Whence Came a Prince (70 page)

“Are you suggesting you are without fault in this sordid situation?”

Jamie heard the incredulity in Richard Galbraith’s voice and did not blame him. A stranger tale of matrimony did not exist in all Christendom.
He unfolded his hands and pulled his paper into view. The elders had given him the perfect opening; it was time to walk through it.

“Gentlemen, I am completely at fault. I have in various ways failed both the women I have loved. As to the exact details of my marriages, I would refer you to the Newabbey parish records. I am certain Reverend John Gordon would be willing to provide a copy.”

The minister patted his stack of papers. “He already has. I’ve shared the contents with the elders. Continue, Mr. McKie.”

They knew the whole of it, then.

Jamie looked down at his paper. Two lists made in the dark of the night. He began with the harder of the two.

“I have before me a brief list of my transgressions. Were I to tally them all, there would not be paper enough to hold them.” Though his heart was pounding, his voice remained calm. “I deceived my father. And I robbed my brother of his inheritance.” No one seemed surprised or asked for details. All of Monnigaff had heard the story. “To their eternal credit, both men have forgiven me.”

McTaggart flapped his hand. “Go on, Mr. McKie.”

The list did not get easier. “I shirked my responsibilities as husband to Leana by continuing to behave like a suitor with her younger sister, Rose, even though Leana was carrying my heir.” They had not heard that. Shame heated his neck and crawled up his face. “When Leana was sentenced to three Sabbaths on the cutty stool for hochmagandy, I supported her, but I did not do what I should have done.”

“And what was that, Mr. McKie?”

“I should have taken her place.”

The room fell silent.

Looking down at his scribbling, Jamie could only see how many sins he’d omitted from his list.

“The Newabbey parish records confirm all that Mr. McKie has confessed.” Reverend Moodie consulted his notes, then pushed the stack of papers aside. “I also have two letters. One from Reverend John Gordon dated the twenty-third of August, and one from Reverend Dr. John Scott of Twyneholm, dated the first of July. The second letter was actually written to John Gordon, but he forwarded it to me upon my recent inquiry
concerning Miss McBride.” He looked up. “When a woman arrives in my parish with child but without a husband, I have a right to ask questions. Both these letters address the moral standing of Leana McBride.”

“No woman stands higher.” Jamie looked the four of them in the eye. “The Buik says, ‘a gracious woman retaineth honour.’ These, then, are the graces of Leana McBride.” He stood without thinking, the scrape of his chair echoing in the quiet room.

Jamie gripped the second list in his hand.

“She loves unconditionally.” His throat began to squeeze shut.
You loved me, Leana, even when I did not love you.

“She extends mercy.”
You do, beloved. Always.
The list started to swim.

“She binds the wounds of the hurting. She comforts the afflicted.”
You cared for our Rose. And for me.

“She is the finest of mothers and the kindest of wives.”
And far more than I deserve.
He folded his list with care, then placed it inside his waistcoat.

Jamie met each man’s startled gaze without apology. “Kindly permit me to marry this gracie woman without delay. For I am confident that the letters you hold attest to all I have said.”

Reverend Moodie smiled. More broadly this time. “You are correct, sir. Both these men, who are highly esteemed ministers of the gospel, state emphatically that Leana McBride is a woman after God’s own heart. Imperfect, as we all are. Forgiven, as we all must be. We are fortunate to have her in our parish.”

As abruptly as he’d stood, Jamie resumed his seat, taking his first full breath in several minutes. “Are you saying that … we may marry? Without impediment?”

David McFadgen finally spoke, addressing the other elders. “What of his hurry to wed while he is still in mourning for his first … ah, his other … wife? Should we allow it, gentlemen?”

Reverend Moodie pursed his lips for a moment. “Mr. McKie’s fond regard and respect for his late wife is obvious. So are his responsibilities to Leana McBride and the impending birth of their child. ’Tis a hasty wedding, aye, and there are social implications. But nothing that falls under the authority of the kirk.” The minister almost smiled. “You will
be gossiped about, Mr. McKie, but I suspect you’ve grown accustomed to that.”

Jamie restated his question, still in disbelief. “Then Leana and I will be permitted to marry at once?”

