Thorn in My Heart (54 page)

No longer content to keep secrets, Auchengray was now steeped in lies.

A rhyme from her childhood rang through her head like a clanging gong.

The family Buik, waiting in the wooden box by the hearth, cried out for a hand of mercy to fall upon its pages. Was there one to be found at Auchengray? Leana rose from her chair, unsteady on her feet. “Please…excuse me, Father.” She bolted for the kitchen, not waiting for his permission, not watching to see how the others might respond.

Neda.

The housekeeper waited for her inside die stillroom, as diough she knew Leana would come running, just as she had as a child. “Come, lass.” Neda gathered her up in her arms, sticky from cooking, fragrant with herbs, a proper homecoming. Leana sank into Nedas warm embrace and breathed a grateful prayer as the housekeeper brushed her hair back from her brow. Tears sprang to her eyes from the gendeness of Nedas touch.

“What am I to do, Neda?” Leana leaned back and sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve, not caring. “Rose has banished me to the third floor.”

“For a wee while perhaps.” Neda produced a cotton handkerchief from her hanging pocket and tucked it into Leana's hand. “Rose will weary of havin to tramp up tae the third floor every time she's needin yer advice.”

Leana shook her head, dabbing at her tears. “My sister wont come to me for the time of day, let alone advice about Jamie or marriage or anything that matters.” She paused to eye Neda more closely. “Were you able to…comfort her while we were in Dumfries?”

Nedas thin lips disappeared into a firm line. “Nae,” she said at last with a weary sigh, “she was too hurt and too angry tae listen. Blamed herself, she did, for not tellin Jamie how she felt afore she left for Twyneholm.”

“Rose said that?” Leana gasped in dismay. “She's the innocent party in all of this.”

“Och! No one is innocent, Leana. The Buik tells us that.” Neda moved to the cabinet in the stillroom and began straightening botdes. The woman never sat still except in kirk. “Yer sister said mony an unkind word about ye these last seven days. Yer new bedroom was the least of her curses. She's not without her own sins tae repent of, lass.”

Leana absendy plucked a stem of dried lavender hanging over her head and pinched off the flowers with her thumbnail, dropping them into her waiting palm. “Did you know of all this when we dined in Dumfries on the Sabbath?”

“Aye.” Neda ducked her head, trying to hide the color in her cheeks. “But Duncan and I were not aboot tae spoil yer time with Jamie, not for
anythin. Mr. McBride was waiting for us when we returned though. Standin in the stables. Chastised us for visitin ye, he did.”

When Leana tried to apologize, Neda hushed her with a shake of her copper head. “Hoot! We were pleased to come.” She patted her arm, her freckled features brimming with sympathy. “Ye must understand, yer faither does not know the word
forgiveness.
He insists ye both pay for yer sins.”

“How much?” Leana sank onto a stool. “How much must we pay?”

Neda closed the cabinet door with a muted bang. “Yer father sets the price, I'm afraid.”

Exhausted, Leana leaned her head against the damp stone wall behind her. “I thought God set the price long ago. You taught me that, didn't you? That the price was the spilling of innocent blood.” Hot tears, held at bay through dinner, pooled in her eyes. “I've already spilled mine…on Jamie's bed.” Leana pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing, but it was too late. Her face crumpled and her hopes with it. “I have…nothing…left.
Nothing”

“Now, now.” Neda gathered the lavender from her palm and put it aside, then smoothed her hand over Leana's with tender strokes. “It was not our blood God wanted. It was his sons. No matter what yer faither may say, yer sins have already been paid for, Leana. All of them.” Neda ran a finger along Leanas chin, collecting tears. A wry smile creased her face. “D'ye remember the task I gave ye when ye went tae Dumfries?”

Leana nodded with a noisy sniff. “You told me, ‘Think on the Lord Almighty and your new husband, in that order.’ ”

“And did ye?”

Leana nodded but averted her eyes, giving her secret away.

“Ye thought more about yer new husband, didn't ye, dearie? Well, then, think of yer first love now, yer first Bridegroom. The Buik says we're tae go tae him in prayer. Tell God where it hurts, lass, and tell him what ye need. He loves ye more than Jamie ever could.”

