Fair Is the Rose Paperback - 2004

From the jacket flap

"The Scottish Lowlands, October 1789.
A" year has come and gone since Jamie McKie fled for his life, arriving at Auchengray in search of sanctuary and a bonny wife. Young Rose McBride, as fair a lass as any in Scotland, dearly loves her handsome cousin--but so does her older sister, Leana.
Determined to have Jamie all to herself, Rose puts in motion one desperate plan after another, enlisting the aid of Lillias Brown, a wise woman--a "wutch, some say--still keen on the old ways. Impetuous Rose ignores the cruel whispers that travel up and down the parish hills, never dreaming of the tragic consequences that await her.
Her sister, Leana, clings to her hard-won sense of peace and assurance by a slender thread of faith. Day and night, Leana's hours are apent caring for wee Ian and praying that her future will hold more promise than her past.
Jamie McKie is busy making his own plans to return home to Glentrool and claim his inheritance. To do so means facing Evan, the brother whose blessing he stole, and Alec, the father whom he ruthlessly deceived. It is a perilous journey that will test the depth of his courage, the strength of his sword, and the tenacity of his vow to honor Almighty God, no matter the cost.

Excerpt

Chapter 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?

He took her hand and led her toward the hall bench, pulling her
down onto the wooden seat next to him. “Rose…” His voice was as tender
as she’d ever heard it. “I saw you with Ian. You were born to be a
mother. And someday you will surely be one. But first you must find a
husband of your own.”

“Please, Jamie!” Did he not understand? Did he not see? “You should
have been my husband. And Ian my son–”

“Nae!”He fell back against the wall with a groan. “I beg you, do not
say such things, Rose. ’Tis too late for all of that. God in his mercy
has forgiven my unfaithful heart, and I will not disappoint him–or
Leana–again.”

Her heart sank. “Instead you will disappoint me.”

“Aye, it seems I must.” Jamie turned toward her, his face a handbreadth
away. “Forgive me, darling Rose. You were my first love; I cannot
deny it.”

His first love. But not his last. She closed her eyes. He was too near.

“I may never care for Leana as I have for you. But I must try. Don’t
you see?”

“I…” She could hold back her tears no longer. “I only see that you
don’t want me.”

“As my cousin, always. But not as my wife.” His grip tightened.

“You must let me go, Rose. For Ian’s sake.”

She stood, tugging her hands free to wipe her cheeks, looking away
lest he see the sorrow in her eyes. “You ask too much of me, Jamie. You
ask…too much.” She fled for the front door, stopping long enough to
fling her cloak over her shoulders before disappearing into the fogshrouded
night.

Media reviews

“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 18th-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

Citations

• Booklist, 02/15/2004, Page 1036
• Christian Retailing, 04/05/2004, Page 22
• Library Journal, 04/01/2004, Page 80
• Publishers Weekly, 02/02/2004, Page 59
• Romantic Times, 03/01/2004, Page 79