Fair Is the Rose Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  Fair Is the Rose

  “Wonderful writing and a terrific story. Fair Is the Rose explores living, breathing people with heart-wrenching conflicts and one woman with a faith that shines. The reader is transported. Be sure to have a box of tissues close at hand.”

  —FRANCINE RIVERS, author of Redeeming Love

  “A colorful tapestry woven from painstaking research, a rich, vivid setting, and compelling, wonderfully real characters. With excellent writing and a keen understanding of human nature, Liz Curtis Higgs delivers a first-rate, fascinating historical saga. As big and bold a story as the Galloway landscape where it takes place and the hearts of the people who inhabit it.”

  —B. J. HOFF, author of Cadence and An Emerald Ballad

  “Och! What a guid buik! Once again Liz Curtis Higgs transported me to eighteenth-century Scotland and caused me to lose my heart to Jamie, Leana, and Rose. I couldn’t help but yearn for all three to find lasting love and happiness. The next installment can’t get here fast enough to suit me.”

  —ROBIN LEE HATCHER, author of Catching Katie and Beyond the Shadows

  “Fair Is the Rose is an absolutely stunning sequel to Thorn in My Heart. I was transported back in time to my ancestral Scotland and relished every moment. An exceptional work!”

  —LINDA LEE CHAIKIN, author of Yesterday’s Promise

  “Liz Higgs’s writing resonates with romance and the inward struggles of the human heart. You can almost hear the tunes rising o’er the brae.”

  —PATRICIA HICKMAN, author of Fallen Angels and Nazareth’s Song

  PRAISE 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

  “Higgs, the best-selling author of twenty inspirational books, successfully tries her hand at her first historical novel. Readers will appreciate many of the moral lessons gently delivered, especially as James discovers that deception is a two-edged sword. Higgs’s fine writing … incorporates many lovely historical details, and her strong storytelling skills stand her in good stead here.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  “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

  “At once heart-wrenching and mesmerizing, Leana’s unrequited love for Jamie will keep the reader engrossed. Higgs’s extensive historical research brings this novel to life, from the details of the Lowland livelihood to the importance of religion in the lives of these Scots. This remarkable tale of selfless love will live on in the hearts and minds of readers.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES, Historical Romance TOP PICK

  FAIR IS THE ROSE

  PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS

  12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200

  Colorado Springs, CO 80921

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2004 by Liz Curtis Higgs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.

  WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Higgs, Liz Curtis.

  Fair is the rose / Liz Curtis Higgs.

  cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-55221-1

  1. Scotland—History—18th century—Fiction. 2. Triangles (Interpersonal relations)—Fiction. 3. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 4. Brothers—Fiction. 5. Sisters—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558.I36235F35 2004

  813′.54—dc22

  2003025341

  v3.1

  To Matt and Lilly Higgs,

  the two best encouragers

  a mother could hope for.

  Your incredible support

  makes my writing life possible.

  I love you with all my heart.

  To Bill Higgs,

  for everything.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Author Notes

  Reader’s Guide

  Scots Glossary

  The rose saith in the dewy morn,
r />   I am most fair;

  Yet all my loveliness is born

  Upon a thorn.

  CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

  One

  Never wedding, ever wooing,

  Still a lovelorn heart pursuing,

  Read you not the wrong you’re doing

  In my cheek’s pale hue?

  THOMAS CAMPBELL

  Newabbey Parish Manse

  October 1789

  Rose McBride pressed her back against the paneled wall, her gaze fixed on the man kneeling by her sister’s bedside. She could not see Jamie McKie’s face at that late hour. Only his sleek brown hair, tied at the nape of his neck, and his favorite blue waistcoat, crumpled from a long day of waiting for his son to be born. Moments after the child had made his entrance into the world, Jamie had appeared in the birthing room and sent her heart spinning.

  He’d not come to see her, but Rose would see her fill of him. Aye, she would.

  A peat fire burned low in the grate, barely warming the chilly room. The minister’s spence served as a parlor during the day and as a bedroom and study in the evening. ’Twas the last place her sister had expected to give birth; when her labor had started in the middle of services, Leana had had little choice. Though Rose’s knees ached from crouching in the same position for several minutes, she dared not move and risk discovery. Her beloved Jamie had yet to spy her hiding behind the high-backed chair in the darkest corner. She intended to keep it that way.

