Whence Came a Prince (52 page)

Leana and Rose exchanged smiles.
One granddaughter. Twin grandsons. Please God.

Jamie’s exasperated groan said a great deal about life with the McKies at Glentrool.

“
Watch
for me?” Jamie stared at the letter. “So he might welcome me … or kill me?”

“Does it not say?” Rose pulled the paper closer, her anxiety clearly mounting as Jamie continued to read.

“But you stood up to Father and won,” Rose reminded him, her pride showing. “Surely you can stand up to your brother.”

Jamie shook his head. “Two entirely different matters, Rose. Your
father was in the wrong, accusing me of theft. My brother has every right to accuse me, for I am guilty as charged.”

Leana heard the years of regret threaded through his words. He would have no peace until things with Evan were resolved, for ill or for good. As Jamie finished reading the last few lines of his mother’s letter, Leana heard a note of hopefulness return to his voice.

Jamie folded the letter, his eye already on the door.

R
ose could not have been happier. Comfortably positioned at the far end of the wagon, she’d elevated her legs, as Leana insisted. The last three bags of her father’s gold, wrapped in old plaids, formed an ideal footrest. Just as they’d made a fine seat cushion when her father searched her room at the Murray Arms.

Lachlan McBride had not discovered her secret. Neither had Leana nor Jamie. Rose intended her record to remain spotless on that score. Three more collection boxes, and she’d be set free from his gold and her guilt forever. The witch’s knotted cord was not so easily discarded. Too evil to be placed inside a kirk, too hazardous to be left lying about, the gold cord needed to be buried in unhallowed ground. When the opportunity presented itself, Rose would see to it.

She was convinced that sitting on the coins, hard as they were, was not what had caused her spotty bleeding. “Not uncommon,” Leana had said. Rose trusted her sister completely on such matters, opposing her on one point only: She would not tell Jamie. Not until they reached Glentrool and all his concerns about Evan were resolved. Besides, she’d not noticed a single spot of blood since early that morning and might never see another. Why trouble her husband and embarrass herself needlessly?

At peace with her decision, Rose leaned back, basking in the Galloway sunshine. The skies were utterly clear, the air freshened by the winds off Fleet Bay. Rising high above the hills, the Castle of Cardoness dominated the scenery with its stark stone walls. Brief glimpses of the water came and went as they rolled along the shore—one minute rocky, the next boggy and full of dangerous channels that changed with the tides.

Annabel kept a watchful eye on Ian, lest he crawl too near the edge of the wagon. The maids amused him with cradlesongs and hearthside tales, using hands and fingers to act out a favorite old rhyme.

At the word “cradle,” they pointed to Ian’s old oaken bed—no longer a repository for stolen goods—and he shook his head.

Rose laughed. “That cradle is too small for you, isn’t it, dear boy? Don’t grow up
too
soon, or your twin brothers won’t be able to keep up with you.” Before Annabel or Eliza caught her slip of the tongue, Rose pointed to the bay, hoping to distract them. “Look, there are Mr. Murray’s islands!” She squinted across the broad expanse of water. “They say on a clear day you can see the Isle of Man.” What she really longed to see was Jamie, who was trailing far behind them, with nowhere else to drive his sheep except along the road. The wagon had not passed many vehicles that day or any herds at all. With the Lammas fairs over and the crops harvested, Galloway was at rest, enjoying the August sunshine before the days grew short and the green hills faded to brown.

Just past the ruins of Barholm Castle, Leana guided the wagon to the side of the road, then turned round to check on her passengers. “Jamie thought we’d spend the night on the high ground near Kirkdale, where the lambs might graze.”

“A kirk?” Rose shifted her feet, thinking of the gold.

“We’ll be sleeping beneath the stars, for there are no decent inns to be found between here and Monnigaff. And any farmhouses in this neighborhood would require more clambering over the braes than is prudent.” Leana’s gaze landed on Rose, her meaning clear. “Hang on to your bonnets, lasses, for the horses have a steep hill to mount on our behalf.”

