Mine Is the Night (47 page)

She spun about, thinking to return to her workroom, until she remembered Anne’s small lace making scissors. Aye, those would do. Elisabeth started for home once more, practically running by the time she reached the road leading west toward town.

Dark, dark. And in the distance a roll of thunder.

Though she had no lantern, the lights of Selkirk beckoned her forward. Elisabeth well knew the steep, narrow track, having traveled it twice daily throughout the long summer. She started downhill, hair blowing in her face, her steps cautious. She could see her outstretched hand, but no farther. The air had a hollow sound as more thunder rumbled overhead.

At the first broad curve rested an enormous boulder the size of his lordship’s carriage. She’d nearly reached the other side of it when a large man stepped into her path.

“Oh!” She exhaled, bending forward as if she’d been punched. “Goodness, Rob, you startled me.”

The tailor took her arm rather firmly and led her round the boulder to a small patch of grass where clumps of spiny gorse stood guard and Rob’s small traveling bundle lay waiting. “I couldna speak with ye at the hoose, so I thocht to do so here.”

“Here?” She stared at Rob, his eyes blacker than the sky. “But the storm—”

“Sit with me, Bess,” he said, almost as if he’d not heard her.

Elisabeth was not afraid, but she was confused as she gingerly sat on the cool ground. Rob joined her, grunting slightly. Whether on purpose or by accident, he sat on her gown, pinning her in place.

When he spoke again, he looked straight ahead, his voice low but sharp. “Whatsomever were ye thinking dining with his lordship?”

Is that what this is about?
“Rob, it was a meal. We were surrounded by servants—”

“I see the way he leuks at ye. I ken what’s on his mind.”

“You misjudge him,” she insisted. “Lord Buchanan is a good man, a righteous man—”

“Then ye mean to marry him.”

“Marry? Have you forgotten I’m in mourning?”

“Nae.” He turned to her. “But
ye
have.” His hand circled her forearm, drawing her closer. “I’ve waited a lang time for ye, Bess. I’ll not lose ye to anither.”

When she saw the hardness in his features, the darkness in his eyes, fear began seeping into her heart as surely as the cold had begun seeping through her skirts. Yet she clung to her resolve. “If I’m to marry again, the Almighty will choose my husband.”

“Micht he not choose me?”

“I’ve never seen you in kirk,” she reminded him even as he tightened his grip on her. “Not on all the Sundays we lived in Edinburgh.”

He snorted. “This from a lass wha hails the moon.”

“Not anymore,” she said fervently. “I belong to God.”

“Nae, Bess.” He pulled her against his chest and held her there. “Ye belong to me.”

She tried to wriggle free from his rough embrace. “Rob, please …”

But he was too strong for her. He pushed her back against the ground, the weight of his body almost more than she could bear. She could not move. She could not breathe.

“Stop it, Rob!” she cried, her voice thin, pinched.

Then his mouth was on hers, demanding a response.

Help me, Lord! Please, please
. With great effort she finally escaped Rob’s brutal kiss, her skin burning as her cheek scraped against the stubble of his beard.

But Rob did not relent. With his breath warming her ear, he made clear his intentions. “Ye’ll not deny me, Bess. I’ve luved ye too lang and kenned ye too weel.” He kissed the curve of her neck, hard, without tenderness or affection, then reached for her skirts.

“Nae, Rob!” She bucked against him, lifting her shoulders, trying to throw him off balance. “You do not … mean … this …”

“Aye, but I do,” he growled, holding her down by the sheer bulk of him. “If I canna marry ye, then I’ll have ye just the same.”

“Please, Rob,” she begged him, beginning to weep as he forced her knees apart. “Please … don’t …”

He was no longer listening. He no longer cared.

But God was listening and cared very much. “Father!” she cried. “Father, don’t let him hurt me …”

Rob cut her off. “Yer faither is
deid.
”

She drew a ragged breath. “But my heavenly Father is not.”

Neither of them moved, though the wind roared and the thunder bore down on them.

