Whence Came a Prince (56 page)

“He did.” Rab scratched at his shirt, as though a bath might be in order. “Ane o’ his herds was plannin’ to drive the lambs tae his farm in Sorbie parish.”

Jamie sat up straighter in the wagon. “The men with him are
shepherds?
”

“Herds and hinds, the lot o’ them. Whan I walked through the inn door, me heart thumpin’ ‘neath me sark, I thocht I’d be facin’ ten scoonrels.” Rab grinned. “Turns oot, I was leukin at ten o’ meself.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, all the while erasing the image he’d carried in his mind. Of Evan glowering at him from the head of a rough-hewn table, flanked by ten ruthless men. Scoundrels, just as Rab had expected. “Shepherds,” Jamie repeated, still trying to grasp the truth. “And farmworkers.”

“Braw lads, they were. Like most workin’ men.” Rab winked at Eliza, who turned the color of red campion in May.

“And plainly attired, I hope.” Jamie put aside the cooled poultice and rearranged his clothing. Though his coat and breeches were clean, they had little else to recommend them. He’d hoped to meet Evan in the manner in which he’d confronted Lachlan—a well-dressed prince, not a barefoot pauper. Instead, Jamie would take a humbler approach in every respect. And pray it would not cost him his life.

“Was Evan kind to you?” Rose asked.

“Weel, he wasna cruel.” The shepherd rubbed his chin, covered with red bristles. “Nor was he a man o’ mony wirds.”

Jamie nodded in acknowledgment. “When we were young, I was the one who used words, mostly as a weapon. My brother used his dirk.”

His own dirk would be useless now, Jamie realized, since without boots, he could not carry the dagger properly. The weapon would remain in the wagon, along with his harmless pistol. Not his sword, though; he had a use for that.

They’d reached the edge of Monnigaff, an old village of one-story houses thatched with straw that clustered along a low piece of ground where the Penkill Burn spilled into the River Cree. Not nearly so wide here as at Ferrytown, the river was tamed by stony banks and spanned by a bridge built some forty years past. Monnigaff’s Saturday market was under way with visitors from surrounding parishes bustling about, purchasing meal and malt.

Jamie wondered if he would even find his brother in such a crowd. “Davie, get the lambs settled north of town. And, Leana, kindly park the wagon where you can.”

She continued past Cree Bridge to a shady spot along the road running parallel with the Penkill and guided the horses to a stop. “Will we …
all
be meeting Evan?”

“You will,” Jamie said firmly. A public confession, with his family as witnesses, would be best. Easing onto the ground, he strapped on his scabbard and forced himself to put his full weight on his leg. He’d not waited two years to greet his brother with a limp. It was not sympathy he wanted but mercy. Forgiveness for the unforgivable. Only then could he hold up his head as laird of Glentrool. Only then would he live in freedom.

When Leana stood, he cautioned her, “Let Rab lift you down, lass. I am sorry that I cannot.”

Leana leaned over the edge of the wagon so Rab might catch her. Once on her feet, she gathered a sleeping Ian in her arms, then turned toward her sister. “Jamie, I think it best that Rose not be moved.”

Though Rose was sitting up, her face was chalky and her eyes wide. “Jamie, will you mind terribly if I wait here?”

“Not at all.” He leaned across the wagon side to clasp her hands, which were too cool for a warm August day. “I only mind that you are not well, Rose.” Was she still bleeding? Was their child in danger?
Heaven help me!
’Twas impossible, having his heart and mind in two places. “We’ll not delay after services tomorrow,” he promised, “but will press on to Glentrool. Would that suit you?”

“Aye,” she said on a sigh, clearly relieved. “I shall sleep in my new home tomorrow night.”

“You will, Rose.” He tightened his hold on her. “Your new home. On the Sabbath.”
Lord, may it be so.
He was loath to leave her, yet his search for Evan could not be delayed. “I must find my brother. Pray for me, lass.”

“Every moment you are gone.” She lowered her head to kiss his hands. “Our children need a father, Jamie. Please come back to me.”

With her words pounding inside him, Jamie lined up his party, intending to present them to Evan with all the dignity the occasion merited. Though they were a bedraggled group, worn down from days of travel, they were important to him and deserved a proper introduction. “Rab, you’ll stand behind me, aye? And have Davie join you? Then Annabel and Eliza. Then Leana, with my son.”

Jamie turned round to catch his wife’s eye, hoping to encourage her. “This is your place, Rose. The place of honor.”

Rose’s smile was faint. “If you say so, Jamie.”

