Fair Is the Rose (10 page)

The door hung open to the grocer’s shop. “Mr. Elliot!” Rose sang out as she stepped inside. She could hear the grocer in the back room, whistling as he went about his business. He’d come to the front soon
enough. At her feet wooden crates filled with root vegetables were displayed in neat rows, while legs of cured mutton swung from the beams above her head, the meat wrapped in muslin. The pungent aroma of spices permeated the small shop: the rich note of cinnamon, the musky scent of sage, the sweet smell of rosemary. Rose leaned over a shelf to catch a whiff of nutmeg just as Mr. Elliot appeared, his round middle swathed in a white apron stained with the evidence of his trade.

“Miss McBride,” he greeted her. “What a surprise to find you in the village.”

Rose pretended not to see his broad wink. Had Neil told his father about their tryst? “I’m on an errand for Neda Hastings.” She looked about, then asked, “Have you any hazelnuts left?”

“Och!” He waved a meaty hand at her. “I sold the last of my filberts an hour ago.”

“Never mind, then. I’ll think of something.” Rose pursed her lips, picturing the woodlands north of Auchengray, replete with hazels. Might there be some nuts left among the wild shrubs there? An eerie place, to be sure, the most untamed corner of the parish. Yet the hint of danger only added to its appeal. If the weather held, she would slip out the back door in the morn’s morn and see if she might find a few stray hazelnuts still nestled in the branches. At the moment she had another matter to attend to; the grocer’s son was waiting for her.

“I’m off to the abbey for a stroll.” She swept out the door and into the street, calling her farewell to Mr. Elliot. Her eye trained on the abbey’s tall central tower, she hurried toward it, holding her skirts above the muck, greeting many a familiar face as she passed by. “Miss Taggart,” she said, nodding. “Mr. Clacharty.”

At the end of the street, north of the manse, loomed the red sandstone ruins of
Dulce Cor
—“sweet heart,” as the monks of old had named their abbey. Heaven served as its roof now, and sod its floor. The graceful arches of the transepts and nave had held their ground for five centuries, even though many of the abbey’s stones had been carted off to build cottages or dry stane dykes. She was but six when a society of gentlemen subscribers had pooled their resources to save the abbey from
further decline. Her father, of course, had refused to contribute. Too generous an act for so
glaumshach
a man.

Rose slipped behind one of the stout pillars and peeked across the broad expanse of the abbey. Despite the autumn sunlight, the stone was cold beneath her hands. When she spotted Neil Elliot standing by the high altar with his back to her, she took a deep breath, then stepped out from her hiding place and glided toward him. “There you are,” she said, keeping her tone light.

Neil turned at once and held out his hands to greet her. “My dear Rose.” His face shone like one of his father’s polished apples, and his gaze enveloped her from her boots to her braid. “Bonny and fair and all that a man could want.”

“Neil!” She looked away, embarrassed by his frank appraisal. “You must not say such things.”

His laugh, deeper than she remembered, echoed off the abbey walls. “And why not say them, when they are true?”

Her cheeks grew warmer still. “But we have no understanding.” She kept her head down, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. “That is, you haven’t spoken to my father.”

“Easily done, lass.”

Och!
She’d said the wrong thing altogether. “Neil, I’m afraid we … that is …”

“I brought something for you.” He stepped back, his words rushed, as if he sensed what she intended to say. Digging for something in his coat pocket, he explained, “Mother borrowed the recipe from a cousin in Edinburgh, who bakes these every Hallowmas Fair.” He produced a lump of cloth, then unwrapped it to reveal a generous square of gingerbread. “Even with two cups of treacle, ’Tis not as sweet as you, my Rose.”

Her mouth watered at the sight of it. Neda seldom baked gingerbread. “I suppose she made it with fresh cream and green ginger.”

Neil pinched off a corner and held it to her lips. “See for yourself.”

She ate the bite of cake from his fingers, savoring the flavor. “Mmm, delicious.”

“Aye.” He smiled down at her. “Delicious.” He fed her another
piece, then folded the cloth and pressed it into her hands. “When you enjoy the rest, remember the one who gave it to you.”

“I will,” she said, already regretting her enthusiasm. “Neil, we must talk.”