Rose took Leana at her word, holding her hat by the brim as the wagon tipped back to a precipitous angle. Their horses, after a two-day rest in Gatehouse, easily pulled them up the hill. Blackface sheep
bleated on one side of the narrow, winding road, while far below them a burn snaked its way through the wooded glen. Rose stared in amazement at the octagonal steading in passing, but her hopes were dashed when she saw the abandoned estate kirk. She’d find no collection box within its decrepit walls.

Ferrytown of Cree would have a preaching house, though, followed by Jamie’s kirk at Monnigaff. She would find a home for her last fistful of gold before the round turret of Glentrool came into view.

Leana eased the wagon to a stop on a bare, almost desolate rise surrounded by a thickly wooded glen. Behind them were two chambered cairns. A row of standing stones guarded one of the ancient tombs, the gray slabs of rock stark against the blue sky. Far below them, the early evening sun gilded the bay, transforming it into a glistening pool of silver and orange.

Since both sisters had promised Jamie they would not climb down on their own, they sat on the wagon bed and entertained Ian. Annabel and Eliza spread out a blanket on a grassy expanse not far from the wagon and unpacked their cold supper, provided by the Murray Arms.

Within the hour, bleating lambs signaled the lads’ arrival. Rose stood with care, balancing herself against one of the taller trunks. “There’s Rab!” she cried, waving at him. She noticed Eliza had stood as well, shading her eyes against the setting sun to watch the young shepherd approach. Might the maid have second thoughts about moving to Glentrool if it meant never seeing red-haired Rab Murray again?

Davie Tait ambled toward them as well, and Jamie brought up the rear astride Hastings. They’d traveled six miles since morning; a short distance for wagons and horses, a long one for lambs. At Jamie’s command, the dogs herded the flock toward the burn and the lush grass along its banks. The men washed their hands and faces, carried Rose and Leana safely to the ground, then threw themselves on the outstretched blanket, eying the food with obvious interest.

“Beef
bridies
,” Rab said, reaching for the meat-filled pastry. “Haddock
smokies.
Och, sic a feast!”

Supper was consumed at leisure, served up with the herds’ stories of their adventures thus far. Rab was gregarious and Davie shy, but both
lads could tell a good tale, encouraged by the rapt attention Annabel and Eliza afforded them and the eerie setting the cairns provided. Leana, meanwhile, had her hands full with Ian, while Rose leaned against Jamie and tried not to notice the ache low in her back.

With a cloudless sky above, the gloaming seemed to last for hours, suspending time in a perpetual twilight of purplish blue. As the light finally began to fade, Davie surprised them with a ballad. They promised to sing along, but no one did, letting Davie’s tenor float through the still evening air.

Rose did not remember drifting off to sleep. But she remembered waking in Jamie’s arms, wrapped in a warm plaid and her warmer husband. Night had truly fallen.

He pulled her closer. “I did not mean to wake you, lass.”

“I’m glad you did.” When she kissed Jamie’s neck, his skin felt rough against her mouth. “Is everyone else asleep?”

“Aye. Your sister and the maids are in the wagon with Ian, and the lads are over the brae.” He fell silent. “I’ve not … slept yet.”

She turned in his embrace, seeking a better look at him. “ ’Tis Evan that worries you?”

His silence was answer enough.

Rose longed to comfort him as only a wife could, to wrap herself round him on their grassy bed and chase away any thoughts of his vengeful brother. But she dared not.
Place your bairns’ health above all other concerns.
Leana’s words of caution, well noted.

Rolling onto her back, Rose gazed up at the blackness of the night and the quarter moon beginning to rise. If she could not offer her husband solace, perhaps the One who inhabited the heavens might. “Jamie …” She rose to a sitting position, the better to collect her thoughts. “You said this morning that you are blessed of the Almighty.”

He groaned. “How prideful that sounds.”

