea a ton, if you can imagine.”

“Poor Auntie! At least you have fresh water at your doorstep and every drop free.”

“Glad I am that you reminded me.” Her aunt disappeared out the door, a wooden pitcher in her hand, and returned moments later, her hair windblown but her wide smile triumphant. “Drink,” her aunt demanded, filling a wooden cup of water for her. “Fresh and cold from the kirk burn.”

“I thought hot tea might—”

“Aye, tea soon enough. But first, drink.”

Rose complied, not wanting to upset her. She felt the icy water all the way down, shivering in spite of the coal fire.

Her aunt grinned with satisfaction. “I hope its twins you're wanting, lass.”

“Twins?”

“Aye. We ve had five women in Twyneholm give birth to healthy twins. Five pairs of twins in two years! Who ever heard of sic a thing in a wee parish like this one? It's the water, you ken. The verra water you just drank.”

“Twins.” Rose shook her head, bewildered by it all. “Jamie is a twin.”

“Hoot!” Her aunt crowed like a rooster. “Drink up, Rose! We'll have you primed for two bairns by next harvest, or my name's not Margaret Halliday.”

On the hour, it seemed, Rose dutifully drank water drawn from the kirk burn—in tea, in brose, in soup, in punch, and by the chilly cupful. She didn't believe for a moment that the water contained any special powers, but if it pleased her aunt, drink she would. The balm made of beeswax and pine resin brought more reliable results, smoothing her hands until they looked like Lady Maxwell's, silky and white as the Damask rose in Leana's garden.

When she returned to Auchengray, Jamie would hold her balm-softened hands in his. She would touch his skin, and he, hers. They would become in all ways husband and wife. If Aunt Meg was right, ‘twould be a fine and honorable thing they would do in the darkness of their bedroom. Although it frightened her more than a litde, Rose was eager as well. Could she tell Jamie she loved him? Give herself to him completely?

Her girlish fears whispered,
No, no!
But her woman's heart said,
Yes.

Each hour they were apart she found herself longing for him, like a great ache inside her. Surely it was love and not mere cousinly affection. Each day that passed in Aunt Meg's cozy cottage Rose remembered Jamie's kind words and thoughtful deeds. The tea and biscuits he had Eliza serve her in the sewing room. The endearing notes slipped inside the pages of
The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless
for her to find.

Whenever they came near one another, he brushed a tender finger against her hand or cheek. He had not stolen a single kiss, but he had borrowed a few. Sweet, they were.
Oh, Jamie.
She missed him. She
needed him. Aye, she could deny it no longer: She loved him. Her heart was young and untried, but at last it was truly ready.

Saturday, while she and Aunt Meg made stew for their Sabbath meal, Rose sang Jamie's praises as her aunt listened, smiling a crones smile. “Faraway fowl have fair feathers. That's what I told your father, and wasn't your auld Aunt Meg right about that? When you're a good distance away from a lad and have time to miss him, then you learn what your true feelings are. He's a braw lad, is he not?”

“Oo aye!” Rose giggled.

Her aunt raised a stern eyebrow, like her father's, only so much kinder. “And he loves you true, does he?”

Rose nodded, very certain of her answer. “He does, Aunt Meg.”

“And have you told this Jamie of yours that you love him?”

“Sully girl that I am, I have not.” Rose threw a handful of cut potatoes in the stewpot. “But I will, Aunt. The very moment I lay eyes on him next Wednesday I will tell Jamie and anyone else who will listen.”
Even you, Leana. Forgive me, dear sister.

On the Sabbath her aunt's parish minister, Reverend John Scott, prayed mightily over her while the congregation, as sober and devout as any in Galloway, bowed their heads and asked for God's blessing on her impending wedding. Monday and Tuesday passed quickly, the hours filled with visitors stopping by to tuck small gifts into her hands and plant kisses for luck on her cheek. By the time she woke in the wee hours of Hogmanay morning, Rose felt certain any ill fortune had been chased away by the good folk of Twyneholm. Willie had returned safely on yestreen and was outside at that very moment, preparing the chaise for their departure at six o'clock, hours before the sun would show its wan face.