“But first, we must walk.” He drew her hand into the crook of his arm. “Winter will be here soon enough. Golden days like this one should not go to waste.” Leading the way at an unhurried pace, he steered them toward the grassy field that wrapped itself round the abbey. They strolled for several minutes, speaking of little beyond the fading colors of autumn that surrounded them. The air was crisp yet clear, fragrant with the scent of burning leaves. Sheep bleated in a nearby pasture as Neil guided her along the crumbling dyke that edged the property.

Passing beneath one of the stone archways that led to the cloister, Rose slowed her steps, even as her heart quickened its pace. She could keep the truth to herself no longer. “Neil,” she began, moistening her dry lips, “it was good of you to invite me here.”

“ ’Twas good of you to come.” He stopped and turned toward her, his earnest expression cutting her to the quick. “You ken how I care for you, Rose.”

“I do,” she admitted, meeting his gaze, difficult as that was. His brown eyes shone with a love she feared she could never match. “I think of you as the kindest of friends.”

“Friends?” he protested, sliding his hands along her arms. “Susanne is your friend. I thought I was rather more than that.”

“Aye … well …,” she stammered, watching in disbelief as he bent his head toward hers, his mouth nuzzling her ear. Whenever had Neil become so bold?

“I wonder if you ken the auld tune that’s running through my head,” he murmured. His breath warmed her skin as he sang.

Some say that kissing’s a sin,
But I say that will not stand.

He chuckled. “Now you sing the rest of it, lass.”

Rose could not move her head, so tightly did he press his cheek
against hers. She whispered the last two lines of the verse, her voice trembling.

It is a most innocent thing,
And allowed by the laws of the land.

“Just so.” He kissed her. Softly at first, then with more conviction, circling his arms round her waist, pulling her closer before she could stop him, before she could think.

A male voice floated across the cloister. “Congratulations.”

Jamie
.

Rose yanked herself free and spun about. “Cousin! I didn’t expect … I’m surprised to … see you.”

“Obviously.” He strode toward them, scowling at them both.

She took another step away from Neil. “Wh-whatever brings you to the abbey?”

“You didn’t arrive home soon enough to suit your father, so he sent me with the chaise. When I looked for you at the grocer’s, he suggested I might find you here. And so I have.” His scowl grew more pronounced. “I trust the marriage banns are to be read on the Sabbath morn.”

Before Neil could respond, Rose blurted out, “Nae! Things are not at all what they appear.”

“On the contrary,” Neil countered, “they are quite as they appear.” He pressed his hand firmly in the small of her back. “You can be sure I will speak to Mr. McBride when the time is right.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, assessing him. “And when would that time be, Mr. Elliot?”

“Is Monday soon enough, sir?”

Eleven

What will not woman, gentle woman, dare
When strong affection stirs her spirit up?

R
OBERT
S
OUTHEY

W
hen Jamie shifted his gaze in her direction, something flickered across his face. “What do you have to say for yourself, Rose?”

“Jamie, we need to—”

“Leave at once. I quite agree.” Jamie thrust out his elbow, an invitation she dared not ignore. “Mr. Elliot, my uncle will expect you for dinner on Monday at Auchengray. One o’ the clock. You will either explain your behavior to his satisfaction, or you will make an offer of marriage. Is that understood?”

Neil squared his shoulders, a look of determination in his eye. “Monday it is, sir.”

“Monday,” Rose repeated, too numb to say more.

The men offered each other polite but curt farewells, then Jamie led her across the abbey grounds to the chaise, his stride long and his temper short. “I see you wasted little time finding a suitor, Rose.” He sent Bess forward with a click of his tongue. “Would that you had chosen someone with more … discretion.”

“I was not the one who did the choosing.” She stared at the grocer’s shop as they passed, imagining herself as a grocer’s wife. “Neil chose me.”

“He also chose to kiss you beneath the wide October sky, where anyone might see you.”

“You were the only one who saw us, Jamie.”

“ ’Tis a good thing I arrived when I did, for the man seemed most intent about his business.”

Rose touched her lips, remembering. Their kiss was so brief and unexpected it could hardly be called pleasurable. But
intent
.… aye, ’twas that.

Jamie glanced at her sideways, as if gauging her reaction. “Leana mentioned that you’ve entertained Mr. Elliot at Auchengray rather often of late.”