Then, with his head turned, Rob finally released her and rose to his knees and then to his feet, while she hastily rearranged her gown, her hands trembling.

Rob stood with his back to her now. His rage appeared to be spent. Even in the darkness she could see the sloped line of his shoulders.

Standing, Elisabeth touched her face, her neck, certain she would find bruises in the morning. But she was not badly injured. She was not defiled.
Thank you, Father
.

Suddenly her knees felt weak, and her limbs began to shake. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks as she slowly backed away from Rob, her emotions spinning. Fear, relief, anger were all jumbled inside her.

For a moment she thought she might faint or be sick. More than anything she wanted to run, to put as much distance between them as she could. But her legs would not carry her yet. And there were things she had to say.

“You must leave at once,” she told him, her voice raw with pain. “Not only Bell Hill. Not only Selkirk. You must leave Scotland and never return.”

She heard nothing but the wind, whipping the grass round their feet.

Then he spoke. His words were low, broken, and filled with remorse. “I niver meant for it to happen, Bess. I niver meant to hurt ye.”

She believed him. But it changed nothing.

“Listen to me, Rob.” She lifted her head, feeling a bit stronger. “I’ll not tell Lord Buchanan until you are well away. But I will tell him. And he will hunt you down unless you are beyond his reach.”

Rob slowly turned, his face haggard. “Why, Bess? Why would ye spare me?”

“Because you were my friend once. And because the Lord spared me when I foolishly worshiped another.”

The rain began at last. A few large drops, then more. In another minute they would both be soaked through.

“Go,” she urged him, raising her voice above the steadily increasing patter. “Go to the Americas just as you planned. Start a new life.”

He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. “I canna live without ye.”

“But you must, Rob.” She collected her hat and basket, her thoughts fixed on Halliwell’s Close, on home. “You’ll not be alone. The Lord will be with you.”

He looked at her at last. “Are ye sure, Bess?”

“I am.” She lifted her face to the heavens, letting the rain wash away her tears.

arjory had never cared for thunder. Lord John had often found it soothing, especially at night when a low rumble traveled across the hills, lulling him to sleep. But a hard rain had followed this evening’s thunder, and Elisabeth was not yet home.

Glancing toward the window, Marjory fretted, “She should leave earlier now that September is here.”

“Aye, and start later in the morn,” Anne agreed, never looking up from the lace work she’d brought with her.

Though Marjory did not have a candle-stool to offer her, she mimicked the effect with clear glasses of water on either side of a tallow candle, allowing the women to work into the evening hours. The glasses belonged to Jane Nicoll, who resided in one of the better houses on Back Row. A widow without issue, Jane had many more glasses on her sideboard and assured the Kerrs that two would never be missed.

Marjory had accepted them as graciously as she could, still learning how to receive instead of give. At first, feelings of resentment and shame had welled up inside her. But she was beginning to understand that those with plenty found joy in giving to those in need. And so she welcomed their generosity and reminded herself that every good gift came from the Lord. Had she not begged the Almighty to provide for her loved ones? To guard them and keep them safe? Well, here was Anne, newly married to a prosperous tailor. And Elisabeth with her eye on a wealthy admiral. And herself with the stalwart love of a good man.

Every day the Kerrs had eaten breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper and wanted for nothing because of God’s provision. Aye, she could accept the gift of Jane’s two glasses without embarrassment. If her pride was gone, was that not just as well?

At the sound of footsteps on the stair, Marjory sighed, relieved to have her daughter-in-law home. Elisabeth was moving slower than usual, Marjory noticed. Who wouldn’t be weary after walking two miles in the rain? She gave her turnip soup a final stir, then moved toward the entrance, calling out a cheerful greeting.

But as the door creaked open and Elisabeth entered with her head bowed, Marjory knew something was wrong. “What is it, Bess?”

When she looked up, Marjory nearly fainted at the sight. One of Elisabeth’s cheeks was red and raw, and her lips were badly swollen. “My dear girl! Did you fall?”

