“We’ve left Selkirkshire behind,” the admiral told her. “As promised, here is the village of Lessudden.”
She found the thatched cottages charming enough. “But none of them are ancient,” she chided him, “and I see no ruins.”
“Patience, Mrs. Kerr.”
At his leading they rode north of the village along a high, forested path. The sun was still shining low in the sky, but deeper within the woods, twilight had fallen. A thick carpet of dried leaves and pine needles softened the horses’ steps, until it seemed they were approaching on tiptoe.
A slight clearing in the woods revealed their destination: the lofty remains of an abbey. Silent, beautiful, mysterious.
“Tell me, Mrs. Kerr,” the admiral said in low voice. “Is the twelfth century ancient enough for you?” He quietly dismounted and tethered his horse, then helped her down as if she weighed nothing.
For a moment Elisabeth sensed he might take her hand, then felt foolish when he didn’t. She walked ahead of him, lest he spy her warm cheeks. “What do you know of this place?”
“King David the first founded Dryburgh Abbey,” the admiral told her, “but, beyond that, I cannot say. One of my gardeners recommended a visit here. Now I see why.”
“Aye,” she breathed. A wall here, a wall there, nothing like a whole building, yet sacred nevertheless. The arches of the transepts took on a rosy glow in the diminishing light, while the tall, narrow window openings were dark and blank. Gravestones were scattered about, some grand and ornate, others plain and low to the ground and covered with moss and lichen. She peeked through an immense, roundheaded door into an empty chamber with a stone seat stretching along each wall. “The monks met here,” she said, then jumped when her voice echoed through the vast interior.
Lord Buchanan continued exploring the pink sandstone ruins with Elisabeth not far behind. “The Tweed,” he said, indicating the river encircling the abbey. “Our horses will be glad for some refreshment.”
While their mounts drank their fill, then nibbled at the grass round their feet, the admiral and Elisabeth settled on a low stone wall overlooking the placid waters.
“You said I’d return home having eaten my supper,” she reminded him.
“Right.” He was on his feet at once and unbuckled a leather bag attached to Janvier’s saddle. “I could manage only cheese, bread, a flask of cider, and ripe cherries from the orchard. A poor man’s meal, I’m afraid.”
“Then ’tis well suited for me.”
He resumed his seat beside her, his brow furrowed. “Mrs. Kerr, I did not mean to suggest—”
“Nor did you,” she assured him, taking the bread from his hands.
They ate little and spoke even less, tearing their bread into crumbs to feed the blackbirds hopping about. She sampled a few cherries, ate a bite of cheese, then took a long drink of cider from the flask before handing it to him. “The rest is yours.”
He downed it in a single gulp, then pressed the cork into place, looking at her rather intently. “I brought you here for a reason, Mrs. Kerr—”
“Please call me Bess,” she said, hoping they might dispense with such formalities.
The admiral slowly nodded. “I confess it suits you better.”
She’d not sat this near to him before. His forehead was lined, but faintly so, and his nose long and planed on the sides. His cheekbones were high and his mouth firm, almost sculpted. But it was his eyes she noticed most. A warm dark brown, like his hair, like his eyebrows, like the hint of a beard on his chin.
Elisabeth turned away, embarrassed to have studied him so closely. “You say you brought me here for a reason, milord.”
“Aye, Bess. I need to know where you stand with the Jacobites.”
She whirled round. “Whom have you been speaking with?”
“Reverend Brown.” He grimaced. “I was a fool not to have realized it from the first. Perhaps I did not wish to know and so avoided the truth. I’m grateful I’m no longer in active service with the navy, or I should be duty bound to report your whereabouts to the king.”
Elisabeth stared at the ground, thankful she’d not had much to eat. “And you … feel no such duty … now?”
“None whatsoever. But I would know where your allegiance lies.”
She lifted her head, determined to speak honestly. “My Highland family always supported the Stuart claim to the throne. Because I loved them, I embraced Prince Charlie and his cause. But after losing my brother … and then my husband … the Jacobite cause is no longer my own.”
“So then, if King George should ask me where your loyalty rests?”