She gave a slight lift to her shoulders. “We walked the braes together. Chatted over tea and oatcakes. Not formal visits. Neil just … appeared.”

“And was made welcome.” Jamie fell silent, turning to watch the road as they rounded a bend. The chaise bounced hard when they hit a rut, throwing them both off balance. Jamie caught Rose by the arm to steady her and released her just as quickly.

After a considerable silence she feigned interest in a flock of noisy fieldfares plucking berries from the hedgerow so she might study Jamie without his noticing. The man was behaving very strangely. Was he angry? Concerned for her reputation? Or did he still care for her, if only a little?

“Lass …” He cleared his throat. “If your father has not instructed you on courting manners, then I must.”

Ah
. The corners of her mouth twitched at the prospect of such a lesson from Jamie of all people. “I suppose kissing a suitor in public is not acceptable.”

“Indeed it is
not.
”

A laugh slipped out before she could catch it. “James Lachlan McKie, you kissed me dozens of times when we were courting!”

“But not in Sweetheart Abbey,” he shot back.

She splayed her fingers and began tallying the places where he
had
kissed her. In the byre. Behind Auchengray Hill. On the road to Newabbey. Beneath the yew in the garden. Among Leana’s roses. By the shore of Lochend. In a shepherd’s
bothy
. “And the first time you kissed me was standing in a pasture surrounded by sheep,” she finished, having long since run out of fingers on which to count.

“Most of those were
after
we were betrothed,” he insisted.

“Aye, but then came January and all the months that followed until this one.”
Stop, Rose
. But she could not hold back her words nor stem the lingering hurt that fueled them. “What about those kisses, Jamie? After you married my sister?”

He took a long breath, then exhaled. “They were … inappropriate.”

“
Misbehadden
, as Neda would say?”

“Aye, most improper.” His face was blotched with color. “God forgive me, I had no right to kiss you, Rose.”

“I did not resist a single one,” she reminded him, feeling guilty for pressing him so.

When he looked at her, the sorrow in his eyes was unmistakable. “I was the one who could not resist, Rose. If there is any blame to be assigned, look no further than me.”

I dare not look at you at all
. She gazed down the road toward Lowtis Hill, trying to sort through her feelings. Jamie was determined to honor his vows. She could not help but admire him for it, though it cost her dearly. The sad truth was, Jamie would never be hers. Remembering his kisses only made things worse.

Neil Elliot then
. A solution of sorts. Would he ask for her hand? Would her father deem him worthy? Could she love such a man?

Jamie nudged her with his elbow. “You’re being verra quiet, Rose. ’Tis not like you.”

She told him the truth. “I’m thinking about Monday.”

“I was a bit … short with Mr. Elliot.”

“
Short?
” Rose rolled her eyes. “You gave him no choice in the matter. Though I believe he’d made up his mind to propose long before you arrived.”

After a moment’s silence, Jamie asked, “Have you made up your mind as well?”

Was that regret she heard behind his question? “I’ve not made my decision yet,” she admitted, folding her hands in her lap as the gates of Auchengray came into view. “Would you mind if I married a grocer’s son?”

“Mind? Nae.” He shook his head, as if saying the word was not enough to convince either of them. “Marry whom you like.”

Rose paused, listening to the tone in his voice. Jamie was no longer angry. Nor was he worried. His shame had come and gone. Disappointment, perhaps? Nae, this was something else. Her eyes widened. Surely he
wasn’t jealous
of Neil Elliot? Impossible, considering Jamie was in every way superior. Nae, he could not be jealous.

When they arrived at the steading, Willie helped her down, looking about the chaise for a sack from the grocer. “All the way tae the village and back and nae hazelnuts tae show for yer trouble?”

“Colin Elliot didn’t have a one,” she told him. “I’ll hunt for some in the morn’s morn, for I’ll not see you disappointed round the hearth on Hallowmas Eve.”

“Och!” Willie shooed her off. “I’ve nae need tae put filberts by the fire. That’s a custom for young fowk. But if ye might pluck a handful or twa, the herds will be grateful. Won’t they, Mr. McKie?”

“Aye.” Jamie raised his eyes toward the front windows of the mains, where Leana stood, gazing down at them. “We’ll all be grateful.”