The minister nodded toward the session clerk. “Provided you have the
cryin siller
for Mr. Galbraith, required for the reading of your banns …”

Jamie was already pulling his purse from beneath his waistcoat.
Beloved, they have agreed. They have agreed!

Richard Galbraith laid down his pen in the seam of his record book to receive Jamie’s silver. “If it suits you, I will read the banns on the first three Sundays in November with the expectation that you will marry shortly thereafter.” He slipped the coins in a small collection box and noted the payment in his records, watched carefully by Jamie. There would be no clerical errors made concerning
this
wedding. “You’ll pardon me for saying so, Mr. McKie, but why would so virtuous a woman want you for a husband?”

Jamie laughed, blinking away the last vestige of tears. “That, sir, is a question you will have to ask her.” He put away his purse. It was lighter now, his heart more so. “I do have a question for you, Reverend. If you had these letters in your possession and knew all the facts before I arrived—”

“Then why did I invite you here? I had two outcomes in mind, Mr. McKie. As a leading figure in our parish, you deserved an honest hearing. Rumors cannot put down roots where truth has first been planted.” The elders grunted in agreement. “And to be quite frank”—the minister’s brown eyes twinkled—“I wanted to see what kind of man you are. A test of your mettle, if you will.”

Jamie, half standing, hesitated. “And?”

“You passed, sir. With rather high marks for honesty. And humility.” Reverend Moodie walked round the table and offered Jamie his hand. His attentive wife stood at the door, Jamie’s greatcoat in her arms. “I am certain Miss McBride is waiting to hear of our decision. Are you homeward bound?”

“Aye, sir.” Jamie smiled as he reached for his coat. “Like the wind.”

A
capricious wind blew across the loch as Leana paced up and down the pier, her cloak wrapped snugly round her shoulders and neck, the hem brushing the damp stones at her feet. Her steps were slow and cadenced, like a woman walking a baby. Or like a bride dancing.
Please, may it be so!
If the kirk session allowed it. If the Almighty answered her prayers.
On thee do I wait all the day.

’Twas noon. The smirr had dissipated, leaving the air chilly, breezy, and moist. Jamie would be vexed with her for waiting out of doors. But the pier was the best vantage point for watching his approach. If she waited in the drawing room, she would not know until he walked through the door what their future might hold. This way, she would know by his very riding posture what the kirk had decided and have a moment to digest the news before they stood face to face.
Hurry, my love.

As if in answer, the distant thunder of Hastings’s hooves echoed against the hills, carrying across the loch. Her heart pounded in a matching rhythm as she turned due west. Jamie was at a full gallop. Did that bode well? Or was he riding hard out of anger and frustration? Because the session had refused. Because the two of them could not marry.

She gripped the wool fabric of her cloak with her gloved hands.
Please, Lord. My child needs a father. And I need Jamie.

He was almost in sight. The gelding’s black flanks and Jamie’s voluminous blue greatcoat darted among the trees, teasing her eye. She started toward the house, hurrying along the walk as quickly as her heavy cloak and heavier womb would allow.

She could see Jamie now. His head was held high. His hat was in his hand, waving. His voice carried over the wind. “Leana! Leana!”

Grasping her skirts, she began running toward him, calling his name, tears choking her voice.
Oh, my dear husband!

Jamie dismounted before Hastings had come to a full stop and covered the distance between them. Before she could catch her breath, he stole it from her and swept her into his arms. “Leana! My love, my bride.”

She clung to his neck. “Can it be true? Has the kirk session agreed?”

His words were muffled against her cloak, but she heard every one. “You are mine, Leana, and I am yours. Always.”

My Jamie. Truly mine.
She stanched her tears against his shoulder and waited for the earth to stop spinning. Or was that him, swinging her round in a circle?

“Jamie, please!” she managed to say, laughing. “Kindly put me down, dear man, or the child will come too soon.”

He lowered her at once, stepping back with a look of concern. “Och, lass! How could I be so careless?”

Leana pressed her hand to her heart, which was beating a merry pace. “No need to apologize.” She looked into his eyes, wanting to assure him. “I have never felt more cared for in all of my days.”

“Ah.” His worried expression vanished, and something else took its place. A certain light in his eyes, a sly curve to his generous mouth. A look she remembered well and had feared she might never see again. “ ’Tis my job to care for you, lass.” Jamie pulled her closer. “ ’Tis voice was both tender and rough. “ ’Tis my privilege to provide for you, to see to your comfort. To love you as your husband.”