“Mr. McKie.” Rab yanked at his coat sleeve. “Thar he is.”

Jamie looked up in time to see his brother emerge from the Cree Inn, not fifty ells away. Dressed in a drugget coat and unpolished boots. Bright red hair tied at the nape of his thick neck.
Evan McKie.
Bold as ever, standing on the threshold, surveying the crowd. His herds and hinds gathered round him, none taller than his shoulders.

Jamie held his ground, waiting until Evan looked his way.

Their eyes met.
At last, my brother.

Jamie moved first, leaving his household well behind him, where they would be safe. He walked erect, without limping, ignoring the pain in his leg. Though his head and feet were bare, his sword hung at his side.
Wait for me, Evan. Let me come to you.

The milling crowd between the two men stepped back, giving Jamie room. Or so it seemed to him, so focused were his thoughts.
For thou art my hope, O Lord.

When Evan took the first step toward him, Jamie stopped and bowed. Low, as a servant might. His fingers brushed the ground. Dirt covered his feet.

After a moment he straightened and moved forward, the path before him widening. As he walked, Jamie put his hand to his sword, slowly pulling it free of the scabbard. Not with a mighty, metallic ringing, but with a quiet sound, a single note.

Jamie stopped again, ten ells from his brother, and laid the blade of the sword across his outstretched palms. The language of surrender. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he slowly knelt in the dusty marketplace. Head bowed, arms trembling, Jamie lifted the sword above his shoulders, above his head, reaching toward his brother until he could reach no more.

Footsteps thundered toward him. The blade was knocked from his hands. Rough hands pulled him to his feet.

“
Jamie!
” Evan dragged him into his embrace, his tear-stained face buried in Jamie’s neck.

He collapsed in his brother’s arms. Tears streamed down his face. Jamie did not care who saw him thus. He was no less a man.

“You’ve come home, my brother.” Evan groaned the words, tightening his hold on him. “You’ve come home.”

Jamie tried to speak, tried to say the words he had come to say. “I have sinned against heaven. And against you, Evan. I am no longer worthy to be called your brother.”

“Och, Jamie.” Evan released him but not before he shook him.
Hard. “You are the only brother I have.” He scowled, but Jamie knew the look well. There was no malice in it. “Did you think I’d bear a grudge against you forever?”

“I did.” Jamie wiped the heels of his hands across his
eyes
, his relief so great he almost laughed aloud. “If not forever, at least my own lifetime.”

“ ’Tis true, I threatened to kill you. On the night you swicked our father, I well might have.” Evan clamped a meaty hand on Jamie’s shoulder, emphasizing each phrase with a firm grip. “But the humble man who wrote me that letter was not the same man who ran from Glentrool two years ago. My lost brother is found. I’ll not lose you again, Jamie.”

Jamie swallowed. “Nor I you.”

Evan dragged his sleeve across his unshaven face with a ragged snort, then pointed to the men behind him. “These are the new herds and hinds I fee’d at Lammas.” He scratched his head, tangling some of his woolly red hair. “I’d introduce you to them, Jamie, but I haven’t learned all their names yet.”

The men smiled among themselves, clearing their throats and shuffling their feet. Whatever sort of man they thought had hired them, Jamie felt certain they’d seen a new side of Evan McKie. The market crowd began to disperse, as if they’d received what they came for that day.

Evan looked past him, his features softening. “Are those folk yours, the ones lined up by the wagon? I’d best meet them, aye?” He swept Jamie’s sword from the ground and returned it, then both men walked toward the McKie household. “Mother says you’ve married, Jamie. Is the lad my nephew, then?”

“Indeed he is. The Lord has blessed me far more than I deserve.” Jamie proudly named each member of his party. “Rab Murray you’ve met. And here’s another shepherd from Newabbey parish, Davie Tait.” It was hard to ignore their astonished expressions, their mouths hanging open like fish hoping for a fly.

Eliza and Annabel dropped deep curtsies as Jamie introduced them. “I’ll be sending the lads back with the wagon, but the lasses will be coming with us to Glentrool.”

“You’ll not like cleaning the place,” Evan warned them. “See that
Jamie calls you lady’s maids from the start so Ivy Findlay won’t get ideas about putting you to work with mop and broom, aye?”

“Aye!” they answered in unison, blushing at his attention.

Two more steps, and Jamie stood in front of Leana. Her moss green gown followed the contours of their growing child. She’d been crying, for her pale cheeks were still wet. He leaned forward and murmured, “Tears of joy, I hope.”

