Authors: Liz Curtis Higgs
Tags: #Christian, #Brothers, #Historical Fiction, #Scotland, #Scotland - History - 18th Century, #Fiction, #Romance, #Triangles (Interpersonal Relations), #Historical, #Inheritance and Succession, #Sisters, #General, #Religious, #Love Stories
Thorn in My Heart
P
RAISE FOR
Thorn in My Heart“Liz Curtis Higgs takes readers on a remarkable journey to the Lowlands of Scotland. A luminous sense of hope shines through this truly wrenching story of characters who are both larger than life and all too human. This unforgettable saga is as multilayered, mysterious, and joyous as love and faith can be.”
—
SUSAN WIGGS
,
New York Times
best-selling author“With
Thorn in My Heart
, Liz Curtis Higgs places herself among the best novelists writing today. The story held me spellbound from beginning to end, capturing my heart and never letting go.”—
ROBIN LEE HATCHER
, author of
Firstborn“Absolutely wonderful! These characters are real people. History is woven seamlessly into the compelling story. Wise, heart wrenching, and ultimately triumphant. I couldn't put it down.”
—
FRANCINE RIVERS
, author of
Redeeming Love“Writing with wit, excellence, and an eye toward accurate historical detail, Liz Curtis Higgs shines brighdy in
Thorn in My Heart.
Liz takes a rare jewel of a story and drops it into a vibrant, colorful setting.”—
ANGELA ELWELL HUNT
, author of
The Shadow Women“With a story of passion and betrayal, of longing and love, Liz Curtis Higgs has scribed a tale to fill the senses, as tangled as the weeds plucked from her protagonist's kitchen garden. Such rich detail, such vivid characters. You'll be
verra
glad you allowed a master storyteller to help you step into this vibrant, authentic tale.”—
JANE KIRKPATRICK
, author of
A Name of Her Own“Liz Curtis Higgs brings new vitality to an ancient tale of greed, deceit, love, and ultimate triumph. New understandings and deep insights come alive as the story unfolds in eighteenth-century Scodand with all the passion of Liz's heartfelt writing and meticulous research.”
—
DONNA FLETCHER CROW
, author of
The Fields of Bannockburn“Blending history with masterful storytelling, Liz Curtis Higgs has given us a moving account of love, deception, redemption, and hope. I was hooked from the first page and found myself completely caught up in the heartbreak and triumphs of her characters.”
—
TRACIE PETERSON
, author of
Treasures of the North“A powerful story written with incredible skill,
Thorn in My Heart will
take you on a journey into a fictional landscape so breathtaking you'll never want to leave. Don't be surprised if you find yourself weeping as you walk across the glorious Galloway pastures and hills with Leana, Rose, and Jamie.”—
DIANE NOBLE
, author of
Heart of Glass“I loved the story and felt as if I were indeed in Scodand. My heart broke with and for these characters who are trapped in their lies and see no way out, as deceit is repaid with deceit. That good can come out of such situations is indeed a miracle, and Liz's novel captures that brilliandy.”
—
LAURAINE SNELLING
, author of
The Healing Quilt“As a painter of stories, Liz has a beautiful gift. Her canvas is my homeland, and she knows it well. The story will stay with you and change your internal horizon forever.”
—
SHEILA WALSH
, author of
All That Really Matters“Liz Curtis Higgs touches our hearts with a moving story so authentically Scottish that I fancied I could hear bagpipes in the background. You'll never forget Leana and Rose.”
—
LAWANA BLACKWELL
, author of
The Maiden of May fair“Generously researched, heartily written, this grand stew of a novel is filled with meat, spice, and enough Scotch broth to satisfy the palate of the most finicky Scottish historical buffs. Compelling, shattering the barriers of time with frequently stunning imagery and always solid storytelling,
Thorn in My Heart
measures up against the finest historical fiction of our day.”—
LISA SAMSON
, author of
Women's Intuition
To Sara Fortenberry
,
who understands my passion
for writing fiction
better than anyone.
You were there from the first
,
from that wintry day years ago
when this wee tale was born.
Thank you for encouraging me
,
trusting me, believing in me.
Love you, sis.
My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt.
W
ILLIAM
B
LAKE
Glen of Loch Trool
Summer 1764
B
reathe not a word of my visit, Jean. Not to a soul.”
The midwife merely nodded, opening the
bothy
door wider to receive her unexpected guest. Rowena McKie brushed past her into the cottage, then eased her ungainly body onto a rough bench. Her skirt caught on the splintery wood, and she snatched it free with an impatient yank. Another ragged seam for Ivy's busy needle and thread to mend. “Tell me the babes coming soon, Jean. Mr. McKie can't sleep at night for worrying.”
Carrying her husband's heir through the long days of a Lowland summer had ground Rowena down like corn at McCracken's mill. Her feet were swollen, her knees ached, and even fresh meadowsweet could not ease the burning in her stomach. Rowena pressed her damp palms against the unfinished oak and took the deepest breath she could. She'd come to the midwife for answers and had no intention of leaving without them.
“Now, now.” The older woman leaned over and squeezed Rowena's shoulder, her touch as gende as her words. “Nothin
mair
than nerves. Yer first time and all.” Jean's eyes were wreathed in wrinkles and blue as forget-me-nots. Her dress was made of striped drugget, the too-snug bodice made for a younger woman. Beneath the ragged hem poked her bare feet, browned by the sun, the nails grass stained but neady trimmed. “Ye were right to come knockin on my door. What would
folks in the glen be sayin if I didn't tend to Mr. McKie's firstborn? Yer time is still a month off, but when it comes—”
“A month?” Rowenas eyes widened. “Are you daft, woman? I'll not last a week like this! Can't you see how the child moves within me?” To prove her claim she arched her back, inviting the midwife's inspection. “Look for yourself. Like a wild goat kicking his heels to one side, then the other.”
“Mair than one wee goat.” Jean smoothed her hands across the fabric of Rowenas dress, measuring the shape of her distended figure with a practiced eye. “
Twa
, I'd say.”
Rowenas mouth dropped open. “Twins?”
The midwife nodded thoughtfully. “Boys, I'll wager.”
Speechless, Rowena stared down at her belly. Her husband, Alec, had pleaded with the Almighty to bless her barren womb with a son. But two at once? Another ketde of fish, that. She rubbed her aching sides, feeling the child—children, if the midwife was right—moving beneath the gende pressure of her hands. The walls of Glentrool were built with a large family in mind. Would her aging body be so accommodating?
A swift kick in her abdomen seemed an uncanny answer. “Speak the truth, Jean. This constant commotion, the sharp pains in my ribs. Surely this can't be the usual way of things, even with twins?”
The midwife chewed on her lip, continuing to press and prod Rowenas middle. “Twa
bairns axe
always harder on the
mither.
But I fear somethin is amiss.” A note of compassion crept into the older woman's voice. “How
auld
are ye, Mistress McKie?”
“Too old to be having my first, if that's what you mean.” The worst of her many worries had come home to roost. “I'll be thirty-eight come November.”
Jean made a
st-st
sound against her teeth. “If I weren't so certain this was the Lord's doin, I'd be gatherin
stanes
for yer burial cairn. But seein how the Almighty has placed his hand upon yer womb, I'll be usin’ these instead.” She reached into the money pouch tied at her waist and unfolded her fingers to reveal two silver coins in her palm. “All ready to tuck into their fists. Ye know the custom?”
