Thorn in My Heart (6 page)

The weight of it nearly crushed him. He longed to cry out the truth, to be spared the guilt growing inside him.
No, Father! It's Jamie. Look and see before it's too late!

It was already too late. Alec McKie had risen to his feet, using his other hand to steady his tottering legs. His voice was surprisingly strong, his words utterly sure. “May Almighty God bless you, my son. May he bless your land with rain and sun, your flocks and herds with abundant grazing. May your brother be subject to you and all Glentrool look to you as their laird. Cursed be anyone who curses you. And blessed be all who bless you.”

Jamie trembled beneath the man's touch, letting the words he'd waited a lifetime to hear sink deep into his soul. Never mind that they were his by proxy. They were his, forever. His father had blessed him, had deemed him worthy to bear the hallowed name
McKie.

“Thank you, Father,” he whispered in response, straightening to look into his father's face, praying his sire might know the truth after all. The eyes were open but unseeing, the face smiling yet aimed at some distant point across the room.

It was then Jamie heard voices coming from outside the house. Evan. Judith. His mother, sounding frantic. Had they been there long? This much was clear: They were headed in his direction.

“I must go.” Jamie tried to sound calm, bolting to his feet and gathering the remains of dinner with little grace. “I…1 will do my best to honor your blessing.” Plate and silver in hand, he hurried to the door that led to the kitchen. To freedom, he hoped. To escape. At the last he turned to watch his father drop back into his chair, confusion etched on
the patriarchs features. Jamie called across the room, neglecting to lower his voice. “Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for…leaving so quickly.”

Jamie yanked open the door, pressing his armful of dishes against the borrowed plaid, soiling it further. The kitchen was blessedly empty. He discarded the remains of dinner and tossed the musty plaid aside, his mind racing.

Two rooms away familiar voices drew closer, and the front door shut with a sharp bang.

The sky is changed!—and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong.

G
EORGE
G
ORDON,
L
ORD
B
YRON

A
loud crack of thunder rumbled through Rose McBrides open bedroom window, rattling the panes and her nerves as well. Throwing aside her woolen coverlet, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried barefoot across the room. To her dismay, the rain had already drenched the curtains. Och! What a nuisance!” She thrust one arm into the downpour and yanked the casement sash closed.

Patting herself dry with the hem of her nightgown, Rose shivered in the darkness as she watched the rain pelt against the glass at a sharp angle. Sheep bleated in the distance, a pitiful sound like lost children calling for their mother. “Hush now, wee ones.” Rose peered out into the inky night, knowing they were safe yet worrying nonetheless. Auchengrays flocks were accustomed to copious amounts of wet Scottish weather, but thunder and lightning were another matter. There was naught to be done but wait for the storm to run its noisy course and hope the morning would bring a warm October sun and drier skies.

Rose gathered her damp nightgown around her and climbed back into her box bed, grateful for its cozy warmth. Built into the wall, the enclosed bed had three solid sides and a fourth that opened into the room. She closed her bed curtains, then burrowed deep into the folds of wool, already feeling sleepy again, when a second thunderclap stopped her heart for a full beat.
“Hoot!” she
fumed, slapping her hands on the covers. Would she never get a decent nights rest?

Her ears perked up at the sound of soft footsteps in the hall outside her door. Someone else was awake.
Leana.
A gende knock on the door followed.

“Come in,” Rose whispered, loud enough so her sister might hear but their father would not. Lachlan McBride did not take kindly to midnight disturbances.

The door creaked as she opened the bed curtains. Leana glided in, bearing a candle that lit her womanly features, now decorated with a smile. “I knew you couldn't sleep through such a clamor.”

“Youre right, as always.” Rose patted the edge of her bed, making room for company. “Sit you down,” she said, which Leana did, easing onto the heather mattress.

Five years older and many shades paler, Leana was in some ways her mirror image, in others her complete opposite. They were the same unremarkable shape and size. Not too tall, not too short, not too round, not too thin. The same wavy hair fell down to their elbows, more sparse than they both liked but easily dressed. The same slender hands and feet graced their limbs.