“Only with the Almighty,” she said plainly, “and with those who bow to him.”
He nodded slowly as if weighing her answer. “Aye, that should please him.”
Elisabeth almost laughed, so serious was his expression. “Are you planning on discussing me with His Majesty anytime soon?”
“Perhaps,” was all he said, then stood, gazing up at the darkening sky. “Come, Bess. I promised your mother-in-law I’d have you home before sunset. Can you ride with some speed?”
She rose, straightening her shoulders. “I can.”
Minutes later they were galloping westward, her mare already sensitive to her cues. Once the road straightened, they eased their pace. “Well done, Belda,” she crooned, easing back into the saddle.
“You’re a natural horsewoman,” the admiral commended her. “I insist you take Belda out regularly, for she needs the exercise.”
Elisabeth pretended to look shocked. “But, sir, I must sew.”
“Sew faster,” he charged her and took off again.
They were riding neck and neck, leaning forward in their saddles, eyes fixed on the lights of Bell Hill, when the admiral suddenly eased his pace and motioned for her to do the same. “Dragoons,” he muttered.
The two slowed to a stop, breathing hard, the admiral’s hand resting on her reins.
Her heart in her throat, Elisabeth peered ahead. Whatever were dragoons doing at Bell Hill? She counted eight men in uniform trotting away from the house. Please, Lord. Let them not turn this way. Along with the admiral, she waited and watched as the dragoons neared the road. When the men finally bore right and started downhill toward Selkirk, Elisabeth nearly collapsed onto Belda’s mane. Thanks be to God.
Jack was quiet for some time, his jaw working. “I don’t know what brought them to my door this night, but you can be sure I will find out. In the meantime, Bess, it might be wise if you remained withindoors.”
“If you think it best …”
“I do. If I am the one they seek, let them come find me. If it is you they are after, I’ll do as my mother once did when two English spies appeared at her door.” He leaned so close Elisabeth could smell the sweet cider on his breath. “I shall hide you on my roof and dispatch the king’s men to the hills.”
Forty-One
Friends are much better tried
in bad fortune than in good.
ARISTOTLE
arjory paced in front of the hearth, the embers low, the supper dishes scrubbed. A single candle flickered on the sewing table. Night had fallen, and still there was no sign of Elisabeth.
Anne looked up from her book. “You’ve no need to fret, Cousin. She is safe with Lord Buchanan.”
“I know,” Marjory said absently, moving toward the open window. She leaned out, feeling the night wind against her face. The marketplace appeared deserted. Other than the usual sounds of barking dogs and lowing cattle, all was silent.
Or was it?
She closed her eyes, straining to hear. Aye, she was certain now: hoofbeats from the east. “They’ll be here shortly,” she said, then exhaled in relief. Wanting to look her best for Lord Buchanan, she smoothed her hair, brushed the lint from her gown, and washed her hands in lavender soap, a present from Anne.
Marjory had hoped her Tuesday birthday might slip by unnoticed, but Anne had insisted on a small gathering of friends. Elisabeth
had stitched a new linen petticoat for her, Michael and Peter had found a tin ladle at market, and Gibson had carved a fine set of four wooden spoons. No one else in the neighborhood had been informed, at her request. Though Marjory was grateful for every one of her nine-and-forty years, she saw no need to proclaim her age from the mercat cross.
Hearing the noisy clatter of hoofs on the cobblestones, she hastened back to the window, expecting to find Lord Buchanan and Elisabeth approaching. Instead, several horses were coming down Kirk Wynd. She squinted into the darkness. Only when the first rider came within a stone’s throw of their house could she see his red coat.
“Annie!” She yanked the casement window closed. “Dragoons!”
Her cousin blew out the candle, then leaped to her side. “In Selkirk? At this hour?” Anne pressed her forehead against the glass, counting under her breath. “Eight men, I’d say. They seem to be looking for something.”
Marjory could hardly breathe. They’re looking for us. For Elisabeth, for me. Had she not always feared a day of reckoning would come?
“Listen.” Anne eased open the window without making a sound, then clasped Marjory’s hand in silent support.
