Chapter 19 #3
Duncan told her nothing. They did little conversing on the return trip to Stonehaven, which to Rose’s mind had as much to do with the occasional teeth-rattling pothole as it did with the scenery.
Daylight revealed a beautiful terrain, glens, and distant pines stretching into a stark blue sky.
Occasionally, they passed an ancient ruin of an old church or cottage, and she asked about its historical significance, finding herself engaged by his answers, even as she reminded herself why she did not like him.
After a long bout of silence, he turned his head, as if he read her thoughts. His shoulder jostled hers with the cart’s movements. “Did ye enjoy your little talk with Kathleen this morning?” he asked, amused.
She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. “Which part?” she said casually. “Where my father killed Ruark’s? Or the part where you delivered his son to a cruel sea captain—?”
“It was either that or see him hang, lass. Ruark is stubborn when he gets it in his mind to murder someone. I could no’ allow him to fight his father.”
“What about Julia, Duncan? What of her life?”
“Why would ye feel sorry for Julia? She has everything,” he said with a lack of gallantry. “She has been spoiled and self-indulged. Now the young lover of old has come home to roost and take his place as laird. You should be concerned with yourself.”
Heat burned her cheeks. “And what flight of fancy leads you to suppose my husband holds a tendre for another woman?”
“Oho!” He laughed. “Ye feel passion for our laird, do ye no’?
” Duncan said as he studied her. “Maybe ye will do after all, lassie. If ye feel passion enough for him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here. Someone who is no’ afraid of a fight. But ye are no’ her mistress yet.”
Left speechless by the man’s barefaced effrontery, she disliked that he could glean an emotional response from her when she was so certain she disliked him. Perhaps she disliked him because he had tapped into her deepest doubts with no effort at all.
They arrived at Stonehaven an hour later. “You’ll no’ have any more problem seeing Jamie, lass,” he said. “I’ll talk to Julia.”
Rose didn’t know what to say. When the staff hurried out to greet them, Rose quit to her room for a bath, and left Duncan to contend with Mary’s scolding on his own.
Evidently, she was upset that he’d taken Rose away from Stonehaven and allowed her to be gone for days.
But much like Ruark, his uncle did not mind being admonished by Mary.
Anaya greeted her upstairs in her chambers, surprising Rose.
“I returned this morning, mum,” she said brightly. “McBain is in the surgery with a head bump. The roads be terrible, mum. We almost broke another axle and himself not having another carriage to bring us. Told Mr. McBain, he would see him back at Stonehaven when he finished his business.”
“Is that all he said?” she asked, wondering at once how she could ask a servant such a question, as if Ruark would tell Anaya anything.
“Aye, mum. McBain is a fretful sort. His lordship did no’ want him to vex.”
Rose took her supper in her room. Later, in the growing darkness of her bedchamber, she sat in her shift at the window seat, her chin propped on her hand as she stared outside.
Her window overlooked the front of the house and the garden.
She could hear the babble of voices below, and a moment later Duncan appeared with Jamie and Julia, resplendent in blue watered silk.
At supper that evening, Mary had said that Jamie was recovering nicely.
Rose watched the threesome from the darkness of her bedroom.
At least she was capable of admitting to herself that her turmoil had as much to do with her doubts about herself as it did with Ruark’s absence. Duncan’s observation of her character had been correct. She did feel passion for Stonehaven’s laird.
If ye feel passion enough for him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here, lass. Someone who is no’ afraid of a fight. But ye are no’ her mistress yet.
The unfortunate circumstances behind her marriage did not change the fact that she was Ruark’s wife.
That her sons and daughters would be born and raised at Stonehaven, and she would one day be buried here, not at Hope Abbey, not at Kirkland Park, or France, but here.
Rose could accept her fate as a victim. Or she could shape her fate as a victor.
Suddenly a visit from the dressmaker was no longer akin to subjecting herself to the inquisition. She may not know the difference between a day dress and morning gown, but she could certainly learn.
To find she was still capable of an honest fight, even if the antagonist was herself, restored some measure of equanimity to her disposition.
Anaya entered carrying her robe. She looked over Rose’s shoulder outside. “Poor wee fatherless lad,” she said. “Sometimes ’tis simple to forget he is not yet thirteen.”
Not yet thirteen . . .
A sick feeling twisted her insides. She suddenly knew what was bothering her . . . what had been bothering her since her conversation this morning with Kathleen.
Drawing on her robe, she left her chambers. She padded barefoot along the shadowed corridor through the narrow gallery, where centuries of Kerrs stared down at her as she passed. Downstairs, she found the library.
Moonlight spilled through the windows. She looked at the rich paneled walls and ornate bookcases. Her gaze paused on a rostrum. The family Bible sat on that stand. Kathleen had said that all marriages, births, and deaths were recorded in the family Bible.
Rose found a tinderbox in the desk drawer and lit a candle.
She brought the heavy leather-bound book carefully to the desk.
She flipped the ornate cover open and peeled back page after page.
She ran her fingernail down the list of inscribed names and stopped when she saw hers, surprised to see that her marriage to Ruark had already been entered.
Her finger paused over her name. Pushing the Bible closer to the light, she recognized the penmanship as similar to that on her marriage documents. Ruark must have made the entry.
She flipped the faded pages backward to see when Ruark’s parents were married, then his birth, May 10, 1725.
He had only recently reached his thirtieth birthday.
She had not even known his age, she realized.
For some reason, she had thought him older.
His mam had passed when he was six, just two days before another entry and death, an infant brother, was recorded.
His mam had died in childbirth. His father had remained unmarried for eleven years when Julia’s name was listed, then James Marcus Kerr was born eight and half months later. Eight and a half months.
A fist went to her stomach. She thought she would be sick.
Rose closed the Bible. Back when she had first come to Stonehaven, McBain had told her that Ruark and Julia had run away together. Today, Duncan had said they had been lovers.
After a moment, Rose returned the Bible to its place. It was a long time before she could sleep.