Read Online Whence Came a Prince by Liz Curtis Higgs - Free Book Online Page B

maidservant followed her like a shadow down the stair. The unlit hall, grown dim in the twilight, still bore the scents of a long day of cooking. Neda’s work was far from over, now that the widow was spending the night. The bed linens and towels in the parlor had just been changed; Annabel’s red hair was visible above an armload of laundry that sailed past the foot of the stair.
    When Rose reached the threshold of the dining room, she came to an abrupt stop. Her father and the Douglas brothers were nowhere to be seen. The table was already cleared, the family Bible in place for their nightly hour of worship. Only Morna Douglas and Jamie remained in the room, standing by the hearth. The widow looked exceedingly uncomfortable; Jamie’s face was a mottled red.
    Hoping to fill the silence, Rose turned the boy so he was facing them. “Ian, can you smile for Mistress Douglas?”
    The older woman stared at the child. “Whose son did you say this is?”
    “My firstborn, Ian McKie.” Jamie’s words were even, belying the firm set of his jaw. “The future heir of Glentrool.”
    The woman’s lips twitched as if she were silently calculating the boy’s age. Morna knew the couple had wed in late March; clearly the child had been born well before their marriage. Had Lachlan told her naught regarding his ill-begotten grandson?
    Diversion was their only recourse. “Where have the men disappeared to?” Rose asked brightly, looking round as if they might crawl out from under the table.
    Morna merely blinked—unable, it seemed, to form a coherent response.
    “The Douglases have taken their leave,” Jamie explained smoothly, moving toward her. “Your father escorted them to the gate.”
    Rose turned toward the window, only now hearing the soft murmur of male voices on the misty lawn. “They’ll have a long walk home.”
    “A good two hours.” Jamie sounded glad to see the young men gone. “Eliza, kindly attend to Ian for us.” As Rose handed the wiggling boy to the maidservant, Jamie tousled the child’s hair in passing. “A good night to you, lad. Your stepmother and I will visit the nursery later.”
    Stepmother.
At least he’d clarified that point for the widow’s sake. Knowing that Leana was settled in Twyneholm, would Morna Douglas jalouse the rest of the sordid details? Or assume that Jamie had been married before and was a widower?
    The front door opened, then closed with a bang, heralding her father’s return. Thank the heavens above, Eliza had already started up the stair with Ian; Lachlan McBride would not want the child included in their worship. He strode into the room and took his place at table once more, bidding them sit as he opened the thick, leather-bound
Buik.
It fell open to Psalms as if it, too, jumped to do the man’s bidding.
    Rose pulled her chair closer to Jamie’s, longing to reach for his hand under the table. Longing to capture his heart as well. Might the warmthof her touch melt his resistance? Would he clasp her fingers and gaze fondly at her from the corner of his eye? Or would he simply ignore her? The risk was too great; she folded her hands in her lap and contented herself with a last look at his masculine profile, bent for prayer, before she closed her eyes as well.
    Rose tried to follow all that her father said, yet her greater concern was keeping her lowered forehead from touching the table.
I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber to mine eyelids.
Of all the psalms she’d been required to memorize, that one had proved the most useful, especially of late when she could barely stay awake past supper. Tonight of all nights she wanted to remain alert well after bedtime. For Jamie’s sake.
And for mine.
    The prayer concluded, Rose lifted her head in time to see Lachlan jab his finger at a spot on the page. “Two passages command our attention this evening.” He droned on and on, expounding on the verses, his words as monotonous as the tick of the mantel clock above the