The men below were grumbling among themselves, loudly enough for the women to hear.
“I say we should’ve stayed. Waited ’til the admiral returned.”
“Who knows when that would have been?”
“His lordship’s housekeeper was little help.”
“Best find an inn, lads, and see if supper may be had.”
Her heart still beating wildly, Marjory watched the dragoons walk their horses along the row of buildings facing the marketplace. She could almost smell their sweat, their anger, their impatience. As they reached the Cross Well, she heard their muffled comments and guessed what they were saying. The Forest Inn stood downhill, beyond the West Port.
When the men disappeared round the corner, Marjory collapsed onto an upholstered chair. “Annie,” she moaned, “they will come for us in the morn.”
“But your names were not spoken,” her cousin protested gently. “More likely they had business with Lord Buchanan. You can be certain he will not point them in your direction.” She lit the candle at the hearth, casting shadows round the room.
Shivering, Marjory pulled Elisabeth’s plaid round her shoulders, fearing King George would not be satisfied until every Jacobite was dead. Minutes later, when she again heard horses in the street, Marjory did not move. “You look, Annie, for I haven’t the strength to stand.”
Her cousin glanced out the window, then touched her shoulder. “ ’Tis Bess and his lordship.”
Marjory sank back against the chair. At last.
The two were soon at the door. “Oh, Marjory!” Elisabeth hurried across the room, then knelt beside the chair, her hair reduced to a nest of wispy curls, her eyes filled with fear. “The dragoons—”
“I know,” Marjory interrupted. “We saw them in the marketplace. They paused long enough for us to overhear some of their conversation.”
Lord Buchanan moved into the room and bowed. “Did the men say why they’ve come to Selkirk?”
“Nae,” Anne replied, “but they did mention having stopped at Bell Hill. Apparently your housekeeper was not very hospitable toward them.”
“Mrs. Pringle is not one to be bullied,” he agreed. “Since the dragoons were not expected, she’d not have made them welcome. Had they been sailors, perhaps, but not soldiers. Still, they will no doubt pay me a second visit in the morn.” He glanced at Elisabeth. “All the more reason for you to remain at home.”
She nodded. “At least I have my sewing basket and can finish my gown.”
“I shall look forward to seeing you wear it,” he said. “Ladies, forgive me, but I’ve two horses that need their supper and a good grooming. I shall keep you abreast of any news.” He bowed and was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.
Marjory could not read her daughter-in-law’s expression as she watched the admiral take his leave. Was Elisabeth developing an attachment for the man? If so, ’twas far too soon. Donald would not have wished Elisabeth to mourn her whole life, but he deserved a twelvemonth.
My son loved you, Bess. And I know you loved him.
Marjory tossed and turned through the night, haunted by dreams of her husband, of her sons, of Tweedsford. By intent she’d not been to the estate since they’d returned to Selkirk. She tried not to think of it, not to walk through the rooms in her mind, not to punish herself with memories.
When the gray light of morning began filtering through the curtains, Marjory rose long enough to add coals to the grate. Tempted to slip back into bed, she glanced out the window and discovered a steady drizzle of rain, the kind that might continue for hours. Good weather for napping but little else.
She eyed her daughter-in-law, well asleep in her chair, her head tucked into the corner where wing and back met. You deserve a proper bed, lass. Marjory felt guilty for not taking her daughter-in-law’s place. Yet her own back would never bear sitting upright to sleep.
At least today Elisabeth would not have to climb Bell Hill in this dreary rain.
Marjory eased back onto the hurlie bed and wrapped the linen sheet round her. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to fall across her like a soft woolen blanket. Come, come.
“Marjory!” Elisabeth was bending over her, shaking her gently awake. “Lord Buchanan has brought us news. Terrible news, he says.”
Marjory tried to sit up, clutching the sheet round her neck. “Is he … here?”
“His lordship is on the stair, waiting for us to dress.” Elisabeth practically lifted her from the bed. “I’ve brushed your gown and have a cup of tea waiting for you at table.”
