Free Whence Came a Prince by Liz Curtis Higgs

cold hearth. Although the kitchen fire was never extinguished, even on the hottest days, the hearths throughout the rest of the house had been swept clean for the summer at her father’s insistence. Peat and coal required silver he was unwilling to spend. As the gloaming lingered, Rose felt the cooler night air creeping through the house. Jamie would keep her warm in their bed. Though he had yet to give her his heart, at least he’d not withheld the rest of him.
    When Lachlan closed the Buik with a bang punctuating his last word, bringing their time of worship to a long-awaited end, even Morna looked relieved. Rose was doubly so and gathered her skirts to stand. “I beg your pardon, Mistress Douglas, but I must retire or chance falling asleep in my chair. Will you excuse me?”
    Though Father glared at her, Morna was quick to set her free. Perhaps the woman wanted her future husband to herself for a quiet hour. Whatever would they talk about, different as they were? Ian would be one topic of discussion, of that Rose was certain. Wouldn’t she love to hear her father explain
that
situation!
    “Come, dear husband,” Rose beckoned him, “for I dare not risk the steps alone.”
    Jamie dutifully guided her toward the second floor, saying nothing as they climbed the stair. A wise precaution with Lachlan and Morna just below them walking arm in arm to the parlor. Rose paused briefly at the nursery, satisfied to find Ian fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. How she wished she might sing to him now, as Leana often had.
Baloo, baloo, my wee, wee thing.
But Rose knew her voice was neither sweet nor low and might wake the child besides. “Good night, precious boy,” she whispered, closing the nursery door.
    Moments later when Jamie followed her into their dimly lit bedroom, Rose spun about and wrapped her arms round his neck. “At last I have you all to myself.”
    “You’ve been most patient with me this evening, Rose.” She did not see a spark of passion in his eyes to match her own, but his words were sincere, even contrite. “With guests beneath our roof, I should have been especially cordial. Instead I was—”
    “Churlish?” she finished for him, winking as she said it. “Rude?
Ill-fashioned
?”
    “All of those things, I’m afraid. Your father’s behavior has grown more
hatesome
of late. As to the Douglas lads”—his sigh was heavy with regret—“I cannot bring myself to trust them.”
    “Jamie McKie, you’re cannier than the three of them put together.” She drew him closer, inhaling the scent of him. “Do not lose a moment’s peace on their account, my
cliver
husband.”
    Her praise had the desired effect: The crease in his brow disappeared as he circled his arms round her waist. “I’m glad you find me clever, lass. Will you forgive me then?”
    “I already have.” Rose leaned into his embrace, nuzzling the curve of his neck. She was grateful for Hugh’s expert hand with a razor; Jamie’s skin was still smooth and tasted of heather soap. When she sensed him warming to her, she slowly turned in his arms, presenting him with a row of tiny buttons. “Can you manage, or shall I summon Annabel to help me dress for bed?”
    After a moment’s hesitation he began unbuttoning her gown, then paused at the plaintive cry of sheep bleating in the distance. Louder than usual, Rose thought, and greater in number. Perhaps it was nothing more than the moist evening air carrying the sound across the pastures. “Good night to you as well, lassies,” she called toward the casement window as Jamie unfastened the last of her buttons. “May heaven watch o’er you ’til the break of day.”

Nine
    The flying rumours gather’d as they roll’d,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told.
    A LEXANDER P OPE
    H ave you forgotten what day it is?” Aunt Meg inclined her head toward the door “You know how folk will wag their heads if we don’t appear at the stroke often.”
    Leana