“So you say, Neda.” Leana pressed the hem of her apron against her cheeks and stood, bound for the third floor. “So you say.”

But Jamie did not love her at all, a fact that became more evident
as each dreary January day unfolded. He was polite to her, even kind, but there was no spark of love in his eyes. She wore his wedding ring, and they sat together at kirk to quell the gossips. But within the walls of Auchengray, Jamie and Rose were inseparable and Jamie's love for Rose unbearable. Leana kept her eyes down as she went about her endless tasks, feeling unwatched and invisible.

Curled up in her bed, in a lonely corner of the house that creaked in the stiff breeze and groaned from the cold, Leana warmed herself with her prayers. “Almighty God, do
you
see me? Do you see my emptiness?” The wind moaned but did not speak. “Fill me with his child, Lord.” She whispered into the dimly lit closet that was her refuge, her eyes on the window that looked toward the heavens. “Let a son be growing beneath my heart. Maybe then Jamie will love me.”

When her courses, dependable as the full moon, did not appear that month, Leana kept the news to herself and did not breathe a word to a soul, not even to Neda. It was too soon to be sure and too deep a secret to tell. She would wait. Aye, and she would pray.

Thorny rose! that always costeth
Beatings at the heart.

J
EAN
I
NGELOW

R
ose stole a furtive glance up and down the third floor hall, then ducked into the room beneath the eaves where her sister had been exiled. She'd heard from the servants that it was a cramped and gloomy space, and they'd not exaggerated one bit. Seeing the poorly lit closet— for that was all that it was—almost made her feel sorry for Leana, until she reminded herself that it was Leana's fault and not hers.
Shehaa
not thrown herself at Jamie and thrown away her innocence.

Father was right to chastise Leana, hard as it was to watch. And it was very hard.

Now it was her turn, for Leana had wronged her as well. Leana, the sister who'd once loved her, cherished her, mothered her. A lump rose in her throat, but she pushed it down, refusing to let herself care too much.

It was the last day of January, the day Rose should have been celebrating one month of marriage to Jamie. Instead she had six long months of waiting, six more months of wondering if Jamie would manage to stay away from her sister's bed and avoid getting her with child, an unthinkable outcome that would ruin everything. Leana never looked at Jamie, but Jamie looked at Leana when he thought Rose's thoughts were occupied elsewhere. His eyes were filled with longing. Not love, but longing. It frightened Rose to see it, to know that her sister had some claim on Jamie's affections, however base it might be.

She had to do something. She
had to.

Rose tiptoed over to Leana's hurlie bed and lifted the thin mattress. From her reticule, she pulled a handful of hawthorn leaves she'd found among Leana's herbs in the stillroom, pressed flat between the pages of
a physic book. They looked harmless enough, but Rose knew better. The leaves of the thorn held a special power. Placed under Leanas mattress, they would keep any man from her bed, though only one man mattered.
Jamie.
She spread out the leaves from one end of the bed to the other, sobered by the sight of them. Some said it was dangerous to bring hawthorn into the house.

There was more in her reticule—dried myrde leaves and willow sap in a tiny bottle—which Rose intended to put to good use as soon as she reached the kitchen. She smoothed the cover on Leanas bed, then backed out of the room, latching the door behind her with a sigh of relief.
Stay away, Jamie.

She hastened down the stair, wondering if Neda was using her teapot at the moment. The kitchen was quieter than usual, which made things easier.
Ah.
The empty teapot was sitting on the shelf waiting for her, and a pot of water was boiling on the hearth. After pouring the hot liquid over the myrde leaves, she added a drip of the willow sap, then dropped the lid onto the pot while it steeped. Three days in a row, that's what the old wives said. Three days in a row to keep a babe from a woman's womb. From now until Candlemas, Rose would see that her sister had tea each afternoon, served by her own hand.

Deep inside, something tugged at her conscience. “Nae, it must be done,” she whispered to herself, finding a cup and saucer and cutting a square of Neda's gingerbread. What woman would want a child by a man who did not love her? After placing the tea items on a tray, she gingerly lifted it and carried it across the brick kitchen floor toward the dining room, knowing she would find Leana there, polishing silver.

