Whence Came a Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

she hears it from
anither.
”
    Later that evening Rose sat propped up in the curtained shadows of their box bed, waiting for Jamie to return from Dumfries. Built into the wall, the wooden bed was enclosed on three sides, leaving one long side open to the room. In winter Rose thought it cozy; in the summer, confining. Yet, in any season, her box bed was more comfortable than Aunt Meg’s hurlie bed at Burnside Cottage.
    With her writing desk perched on her lap and a cluster of candles on the bedside table, Rose had started a letter to Leana half a dozen times, to no avail.
I have good news … Jamie and I have learned … Ian will have a brother or sister next January…
The words dried up each time, as if they were lodged inside the nub of her ink pen, needing only to be shaken out.
    Forgive me, Leana.
It always circled back to that.
    After crumpling yet another sheet of expensive paper and tossing it to the floor, Rose reached for the letter from Jamie’s mother on the table, glad for any excuse to delay her task. Jamie had read aloud every word of Aunt Rowena’s post; he would not mind his wife’s perusing it again. Rose felt guilty nonetheless as she unfolded it with care lest she wrinkle the paper. Leaning nearer the flickering candlelight, she squinted at the elaborate hand that decorated the page with swirls and flourishes.
    One thing became apparent with a second reading: Jamie’s
birsie
brother, born with red hair and a temper to match, was not the problem, or his mother would have stated so. Instead, the scandal at Auchengray had cooled his parents’ welcome; Rose was certain of it. The gossips of Monnigaff parish would
blether
for years about the heir of Glentrool and his two wives—first the older cousin, then the younger one—just as folk in Newabbey jabbered about it without ceasing.
    She read her aunt’s words again.
Wait until Lammas.
Rowena’s meaning was unmistakable:
Stay away for now.
    Dropping the folded letter onto the table with a weary sigh, Roseresigned herself to spending the better part of the summer at Auchengray. The endless days ahead would have been much cooler in the remote glen of Loch Trool, where northern winds blow down from the Merrick range, and the rushing waters of the Gairland Burn refresh the herds. When Jamie described the steep green hills, the granite crags, the blue depths of the loch, Rose saw them clearly in her mind’s eye.
    Two months seemed a long time to wait.
    Remaining in her own parish offered one advantage: All of Newabbey would soon discover she was as fertile as Leana. Rose tucked her bedcovers round her, thinking how swiftly her news would travel from farm to village. “Have ye heard? Rose McKie is wi’ child. She didna waste time catchin’ up wi’ her sister.”
    Her conscience did not let her gloat for long. Heat crawled up her neck, and contrition filled her soul. She did not wish to triumph over Leana. Not the sister who’d loved her from the day she was born. All Rose wanted was a house full of children tugging at her skirts.
    Thanks be to God, Dr. Gilchrist’s dire prediction last winter had proven false. The croup had not rendered her barren; instead, the Almighty had answered her prayers.
He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children.
    “Two children.” Rose pictured dark-haired Ian in the nursery next door as she smoothed a hand across her stomach. “Leana’s. And mine.”

Four
    A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.
    S AMUEL T AYLOR C OLERIDGE
    L eana took a steadying breath and began to walk, grateful for the sanctuary of the quiet countryside on a lovely morning. She’d not slept well and had awakened feeling queasy again and wishing her physic garden were at hand. In lieu of chamomile and ginger, a short walk round Twyneholm seemed the best remedy.
    Before her the horizon glowed a vibrant pink, and gold bands of sunlit clouds streaked across the sky. A
freshening
breeze lifted the