Grace in Thine Eyes (51 page)

“Good morning,” Leana said softly, joining them at table. The shadows beneath her eyes belied her greeting; she had not slept well. None of them had, judging by the bleariness in Ian’s gaze, the tenderness round Davina’s eyes, the slump in Benjamin’s shoulders.

The twins had yet to make an appearance. According to Ian, they were still in their beds. Sleeping soundly, no doubt, and proud of themselves for avenging their sister. Their lies made Jamie grind his teeth, yet
he’d spoken a falsehood in order to protect them. “
’Twas my idea.
” He deserved such sons.

While Jamie sat in troubled silence, the others spoke quietly round the table. Remarking on the weather, which was cloudy and warm. Commenting on the porridge, served with fresh cream. Safe, comforting words on an uncertain morning.

High above Cladach a lone piper’s drone floated down from Brodick castle.

Davina’s porridge spoon stilled. The sadness in her eyes was beyond bearing.

Jamie offered her his hand, and she took it, though her attention remained fixed on the kitchen window and the unseen funeral procession slowly moving their direction.

Yestreen Davina had pleaded with them to let her follow the kists along the coast road, bargaining with her parents on paper.
Just to San-nox Bay? Then only to Corrie?

Leana had finally persuaded Davina that her mourning was best done in private. “The inclusion of a McKie in the funeral procession might compound Lady MacDonald’s grief when she learns of it,” was his wife’s gentle reasoning. In truth, the McKies had become anathema on Arran. People avoided them on the street, looked the other way if they walked by, threw a litany of words at them in passing.
Ill-deedie. Meschant. Wickit
. However Mr. Hunter ruled, the folk of Arran had deemed the family guilty of murder, fornication, deceit, and a host of lesser sins.

As the minutes passed, the procession drew closer. The tune was appropriately mournful and skillfully played. When the piper reached Cladach, Davina pushed back her chair, beseeching her parents as she pointed to the door, then to her eyes.
Just to the front door? Just to see them pass?

Jamie could not refuse his grieving daughter. “Aye, aye. But only to the threshold.”

Leana stood at the open front door with her arm round Davina’s waist as the notes from the chanter filtered through the entrance hall. Jamie watched from the kitchen doorway until his resistance wore thin,
then joined his wife and daughter, with Ian and Benjamin not far behind.

Plain coffins made of pine and covered with black
mort-cloths
were balanced on the shoulders of six men in service to the duke. Another half-dozen men walked behind them, ready to take their turns when backs grew sore on the long climb to Lochranza harbor, since custom did not allow kists to travel on wheeled conveyances. The piper, kilted in a length of faded tartan, brought up the rear, walking with a steady, solemn gait as he played a lament to honor the dead.

Silent as ever, Davina slipped down the hall to her room. She returned a moment later with her fiddle and cradled the instrument against her heart as she watched her betrothed make his last journey home.

The funeral party turned north on the coast road and disappeared from sight not far beyond the quay as the piper’s notes lingered in the moist air. Gazing off in the distance, Jamie did not see Lewis Hunter until he was nearly at their door.

“A sad picture,” the duke’s steward said, eying Davina in particular. “Might I come in?”

The knot of people at the threshold quickly unraveled. Jamie directed Hunter toward his room—an unsuitable meeting place but the only one at their disposal—then sent Ian for the twins. He ushered the rest of them into his cramped quarters, his patience sorely tested as they waited to hear the verdict.

When the twins arrived, hastily dressed and unshaven, Jamie begged for Hunter’s indulgence and prayed the man had sons.

“I’ll not keep you waiting this morning,” the steward began. “You’ve no doubt agonized enough. After a thorough review of the facts in hand, I have ruled the deaths of Sir Harry and Somerled MacDonald accidental.”

Relief and guilt washed over Jamie in tandem. Two men were dead, yet his sons lived. It was not God’s justice; it could only be man’s mercy. And his own unwillingness to convict them.

No one shared his dilemma, it seemed; round the room all were smiling. Leana kissed Sandy’s brow as Davina buried herself in Will’s embrace, though he freed one hand long enough to extend it to Hunter.
Despite his rough appearance, Will at least sounded respectable. “We are both in your debt, sir.”