By the light of day, those similarities shrank to nothing. Only their striking differences caught the eyes of their neighbors. Her shiny black mane and Leanas colorless one. Her dark
eyes
, which every man noticed, and Leanas grayish blue ones, which nigh to vanished in a certain light. Her rosy lips and Leanas full but wan smile. The two sisters were sunlight and shadow, summer and winter. As one blossomed, the other seemed to wither. Rose could no more explain it than she could take credit for it.

Leana glanced at the rain-streaked window. “The sheep will be fine, wont they?”

“You know they will.”

“And what of you, my little sister?” Leana leaned closer, examining her. “Rose, you look unwell.”

She jerked her chin, embarrassed by such scrutiny. She'd been feeling a bit feverish all day, but what of it? “A good nights sleep will cure whatever ails me. No need to concern yourself.”

Leana regarded her evenly. “Is that a hint you're dropping?”

“I'm saying I don't need you to fuss over me, Leana.”

Her older sister abrupdy stood. “And so I shan't.”

“Corne now, Leana. No need to get all
kittlie”
The woman was too sensitive by half, and Rose knew all her tender spots. She tugged on the sleeve of Leana's nightgown. “Stay with me until the storm passes.”

Leana setded onto the bed, her face pointed toward the window. Neither spoke for a full minute, listening to the tempest raging outside Auchengray's whitewashed walls.

In the flickering candlelight, Rose studied her sisters profile and was struck anew by how much older Leana looked now than at the start of summer. A woman through and through, ready for marriage and motherhood. More than ready. Their father had yet to find a suitor worthy of Leana, or so he said. Rose saw through his subterfuge. With no wife under his roof and no more guineas in his ledger for yet another housemaid, their father wanted efficient Leana to himself. To tend the kitchen garden and spin the coarse wool from their blackface sheep and stir prunes into his cock-a-leekie soup.

Rose feared it might be the same for her in a few years. Auchengray needed her skilled hands with the flocks, her gende touch with the horses. Most of the local gentry made certain their daughters were engaged in more genteel pursuits—painting on glass, making wax flowers, writing letters, and playing whist—but not their father. He saw no reason for his daughters to lead a life of leisure when their able hands spared him from hiring more servants. If either of the girls ever married, their husbands would be forced to pay handsomely, Rose was certain of that.

Let some son of a Galloway farmer steal one of his daughters for a song? Not Lachlan McBride. Not this year. Not any year.

“It wasn't the thunder that woke me,” Leana finally confessed, fingers picking absendy at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I haven't slept a wink.”

“You?” She
was dumbfounded. Leana was the soundest of sleepers.

“I couldn't help it, dearie.” Leana didn't meet her gaze, staring instead at the window as lightning tore a ragged gash in the night sky. “Remember, our father had a visitor
yestreen.”

Not just any visitor it seemed. “Do you mean a…suitor?”

When Leana shrugged at the question, Rose touched her hand in silent support. Courtship was ho longer a topic for easy discussion. Not
when so many young men of late had crossed Auchengray's threshold hoping to catch a glimpse of
her
instead of seeking out Leana.

“Not a suitor,” Leana finally admitted with a lengthy sigh. “Merely an interested party.”

“Ah.” Rose grinned in anticipation. Nicholas Copland probably. Hadn't he cast an admiring glance at Leana on the Sabbath last? A studious sort, good with words. She watched Leanas face, hoping she was right. “Does this interested party of yours have a name?”

Another wave of thunder rumbled through the room as Leanas gaze met hers. “Fergus McDougal.”

“
What?That
horrid old farmer from Kirkbean?” 1 he very one.

Rose shot to her feet. “Under no circumstances are you to marry that man!”

“If they come to some agreement, I'll have no choice.” Leana rose and stood next to her, folding her arms tighdy against her gown as though suddenly chilled. “I dare not go against Fathers wishes on so serious a matter.”

“Och! Never mind about Father. What are
your
wishes, Leana?”

“Daft as it sounds, I've always dreamed of marrying a man who loves me.” She wandered toward the darkened windows, staring out at the stormy night sky. “A man who would choose me above all others and love me for who I am.” Leana released a lengthy sigh, then turned toward Rose. “Aye, but this courting has nothing to do with love.”