Her sister glanced up as she walked in, her face as gray as the sky. Leana appeared exhausted most of the time but today even more so. Rose ignored the twinge of guilt that twisted inside her and walked toward the table, holding her offering aloft. “You've been so tired of late, Leana. I thought you might benefit from a pot of tea.”

She placed the tray in front of her sister, chagrined to see Leanas eyes fill with tears.
Please. Not tears.
She could bear many things, but watching her sister cry was not one of them. Leana needed to be punished
first; she needed to pay for what she'd done. ‘Twas only fair, just as their father had said.

“Th-thank you, Rose.” Leana lifted the cup to her lips, her hand trembling.

Rose could not stop herself from asking, “Are you…all right, Leana? You don't look well.”

“Just tired,” she sighed, sipping the tea. Her brow wrinkled, and she lifted the saucer to her nose. “What sort of brew is this?” Leana sniffed, then quickly drew back from it. “Bog myrde, Rose?” She put it aside with a wary eye and reached for the gingerbread instead. “Reverend Gordon says it's ideal for treating worms in children, but as I have neither a child nor worms, it seems an odd choice for tea.”

Rose stared at the teapot. Something was wrong. Hadn't that old hen Mistress Millar told her to use bog myrde? Or had she said simply
myrtle?
Perhaps the willow might still serve its purpose. She joined her sister at the table and pushed the tray closer. “Come. Drink up, Leana. I have it on good authority that tea will cure anything that ails you.”

“Forgive me, dearie.” She put the gingerbread aside. “Nothing tastes right lately.” Leana stretched her hand across the table, her gaze an entreaty, her heart held open before her like an unseen book. “ W7//you forgive me, Rose? Truly forgive me for how I've wronged you?”

Rose dropped her chin, hoping to hide the shame that heated her face. She'd avoided Leana all month, afraid of her own anger, afraid of her feelings for her sister that would not die, much as she fought them.
I will never forgive you!
That was what she'd screamed at her the day she'd returned home from Twyneholm. And she'd meant it then. She hadn't known what a burden it would be to stay angry day after day, hating someone she'd once loved so much.

“I do not know,” she finally confessed, the first honest thought she'd had in weeks. “I will try, Leana. But you've hurt me…deeply.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away, furious with herself for being so weak. “You…you.

“Aye, so I did. Without meaning to, I hurt you desperately.” Leana leaned forward, taking Rose's hands in hers, smoothing her fingers
across her skin, a mothers loving caress. “I was selfish, Rose. I was thoughtless. I was wrong, utterly wrong, to think that Jamie loved me when he doesn't. He loves you, dearie. I know that now, and I'm sorry, so very sorry…”

Rose could hold back her tears no longer. She let them flow, not caring whether she was strong or not, whether she held the upper hand. This was her sister, her only sister, her dearest Leana. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. How could she tell her what hurt most of all? It was not losing Jamie for a moment. It was losing Leana forever.

“Leana…” She swallowed her tears. “Don't you see? You are my sister and the only true mother I've ever known. Without you, I'm…lost.”

“Oh, my sweet Rose! I could never leave you.”

The sisters fell into each other's arms, their wet cheeks pressed tighdy together, their halting sobs filling the empty room. They whispered in each other's ears words of comfort they'd spoken since childhood. Gende words. Caring words. It was some time before they were able to let go of each other long enough to attend to their runny noses and dripping chins, sharing one linen handkerchief that soon was soaked.

“You look a fright,” Rose announced, then giggled in spite of her tears.

“And you look no better,” Leana said firmly, though a smile graced her reddened features as she touched the handkerchief to the corners of Rose's eyes. “Whatever am I to tell Father, who expects me in the spence any minute, prepared to recite passages from the Shorter Catechism?”

“Tell him nothing.” Rose quickly stood, brushing the last of her tears from her cheeks, then the wrinkles from her dress. “I will speak to Father myself, tomorrow evening when we return home from services. Jamie and I both will. We have all been punished long enough, Leana. None of us can bear a house full of misery for another long winter's month.”

Leana's clear gaze searched her, disbelief etched on her pale features. “How can you be so kind to me, Rose?”

“That's easily answered.” Her sister leaned over and pressed her cheek against Leana's. “I had a kind mother.”