The wind outside sounded fierce, but Rose was too excited to fret about the weather. She dressed in her warmest clothes, thinking of the rose-colored gown waiting for her at Auchengray. In a few hours she would be wearing it. A few hours more and she would be married! Joy and apprehension sang a merry duet in her heart, making her hands tremble as she pulled on her gloves.
Soon, soon.

Waiting for Aunt Meg to finish her ablutions, Rose listened more carefully to the wind blowing hard against the cottage's tiny panes and realized it was more than mere wind. It was an icy snow. The joyful song in her heart grew silent, while the fearful tune played on.
Not today. Not now.

When Willie blew in the door, his expression grim, she knew the awful truth. “Im sorry, Miss McBride,” he said, wiping his face with the back of his gloved hand. “We ve a weatherful day, I'm afraid. A snowstorm. Blown down from the Rhinns of Kells, I reckon. Its sae thick ye canna walk without fallin.”

“Its
what?”
Rose grasped the wooden box bed, feeling faint. “But we re not w-walking, Willie. We'll be dry enough in the chaise. It will be cozy with the three of us—”

“Listen tae what I'm sayin, if ye will.” He wrapped a hand around each arm to steady her. “A body canna ride, nor walk, nor crawl in sic terrible weather, and neither can Bess. She's shakin sae badly from the cold, I canna hardly harness her. We'll have
to
wait, lass. Wait until the storm lets up. By daybreak perhaps. Could be noon—”

“Nae!” She tore herself away from him and threw open the cottage door to see for herself. A gust of wind tore through the room, thick with icy pellets. She fought to close the door, then fell against it, tears spilling from her eyes. “Willie, Willie, what am I to do?”

He slipped his icy bonnet off his head and gripped it between his fingers. “Wait, lass. ‘Tis all ye can do.”

“
Wait?
But it's my wedding day!” She threw her arms in the air as she spun in a dizzying circle, nigh blinded by her tears. “Don't you see, Willie? We must try. We
must/The
kirk will be filled with neighbors, the house with food enough for all of Galloway—”

“Aye, and the road will be filled with carriages with broken wheels, ours among them, if we try sae daft a thing.” He patted her arm, but she jerked it away.

“You don't understand! Jamie is waiting. He's…he's waiting…” She put her face in her hands, unable to bear the thought of it. “I can't…keep him waiting.”

“Now, now,” Willie said in the same soothing voice he used with the horses. “Ye ve naught to worry about, lass. Jamie will wait, however lang it takes.” He patted her shoulder while her aunt put water on the hearth for tea. “After all, Miss Rose, they canna have a waddin without a bride, now can they?”

She lowered her hands and groaned in resignation. “Nae, Willie. Of course they can't have the wedding without me.” Rose sank onto a stool by the hearth and stared at the glowing coals, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “They'll be terrible fash though, wondering what's happened to us.”

Aunt Meg stepped behind her, smoothing her hair. “I've no doubt the same dreadful weather were having here has covered Newabbey with snow as well. They'll ken what's happened, Rose, and put a stopper on their plans until they see your bonny face.”

Her aunt crouched down beside her, her face aglow with confidence. “A day or two at most, sweet niece, and you'll be walking through the doors of Auchengray, ready to tell a certain lad you love him at last. Jamie will be waiting for you. You'll see.”

Every delay is too long to one who is in a hurry.

S
ENECA

J
amie paced the stone floors of Auchengray, his black boots buffed to J a high sheen, the polished buttons on his coat reflecting the blazing hearth. “I'll not leave for the kirk ‘til I know my bride is safe. Is that understood?”

Lachlan held up his hand, saying nothing. All through the house servants tiptoed about their work, speaking in hushed tones. The mantel clock clearly stated what no one could bear to mention. It was well past noon, nearly one, and nary a word from Rose.

Jamie paused to stare out the window at the frozen sky, willing her to come careening up the drive. He could almost see her jumping down from the chaise—breathless from the journey, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I'm home, Jamie!” she would say, running through the door and throwing herself into his embrace. His vision of her was so real that he folded his arms across his chest and was dismayed not to find his bride wrapped inside them.
My bonny Rose, whan keeping you?