“And everything to do with money.” Rose clenched her fists as bitter, angry tears tightened her throat. “Fergus McDougal, of all people! How dare Father even consider such a match?”

“Because he wants something from the man. Grazing land, silver coin, dairy cows—only heaven knows.” Leana sighed heavily, clearly resigned to her fate. “You know what Father says: ‘The older daughter must marry first.’”

“Where is that written, I'd like to know.”

Leana pressed a finger to her lips and guided Rose away from the door. “Hush, dearie, or you'll wake him.” She leaned closer and added, “I'd rather not confess how I learned about McDougal's offer.”

“Confess it to
me
at least.” She couldn't resist scolding her. “And shame on you for keeping such
ugsome
news to yourself all day.” While her sister described the conversation she'd overheard outside the spence, Rose fought to keep her temper in check. Fergus McDougal! What
was
their father thinking? When her own wedding day came—and that would be many years hence, for she had no intentions of throwing her youth away on marriage and motherhood—Rose meant to marry the wealthiest, bonniest lad in Galloway, whether her father approved of the man or not.

“Nothing is decided yet,” Leana concluded, her features lined with concern. “Do mention me in your prayers, Rose.”

“You know I will.” Overcome, Rose threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. Her only sibling, her dearest friend. She pressed her warm cheek against Leana's cooler one. “No one matters more to me than you do, dear sister.”

Envy is born in a man from the start.

H
ERODOTUS

Y
our brother means to kill you, Jamie.” His mother clutched his forearm, pulling him closer. “Ivy overheard him threatening to do so this very night. Just do what I say—”

“Haven't I done that one time too many?” Jamie yanked his sleeve free and turned to face the hearth. The scent of roasted meat dripping with spicy herbs still lingered about the kitchen, filling his nostrils with the stench of his deceit.

“Come now, lad.” His mothers voice took on a cajoling tone. “There's a remedy for everything, even those things that don't turn out the way we'd planned.”

“It was
your
plan, Mother, not mine.” By sheer luck he'd slipped away only moments before Evan had marched into the kitchen with his own plans in mind. Plans to serve an evening meal of venison to their father. Plans to hear a blessing spoken over his head. Plans to subdue his younger brother for good. Plans which, Jamie knew, had gone terribly awry.

“Are you going to tell me what happened after I left?”

His mother gestured wildly as she spoke, clearly agitated. “I told Evan and Judith the discarded dishes were yours, that you'd eaten alone and left. They roasted the roebuck together, and I…well, I helped them. To make sure the meat was seasoned properly. And to give you time to…to…”

He grimaced. “Escape.”

“Aye. After Judith went upstairs to bed, Evan served your father himself. I listened at the door, of course—”

“Of course.”

“And as soon as Evan spoke, your father demanded to know who
he was. When Evan told him…” She gulped, her eyes wet with tears. “Oh, Jamie. Your father was so angry his voice shook.”

Jamie's stomach turned to stone. “What of Evan?”

“He…” She bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “He cried out, loud as the
deid
bell at a funeral. Begged your father to bless him, too. Not once, but three times.” Her shoulders drooped, and her chin fell to her chest. “It was an awful thing to hear, Jamie.”

“Father blamed me, not you, didn't he?” Jamie watched her head nod ever so slighdy. “And Evan the same?” A second nod. “Did Father give him any sort of blessing?”

As she lifted her head to answer him, the outer kitchen door banged open, and a rain-soaked wind blew into the room. Jamie turned around slowly, knowing what he would find: a lone figure wrapped in a sodden plaid, glaring at him with hate-filled eyes.

“These were in the stables.” Evan flung a familiar pair of goatskin gloves, which slapped against Jamie's legs and fell to the floor. “Care to explain yourself, Brother?”

Rowena answered instead, her voice trembling. “Bide a wee while, lad. Hand me your—”

“Haven't you taken enough out of my hands this day, Mother?” Evan's words, sharp as their father's broadsword, cut through the air, clearly wounding her.