  Now he was leaning toward her sister, Leana. Touching her hand, then caressing his son’s wee head. The catch in his voice said more than his words. “Leana, will you forgive me?”

  Nae! Rose bit down on her lower lip, fighting tears. ’Tis Leana’s fault, not yours, Jamie.

  She could not hear the whispered words that followed, but her eyes told her more than she wanted to know. Leana brushed aside her damp blond hair and put the babe to her breast while Jamie stood gazing down at her, his growing fondness for Leana palpable even from a distance. Rose averted her gaze, though the tender image lingered. Why, oh, why hadn’t she left the room with the others?

  All at once they both laughed, and Leana’s voice carried across the room. “One has found a way to come between us.”

  Rose swallowed hard. Did Leana mean the babe … or her?

  “Nothing will come between us again,” Jamie said firmly.

  He means me. Rose clutched the back of the chair, feeling faint. Why would he say such a thing? You love me, Jamie. You ken you do.

  Jamie entreated her sister with words no woman could resist. “Will you give me a chance to prove myself to you?”

  Prove yourself? Oh, Jamie. Rose sank to the floor on her knees, not caring if they heard her, not caring if she drew another breath. Jamie, the handsome cousin who had kissed her that very morning, was prepared to put her aside like a dish of half-eaten pudding.

  “We shall begin again,” she heard her sister say. “Now then, tell me about your dream.”

  “So I will.” A chair scraped against the wooden floor.

  Much as Rose tried to resist, Jamie’s voice, low and familiar, drew her like smoke to a flue. He spun a far-fetched story about the night he left his home in Glentrool and slept on a stony cairn among the crushed berries of a leafy Jacob’s ladder plant. Then he dreamed of a mountain, he said, taller than any in Galloway and bright as a full moon in a midnight sky. Winged creatures moved up and down the mountainsides like stairsteps, and a voice roared like the sea.

  “What did this … this voice tell you?” Leana asked.

  When Jamie did not respond, Rose shifted to see him better, her curiosity aroused. In a twelvemonth, Jamie had not mentioned such a dream to her.

  “Leana, it was a voice like no other. Wondrous. And frichtsome. The words clapped like thunder: ‘Behold, I am with you wherever you go. I will never leave you.’ ”

  Leana gasped. “But, Jamie—”

  “Aye, lass. The same words you whispered to me on our wedding night.”

  Nae! Rose pressed her hands to her ears at the very moment a sharp knock sounded at the door. Startled, she fell forward with a soft cry, her hiding place forgotten.

  Leana’s voice floated across the room. “Who’s there, behind the chair?”

  Rose drew back, her heart pounding beneath her stays. But it was too late. Taking a long, slow breath, she stood to her feet and did her best to look penitent.

  The peat fire lit Jamie’s astonished face. “Rose?”

  Shame burned her cheeks. Before she could find words to explain herself, the door creaked open, and the coppery head of their housekeeper, Neda Hastings, appeared.

  “Leana, I’ve come tae see ye get some rest …” Neda’s words faded as she caught sight of Rose. “There ye are, lass! I thocht ye’d wandered off tae the kitchen.”

  “Nae.” She could not look at Jamie. “I … I wanted to see … the baby.”

  “Come, dearie,” Leana murmured, stretching out her hand. “You had only to ask.”

  Gathering her skirts and her courage about her, Rose crossed the wooden floor to Leana’s bedside, barely noticing the others as her gaze fell on the tiny bundle in Leana’s arms. “Isn’t he a dear thing?” While Leana held back the linen blanket, Rose smoothed her hand across Ian’s downy hair, as rich a brown as Jamie’s own. “ ’Tis so soft,” she whispered. Had she ever touched anything more precious? His little head fit perfectly within the cup of her hand.

  “Would you like to hold him, Rose?”

  Her breath caught. “Might I?” She bent down, surprised to find her arms were shaking. She’d held babies before, but not this one. Not Jamie’s. “Ohh,” she said when Leana placed the babe in the crook of her arm. “How warm he is!”

  Rose held Ian close and bent her head over his, breathing in the scent of his skin, marveling at how pink he was. And how small. Deep inside her a longing stirred to life, as if some unnamed desire had waited for this moment to arrive. All of her sixteen years Rose had feared motherhood; the miracle in her arms put such foolish concerns to rest. Her mother had died in childbirth, yet Leana had lived, and so had her babe. “My own nephew,” Rose said gently, stroking his cheek. “Ian James McKie.”