He swallowed his disappointment, grown to a sizable lump in his throat, and sought his heart for answers. Had she changed her mind? Was she afraid of marriage? Afraid of him? Or was it something else entirely? Had she suddenly taken ill? Encountered an accident on the road?
Ochl
The uncertainty was the worst of it. Perhaps she
was
too young and he in too much of a hurry to claim her. Or she might have run off to Maxwell Park, determined to have her debut at the Maxwell's Hogmanay Ball after all.

Every idea was more ludicrous than the last.

Jamie glanced at the timepiece once more.
One ochck.
Maybe Rose
was simply delayed. Aye, she might be minutes away. He would hope for the best and refuse to consider the worst. He turned toward Lachlan, who was comfortably seated at the head of the dining table, sipping a wee dram. “How long is the journey, Uncle?” Jamie was vaguely aware of having posed the same question earlier, but the answer evaded him.

“I told you at breakfast. It takes five hours from Twyneholm by chaise.” Lachlan stood and joined him by the window, a second dram in his hand. “Drink up, lad, and calm your nerves. You're more fash than a tup in October.” Jamie, who seldom drank whisky, tossed down the dram in a searing gulp. Lachlan took the small glass from him and quietly filled it again. “Much of the journey home is uphill, so it could take a bit longer. Never more than six hours though.”

Jamie felt the whiskys heat move through his limbs. “Might we send one of the servants along the same route? See if there's been”— Jamie hated to say the word—“an accident with the chaise or some trouble with Bess?”

“Aye, that might be prudent.” Lachlan rang his handbell, and Neda stuck her head in the room. “Kindly have Duncan dispatch one of the servants on the road to Twyneholm. They'll have gone west to Mill-town, then down the military road. Have him bring back news or the bride herself if he finds her by the roadside in a broken chaise. See to it, Neda.”

Lachlan turned back to the window, and together they peered at the featureless expanse of thick clouds and the hard, dry ground beneath it. “Thank heaven we've had neither snow nor ice dampen our plans. I suspect the weather is much the same in Twyneholm.”

“Are you certain, sir?”

Lachlan shrugged. “One can never be certain about the weather, Jamie, especially closer to the Solway coast. What is it the wise wags say? ‘In winter be well-capped, well-shod, and well on porridge fed.’ ‘Tis good advice, that.”

“Rose was properly dressed for the cold, wasn't she? Surely her aunt filled her with porridge before they set off. And isn't Willie an able driver and Bess the most dependable horse in your stables?”

“All ofthose things are true, Nephew.” Lachlan licked a stray drop of whisky from his lips, then cleared his throat. “Have you given any thought to another possibility?”

“Namely?”

“That Rose changed her mind.”

Heat flooded the skin beneath Jamie's waddin sark. “That's not possible!”
Liar.
It was more than possible. But how could Lachlan be privy to such information? “Perhaps Rose made a confession to you before she left for Twyneholm…is that it?”

“Perhaps.” Lachlan shrugged, averting his eyes. “Or perhaps I'm a father who wants to see his daughter happily wed.”

“So you say.” Jamie resumed his pacing, frustrated by his uncle's cryptic comments when more pressing concerns demanded their attention. Wedding guests arriving. A full kirk. And no bride. Jamie threw his hands in the air and banged them down on the mantel. “What's to be done, Uncle?”

Lachlan's gaze drifted to the clock, then back to Jamie. “We proceed with the wedding.”

Jamie's jaw dropped. “We
what?
Without a
bride?”

Lachlan held up a cautionary finger. “I did not say that, Jamie. I said we proceed. Carry on to the kirk. Go through the ceremony. Return home for the bridal—”

“How can we have a bridal supper
without a bride?”
Jamie nearly shouted the words, incredulous. “What sort of swickerie are you suggesting, Uncle?”

Lachlan shrugged, his demeanor maddeningly calm. “I'm not trying to deceive you, lad. On the contrary, I'm as eager for this wedding as you are. After all, it's my thrifite that's been emptied on your behalf, is it not?”