Elisabeth shook her head and quietly closed the door, then lifted the white linen kerchief tucked round her neck

“Bess!” she cried softly. “Who did this to you?”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “R-rob,” she managed to say.

Marjory gasped. “Rob MacPherson?” When Elisabeth nodded, Marjory’s hands began to tremble. “I knew it, I knew it. Did I not say he was dangerous, Annie?”

Her cousin nodded, too shocked to speak.

“He did not violate me,” Elisabeth said in a low voice. “But … he meant to.”

“My poor, sweet Bess!” Marjory swallowed hard, her stomach lurching. “This is my fault. I should have told Lord Buchanan what sort of man he’d hired.”

“Do not punish yourself, Cousin,” Anne said gently, helping Elisabeth ease out of her gown. “None of us could have imagined such behavior from the man.”

“I could have,” Marjory said darkly, “and should have.” She quickly filled the wash basin with hot water and added her treasured bar of lavender soap.

Still dressed in her chemise, Elisabeth began to dab at her body with a wet cloth, wincing everywhere the linen touched. Her arms, her chest, her neck, her shoulders. “By morn,” she said in a thin voice, “I fear my bruises will look far worse. I pray my clothing will cover them all.”

Marjory cautiously touched her cheek. “And what happened here?”

Elisabeth looked away. “His beard was … rough.”

“Oh, Bess …” Marjory could hold back her tears no longer. She sank onto the nearest chair, then clasped Elisabeth’s hand and stroked it over and over, rocking as she did. “I am so sorry … so very sorry …”

Anne sniffed, attending to her damp eyes and runny nose. “Come,” she said at last, “let me dress you for bed.” She slipped a clean nightgown over Elisabeth’s head, then lightly draped a plaid round her shoulders. “Can you eat something?”

Elisabeth shook her head. “Tea perhaps.” She sat beside Marjory at the oval table. “I was much … stronger … before. But on the walk home …”

“Of course,” Marjory said. “We can only be brave so long. Still, you must have been very brave to make him stop.”

“ ’Twas the Lord’s doing,” Elisabeth said, “not mine.” In halting words she described her terrible encounter, taking long drinks of tea whenever her throat grew parched.

When Elisabeth ran out of words, Anne stood and reached for her wool cape. “I shall call upon Reverend Brown tonight,” she declared. “He will summon the sheriff in the morn and inform Lord Buchanan. By noon Rob MacPherson will be locked in the tolbooth—”

“Nae.” Elisabeth’s tone was quite firm. “I sent Rob away. Told him to leave Scotland and never return.”

Anne looked at her aghast. “But he deserves to be punished!”

“Aye, and he will be,” Elisabeth assured her. “Every time he thinks of me. Every time he remembers what he did. Every time he aches for his Highland home. Every time he sees my bruised face in his mind’s eye. As to further chastisement, I leave that to the Almighty.”

Anne fumed, “But Lord Buchanan—”

“Would kill him,” Elisabeth said without hesitation. “And I cannot bear to have that on my conscience. Or on his lordship’s. I’ll stay home tomorrow and see to my wounds. That will buy Rob one day before I must explain to Lord Buchanan what happened to his tailor.”

Marjory plucked at her apron strings, uncertain of her feelings. Proud of Elisabeth on the one hand, fearful for her on the other. “How do you know Rob MacPherson will not come looking for you again? The man cannot stay away from you, Bess.”

“Where he is bound, a return trip would be difficult.” Elisabeth rose, her tea having grown cold. “Just now sleep might be best.”

Marjory was on her feet at once, shaking out the sheet on the hurlie bed. She smoothed it in place, then plumped up the thin feather pillow. “Come to bed, dearest.”

When Elisabeth stretched out on the small bed, her long legs did not fit until she drew them up, knees to chin. Marjory draped first one plaid, then another across her daughter-in-law’s bruised body and gently tucked her in like a child. And she
was
a child—her child—whom she loved with all her heart. “Sleep well, dear Bess.”