  No wonder Jamie was enchanted. Leana was not the one who’d stolen Jamie’s heart this night; it was Ian, his newborn son.

  Neda came up behind her, resting her hands on Rose’s shoulders, peering round her to look at the babe. “Ye’ll make a fine mither someday. Suppose ye gie Ian back tae yer sister afore he starts to greet.”

  “Aye.” Rose did as she was told, chagrined at how cool and empty her arms felt.

  “The auld wives say,” Neda cooed, tucking Leana’s bedcovers in place, “the child that’s born on the Sabbath day is blithe and bonny and good and gay. Isn’t that so, Mr. McKie?”

  Jamie smiled down at his son. “Ian is all those things.”

  When Jamie lifted his head, Rose looked into his eyes, hoping she might find his love for her reflected there. “I’m sorry, Jamie. For hiding in the corner.”

  “No harm was done, Rose.” His steady gaze confused her. Was he glad she was there? Or eager for her to leave?

  Neda picked up the candle by the bed and waved it toward the door. “Go along, lass. And ye as well, Mr. McKie. Leana needs a bit mair care and a guid deal o’ sleep. We’ll bring yer wife and babe hame tae Auchengray soon.”

  Rose took her leave, pretending not to notice as Jamie bent down to kiss her sister’s hand, then her brow, then her mouth, where he tarried longer than duty required. Oh, Jamie. Had his affections shifted so quickly? In a day? In an hour? Rose closed the door behind her, shutting out the worst of it. Her empty stomach squeezed itself into a hard knot, even as her chin began to wobble. She would not cry. She would not.

  The hall was pitch-black, the last of the candles snuffed out by the thrifty minister’s wife, who’d shooed her household off to bed an hour ago. Rose halted, unsure of her way
in the darkness. Was that her green cloak hanging near the door or someone else’s? She would need its thick woolen folds for the journey home.

  Behind her the spence door shut with a faint click of the latch.

  “Rose?”

  Jamie. She could not bring herself to answer him, though she sensed him closing the distance between them, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. His hand touched her waist. “Rose, you must understand …”

  “I do understand.” Her voice remained steady while the rest of her trembled. “Now that she has given you a healthy son, Leana is the one you love.”

  “Nae, Rose.” Jamie grasped her elbow and spun her about. The heat of his fingers penetrated the fabric of her gown, and his eyes bored into hers. “To my shame, I do not love Leana. Not yet.” He lowered his voice, tightening his grip on her arm. “But I will learn to love your sister. By all that’s holy, I must, Rose. She is my wife, the mother of my son, and—”

  “And she loves you.”

  He dared not disagree, for they both knew it was true. “Aye, she does.”

  “Well, so do I.” Swallowing her pride, Rose reached up to caress his face, reveling at the rough feel of his unshaven skin. “And you love me, Jamie. You told me so again this morning, you said—”

  “Things I should not have said on this or any other Sabbath.” Jamie turned away, releasing his hold on her. “Something happened this day, Rose.”

  “Aye. Your son was born—”

  “Before that, I mean. I had a discussion with Duncan.” He hung his head. “More like a confession.”

  “Duncan, you say?” Neda’s husband, the overseer of Auchengray, was a good man and kind. But unbending when it came to certain matters. “Whatever did you confess to him?”

  “The truth.” The relief on Jamie’s face was visible even in the dim entrance hall. “I promised Duncan … nae, I promised God that I would be a good husband to Leana and a good father to Ian. I must keep that promise now. You ken I must.” He stared down at the flagstone floor, his voice strained. “Let me go, Rose. Please.”

  “Let you go?” Her throat tightened. “But, Jamie, I love you. After all we’ve been through, how can you ask such a thing of me?”

  “Because you love your sister.”

  She cringed at the reminder. “Not as much as I love you.”

  Jamie looked up. “You’ve loved her longer though. Every day of your life.”

  “Not this day,” Rose protested, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Hour after hour she’d held Leana’s hand, pleading with her not to die, praying for her with Neda and the others. Aye, she loved her sister. But she loved Jamie as well. How could she possibly let him go?