Mine Is the Night (54 page)

She held her breath until Jack beckoned her forth.
Be with me, Lord. Cover me with your wings. Let me not be seen
.

Without a word they hurried down the turnpike stair, then went their separate ways, he to the servants’ stair, she to the drawing room. The house was utterly dark and absolutely silent. She took off her shoes, tiptoeing as quietly as she could, and still she felt like a Highland coo stomping through the halls, so loud was the swish of her satin.

A minute later Elisabeth entered the drawing room, watching the door to Mrs. Pringle’s private office. If anyone would be up at this hour, it would be Bell Hill’s loyal housekeeper. Lord willing, the servants would soon be informed of their marriage plans. But not now, not like this.

The well-oiled hinges did not protest when she unbolted the door and pushed it open. A damp, chilly breeze rushed over her bare skin, making her shiver. Her warm wool cape and sturdy leather shoes would be most welcome. She closed the door, thanking the Lord for safe passage thus far, then hastened across the lawn, hearing the whinnying of horses in the stables. Hyslop would not question his master, not even when Jack claimed both Janvier and Belda at this early hour.

When Elisabeth reached the oak tree, she leaned against the rough trunk,
catching her breath, calming her heart. In all her five-and-twenty years, she had never known such a night nor encountered such a man as Jack Buchanan.
I adore you
. He’d spoken those words with such conviction, leaving no room for doubt or fear.

And I love you, Jack. More than I realized. More than I could possibly imagine
.

By the time he’d crossed the lawn with their mounts and reached her side, she was trembling all over.

“Cold?” he asked, sweeping her wool cape round her shoulders.

“A bit,” she admitted, pulling on her gloves. He lifted her onto Belda’s saddle with ease, then exchanged her slippers for sensible shoes before draping her black wool gown across the back of the saddle.

“You’ll need new attire,” he said, “now that you’re no longer in mourning.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought of a great many things. “I shall have time to sew a new gown for myself, now that I’ve finished dressing all your maidservants.”

“So you have.” He threw himself onto Janvier’s back, then sent both horses trotting forth with a simple command. They were soon through the park and onto the drive leading them away from the house and toward town, the sun still a half hour below the horizon.

Jack looked at her beneath the velvety blue sky, riding as close as he dared. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your employment, Mrs. Kerr. I’m afraid I must dismiss you as my dressmaker.”

She pretended to be greatly offended. “Lord Buchanan! Is this how you repay my many hours of service?”

“Even worse, madam, I insist you marry me within the month.”

Elisabeth laughed softly. “I believe I was the one who proposed marriage.”

“So you did, my dear.”

The night was drawing to a close by the time they reached Mr. Riddell’s stables. Jack tarried some distance away while Elisabeth turned over the reins to a sleepy lad with hay sticking out of his hair. Once the groom tottered off with
Belda, Jack joined Elisabeth once more, letting Janvier poke his nose in a bucket of water, while the two of them stood in the deserted street.

Elisabeth looked up at him, finding it hard to bid him good night. Or was it good morning? “How long will you be in Edinburgh?” she finally asked.

“If all goes well, I shall be home Saturday afternoon.”

“And if it does not go well?”

His response was long in coming, and his gaze did not quite meet hers. “Bess, I need to know that you trust me.”

“
Trust
you? Jack, surely—”

“Listen to me.” His voice was low and rough with emotion. “You’ve trusted men before who threatened you and frightened you, who betrayed you and lied to you, who bruised you and tried to violate you.” When he looked at her, the intensity of his gaze stole her breath. “I am not like those men, Bess. I could never hurt you. And want only what is best for you.”

“I know.” She touched the strong line of his jaw, felt the faint stubble of his beard. “That is why I trust you completely. Did I not lie at your feet through a long, dark night?”

“Indeed you did.” He placed his hand on hers, holding it against his cheek. “Though I wonder if you actually slept.”

“Not a wink,” she confessed.

arjory clutched the letter in her hand, having read it so many times the creases were beginning to wear. But what else was there to do when she could not sleep? The box bed felt very strange indeed, large and solid compared to the narrow hurlie bed she’d known for months. And the house was entirely too empty without her cousin or daughter-in-law to keep her company.

Anne was happily settled in her new home.

As for Elisabeth, Marjory was beside herself with worry.

You must speak with him in private
. She’d not given her daughter-in-law much choice in the matter. Had she asked too much of Elisabeth? Too much of his lordship? Their warm regard for each other was clear. Never more so than in the drawing room last evening when they’d danced together for hours. With Elisabeth’s mourning ended, however prematurely, Marjory felt certain Lord Buchanan would make her his wife.

Please, Admiral. ’Tis God’s will, I am certain of it
.

With a sigh Marjory unfolded Neil’s letter once more, if only to cheer her. He’d pressed it into her hand at last evening’s Michaelmas feast. “Dinna read it ’til ye’re hame,” he’d insisted.

Amid the excitement of helping Elisabeth dress, Marjory had all but forgotten his missive until Neil had delivered her to Halliwell’s Close sometime after midnight and reminded her of the letter in the pocket of her gown. “I vowed to surprise ye with a praisent at Michaelmas, aye?”

“You did,” she’d agreed, pulling out the letter, suddenly curious.

“Not ’til I’m gane,” he’d cautioned her, kissing her cheek. Well,
both
cheeks. Her brow too. Each one felt like a promise of things to come. And the
words
Neil had spoken! “I will aye want ye by my side,” after the first gentle kiss. “I will aye need ye in my life,” after the second. Then, “I will aye luve ye, Leddy Kerr.”