The justice of the peace removed his spectacles and polished them on his sleeve. “In truth, this is not the first incident of summer visitors perishing in ill weather. ’Tis a risk all men assume when they take to the hills.”

Benjamin offered a grave nod, looking properly ministerial. “The hand of the L
ORD
was heavy upon them.”

His words from the Buik took Jamie aback. Did his cousin think the MacDonalds deserved to die so brutally? ’Twas hard to see the hand of the Almighty when the hands of Will and Sandy loomed far closer.

“You and your family are free to sail to the mainland,” Hunter was saying. “I’d encourage you to take advantage of this morning’s auspicious winds.”

Jamie heard what was not said:
Go at once. Your family is no longer welcome
. He would heed the man’s advice, much as it rankled.

Hunter took his leave a moment later, as if to facilitate their swift departure. “I’m certain Reverend Stewart can make your arrangements. The forenoon packet boat sails from Brodick quay, mere steps from the inn. I wish you all a safe passage.” With a tip of his hat, Lewis Hunter was gone.

Benjamin followed him out the door, intent on his duties, while the McKies commenced with a hurried hour of dressing and packing. Leana calmly oversaw her family’s efforts, while Jamie settled their account with the innkeeper. Mrs. McAllister’s tally of their expenses, scribbled on a half sheet of paper, was offered with a smug expression. To her credit, she held her tongue. Jamie imagined she wanted his silver more than she wanted to dismiss her lodgers with a caustic word.

“I’m most obliged, sir,” she said, dropping his coins into her deep apron pocket.

No sooner had Jamie lightened his purse than Benjamin returned from the bay with unfortunate news. “We’ve a problem with the packet boat captain.” As the two men stood in the entrance hall, doors opening and closing all round, Benjamin explained, “ ’Tis a Friday, which sailors consider unchancie enough. But to include women among his
passengers and two young men whose moral character is in question …” The minister sighed, shaking his head. “I’m afraid the crossing to the mainland will cost you dearly.”

Jamie paled at the sum but could not argue.

“Forgive me,” his cousin said, accepting the coins. “I did what I could to bargain with the man. At least the weather appears favorable. And you’ll be the
Isabella’
s only passengers.” Benjamin colored when he said it; ’twas likely no one else had agreed to sail with them. “May I carry your bags to the quay? You’re to embark at half past eleven.”

Jamie checked his pocket watch. “We’ve not much time. If you would, kindly take Leana’s bag and mine, along with the captain’s silver.” He hesitated yet knew he could not send the man off without an apology. “Alas, what began as a blithesome visit has ended on a distressing note.”

“Regrettably, it has.” Benjamin’s sincerity could not be denied. “I apologize again for not caring for Davina properly. In a parish of this size …”

“Say no more, for the fault is not yours; it is mine.” Jamie clasped his hand warmly. “Please convey my deepest thanks and sincerest regrets to Elspeth, Catherine, and Abigail, who made us most welcome.”

Benjamin pressed his mouth into a firm line and shook his hand. “ ’Twas our privilege, Jamie.” A moment later the minister headed for the quay, two more bags in hand.

Jamie was still watching from the door when Leana came up and slipped her hand round his elbow. With a furtive glance up the stair, she whispered in his ear, “Have you spoken to the twins yet this morning? They feel your judgment most harshly, Jamie. ’Tis why they’ve been avoiding you, hiding in their room.”

His jaw hardened. Did they mean to turn his own wife against him? He followed her gaze to the second floor. “I will speak with them now. Have Davina and Ian bring their bags to the door. We must leave for the quay in mere minutes.”

Jamie took the stairs two at a time, trying to release his anger. But when he arrived at the twins’ door, his ire had climbed with him. He marched into their room unannounced—was he not their father?—and
found Will and Sandy neatly dressed, their closed portmanteau waiting on the bed.

Sandy stepped forward. “Did Mother ask you to speak with us?”

He could not have said anything worse.

Jamie struck him with words of steel. “Do not demean your mother by asking her to serve in the role of messenger.” He slammed the door behind him, perfectly willing to feed Mrs. McAllister all the gossip she could swallow, now that they were leaving. “If you wish to speak to me, come to me directly. You will no longer write to your mother; you will write to me. If you need money, I am your only resource.”