His gaze landed on her mouth. Since proposing, Jamie had kissed her hand, her cheek, her brow. But he had not kissed her lips, not since that evening long ago in the bothy at Auchengray when they were still husband and wife.

He slowly leaned down, then paused, as if awaiting her permission.

Leana closed her eyes and lifted her mouth, granting it.

Their lips touched. Warmth seeped through her, as if she were standing before a stack of glowing peat. His mouth fitted perfectly to hers. Familiar and forgotten sensations sang through her limbs.

Yet it was the kiss of a gentleman, not a lover. Of a betrothed, not
a bridegroom. She understood and was not disappointed. On the contrary, she was thrilled. To be desired and yet honored was the greatest gift of all.

When their lips parted, he smiled down at her. “Passion must wait, lass, until we are wed.”

She glanced down at their bairn. “A bit longer than that, I’m afraid.”

His deep laugh made her shiver beneath her warm cloak. “I can be a patient man, Leana, when ’tis required. Though consider this fair warning: Once we are wed, I will kiss you however I please.”

“Aye.” She hid her smile in the double collar of his greatcoat.
Please.

Leana was waiting when Jamie returned from kirk the next Sabbath afternoon, still harboring a vague fear someone might have protested their union when the banns were read.

“The parishioners raised their collective eyebrows,” Jamie reported moments after walking through Glentrool’s door, “but none raised their hands. Two more Sundays, and all will be settled. Come the twenty-third of November, you will be my wife.”

“Then let me practice my wifely duties.” Leana led him from the entrance hall into the library, where she had a blazing fire in the hearth and a pot of hot chocolate on his desk, whisked from the kitchen the moment she heard his voice on the lawn. The day was raw with a biting wind from the north. Leana warmed his icy cheeks with her palms, taking the cold into her hands even as she delighted in the rough feel of his beard against her skin.

He smiled down at her, still wearing his greatcoat. “Two weeks and two days, my love.” Jamie had chosen a Tuesday so their wedding guests would not be required to journey on the Sabbath, no doubt thinking of Evan and Judith coming from Sorbie. Since Leana could not travel to the kirk, Reverend Moodie would come to Glentrool to perform the marriage service and bring the bride stool with him.

Leana reversed her hands so the warmer backs now pressed against his face. “I have started your waddin sark.” A brides tasks included sewing her betrothed a shirt for their wedding day. She’d fashioned
Jamie’s shirt from a bolt of fine cambric unearthed from his mother’s sewing kist. “I’ve also cut out my blue gown,” she told him. “Though once the child is born, I’ll need to restyle it.”

“Blue, is it?” Jamie’s smile broadened.

They both knew the auld rhyme.
If blue, ’tis love true.
“You may recognize the fabric when you see it. Rose bought it for me in Gatehouse of Fleet.” Leana paused, letting a ripple of sorrow wash over her. She could speak of Rose more easily now but never without missing her. “Later my sister confessed she’d used some of our father’s silver to buy my fabric.”

“ ’Tis only fitting.” Jamie lifted her hands from his face and kissed each one in turn. “The bride’s father is responsible for providing his daughter’s wedding gown. Good for Rose.”

Leana did not intend to use a tailor but would sew her gown herself with loving stitches and fond memories of the day she and Rose had shopped in the village. Though blue was an especially fine color for a wedding gown, Leana had chosen it primarily to include her sister in some way. Were theirs a June wedding, she would have filled the house with roses in her sister’s memory. But there were no blooms to be found in November gardens. Only holly and fir branches to brighten the rooms and add a sylvan scent.

Leana helped Jamie off with his coat and seated him at his desk. “Enjoy your chocolate while it’s hot. Our cold Sabbath meal awaits us on the sideboard in the dining room whene’er you choose.”

Instead, he slipped his arm round her waist and drew her beside him, resting his hand tentatively on their child, whose actions at the moment were so marked that even Jamie couldn’t miss seeing them. Once such attentions would have embarrassed her beyond bearing. But this was Jamie, the husband who’d rushed into Ian’s birthing room moments after their son was born and knew all there was to know about her body. If feeling his child kick against his hand gave Jamie peace of mind, even pleasure, she would not deny him.