Naturally, she’d returned the favor. With her own kisses. And her own words.

The memory of their parting made her sigh even now, hours later. Lingering at the door like two young lovers. Whispering endearments old as time yet fresh as spring water in their mouths. Holding hands in the quiet sanctuary of her wee house.

Marjory read his letter once more, though she already knew every word by heart.

She swallowed, hard.
Beloved
. Lord John had never addressed her so ardently.
Dear
, aye, but never
Beloved
.

Pleased
? Marjory had burst into tears.

Of all the ways Neil might have blessed her, honored her, this was the finest: he’d spent the summer learning to read and to write, keeping it a secret until now, until he was ready.
My sweet Neil
. She pictured him sitting at Reverend Brown’s parlor table, laboring over each letter, each word.

Clearly Reverend Brown was more supportive of their courtship than he’d once put forth. Else why would he have helped Neil Gibson become a literate man, lifting him to a higher station, opening the world of books to him?

Oh, Neil, ’tis only the beginning
.

Marjory vowed to be nicer—nae,
much
nicer—to the minister henceforth.

And mine is yours
. Marjory touched his signature, neatly drawn.

Helen Edgar, their housekeeper at Milne Square, would be so proud of her old friend. Even Janet, her nigh-forgotten daughter-in-law, might have applauded Gibson’s efforts. And Elisabeth would be ecstatic.

Marjory looked toward the window.
Hurry home, lass
. The sky was already growing lighter, a warm pink nudging the midnight blue toward the western horizon.

When she heard footsteps on the cobblestones below, she swept aside Anne’s lace-trimmed curtains.
Bess!
Marjory tucked Gibson’s letter in her hanging pocket for safekeeping, then flung open the door and stood at the top of the stair, anxious to greet her daughter-in-law. Whatever had happened last night at Bell Hill, breakfast would wait.

Elisabeth opened the door from the close, then looked up. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Marjory waved her up impatiently. “I’ve not slept all night, worrying about you.” She pulled her inside, then closed the door, noting her daughter-in-law’s damp wool cape, her wrinkled satin gown, her muddy leather shoes, and the mourning gown draped over her arm. “So,” Marjory began, all but crowing, “who are you, then? The next Lady Buchanan?”

A look of surprise lit Elisabeth’s features. “I’d hardly considered it, but, aye, if we marry, I would bear the title ‘Lady’ again.”

“
If
you marry?” Marjory’s breath caught. “Please do not tell me things ended badly.”

“Nothing has ended. Not yet.” Elisabeth laid aside her satin reticule, then pulled off her gloves. “If there’s hot water in the kettle, I could do with some tea.”

Marjory had never prepared tea with such haste. A minute later they were seated at the oval table, a plate of oatcakes and cheese before them, teacups in hand. Marjory held hers to keep warm, not bothering to take a sip. “Tell me everything,” she begged.

Elisabeth patiently described her night in Lord Buchanan’s study, though on occasion Marjory sensed her daughter-in-law skipping over a few details. When she came to the pardon his lordship intended to seek from the king, Marjory gripped her hands. “Can this be true, Bess?”

“No more fear of the dragoons,” Elisabeth assured her. “Nor of Cumberland or the tolbooth or the gallows.”

Marjory could barely take it all in. “ ’Twas the Lord’s plan all along,” she breathed.

“Aye.” Elisabeth touched her hand. “Of course, you will be pardoned as well, which should relieve Gibson immensely.”

“Oh!” Marjory fished out his letter, ashamed at having forgotten. “I have something you must see, Bess.” She placed it in her daughter-in-law’s hands and watched her closely as she read.

“Gibson wrote this?” Elisabeth stared at the paper. “Marjory, ’tis wonderful!”

She smiled, proud as any wife. “His hand
is
quite accomplished.”

“Nae, I mean ’tis wonderful to know money is all that prevents you and Gibson from marrying.”

Marjory was taken aback. “How can that be good news?”

“Because of this.” Elisabeth reached for her discarded reticule and tugged open the drawstring. “Lord Buchanan filled this just before we left Bell Hill.”

Marjory watched a stream of bank notes spill onto their battered dining table. “The admiral
gave
these to you?”

“Nae, he gave them to
you
. His lordship clearly stipulated, ‘For your mother-in-law.’ Is it very much?”

Marjory began to count, her hands shaking. “One hundred pounds. Two hundred. Oh, Bess, this one is five hundred …” Speechless, she laid down each bank note, one after another, never losing track of the number, however unfathomable.

When she finished, Marjory looked up. “ ’Tis fifteen hundred pounds.”

Elisabeth gasped. “I had no idea—”

“But God did. Aye, he most certainly did.”

Marjory could not stem the tears that flowed from her eyes or the joy that poured from her heart.
You have dealt kindly with me after all, Lord. You have, you have! I came home empty, and you filled me to overflowing
.

Dazed at his boundless provision, Marjory straightened the Royal Bank notes into neat stacks, trying to make sense of it all. But there was nothing sensible about so vast a sum. And this sum in particular. “Bess, did I ever tell you how much I gave to the Jacobite cause?”

“I know ’twas a great deal.”

Marjory lightly touched each stack, her fingertips still wet with tears. “Fifteen hundred pounds.”

“Fifteen hundred …” Elisabeth stared at the table full of money. “Is it possible Lord Buchanan knew that?”

Marjory turned to her. “Let me ask you this. Did he count the notes, as I did just now?”

“Nae,” Elisabeth admitted. “ ’Twas dark in his study.”

“Then this gift is from the Lord.” Marjory was more certain than ever. “Though it passed through the admiral’s hands, it came from above.”