“We all know ’tis true. Even Father said so.” Rose smiled into the darkness. “Much as it grieved the man to admit it.”

Jamie sat up beside her, his elbows resting on his bent knees. “I’ve done naught to deserve God’s favor. Who knows when he will tire of me and lift his hand?”

Rose rested her head on the solid warmth of his shoulder. “When you dream, Jamie, when he whispers to you in the night, does the Almighty put hedgerows round his promises? ‘I will do this, but only if you do that?’ ”

Jamie was not long in responding. “Nae. In spite of my foolishness, his mercy has never wavered.”

“Then why would he forsake you when you cross paths with Evan?”

He slid his arm round her. “Perhaps you are right, dear wife. Though you ken ’tis not my own life I value but yours. And our child’s. And the lives of Leana and Ian and all the others entrusted to my care.” Jamie leaned forward and kissed her soundly, the strength of his conviction clear. “I do not fear death for myself, Rose. Only for those I love.”

“Then have no fear,” she said softly, welcoming his kiss again, opening her heart to him.
My brave Jamie. My love.

It was only when he lifted his mouth from hers that Rose noticed the colors in the heavens above them. “Jamie, the sky!”

They were both on their feet in an instant, mouths open in awe.

“ ’Tis the
merry dancers
.” Jamie clasped her hand, his gaze pointed upward. “Like angels on the wing. Have you seen them before, Rose?”

“Once, as a lass. But never like this.”

A display of northern lights flooded the distant horizon with flaming patches of red and gold, waxing and waning, dancing across the sky. A shimmering veil of light, moving in majestic silence. A presence bearing down on them.

Jamie swept his arm in an arc, taking in the ancient stones, black against the vivid hues. “They call this place Cairnholy. The name suits it, aye? This night especially.”

Rose turned at the sound of snapping twigs. Rab and Davie drew near, rubbing their eyes in wonderment.

“Will ye leuk at that?” Davie said. “A blissin, tae see sic a thing in Gallowa’.”

Rab tipped his head back. “A miracle, I’d say.” As they watched the curtain of light waving over them, he confessed, “I’m glad tae see the merry dancers, Mr. McKie, but the cairns make me skin crawl. We’ll sleep aside the wagon, if ye dinna mind.”

“Not at all, lad.” Jamie shifted his gaze to the upright stones, barely visible beneath the glowing sky. “Though I slept on a cairn once. The night I left Glentrool.”

Jamie said no more, but Rose saw the memory of that night reflected in his eyes. Sleepless hours filled with remorse. And loneliness. And fear.

I
mean to kill you, Jamie.

Jamie’s gaze stretched across the sands to Wigtownshire, his brother’s warning from two years past still twisting in his gut. Each hour they traveled today passed too quickly, each mile seemed too short. The heavenly visions of yestreen had faded into the grim realities of the present.

When they’d turned away from the waters of Wigtown Bay for the salt marshes and mud flats of the Cree estuary, Jamie had felt his brother drawing closer—one minute stalking him on foot on the shore road, the next charging down from the hills on horseback, then stealing across the river by boat instead of waiting for him seven miles north at Cree Bridge. Evan was equally at home on water or land and far more comfortable out of doors than within. His hunting bow was nigh attached to his shoulder, his flintlock musket an extension of his arm, and his dirk seldom far from reach.

Jamie glanced down, relieved at the sight of his own dagger lodged inside his boot. Good for hand combat, if it came to that, but useless if Evan pointed his musket at him across Cree Bridge. As a safeguard, Jamie now rode ahead of the others, with his flocks and herds behind him and his household positioned last.

He would take another precaution the moment they reached Ferry-town of Cree.

A small riverside village—bordered by Balloch Burn on the south and Moneypool Burn on the north—Ferrytown of Cree was nigh to an
island. Sailors and smugglers alike moored their vessels at the tidal harbor. When Jamie had described the place to Rab and Davie that morn, he’d told them, “You can hardly enter or leave the place without crossing a bridge.”