Her eyes shone like stars. “I have never been more proud of you, Jamie.”

He maintained control, but barely. “Evan, this is my first wife, Leana McBride. And our firstborn, Ian James McKie.”

Evan bowed to Leana, appraising her with a decidedly male eye. “A lovely lass and a fine mother, I see.” He stuck out a stout finger for Ian to latch on to, which he promptly did, giving it a hearty shake. “Your lad must be about my son’s age.”

Jamie hesitated before he answered. He would not allow their sons to drive a wedge between them or to fight with each other in years to come. “Ian was born on the fourth of October, the day after your Archie.”

“Ah, so you know about Archibald.” Evan grunted. “I suppose Mother told you the news.”

“Nae, ’twas John McMillan of Glenhead. I saw him at Keltonhill Fair.” Jamie smiled as Ian bent his uncle’s finger hard enough that Evan yelped and snatched it back. “Truth is, Brother, I thought I might see
you
at Keltonhill.”

Evan’s red eyebrows arched. “As I recall, Mother ordered us ne’er to climb that hill on Fair day again.”

“You’ll not tell her, aye?” Jamie adjusted Hastings’s bridle. “I bought this beast there.”

“I’ve no interest in your horse, James, when I’ve another fair
flooer
to meet.” Evan swung round, a broad grin on his ruddy face. “Who might this lass be?”

“A flower indeed.” Ashamed of his negligence, Jamie kissed Rose’s hand in apology, relieved to find it warmer than before. Her dark blue gown made her skin look like porcelain. Despite the dryness of her lips, she was smiling, and her eyes bore a bit more sparkle. “Evan, this is
Rose McKie, my second wife. She will bear me another blessing come January.”

Evan lowered his head and said in a hoarse whisper, “
Two
wives? I didn’t think you’d been gone that long.”

Jamie shifted his stance, for his leg had begun to ache. “ ’Tis a complicated story, which I’ll save for somewhere other than the street.”

“If you say so.” Evan straightened. “Though you might want to have an answer ready when you see folk at kirk in the morn’s morn.” He nodded toward the old Monnigaff church across the Penkill Burn. “Two wives, both carrying your bairns …”

Evan’s voice trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Leana had her letter ready for Reverend Erskine, but it would hardly be passed round the kirk. As the native parishioner, Jamie knew the answers must come from him.

“ ’Twill be strange,” Jamie admitted, “to see the household in the morn. And trail home behind them after services. Is Father in good health?”

“I’ve not seen him in a fortnight, but, aye, he was well. Mother, as always, will be glad to see her beloved son.” His brother’s words bore no bitterness. Jamie had been their mother’s favorite, and they both knew it. Evan slung an arm round Jamie’s shoulders and walked him up the road a bit. “About the forty lambs you sent me. I’ve pasturelands of my own down in Sorbie, with more sheep than I can count. Why not keep what’s yours and take them on to Glentrool?”

Jamie knew why. “Because I gave those sheep as a tithe. Not only to you, but to the Almighty.” He glanced sideways at his brother, wondering how he might react. Their father had always been the halie one at Glentrool, seeking an audience with God. Not them. “The lambs were stolen from me,” Jamie confessed, “but the Lord restored them. ’Tis only right that you keep my tithe meant for him. And for you.”

Evan slowed his steps, releasing his hold on Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ve become a right gracie man, James McKie.”

“I ken what the grace of God looks like.” Jamie met his gaze, brother to brother. “Because today I saw it on your face.”

Now it was Evan’s turn to look uncomfortable. “ ’Tis what the Buik
says, aye? ‘Grace for grace.’ ” Evan shrugged, though Jamie could see that his words had pleased him. “I’ll keep your lambs, Jamie. Though they appear to be runts of twins. Like someone else I ken.”

Jamie laughed. “They
are
runts, every one of them.”

“Sometimes runts fill out.” Evan eyed him from head to toe. “I believe you could take me in a fight now.”

Jamie extended his hand. “A fight won’t be necessary, my brother.”

Evan clasped Jamie’s hand in his. “Indeed it will not.”

“Jamie?” Leana came hurrying up to him, anxiety etched across her brow. “I wonder if we might find our lodging. Rose would be more comfortable … if she …”

“I’ll come at once, lass.” He touched her arm in assurance. “Evan, I fear I must away.” Jamie started for the wagon, walking backward as he called to his brother, “Bring Judith and your son to Glentrool for a visit. Or we’ll head south to Sorbie in the spring, when my children are safely delivered.”