Will tried to intervene. “Father, we just wanted to say how grateful we are for what you did yestermorn.”

“Do you mean when I spared your thick necks from the gallows?”

Both their faces reddened.

Jamie moved closer and lowered his voice but only because he was almost growling. “The people who live on this island consider our family
rubbage
. Because of you. They hold their noses and murmur ill-scrapit words. Because of you.”

Sandy’s voice was thin. “But, Father, the verdict—”

“Do not fool yourselves that Mr. Hunter’s decision changes the facts. You are brothers in cruelty, ruled by anger and driven by revenge.”

Will rose to his challenge. “But, Father, Somerled treated our sister like a—”

Jamie slapped him hard. “Your sister? Your sister has no hope for the future. Because of you.”

Now they were silent. Almost sorry, by the look of them.

Jamie outlined his sons’ future in no uncertain terms, grinding out each word. “We will go to the quay. We will sail to the mainland. You will proceed by coach to Edinburgh with due haste and resume your classes.”

“But, Father—”

“Do not come home at Lammas. Nor at Michaelmas. You will not find yourself welcome in our parish. Nor at Glentrool.”

Sandy’s eyes were swimming. “May we never come home again?”

Jamie did not have a ready answer and so gave them none. “We sail at once for Ayr.”

Seventy-Two

It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumb’d, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.
G
EORGE
G
ORDON
, L
ORD
B
YRON

L
eana nearly wept when her foot touched the stone quay at Ayr. Aboard the
Isabella
since noon, the McKies had been tossed round a choppy sea, rained on for endless hours, then stranded without wind in the packet boat’s sails for much of the evening.

“ ’Tis midnight,” Captain Dunlop said gruffly, squinting up at the full moon high overhead. “Ye’ll find the King’s Arms on the High Street. I dinna ken if they’ll hae onie ludgin for ye.”

Jamie threw the last of their traveling bags onto the quay, then disembarked, bidding the captain good night in a sea-roughened voice. He was exhausted; they all were.

Leana longed to be rid of her shoes, to unlace her stays, to stretch out on a mattress and sleep until dawn. Her gown, still damp from the rain and crusty with salt, chafed her neck as they walked toward the town center. The younger men carried their belongings, and Davina clutched her fiddle, safe in its baize bag.

With both hands free, Leana slipped one hand round her husband’s elbow and the other round Davina’s. “Let us pray the King’s Arms has enough beds to accommodate us. Though I believe a length of wool carpet would do our tired lads.”

“Aye,” they groaned, trudging not far behind her.

Will had hardly spoken during the long crossing, and Sandy even less. Their silence grieved Leana, for she knew its source: She’d heard Jamie’s tirade at the inn at Cladach. His words did not travel through the pine floor, but his wrath did, leaving her trembling for the twins’
sake. Lewis Hunter had pronounced the lads innocent. Could her husband not do the same? Before their sons headed northeast by coach in the morning, she would do what she could to appease them and pray Jamie’s parting words would be less strident.

At that late hour the High Street was deserted. The breeze had died down, and few sounds were heard except the occasional cry of a gull sailing over the harbor. When the sun rose in a few hours, fishermen and tradesmen would be about their work, and Ayr would come to life. For now, sleep was all anyone had in mind.

The proprietor of the King’s Arms greeted them with bleary eyes and dismal news. “I’ve no rooms to let. But there’s a parlor through that door with sofas and the like. None of the guests will be about just now. I can have a maid bring you some blankets—”

“Fine.” Jamie yanked out his purse. “Two of my sons will be needing seats on the morning coach to Glasgow.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll sort that out for you. Ten o’clock.”

The McKies awakened long before ten. Sunlight crept round the shutters at four, and the clamor of vendors arranging their stalls for Saturday’s market soon followed. When guests wandered into the parlor, expecting to be served coffee, Leana roused her family and helped straighten their rumpled attire.

“We’ve company,” she murmured. “ ’Tis a new day.”

Breakfast was oatcakes, fresh strawberries, and tea. Davina sat quietly poking her berries with a spoon, while Jamie downed his tea in gulps and Ian glanced at a week-old copy of the
Glasgow Journal
, left on his chair by another lodger.