Marjory dressed in haste, feeling disoriented. Was it still morn? Aye. Was it still raining? Aye. How long had she slept? Too long. When she fastened the last hook, she nodded to Anne, who ushered Lord Buchanan into the house.
“Many apologies, milord,” Anne murmured before curtsying.
“Think nothing of it.” He bowed, then looked at each of them in turn before sharing the news none of them wanted to hear. “Those dragoons paid me a visit early this morn. The new owner of Tweedsford sent them in advance of his coming.”
“Nae!” Marjory cried softly. “It is done, then.” She sank onto the chair at table and stared at her tea, already gone cold.
Elisabeth spoke up. “I don’t understand, milord. What did this new owner want from you?”
“He assumed that, as a peer in residence, I would have knowledge of any enemies of the king who might live in Selkirk. Dissenters, rebels …”
“Jacobites,” Elisabeth finished for him.
He nodded grimly. “He seems to think he alone can quash the last vestiges of the rebellion. But remember, you have advocates here, chief among them Reverend Brown. And I will vouch for your loyalty to the king. At the highest level, if necessary.”
Marjory lifted her head. He means before the king himself. “So who is this new owner?”
Lord Buchanan eased onto the seat beside her, compassion in his eyes. “Someone you well know, I’m afraid, from your days in Edinburgh. General Lord Mark Kerr.”
Forty-Two
Though it be honest,
it is never good to bring bad news.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
ae.” Marjory stared at him. “It cannot be Lord Mark’s. Not my home. It cannot be his.”
She rubbed her brow as if trying to erase the words imprinted there. You and your sons were duly warned, madam. Dreadful words, horrible words. I regret to inform you of the consequences of their treason and yours. Words once written by General Lord Mark Kerr, who would live in her home where she’d raised her sons. Her darling sons.
“Nae!” Marjory cried, curling her hands into fists. She banged them, hard, on the table. “He cannot live there! He cannot!”
“Marjory, dearest, please.” Elisabeth bent round her, laying cool hands over her clenched fists. �
�Your home is here with those who love you.”
“I cannot bear it, Bess.” Her hands began to uncurl as she sank forward. “He has taken everything.”
Elisabeth hovered over her, lightly touching her hair. “When is Lord Mark expected in Selkirk, milord?”
Lord Buchanan’s voice was low. “His men gave me no definite day or time but assured me it will be soon.”
Soon. Marjory stirred.
“Take me there.” She sat up, her eyes wet with tears. “Please, milord. Let me see Tweedsford before it is closed to me forever.”
She feared he might refuse or call her foolish. He did neither.
“At once, Mrs. Kerr.” The admiral stood and helped her to her feet. “If your daughter-in-law might find a warm blanket and a hot cup of tea, you’ll need both this wretched morn.”
Anne touched her arm. “Cousin, shall I come too?”
“Aye, aye.” Marjory looked round her, trying to gather her thoughts. “If the carriage will hold us all. Oh, and Gibson! Bess, we must take him with us. He served me at Tweedsford all those years.” She turned to the admiral, daring to press him further. “Reverend Brown will not mind releasing Gibson from service this morn if you request it, milord.”
“Whatever you wish, madam. Haste is best, for I would not care to cross paths with Lord Mark, for your sake.”
A sharp intake of air. “Indeed not. Annie, please bring the tea.”
The jostling of the carriage and the queasiness in Marjory’s stomach made for an uncomfortable hour. But she was seated between Elisabeth and Gibson, the two people whom she cared about most and who cared about her, so she did not complain.
The northbound route from Selkirk, which ran parallel with the Ettrick Water, was a hilly road that hugged the waterside, then veered sharply upward before reaching the River Tweed and the property that stretched along its banks. Tweedsford. Soon they would pass through the wrought-iron gates, always left open as a sign of hospitality. Or would they be locked this morning?
“Tell me what you can of Roger Laidlaw,” Lord Buchanan was saying. “He will not object to our seeing the property?”
Looking at Anne, Marjory lifted her eyebrows, an unspoken question. Will Mr. Laidlaw mind? Will you?
Mine Is the Night Page 23
